You know how you remember where you were when President Kennedy was shot? Well, as Melbourne Cup time comes round each year, I remember—with a mixture of dread and triumph—the Sir Robert Menzies Memorial Lecture that I gave on Tuesday, 5 November, in the Chancellors Hall of the University of London Senate House in 1996. It was like this.
In the Common Room on the previous Thursday, I mention the imminent lecture to a colleague because I’ve been brooding on it for weeks. The ensuing conversation is dispiriting:
Him: What’s the lecture on?
Me: Henry Lawson and Manning Clark.
Him: Henry Lawson. I’m afraid I—
Me: No, it’s all right. You wouldn’t have heard of him. Great Australian writer. Turn of the century.
Him: And Manfred—?
Me: Manning. Manning Clark. Famous historian.
Him: I don’t think I—
Me: Monumental six volume history of Australia. Very controversial. [Pause] The lecture’s on Melbourne Cup Day. Could be an omen.
Him: Melbourne Cup D—?
Me: Actually, I’m backing Grey Shot. English horse. One of your mob. Front runner. They send the English horses over Business Class on British Air. Don’t worry about it.
Friday
Struggling with my draft around 10am I am invaded by a catastrophic thought: what if everybody’s like my Pommy interlocutor of yesterday? Suddenly I realise that, apart from a few stray Aussies, no-one will know anything—anything—about Lawson or Clark. They’ll be all at sea. It will be a disaster. Although, perhaps no-one will come. Later, I learn via email that Grey Shot has blown out to 50s. Just as I’d predicted. Get the money on, I tell my collaborator in Melbourne.
Saturday
Up at 5am to help my wife set off to a weekend conference in Amsterdam. This leaves me an entirely uninterrupted couple of days to beautify my lecture—some honing here, some fine tuning there, a sophisticated aside somewhere else.
I begin my solitude with a large breakfast in which are heavily represented numbers of eggy, fatty and greasy items that my wife does not normally consider essential to start the day. Needing a walk after this, I set off about midday thinking, naturally enough, about Manning Clark and Henry Lawson, but ending up at Panton Street where I take in Fargo having missed it first time round. Fargo finishes just after four and a brisk walk punctuated by a couple of swift pints gets me back in front of the TV to catch up on the day’s scores. I think about Lawson and