Justice Callinan, in the latest instalment from his diary, reveals the careful behind-the-scenes planning for a special event to mark the High Court’s official farewell of Michael McHugh ... From Justinian's archive, August 2005
IN a decision that found almost unanimous support amongst the court’s staff and other justices the CJ has requested that I add to my already extensive array of duties and responsibilities the task of organising the farewell festivities to mark the departure from the bench of The Hon Michael Hudson McHugh AC, 69.
Naturally I assured him I would throw myself into the task with all the muscular commitment for which I think I can say in all modesty I am justly renowned.
McHugh and myself have formed a strong bond, largely as a consequence of his interest in the racetrack and my previous involvement in betting and odds assessing as Chairman of the Queensland Totalisator Agency Board.
I am almost certain that Gleeson was aware of the closeness between the two of us and may have been guided by that knowledge in asking me to take responsibility for the farewell occasion (code-named Operation Ciao by the registry staff).
Whereupon, I called for suggestions from amongst my brother justices.
Kirby came up with what might have been a fruitful idea for a masked ball at the Newcastle Workers Club. His proposal was that the premises be festooned with decorative motifs that signified the life and achievements of McHugh - to wit lumps of coal, girders of steel and racehorses.
Kirby thought these objects could be replicated in papier-mache and the room made resplendent with balloons, streamers, etc and the guests in amusing head-wear.
Personally I quite liked the suggestion, but Gleeson strongly disapproved of it on grounds that it might involve the possibility of indignity for the Court as a whole should one of the wives get a little tired and emotional in what, after all, under the Liquor Act, 1982, NSW, is a public place.
The CJ himself thought a males-only black tie dinner at the Australian Club in Sydney would be a dignified and fitting way to “ring the curtain down on McHugh”, as he put it.
I had an idea in writing from Gummow. who after researching the retirement celebrations afforded to members of the Chancery Division for 300 years prior, thought a picnic would be an admirable way to say au revoir to our friend.
He discovered that many leading Chancery judges were sent on their way after receiving an official rug and a wicker basket for their years of service.
He thought that if a rolling lawn, akin to something at Glyndebourne, could be located, we could all forgather there on special blankets and eat chicken legs while we bade McHugh farewell or, as Gummow said in his note, valete.
In deference to the CJ's original suggestion we could all wear black tie for the occasion, which Hayne thought should be held at night. A black tie, picnic at night could be rather special.
Anyway, needless to say there were further objections. Kirby said he had to get to bed early because he needed to be up at three the next morning so he wouldn't be late for work.
Dyson Heydon said he was allergic to lawn.
Owing to these various complications and objections I felt in the interests of harmony and arriving at a sensible, irreversible, final decision I should settle the matter myself.
What would work, I propose, is that each justice on the eve of McHugh’s birthday (November 1) simply retires to his chambers in Canberra for a solitary meal and reflection on the contribution to the law of this unique human being.
In this way individual tastes could be accommodated. Black tie may or may not be worn, candlelight would be a matter of personal choice and to some extent special dietary requests could be met.
For instance I know Gummow is partial to tripe and white sauce with parsley, while Heydon likes lambs fry and bacon closely followed by junket and a touch of nutmeg. Kirby is content with a cheese sandwich (no crusts), mineral water, etc.
The other advantage of this arrangement is that the collegiate spirit of the court is maintained because each judge in the solitude of his own chambers knows that next door his brother will also be silently celebrating McHugh’s last sitting day.
There were absolutely no objections to the idea and so it was that I could quietly smile to myself on bringing forth another pleasing outcome. “Well done, Judge,” I could hear court workers respectfully utter whilst I swept past.
Now that After the Monsoon has been launched to generally moving if muted plaudits I’m more than delighted to let you see the third chapter of my novel in progress. Without fear of contradiction I can say that this is the work of which I’m most delighted.
The Cannelloni Conspiracy – A Recipe for Murder - Chapter Three
“Well ... ah, Mr Splayd, ah presume ... is that a cannelloni in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
Sam Splayd, culinary detective, reeled back as if he’d been slapped in the face with a wet square of filo pastry. He recognised the gorgeous titillating timbre of her sumptuous Southern Belle voice.
It was like his first taste of truffles picked straight from the boar’s nose, his first freshly shucked oyster smothered in Caspian caviar, his first ham hock sauteed in quince jelly, his first lark’s tongue in aspic, his first monkey’s brains on toast.
Reluctantly, Splayd stopped his own delicious reverie to focus on the curious, and he had to admit, highly attractive figure before him. The lights on her wheelchair certainly appeared to be winking at him.
“Well ... ah big boy. Ain’t you gonna give this gal a big ole taste of her favourite things, just for ole times?”
Splayd moved his enormous hips slowly from side to side in what was clearly a “yes”. He was indeed happy to be re-acquainted with Rose Du Bois, heiress to the Du Bois tobacco fortune, thrice divorced and twice as nice as anyone he’d ever met worth five billion [$US]. Especially now that she appeared to be well and truly legless.
See: Chapter Two
See: Chapter One