The Mayne Inheritance (17 page)

In 1926 the disclosure of the Maynes' offer had come as something of a shock to Archbishop Duhig. However, he was one of the university senators who favoured building on the St Lucia site and publicly approved the Maynes' generosity. He also stepped up his visits to ‘‘Moorlands''. On one occasion, when the Mayor was visiting with his young son, Norman, the Archbishop was seen coming up the driveway. Jolly gathered up his son, saying, ‘‘We'll go now, Dr Mayne''—but James responded: ‘‘Oh Jolly, don't leave me with that awful man.''

James' dislike of his Archbishop was long-standing and ongoing, but Duhig continued to visit. In July 1927 the Archbishop wrote to James and a group of thirty-eight wealthy Catholics requesting generous financial help for his new project, the Holy Name Cathedral. It was to be built on the commanding site of ‘‘Dara'', once owned by Patrick Mayne and since 1891 the charming, three-storied Italianate home of the archbishops. Like Archbishop Dunne, James believed it was more important to provide good education for young Catholics than to erect prestigious buildings. He could not approve the waste of knocking down such a gracious building to put another in its place, especially with the threat of economic depression sapping business confidence. He thought that St Stephen's Cathedral with its magnificent stained-glass windows was quite adequate. The Archbishop's letter attracted a good response, and those civic leaders who
gave most generously received Papal knighthoods in 1929. The Maynes, who gave nothing, went unhonoured.

It is hard to know whether James' lack of response to the financially embarrassed Archbishop and his building appeal made Duhig give vent to anger against him, or whether Rosanna, now almost eighty and very ill at All Hallows', had become too much of a burden on the sisters and they wanted her moved. Undoubtedly her mental instability had loaded an extra cross on her carers. Late in 1929, Duhig wrote to James indicating that it was time he took over the care of his sister.

Neither the elderly James nor Mary Emelia was able to nurse a woman with advanced senile decay, kept under physical restraint. It would be a matter of shifting Rosanna from the care of the religious order at All Hallows', her home for sixty-six years, to some other institution. ‘‘Moorlands'' had never been her home. James' reply to Duhig, written in the third person, was curt and final. With reference to Sister Mary Mel he ‘‘sees no reason to meet him and talk over her problems as he has no interest or control over her affairs.'' The Sisters of Mercy who continued to give her loving care were well rewarded; when Rosanna died in March 1934, her share of Patrick's estate passed to the Order. It consisted of valuable inner city land at the corner of Albert and Elizabeth Streets and the corner of Creek and Adelaide Streets; an allotment with a thirty-seven foot frontage to Edward Street; and a similar sized allotment fronting Adelaide Street. In suburbia there were two parcels of land totalling almost six acres
at Mayne Junction, and eleven allotments at Ithaca. On the fast developing highway to Ipswich were thirty-two acres two roods which had been Patrick's stock-holding yard in the Gailes area. Its total value in 1892 was £39,964. Its value in 1996 was conservatively estimated to be $25,000,000.

By the mid-1930s nothing in the Maynes' life had changed except the onset of old age and its attendant weaknesses. The bursts of public applause in 1923 and 1926 had fizzled out, although there had been a minor splutter in 1930 when press photographs acknowledged the handing-over of the St Lucia site. The students toasted James' name in their ‘‘Varsity Students' Song'' and the Arts students sang hopefully of soon being home on Dr Mayne's land. Such songs were part of a large repertoire, sung with gusto on happy occasions. Mayne was but one of many names they included.

Out in the wider world, people found it easy to forget those gifts which benefited the community and which James undoubtedly had hoped would restore their good name. Their life easily slipped back to being the property of gossips. In 1932, James leased a prime Queen Street site for fifty years to Capital Theatres so that they could build their ornate picture palace, The Regent. It showed the new ‘‘talkies'' to an excited audience, but we do not know if the much maligned Maynes ever sought escape in that celluloid world. Their preferred leisure activity seemed to
remain those private picnics to the Moggill land where James Pacey continued to farm—now as caretaker and tenant of the University. A car had replaced the carriage and James and his sister would sometimes drive to Sandgate to try to recapture dreams of youthful pleasure. The short time their mother had lived there with her children was the brightest jewel in James' memory. He spoke of it fondly and frequently. Those memories could only have glowed in his mind if his childhood relationship with his mother had been a loving one. We know she could be tough as steel when the occasion demanded; but the tough-tender, complex man who was James may have reflected a tenderness that was part of her character. One recorded trip was to Victoria Point to call on Dr Ernest Sandford Jackson, who had retired and thrown his energy into creating a large garden. In 1934 Jackson wrote of his pleasure when James and four ladies had called and enthused over his horticultural efforts. One of the ladies could have been Mary Emelia; the identity of the other three is unknown.

The University Senate, now committed to build at St Lucia, was making positive plans. Melville Haysom was commissioned to paint James' portrait. Presumably it was to be hung in some place of honour. As with William Jolly, the meeting with Haysom resulted in a friendship. Those who were prepared to look beyond the veil of gossip and take the trouble to get to know James found a genuine, likeable man. The
life-sized portrait, brings out what Haysom saw in James during the sittings at his studio in Fortitude Valley. It shows an ageing, alert face with sparse white hair. The cleft chin and strongly marked brows over the blue eyes add to the strength of the face, but it is in those eyes and the gentle set of the mouth that Haysom has captured the caring essence of the man. The face gives no hint of the endless tragedy; the lips suggest humour which, in public, was probably never allowed free rein. It is the open face of a good man, someone you would like to know. Haysom painted James sitting in his black academic robes trimmed with white fur, and on his lap is a white plan titled: ‘‘Proposed University Site''. At the top of the plan is his personal device, a winged heart over the words
sursum corda.

An oft-told anecdote, which has a strong ring of truth, has it that the dominant J.D. Story, who, even before he became Vice Chancellor virtually ran the University, banished the portrait. Some say to a storeroom. It had been voted the most arresting picture in the 48th Annual Exhibition of the Royal Queensland Art Society; as a portrait it could hold its own with any on the campus. The reason for banishment must have been a rejection of the Maynes because of their reputation. James heard of the slight and sent a retainer to advise Mr Story that he was displeased. The retainer was forestalled by the Registrar, Mr Page-Hanify, who quietly had the portrait restored to its former place.

It was not to last. The painting again disappeared from
general view. With the University's restoration of the historic Customs House it was brought from obscurity at St Lucia and hung, untitled, unknown, and presumably unhonoured, in a small room on the top floor of that building. Perhaps the greatest indignity in that move was that the portrait was taken from the site which meant so much to James, the site he had given to the University, to be placed in a building which he would have avoided. It overlooks Kangaroo Point, where his father murdered Robert Cox. Patrick's act destroyed the reputation of his whole family. In giving the St Lucia site James could have hoped to live that down.

During the sittings for the portrait, James talked about his childhood at Sandgate. There was clearly an empathy between the two men and Haysom and his wife both enjoyed visits to ‘‘Moorlands''. It was Melville who showed James one of the rare acts of kindness he received in his adult life. The thank you letter shows the warmth and easy grace of the recipient.

A year later, James heard that Haysom had shared a major prize in the State lottery, the Golden Casket, and won £1,000. His spontaneous letter to Mrs Haysom is an indication of the caring man:

That young son, Noel, now a retired scientist, still remembers James as the kindly, gentle man who sat for a portrait in his father's studio. He had not been jaundiced by parental prejudice and was able to know the delightful man who, elsewhere faced with a judgmental public, took refuge in a protective shell of indifference.

It is not surprising that with such a life, combined with the vulnerability of old age, James became somewhat eccentric. Where once his tolerance and understanding of human nature carried him through most difficult times, these were no longer his strengths. In old age, James was struggling to keep afloat in a sea of emptiness. Life was still a journey he had to make alone. Whisky helped. On
occasions he was a lonely old man sitting in a state of refined intoxication; but he kept that under control. Mary Emelia, so long ago attractive and lively enough to be of concern to her brothers, was now overweight, sagging in face and figure, and sunk in apathy.

The family doctor for many years, the crusty, argumentative Sandford Jackson, now lived too far away at Victoria Point, so a series of doctors attended at ‘‘Moorlands''. The eminent physician Dr Harry Windsor was summoned to attend for a time in 1936. He had no idea why he was chosen; a call came out of the blue. There was a set ritual. He had to telephone just before he went to ‘‘Moorlands'', was met by the gardener at the gate, and the housekeeper at the front door. He was never taken into the house. He and James remained seated on the front veranda chatting about inconsequential things until it was time to leave. James' health was not good in those last years, but he almost never discussed it with the doctor.

One December day when the conversation lapsed, Dr Windsor mentioned the news that King Edward had just announced his abdication, and remarked that he could not understand why the King wanted to marry a divorced woman. Both men were Catholics and this was against their religious teaching. James' face became suffused with blood and he retorted, ‘‘You married men are always jealous of us bachelors.'' The next day he sent a message asking Dr Windsor not to visit any more. One or two other medical practitioners were sacked in the same abrupt manner.

The former Lord Mayor, William Jolly, now Federal Member for Lilley, called occasionally, but the only two people with whom James felt completely at ease were his agent, Waverley Cameron, and Fred Whitehouse who understood him and cared. Fred was now coach of the University rowing team. In 1937, when the Australian Universities' Eight Oar Race was to be held in Hobart, the Queensland crew had no suitable boat and insufficient money for the crew's competition expenses. The lack of such a boat was not unusual. The top secondary schools and the universities could afford fours, but to own an eight was to own a great treasure. Fred's request to James for help was met with £160 for a new boat and oars, with the money to ship it to Tasmania and a contribution towards the accommodation expenses of the coach and crew. Now seventy-six, James was a semi-invalid and not very sociable, but Fred took the crew to ‘‘Moorlands'' to thank their donor. A manservant escorted the students upstairs to James' room where they were given refreshments in what turned out to be a very jolly hour. Dr Don Robertson, one of that year's crew, recalls that there was no sign of Mary Emelia, and that the ailing James had a large broad face, hanging jowls and not much hair.