The Story of Danny Dunn (33 page)

They completed their articles during their third and fourth years and sat their final Law exams, with Danny again topping both years and Franz Landsman coming in second and fourth respectively (he'd met a girl in his final year).

While Stephen James & Stapleton dealt more with commercial law than criminal, one or two of their solicitors worked the criminal courts and Danny quickly sought them out. Not surprisingly, it was the injustice he saw that prompted him to choose criminal law. As Helen put it when he told her of his decision, ‘Darling, what else? With your anti-establishment ethos, it was a done deal.'

‘You mean the chip on my shoulder?' Danny said defensively.

‘No, I didn't mean that. I'm proud of your decision,' Helen replied. ‘Somebody has to do it.'

In fact,
the casual disregard for due process of those who worked within the law – the police force and magistrates, in particular – had been a constant topic of conversation between them on evenings when Danny had been in court. The police seemed to decide for themselves whether a defendant was guilty or not, and backed up their prejudices with verbals that suited the prosecution case. He noted that this scant regard for true justice all too often involved working-class defendants, who were easily dismissed as the criminal element in society and automatically assumed to be guilty. Magistrates saw rape victims as cock-teasers or sluts, almost by definition, and it was rare for a rapist to be convicted. Wife-beating and violence against children was seen as a domestic matter, and was yet another area in which the law wore blinkers.

Danny wasn't allowed to practise on his own, and the senior lawyers were either too busy for or too uninterested in the pro bono cases that began to pop up in Balmain now Danny was, in the eyes of the locals, a proper lawyer. Danny would, at Brenda's instigation, attend one of her afternoon soirees at the pub and advise the women preparing their veggies on their legal rights, in particular in the area of wife-bashing and even sometimes rape. This didn't help his popularity with some of their husbands, amongst whom this category of crime went largely unreported. He would even visit errant husbands and threaten them with an injunction, which would often scare the daylights out of them and change – for a while, anyway – their aberrant behaviour. In one or two cases when a husband continued to bash his wife, Danny persuaded one of the solicitors at work to allow him to prepare a brief and to let him function as his associate in court. They'd won the cases and the solicitor, Gary Murphy, was so impressed that he took, under Danny's instruction, three further cases: another battered wife, a rape victim and children assaulted by their father. They'd lost only the rape case.

Danny had earned a reputation in Balmain: amongst drunken husbands, who saw it as their right to beat their wives, it was as a meddler and a do-gooder; amongst wives, it was as a hero and a white knight. These were poor people but proud, and Helen would often arrive home from university to find a pot of stew, a batch of scones, a meatloaf or a cake on the doorstep with a note that said something like,
Thanks
,
Danny, return pot to Brenda.

Helen was to learn that Danny never forgot or forgave an injustice, no matter how small. ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing' had become one of his favourite sayings. Helen would often wake at night to find him missing from their bed. She had learned not to go after him, because often it was his demons that kept him awake, but sometimes he'd confess at breakfast, ‘Couldn't sleep last night for thinking about . . .' and name some incident that was worrying him. Two that were most frequently on his mind were those concerning Captain Riley and Glossy Denmeade's boots, and Colonel Mori, his Japanese camp commandant.

Danny assiduously followed the fate of officers who had served under Mori, often asking Helen to call in favours, and scanning the newspapers for news of the trials. Several of the NCOs and soldiers from the camp were executed or jailed for crimes they'd committed while following Mori's direct orders. Danny continued his research in an attempt to build a new case against Mori, and discovered
through a contact supplied by Helen that the American occupying powers in Japan had requested his unconditional release and his immediate and urgent repatriation to help with post-war reconstruction. Danny was learning that affluence and influence went hand in hand; Colonel Mori's aristocratic family were the owners of one of Japan's largest engineering firms and the Americans claimed he was needed to bring it back into effective production. If being a prisoner of war had taught Danny anything, it was never to give up, and he became obsessed with this injustice.

Helen, as forthright as ever, replied, ‘Danny, you've got to forget Mori! You have to stop this battle against injustice and make peace with yourself, or the war is going to kill you as surely as if you'd taken a bullet in the heart from Mori himself. The world is a cruel and hateful place. For God's sake, Danny, you should know that better than anyone! Are you to take all this accumulated hate with you to the grave?'

But Helen knew that her husband had inherited his stubbornness from Brenda and that her pleas were useless; it was Danny's obsessive nature that kept him going – it was what made him formidable in whatever he tackled. Danny hated to lose, either at tiddlywinks or in a court case. As a young man before the war he could put his aggression and determination into water polo and rugby league, but now his bad back restricted him to swimming endless early-morning laps of Balmain pool. All his energy went into social justice, or, for that matter, justice itself. His experience as a prisoner of war had clearly and irrevocably demonstrated to him what it was like to be at the bottom of the pecking order. He wasn't a goody-goody – he was a Balmain boy, after all – but he hated anyone who took advantage of the innocent or underprivileged. It was his tenacity that was going to earn him a reputation as a formidable opponent in a court of law. He never knew when to quit, even when it might have been to his advantage.

For instance, not long after he graduated as a lawyer, in what the military authorities and the government decried as ‘grandstanding' he had petitioned the government to reconvene the War Crimes Tribunal and to reinstate the prosecution trial of Colonel Mori. But once again it proved a case of might being greater than right. The government denied the request, dismissing the charge that the authorities had been influenced by any request from the Americans. In their letter of rejection they also failed to mention that they were currently being pressured by the Americans to sign a formal peace treaty with the defeated Japanese. Pragmatism
über alles
,
with truth and justice always easy victims.

IT HAD TAKEN THIRTY
years for Brenda's moment of glory to finally arrive, when Danny was to receive not one but two mighty scrolls on the same day: his Arts degree as well as his Law degree. Brenda had put off writing to her parents until Danny had received the results of his final-year exams and notification that the graduation ceremony would take place at 10.30 a.m. on Tuesday the 30th of January 1951 in the Sydney University Great Hall.

She'd spent several days writing and rewriting the letter in an attempt to persuade them to make the trip. Over the years, especially when she made her annual visit to the farm near Wagga, she'd tried to get them to visit, but without success. They'd always agree when she asked, but then Patrick, her father, would find some excuse not to go at the last minute – the drought or the rains, lambing, fencing, fixing the tractor she'd bought him, digging a dam – always something to prevent them coming, and always to the bitter disappointment of her darling mother, who would usually confess in a letter that she'd ‘been to the chickens'.

Rose O'Shane had never allowed her children to see her cry, although they all knew as kids that when she appeared with red puffy eyes it meant she'd been to the chickens. The chicken run was a place Patrick never visited. The hens were his wife's responsibility. So when life became too unbearable she'd visit the hens for a good old Irish keen. Letting a hen roost on her hands was very comforting.

In the end, Brenda wrote a very formal letter, spending the entire Christmas break composing it and taking care with every word. In the years since she'd left school she'd forgotten about the importance of paragraphs and the letter seemed somehow all the better for this, because, while formal, it also had the virtue of appearing to come, as indeed it did, from the heart.

Brenda decided to take the bit between her teeth and talk about Danny's injuries and war record as well as his two degrees. While she desperately wanted her parents to be present at his graduation, it had to be on her terms. Her father had bullied her for long enough with his refusal to visit. This time she wasn't going to take it on the chin. She had, after twenty-nine hard years, achieved her ambition for a member of her family to be a ‘somebody'. Now there could be no more compromises.

Dear Father,

Your grandson is to receive not one, but two university degrees. While I know your stance on the first war and this recent one, nevertheless, Danny served with great distinction. I often receive letters from the men he was responsible for in the Japanese concentration camp. They all say the same thing
 – 
that he should have received a DSO for bravery. Many claim he saved their lives and some describe how he did this. Many of their stories make me weep, but I also take great pride in my son, your grandson, who is soon to become a lawyer. They also speak of the terrible injuries to his face and back, which he sustained at the hands of the Japanese while defending one of his own men. I feel sure my brothers were heroes in the last war and Danny has followed in their footsteps, in your, our family's footsteps. I know life has been hard for you and Mother Rose, but since leaving Ireland you have shown a steady courage, which has been passed on to your grandson. As the first member of our family to receive not one but two university degrees, we have cause to celebrate in the knowledge that it has not all been in vain, that at last we are somebodies. Without you and Mother Rose at Danny's graduation it will not be a true family celebration. In the name of my two dead brothers I beg you from the bottom of my heart to be with us on this grand day, the triumph of the O'Shane family.

Your loving and obedient daughter,

Brenda

She
then attached two first-class return tickets for the train from Wagga to Sydney and a money order for five pounds for travel expenses. She was ecstatic when Rose wrote to say Patrick had agreed they would definitely be coming as he wanted to see his grandson get the first degree ever earned by a family member.

Brenda's own preparation for graduation day had lasted nearly a month, so that on the big day she was dressed to the nines with everything brand-new and of the very best quality. Helen, whenever she was free from the university, became her constant companion and consultant, as Brenda wouldn't trust herself in such matters. Her accessories were chosen with the help of Madam St Clair, dressmaker to the Eastern Suburbs' rich and famous, who'd created Brenda's outfit and then insisted on accompanying them, for an appropriate fee, to Mark Foys (underwear and stockings), David Jones (shoes and handbag) and Anthony Hordern (hat and gloves). Finally, to set off the whole outfit, Helen had lent her a genuine pearl necklace and drop earrings left to her by her grandmother – much to the chagrin of Helen's mother, who'd always had her eye on them but had received instead her mother's wedding band and (very small diamond) engagement ring.

While Brenda and Half Dunn were considered well off, even rich, by most standards, it had never occurred to Brenda to spend very much on herself. Like everyone else she depended on Freda's Frocks to tell her the latest fashion and length of hem required for the year to come. Every Wednesday she'd have her hair and nails done at Nina's Beauty Salon, and once a year on the 31st of December she had a permanent booking to have ‘the works' – a facial, which included a mudpack; and hair and nails – in preparation for midnight mass at St Augustine's to see the new year in.

In fact, the last time she'd splurged on clothes was when she'd gone to dinner at Primo's with Doc Evatt, then a judge in the New South Wales High Court, but later President of the General Assembly of the United Nations, and now being spoken of as the next leader of the Labor Party should the ailing Ben Chifley retire from parliament.

For the big occasion, Brenda's make-up, usually a hastily applied lick of Rita Hayworth-style red lipstick to show off her pretty mouth and sometimes a smudge of eye shadow and a dab of rouge, was now personally supervised by Nina from the beauty salon. She'd brought all her paraphernalia in a large suitcase over from the salon in Darling Street to the pub, arriving just after eight in the morning.

Danny and Half Dunn privately agreed the result was somewhat over the top, but they were nevertheless quick to compliment Brenda, who had become increasingly nervous after breakfast, lighting twenty single-puff cigarettes that were later discovered burnt out in various ashtrays around the premises. By the time the taxi taking them to the university for the mid-morning graduation ceremony arrived, she was very close to tears from a mixture of anxiety and overwhelming excitement.

Brenda sat in the Sydney University Great Hall between Rose and Helen, whose parents, Barbara and Reg, sat next to their daughter, with Patrick next to Rose, and then Half Dunn next to his father-in-law. While the dolled-up version of Brenda didn't look any prettier for all the expense, at forty-eight, despite the years of hard work – or perhaps because of them – she was still a trim and good-looking woman. She was blessed, as some people would have said, with good bone structure and a nice figure.

Rose had been to Freda's Frocks, too, where Brenda had insisted she have a new outfit: a pink mid-season rose-patterned dress, white shoes, hat and gloves, the loveliest undies she'd ever owned and real nylon stockings. Half Dunn was in a new Pineapple Joe suit and Patrick, at his insistence, once again in his Irish tweed wedding suit, starched detachable collar, black tie and button boots, though this time the weather was a little kinder.

But the day, as so often happens when we eagerly anticipate an event, didn't quite turn out as Brenda had always imagined it would. Later, when Half Dunn told the story of Danny's graduation, he would begin by saying, ‘When, as Brenda has done, you wait almost thirty years for something, you tend to build up a fair head of steam.' He'd pause, then say meaningfully, ‘That can be dangerous . . . very dangerous.'

They'd arrived an hour before the ceremony was due to begin, to ensure good seats. With the first rows in the centre block being reserved for the faculty, they'd settled into seats three rows back, the first row available to the public. By the time the vice-chancellor, resplendent in floppy gold-tasselled velvet cap and black gown festooned with gold braid, had led the long, colourful procession of professors onto the stage and they'd taken their seats, Brenda was already crying softly. Helen reached down and held one of her hands while Rose held the other.

The vice-chancellor welcomed the guests, then launched into the usual dry and dusty stuff about the importance of hard work and carving a worthy career while maintaining a strong sense of duty to and respect for society, but then he went on to say, ‘At last year's graduation ceremony, and again at this one, we take a special pride in those graduates who returned from serving their country to complete or undertake degrees. While this great institution acknowledges its debt to all these exceptional men and women, one man in particular stands out. I speak of the recipient of this year's University Medal for outstanding scholastic achievement. He is a man who endured captivity and torture under the Japanese. While working on the Thai–Burma Railway and later in Thailand, he was solely responsible as the senior NCO for the men in two prisoner-of-war camps, enduring the onerous conditions of starvation, sickness, lack of medical facilities and harsh cruelty with which we are all too familiar. In performing his duty, this man managed to save many lives, in fact a greater proportion than in most other prisoner-of-war camps in Burma and Thailand. It is an indictment of our military system that such a man has received no formal recognition for his extraordinary achievements.' The vice-chancellor paused before continuing. ‘I hasten to add that the University Medal is given solely for scholarship, without regard for past endeavours beyond the walls of the Academe, no matter how worthy those endeavours may have been, and, in the case of this man, undoubtedly were. This medal will be presented later in today's ceremony when we are only permitted to highlight the academic achievements of this fine young man, but it would have been remiss of me not to make mention here of this remarkable student, as well as those others who served their country and do us all proud. I am speaking of Daniel Corrib Dunn.'

Brenda's quiet weeping had turned to audible sobbing and then to an uncontrollable soft wail so that Helen was finally obliged to lead her out of the Great Hall. Rose had moved to follow but Patrick placed a rough, sun-damaged hand on her arm to restrain her.

Helen guided Brenda to a bench in the quad and held her to her breast while she continued to weep, finally crying, ‘That medal, it was won by Doc Evatt, too!'

Helen was more than a little surprised by her mother-in-law's emotional outburst. While Danny had told her about the incident that had occurred just before dawn on the morning after he'd returned home, he'd made a point of Brenda's stoicism, saying that he had rarely
heard or seen her cry. She was a woman firm in resolve, deeply proud, who kept her sadness to herself, or, as Half Dunn suspected she'd done when Danny had left to go to war, took it home to share only with Rose. It was not that she was phlegmatic or emotionally circumspect – she had a quick temper and a sharp tongue, as many a drunk could testify, although these were balanced by her ability to laugh at herself. For Brenda to break down in public was entirely out of character and it testified to the extraordinary depth of her feelings. The sole purpose of her life was about to be fulfilled, and although she had steeled herself for what was, after all, a long-anticipated event, it had been the vice-chancellor's unexpected tribute to her war-ravaged son that had crashed through the carefully constructed barrier behind which she'd always contained her emotions.

It was almost half an hour before Brenda recovered and allowed Helen to wipe away the mascara, and most of the vestiges of Nina's cosmetics, to restore the naturally pretty Brenda, albeit with eyes puffy and red from crying. She had missed the very moment she had waited so long for, the conferring of Danny's double degree, making him a double ‘somebody'. One of the university ushers arrived to say that the vice-chancellor had deferred the medal presentation until last and hoped she might return to the Great Hall to be present when her son was honoured by his professors, the academic staff and fellow students. She straightened her shoulders, and patted her hair. She would be present when he won the trifecta and became a triple ‘somebody'.

As Brenda and Helen re-entered the Great Hall, the audience spontaneously rose to their feet and clapped until she'd resumed her seat. And although fresh tears coursed down her cheeks she wore a smile a stonemason couldn't have chiselled from her face.

Danny, wearing the cap and gown of a Law graduate over a brand-new suit (‘For knowink already a genius, no charge and compliments of Pineapple Joe'), received the University Medal to a standing ovation, a rare or perhaps singular occurrence for a student with a bachelor degree.

The eight of them – Brenda and Half Dunn, Rose and Patrick, Reg and Barbara and, of course, Danny and Helen – had gone back to the Hero
for lunch, a low-key family affair at Danny's insistence. While Barbara smiled quickly when spoken to, Helen couldn't help noticing that in moments of repose, when she was unaware of anyone looking at her, she'd largely remain po-faced, though when Danny received his medal there had been a flicker of gratification. Perhaps she was surprised to discover that Catholics could also be brilliant, Helen thought to herself.