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NO SUN AFTER RAIN 1939 - August 1942

 the irresistible sadness of the sea
We Sat Entwined

Christopher Brennan

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Russell moved from home to live with the aunts in Manly during the first part of 1939 and, towards the end of this year, he joined the Navy as a full time sailor. His parents were deeply hurt by this and its effect, along with Russell's early death, exacerbated his father's heart condition as well as dealing a severe blow to his creativity. It is ironic that, just as my father was slowly beginning to resume his composing, he was to die.

The prospect of Russell's living with the aunts re-awakened in my mother vivid memories of the bigotry and narrowness that drove her away from them in her late teens. Russell temporarily went along with this narrowness when, in order to keep the peace, he took Confirmation classes with the Anglican Church in Manly, despite the fact that he considered himself a Christian Scientist. He wrote to his father, ten chances to one I can read your thoughts --- Yes, I am being confirmed (I know, I said I would hold out). The first reason was for peace at any price, the second I absolutely had to have a new suit and third, they are putting up with me (a task) and it will do me no harm, and the fourth, and actually the deciding factor was a chap from the Science Sunday School at Manly whom I knew years ago, Guy Botham by name is doing the same, for almost the same reason. In spite of all this, when he told my parents that he was applying to join the Navy, he also told them that he had decided against Confirmation at the last minute.

Early attempts to join the Navy failed, as did his first job as a clerk, so he joined the Signal Section of the Militia. He wrote to my parents, pleading for permission to join the permanent Army, arguing that the time for compulsory service was imminent. Some months later, Russell was accepted by the Navy, going to HMAS Cerebus for basic training as a permanent sailor during December of 1939. The many springs they had all missed together as a family continued and were to end, with devastating sadness, before very much longer.

Meanwhile, the devotion to music and poetry continued in the Keats household. Late in 1938, a hand-written sketch of Atillio The Cat, a ballet by Hugh McCrae, was addressed to

Horace Keats . Esq.
C/o Seaforth Mackenzie Esq
SMITH'S WEEKLY
Phillip Street
Sydney

Across the envelope, Kenneth Mackenzie wrote, Sorry I missed you blokes. Hugo brought this in today. K.I.M.

With it came a letter of appreciation from Hugh. He had heard the Brennan Songs performed at the composer's home in November, and he wrote,

I loved your music, and want to thank you and Mrs Keats for a perfect afternoon. I enjoyed myself so much that, coming home to Wahroonga, I lived it out again.

The little bit you played has remained in my mind ever since and makes me want to write more and more.

Your wife is, of course, the complete artist: and through her enthusiastic singing joined you in making Brennan the finest possible tribute.

McCrae had come to the family home on that November afternoon with their mutual friend Kenneth Mackenzie to listen to some of the Brennan Songs. My father had met Hugh briefly on board the Sonoma many years before. This recent meeting, however, was to establish a deep friendship that was to last for the rest of Keats' life. A stream of letters, many of which are illustrated by Hugh, flowed from the poet until the composer's death.

In the course of January, 1939, Hugh McCrae was enthusiastically promoting Atillio, for by then the music had been written. At one stage, Keats was asked to consider the possibility of Cinesound using Atillio with a cast composed largely from the Lightfoot-Bundakoff School. McCrae had also been speaking with Doris Fitton, founder of The Independent Theatre, who seemed quite keen. Yet, despite all these efforts, the score in the writer's possession is incomplete, perhaps destroyed or, as I would like to imagine, as is often the case with missing manuscripts, hidden away in the recesses of an attic awaiting resurrection.

Here are some of my father's thoughts about Hugh McCrae a number of years later:

Hugh McCrae who wrote the sonnet The Trespass is living in Sydney, and I am sorry to say has recently lost his life partner Nancy, a wonderful helpmeet to such a man.

Most of my listeners probably know Mc Crae as well as I, but for the benefit of those who do not I tell you he is a very big man, big and tall with a huge voice and a heart so great that it seems impossible for even his size to contain it. Mc Crae always expressed his delight when I set any of his poems and was keen that I should set the works of others also, going so far as to spend hours copying some of their poetry to send me with that object in view. True great heartedness. A letter from him nearly always contained a sketch in which his wit is displayed in no uncertain manner. I have many of these sketch-letters which I assure you are amongst my most highly treasured possessions.

Born in Melbourne Mc Crae came to Sydney at an early age and made his home here. My first meeting with him was in 1915 when we were fellow passengers on the ship S.S. Sonoma from America, Australia bound. At that time I was not aware of his writing, nor had I thoughts of songwriting. We eventually met again when a mutual friend asked me to write the music for his ballet The Cat (Atillio).

Kenneth Mackenzie recalled the famous McCrae drawings when writing an article for The Red Page of The Bulletin in September, 1939.

When Kenneth Slessor's ‘Cuckooz Contrey' appeared some years ago, Hugh McCrae wrote to Slessor thanking him for a copy, saying that he couldn't get Cuckooz Contrey' out of his head. A drawing, one of those mad and exquisite ones of his, went with the letter: it showed McCrae with his head neatly sliced open at the top, and a copy of Slessor's book sticking out.

Mackenzie wrote vibrantly about the association between McCrae and Norman Lindsay:

He was born in Melbourne about 60 years ago, second son of a family whose looks and manners made it unnecessary to state that their lineage was noble. Meeting the Lindsays - slim inspired young Norman in particular - in his late teens, he met men enchanted like himself and men who had found ways of expression and exposition. He joined with them, shared the good wild life of youth and those days, and in a flash was not. [Instead he] became - the writer of the earlier poems. McCrae never learned this magic of jewels and flesh and flowers. He knew it all from the beginning.

They all came from Melbourne to Sydney in time, and here matured the famous Lindasy - McCrae association which revealed Australia as a ready and rich new home for the Old World's gods and symbols. McCrae was using ancient symbols, words dripping wine, honey and the good blood of sacrifice, words that burned with the smell of incense and a very look of flame; he and Lindsay were like dynamite among the Victorian literary and plastic art conventions.

In a programme note of around 1943, Keats expanded this picture of McCrae's magic:

Of Hugh McCrae, I can say little beyond my own impressions of the man. I know not his age. To me he is the embodiment of eternal youth. His mind is ever young and I honestly believe that it is purely a feat of self restraint that prevents him reverting to his day of schoolboy pranks. He is full of the joy of life and yet when he contacts sorrow is as comforting as a mother. These facets are reflected in his verse and I draw your attention to the poem he wrote entitled To My Mother, surely as beautiful and helpful as any lines written. It was composed upon the death of his father.

The reverse side, and perhaps his best known, is depicted by the fun, colour, imagination and the jolt in the last few lines of ‘The Mimshi Maiden.' Where do his ideas come from?

Despite his commitment to Australian writers, my father needed lyrics. The need was met by the English poet, Herbert Brandon, who forwarded material. This gesture was acknowledged by the composer and he requested permission to set some of them. He also wondered where Brandon had heard of him.

Brandon replied on 27 January:

I am a very prolific writer and have had some 500 songs published by Chappell, Boosey, Ascherberg, Cramer, Enoch, Ashdown etc etc in fact nearly all leading publishers both in England and USA. If you are a prolific composer we should be able to fix up a lot of songs with English and American publishers. I got your address from Aschenbergs, and wrote to them through seeing one of your songs (I forgot the title) mentioned in Musical Opinion.

All good wishes and may good luck attend our collaboration.

In the years ahead, Brandon sent hundreds of lyrics to Keats and many were set, with varying degrees of success.

Harold Kershaw, an aspiring poet, had been introduced to our family by Jack Hattersley, a family friend. At the time, about 1937, the composer had expressed an interest in entering a competition for a National Anthem and needed a source of words, some of which were supplied by Kershaw. This project did not come to fruition.

On January 24, 1939, Macquarie Broadcasting Services wrote to my father saying they intended to send Weedin', a setting of a poem by Kershaw, to Malcolm McEachern in London:

I presume I can tell McEachern that he can handle this and sing it if he wants to, and I presume record it, in which case your rights will be protected.

Needless to say, Harold Kershaw was thrilled and wrote the following during February:

It would indeed be a great encouragement if anyone so eminent as Malcolm McEachern to take an interest in the song and sing it in London. And in a later letter: I noticed in a para in the SMH about Mr Oswald Anderson, it was giving his views on television. Let us hope he can persuade Malcolm McEachern to sing a few of our effusion's [sic].

There is no evidence of Malcolm McEachern performing the song which, with war approaching in Europe, is understandable, despite the optimism expressed by some Londoners. My grandfather wrote early in 1939,

There is still a lot of gas about war, and the preparations going on, but we go on just the same, no use worrying, we can only go under once, you say they cannot raise the taxes any more, well they put twopence on a pound of tobacco and a farthing a pound of sugar, and a lot more on

cars, but that does not effect us, as our motor car has broken down, and I put it in the dustbin.

Months later this optimism was dashed. War was to affect all, including composers in the Colonies. During the War, many songs were not published because of paper shortages. Further, there was a change in musical taste, particularly in Australia, largely brought about by the increasing impact of the music in American films.

As the year progressed, letters from my grandparents, from publishers and from Brandon made clear that the demand and, hence, the publishing of new songs was coming to an end, at least for the time being. This war was to last far beyond anyone's expectations. Brandon, in a letter written in August 1939, said,

Many thanks for the MSS which came in good condition. They are a really attractive bunch and in normal times should mostly find a publisher.

Christina Young, still in London, wrote in March of 1940,

Cramers have closed their professional dept & put Miss Williams off a few weeks after war started, with a weeks notice & she has been there 12 years. Had arranged to sing for her your song Fear with the idea of them publishing it as she likes your songs but that has been hit on the head.

We are all feeling very sad about the result of the Finnish war but, really, by the time you get this the war will have probably burst out in some other corner. What a mess it all is ... we have more or less accepted the blackout as natural but every time I go to a picture in Leicester Sq.- well it seems incredible. I was meeting a NZ boy friend of mine one night to see the new Garbo film at the Empire. Arranged to meet him in the entrance. Do you know I walked past twice before locating it. It was a particularly black night - but it just goes to show how well we are blacked-out.

 On the 1 February, 1939, at 1.00 am, a second son was born in the flat above Musgrave Street Wharf, overlooking Sydney Harbour. This was somewhat of a disappointment, because my parents had hoped for a girl. My grandfather was to write,

we are sorry you were disappointed with your wish, a GIRL, still you had to have what was sent you.

To commemorate the occasion of my birth, my father composed A Bush Cradle Song, words by Louis Esson. A Bush Cradle Song was rejected for publication by Cramer, London and remains unpublished.

The weather was extremely hot and bush fires were raging throughout New South Wales. The birth, a difficult one for my mother, coupled with the heat, left her extremely ill for months to come. As well, they were having a very difficult financial time, which moved my paternal grandfather to write to my father,

So you had to turn your hand to nursing, well it will fit you for future occasions, but it was a bit of bad luck having your holidays at that time, still as you had no cash for the nurse, you would not have been able to go away.

In the same letter he noted,

Re the songs, you are lucky to get them accepted by Cramer and we hope you will profit by them, also it was good of the lyric writer to send you so many to set, we hope you will get them all done and draw thousands of pounds for your work.

Amongst the congratulatory telegrams, one from Lord Howe Island read,

Delighted at fulfilment of prophecy hope both well having wonderful holiday

love Myree Madge.

Was Myree Madge ‘A Seer' from an earlier year? My memory tells me that a seer once said that there would be a son to follow in my father's footsteps. More important, the family had its own clairvoyant in my mother, whose revelations were to be devastatingly accurate.

The first person to see the newborn, outside of the immediate family, was Gordon Watson. He commemorated the occasion on March 6 by composing a piano piece, Lullaby, for Brennan Keats. It remains a treasured possession of the writer. The child was christened John Brennan; John after his godfather, John Hattersly, and Brennan was chosen because my father considered the Brennan Songs to be his finest works and, further, they hoped the child would become a writer. My father insisted that the name Brennan be used in full and would not tolerate any abbreviation.

My father's attitude reflected the formal behaviour of the middle classes of those days, a behaviour which was to break down as the war came to an end. Only the closest of friends

were allowed to address my mother as ‘Janet' and, even in letters from their contemporaries, she was referred to as Mrs Keats. This was to remain the case throughout his life and, as far as I know, no one dared cross that barrier. After my father's death, the writer recalls Gordon Watson coming to the family home in Cobbittee Street, Mosman, bouncing through the front door and literally sweeping my mother off her feet and swinging her around in a circle, and roaring (as only Gordon could), "You'll never be Mrs Keats again, Janet." And Janet she remained to Gordon for the years to come.

With another mouth to feed, composing commenced some weeks after the birth using the lyrics provided by Brandon. In so doing, the composer attempted to cover a wider variety of voice ranges. Probably, he was aiming at a broader and more popular market, spurred on by Brandon's comments in the 27 January letter. Brandon wrote to him about aiming for this popular market,

Re...In God's High Hills The Magical Piper

Amberleys have reported that while they are very musicianly they are not ‘popular' enough to generate large sales. Can you set some lyrics with a popular and wide appeal? These seem all the more preferred and the more catchy and haunting the melodies the better. I'll send under separate cover some lyrics of popular styles.

And this he did. Cramers contacted my father during March:

[Brandon] submitted another song called:- Love has a Merry Tread. It has a very delightful accompaniment, but I feel sure you will realise on account of competitive festivals in this country having closed down and the teaching profession has little to do, it would not stand much of a chance at the moment, so I suggested to Mr Brandon we leave this until a more favourable time arises. On the other hand, do you think it possible to create sales in Australia by festive means? Or would it obtain sufficient number of broadcasts and performances to warrant us issuing it? It is difficult for us to know how the musical world is affected in the Commonwealth. Perhaps you could advise us on this point.

This letter no doubt prompted my father to write during May to the Chairman of the City of Sydney Eisteddfod to draw his attention to the fact that, of seventy-five sections for which there were set works, only twenty-six test pieces were of Australian origin.

Inclusion in the syllabus is one of the best means for making compositions known to the amateur and professional world, and this opportunity should not be denied to our composers. Australians have difficulty in arranging for the publication of their work as the means of making it known are greatly lacking. This situation could be tremendously helped by the music selection committee of this and all Australian Eisteddfods.

He completed the letter by saying,

there is a wealth of talent in Australia buried through lack of encouragement.

The Australian National Review of August, 1939, in an article ‘Musical Composition in Australia', echoed the above concern:

very little of the best Australian music, though it may achieve public performance, is printed. There is no distribution, and alone perhaps costly, performance is soon forgotten. The composer hoardshis manuscripts and despairs of the public attention, which, after all is a necessity if (as Tolstory affirms) art is the infection of others with emotions previously experienced by the artist.

Later in the same article,

Publishers prefer to take over the copyright of a work they deem to be marketable for a percentage on sales and performing rights. This means, of course, that little is printed besides what is being asked for by teachers and popular singers, more ambitious works being considered uncommercial.

Although it is comforting that my father's voice was not one in the wilderness, current experience indicates the situation has changed little since then.

Apparently, I Will Build My House on the Water was to be dedicated to Dorothy Helmrich and there was a letter of apology from Cramer for the omission of this on the printed song. There is also an indication of continuing reconciliation with my paternal grandparents, Cramers promising to send them a copy of the recently published song at the composer's instigation. Newspaper clippings from the Radio Times sent over by them also tell that Dorothy Helmrich was broadcasting the song. Despite this, there were some who firmly believed that broadcasting was not the best way for people to hear songs.

During May, Peter Dawson returned to Australia after six years' absence and announced that in his programmes he would sing a number of his own works as well as those of Horace Gleeson and Horace Keats. He made this comment to The Sydney Sun:

Radio has crippled opportunities for singers. People ask where are the Melbas, Clara Butts, Sims Reeves and Santleys to-day? They are still with us, but are dormant. Singers of the younger generation have no market because of radio. Established artists are preferred.

The article went on,

He visualised that professional singers would ultimately disappear, because it was not worth spending time and money on studies when the radio could make a star overnight who would enjoy only fleeting popularity. He had advised hundreds of artists in England to retain their jobs and regard singing as a hobby.

In the same article Dawson foreshadowed his retirement in the following year to join his brother in business in Sydney.

Early in July, my father was advised that he would be attached to the ABC Auxiliary Programme Staff at a salary of eight pounds per week. By August, he turned his attention to Christopher Brennan once more and composed Spring Breezes on 15th of that month. This song, written for tenor voice, has a performance time of 2 minutes and was eventually published by Wirripang in 1994.

September saw my parents performing for music clubs again. At a performance for the British and International Music Society, they performed settings of works by Drinkwater, Powys, Neilson and Brennan. That I am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart was included whenever Brennan Songs were performed, indicates the pleasure my father had in this song. The friendship with McCrae, an ardent admirer of that particular song, was now well established, so it was only natural that his poems should be set.

On November 6, The Trespass was completed, with my father commenting,

A sonnet written I know not how long ago, since McCrae had forgotten its existence until I found it and set it. It appears in a book ‘The Sonnet of Australia' edited by Louis Lavater.

Hugh McCrae wrote, on hearing it in 1940, Any shares of The Trespass fall short of the accompaniment. Written 37 or 38 years ago what can you expect? The song may be performed in 2.35 minutes. Cramers rejected it in May, 1940, and it was finally published by Wirripang in 1995.

As the year drew to a close, an unprecedented move was made when support from Edgar L. Bainton was sought with a view to obtaining funding for the Brennan Songs through the Commonwealth Literary Fund. Bainton replied that he had contacted Sir Francis Anderson and had told him how he enjoyed the music. He stated that they would be heard at the Chamber Concerts the following year. Encouraged, my father then wrote, early in January, 1940, to Kenneth Binns, Librarian for the Commonwealth Parliament. Binns replied, sympathising with the difficulty in submitting the songs to the Board of the Literary Fund and stating that they would "hardly be competent to judge the musical value of your songs". Maybe he should submit "strong and influential opinions from recognised musical authorities such as Dr Bainton". The letter went on to agree that the songs were a way of bringing poets such as Brennan to a wider public:

Yes, I am a great admirer of the late Chris Brennan's poetry. I knew him when I was at the Fisher Library of Sydney University. The verses which you have set to music are certainly representative of his best lyrical verse, but I should think presented some considerable difficulty musically. I wish you every success with your application, though I am just a little afraid that the Board may consider musical compositions outside its scope, though personally I hold the view that if the purpose of the Fund is to make our Australian poets better known to the public, no better way could be found, particularly in regard to Brennan, than through these musical settings of his poems.

Representations were also made to the Right Honourable R. G. Menzies by Norman Cowper, son-in-law of Hugh McCrae, and a personal friend of Menzies. McCrae, a firm supporter of this move, wrote,

I wrote to Cowper immediately on getting your letter --- so now, for a space, our fortunes lie with him.

In an attempt to justify the application to the Literary Fund, my parents performed a number of the Brennan Songs for Dr W. Arundel Orchard and Dr R. Dalley-Scarlett at our family home on a Sunday in January, 1940. Both these men were to write very highly of the songs. Dr Orchard commented,

I find your music to Seven Poems by Christopher J. Brennan extremely interesting.

To a great extent you have successfully avoided the ordinary type of Song and have succeeded in making the vocal parts very singable and the pianoforte accompaniments pianistic and sufficiently independent of the voice to enhance the interest of the Songs.

Brennan's poems call for expressive treatment and you have given it. To have forced them into a popular setting would have been not merely inartistic but execrable taste, and in avoiding this you may have some difficulty in finding a publisher in the ordinary way. The proper rendering of these songs will require two performers of experience, a further hindrance to publication, yet this difficulty may and should be overcome - I hope that you will succeed in spite of difficulties.

Dr Orchard immediately pinpointed the old and ongoing problem of finding a publisher "in the ordinary way." Publishers required the popular settings of which Orchard speaks and, understandably, could see no way to overcome the "difficulties."

Dr Dally-Scarlett's response to the Sunday performance reflected Dr Orchard's:

Thank you for permitting me to hear your vocal settings of C J Brennan last Sunday afternoon. I intend no reflection on Mrs Keats' singing when I say that, great was the pleasure of hearing her as a singer, I derived greater pleasure from observing the extent to which you had caught and translated the inmost spirit of your various texts.These songs will inevitably be loved by those who sing and hear them, and I hope that they will be able to reach into all sections of the community. By that means I feel sure that, even in the case of those people who are not primarily musical, interest in Brennan's work will be much stimulated.

It is a curious commentary on our present state of artistic development that while overseas work, whether musical or literary and often mediocre in the extreme, can command ready publicity, the work of our own creative artists is often viewed with scant respect. In the generality of cases any notice which it may receive comes only after the writers are dead and safely buried and so have no further interest in the manifestations of public opinion.

It is to me fitting that the poems of one who is a representative Australian should be so skilfully set to music by one who in my opinion deserves to be known as a representative Australian composer - and that, I believe, will come at no distant date.

Sadly, the date has become distant. Dr Orchard saw the problem; Dr Dally Scarlett, whilst also understanding that there was "scant respect" for Australian artists, had not fully faced, any more than had my father, the extent to which my father was swimming upstream.

In the course of this year, 1940, Russell was undergoing basic Naval training at HMAS Cerberus in Victoria and he specialised as a Supply Assistant. He was to come to Sydney upon completion and was posted to HMAS Penguin, Mosman, a Naval base which is immediately below Cobbittee Street where, two years later, we were to move to the first home the family was to own.

When, early in 1940, my parents were offered the building in Musgrave Street, Mosman for a nominal price, they decided that it was too close to the water for the newborn who showed a premature predilection for water. They moved instead to 129 Awaba Street, Mosman. Here, at a house called Cliffedge, we enjoyed the delights of our own garden for the first time. This meant growing our own flowers and vegetables and gave me my first garden to play in. All that was missing was Russell's company. We did not know that, before long, he would be missing forever.

Russell was drafted to HMAS Canberra as a Supply Assistant. In his first letter home from the ship, written early January, 1940, he said, I miss you all terribly but am extremely happy and content, though as aforesaid going through my trials for Hell.

HMAS Canberra was one of the escort vessels operating in Australian waters for US1, the convoy taking the first Australian contingent to the Middle East. Ventilation, which was of the punkah louvre variety, doubtless adequate in the Atlantic Ocean, was not the strongest point of the vessel and the crew sweltered during the hot Australian summers, hence Russell's comment. Whilst Russell roasted, moves were being made to alleviate the financial problems my parents endured.

The future of the publication of the Brennan Songs appeared brighter. Hope rose even higher when H. S. Temby, Secretary of the Commonwealth Literary Fund, wrote, requesting a copy of the manuscript of the songs and ‘information as to the probable cost of the publication and the extent of assistance desired.' Hugh McCrae also wrote,

Norman C is most [this was underlined three times] interested. Honey [McCrae's daughter] gave me a copy of his letter which I'm about to enclose and which you are at liberty to keep as a pledge of good faith good will and good at the hands of God. Selah! (this is the result of fear...not drink!).

Menzies replied to Cowper mid-January:

I have your letter of 10th January and shall be pleased to make some enquires on behalf of Mr Horace Keats. I do not know offhand whether the Commonwealth Literary Fund is empowered to grant assistance in a case such as this, but I shall furnish you with full information as early as possible.

At the same time I shall investigate the possibility of any other form of Commonwealth assistance to him.

Despite the expressions of interest, the application was rejected in March with Binns writing to express his sorrow at the decision and Bainton commented, I certainly do not think Parliament will vote money for artistic ventures at the present time. Understandably, interest in the arts was decreasing as concern about the war was increasingly taking more of the Government's attention.

In mid-January, 1940, Charles Chauvel responded to an application by my father to compose the music for Forty Thousand Horsemen, stating that he had not got to the point of final consideration for the work but would keep the application "prominently before us."

Then, on January 19, Hugh McCrae's Columbine, a song with piano accompaniment, was composed. An arrangement of this song was also made for string quartet. McCrae expressed his delight for years to come over this song. At the time, he reinforced his praise of the setting of this poem by sending a water colour showing the Sydney Harbour Bridge with notes along the span and the words ‘Columbine....Columbine' underneath and then on the back of this he wrote,

For very dear Jan
and very dear Horrie
from very dear Hugh.

McCrae said of the poem, Columbine shames the clown; perplexes Harlequin, and easily avoids him. An unknown writer described it, prior to a broadcast, as

One of the most distinguished of all Australian Poets is Hugh McCrae, whose exquisite lyric gift has won for him the admiration of all those who love true poetry. You're now going to hear a setting of a charming little poem of Hugh McCrae's called Columbine. After a rather vigorous opening the music, as befits the poem, becomes lightsome and dainty.

The song, printed in November, 1941 by Chappell & Company Limited, Australia, has a performance time 2 minutes and my father said of it,

Columbine!! Not the usual plain picture of Columbine No! A dramatic clearing of the stage. ‘Exit the ribald clown'. Away with all that might detract from Columbine's beauty and daintiness. Let her have the stage clear and well lit to dance around. No wonder McCrae likes this poem better than most of his.

 As frequently happened, my father would set a series of poems from the same source and, on January 19, Hugh McCrae's O Deep and Dewy Hour with piano accompaniment was completed. The performance time is 2.20 minutes. It was published by Wirripang in 1995.

There was also Twilight, with piano accompaniment and, much to McCrae's delight, a copy of this song arrived for his birthday in October. The name was changed from Crepuscule to Twilight at McCrae's suggestion. The song has a performance time of 1.35 minutes. It was received by Cramer early in February for consideration and rejected.

In summary of the poem McCrae said,

A lullaby, formerly sung by fairies in the forests of Athens - where there are fairies and forests no longer.

And in a letter,

Crepuscule is good too; the music well imagined, while the voice translates its meaning admirably.

Also during January my father set John Wheeler's The Coral Reef. It has been described in the notes for an ‘Eventide Musicale' as a sonnet by John Wheeler, and owes its inspiration to that marine wonderland the Great Barrier Reef. Horace Keats has made his setting with true poetic insight, for the music vividly portrays the rippling of water, and the flickering of half lights in the coral depths where---

Gray shapes and golden through the dim-lit gloom
Slide silently.

The performance time is seven minutes and as yet it is unpublished. It was first performed in October when the British and International Music Society held a concert of British and Continental works. Among the artists performing were Gordon Watson and my parents. Gordon played Serenade by Stravinsky and, with Evelyn Blanche, works for four hands by Cassella and Lord Berners. The other Keats' compositions performed were The Trespass and Columbine. In December, 1941, The Coral Reef was also performed by the visiting English tenor Heddle Nash for the Rose Bay Music Club.

The work on McCrae poems continued into February when, on the 12th, my father set The Pantler's Son.

McCrae said of the poem,

Truth by moonlight, is truth's ghost only .... the statues that dance are forever motionless.

On February 15, my father wrote the music for Under the Sky speaking of it as

a picture of Australia's countryside and sky. No other place in the world can have skies that give such a clean expression. The picture drawn by McCrae just makes a nature lover ache to be Under the Sky with him. The peace and quiet and sunshine seem to draw you to Camden where I do not doubt, the poem was written, for Hugh McCrae lived there many a day.

This song by the way is being sung in London by Heddle Nash to such an extent that I had a letter from a famous firm of publishers asking permission to publish it. But that is by the way.

The performance time is 2.05 to 2.10 minutes and it has been published by Wirripang.

In 1940, with an unaffordable increase in rent at Cliffedge, the family moved to a cheaper rent at Clifford Street, Mosman. Even though my parents' sources of income were diminishing because the war had become foremost in the Government's concerns, in April, the ABC advised that it was making arrangements for the performance of Urashima in June. The performance was to be broadcast from Melbourne and the proposed fee was four guineas.

My father made another approach to the Secretary of the Commonwealth Literary Fund requesting further consideration for the publication of the Brennan Songs. Once more, he stressed how it would benefit the cause of Brennan as well as his own:

As I have exclusive permission to set Brennan's poems to music, these songs will be the only settings available to the public, and, as they are not commercial, in that they have no appeal to the uneducated masses, without support they most likely will not see the light of day. Contacting, as I do, visiting artists of world renown I am in a position to bring the songs to their notice, thus spreading Brennan's work as well as my own to centres of culture in other countries.

He was rejected the following December because the Committee decided, with regret, that they [were] unable to approve of financial assistance from the Fund towards the cost of publishing musical compositions.

Letters from Brandon in May indicated that arrangements with Cramers to stop publishing until the war was resolved were ‘satisfactory'. Enclosed with the letter were further lyrics. My father, however, was concentrating more on setting Australian poetry. Not only was its promotion his cause but, given the situation overseas, he had little choice.

On June 19, 1940, McCrae's Enter Mussolini was composed. McCrae's satyric wit is not limited by the poem's topicality. The song remains unpublished.

In the course of the year, Harold Williams, who had recently returned to Australia, asked my father to set La Belle Dame Sans Merci, by John Keats. This dramatic poem suited Williams' voice. A newspaper critique of a 2FC broadcast in March, where he was accompanied by my father, praises Williams thus: Harold Williams excels in songs of characterisation ... [he] has remarkable dramatic ability, but he scores best ... in songs which call for a complete change-over in personality ... he is a musical chameleon ... his voice changes colour according to its surroundings.

He becomes so closely identified with the sentiment of the person in the song that they become his own for the time being.

Horace Keats' accompaniment of the latter, by the way, was without any of the usual fuss and flurry. This pianist is always reliable.

Earlier, in December, 1939, about the time Williams returned to Australia, the ABC Weekly published a profile of him:

He started his career as a boy soprano in Sydney. Out of his earnings he bought himself his first suit of clothes. But he did not take up singing seriously till after the War [World War I]. While waiting in London for his repatriation he had singing lessons just for fun. After three months his teacher suggested that he study seriously and stay in London. He appeared in both French and German seasons at Covent Garden. He also played in NSW against the All Blacks in 1913, and also played cricket for Sydney Waverley Club. He is still regarded highly in England as an amateur cricketer.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci was completed on August 26, 1940, and was scored for baritone and orchestra. It has a performance time of nine minutes. A piano arrangement was also prepared. The first performance was made over 2FC Sydney on 11 October, 1941, with Harold Williams and Dagmar Roberts. The work has attracted none but favourable comments, as the following critiques indicate. When you read these and see the luminaries who performed at his memorial concert, it is regrettable that my father's works are so relatively unacknowledged today. La Belle Dame was performed at the Horace Keats Memorial Concert on 7 November, 1945. This concert was presented by the Sydney Savage Club upon the death of the composer. Seven hundred pounds was raised from that concert and was used to reduce the mortgage on Wirripang, 18 Cobbittee Street, the family home in Mosman.

Adrian Ashton in Sydney Savages 1934-1955 wrote of this Memorial Concert:

Nineteen forty-five saw what was perhaps our most ambitious undertaking before or since. It was the Horace Keats Memorial Concert arranged and conducted by the Sydney Savage Club in the Sydney Town Hall.

Savage Horace Keats, who had been with us for a number of years, was a most talented accompanist as well as a composer of distinction, died very suddenly.

As soon as this tragic news was known a Committee was formed to organise the Sydney Savage Club Horace Keats Memorial Fund, and a Memorial Concert was held at the Town Hall on November 7th, 1945. This was an outstanding success and as a result the proceeds therefrom, together with donations from Savages, a cheque for seven hundred pounds was handed to the Rural Bank of NSW on Mrs Keats behalf thereby reducing the mortgage on her home to that extent.

Savage John O'Donnell was in his element and enthusiastically handled all the organisation, while we had splendid co-operation from everybody, particularly the Australian Broadcasting Commission, Percy Code, and the ABC Orchestra who gave their services, as did Neville Amadio, Frank Hutchens, John Fullard, Lindley Evans, Sylvia Fisher, and Harold Williams.

Jack Musgrove gave a luncheon at the Trocadero and Mr Eric Burnett, ABC Concert Manager, made his services available as Honorary Concert Manager. The first half of the programme was broadcast and we all felt that the Club had done rather well in this worthy cause.

Neville Cardus attended and wrote in The Sydney Morning Herald of November 10, 1945:

A concert was given on Wednesday night in the Town Hall to the memory of Horace Keats, who died recently.

The miscellaneous programme contained the sincere setting of La Belle Dame Sans Merci which is well written enough to make it a matter of wonder why in a country whose composers have contributed few songs of quality we never hear Keats's cycle of poems by C.J. Brennan.

These songs reveal a warm feeling for the nuance and inflections of true poetry - Brennan was not a versifier. How Old is My Heart? and The Point of Noon are individual compositions, telling of a talent that was perhaps too sensitive to survive in an atmosphere that asked for a thick skin and some cynicism in an artist.

Keats might have found a more congenial air and environment to-day, though his gifts did not promise to cover a wide range. None the less a composer is entitled to be judged by his best work; and the Brennan settings deserve to be remembered here and not neglected.

The artists at this concert were Harold Williams, who sang La Belle Dame expressively; John Fullard, always a commanding tenor, Sylvia Fisher, Neville Amadio, and Frank Hutchens and Lindley Evans, whose playing needs no description in Sydney.

Percy Code conducted a small orchestra with devotion, no matter how few serious opportunities the programme put before him.

On 24 February, 1946, at the Town Hall, La Belle Dame Sans Merci was sung by Williams with the then Sydney Orchestral Society conducted by Maurice Abravanel. This was an all Australian programme which also included works by Hubert Clifford, Arthur Benjamin, Frank Hutchens and John Gough. The Daily Telegraph commented the following day:

Harold Williams sang in fine straight forward style La Belle Dame Sans Merci by Horace Keats ... Keats was decidedly one of the leading songwriters that Australia has produced, and his setting of the well known verses by John Keats showed him at his most sensitive and responsive.

A. L. Kelly wrote in The Sun that Harold Williams had the right feeling and tone for Horace Keats' fine song La Belle Dame Sans Merci, and Neville Cardus, in The Sydney Morning Herald, said that Harold Williams, whose voice seems to get better every day, sang the solo part of Horace Keats's expressive setting of La Belle Dame. The following May, L. B. of The Sydney Morning Herald was less favourable: Belle Dame Sans Merci was sung by Harold Williams recently at the all-Australian concert conducted by Maurice Abravanel - a song, incidentally, in which John Keats's line, ‘And no birds sing', was sung with a melodic note that thoroughly contradicted its sense and much of its feeling.

The orchestral score and piano arrangement were published by Wirripang in 1995.

To return to 1940, on September 30, McCrae's Versicle was composed, with a performance time of 1.15 minutes. My mother told me Versicle was written very quickly as a time filler for a broadcast. My father described the song in some programme notes:

The idea of describing a song as ‘a little gem' does not appeal much to me. But, if from an aeroplane you look over a vast tract of land and see

just one little spot where the trees are a shade greener, and the streamlet catches a glint of sunlight, then that little spot becomes the centre of beauty to attract your eyes. Thus in the book of lovely verse by McCrae, after you have read it and are feeling happier for the reading thereof, you come to the last page and lo!! the grass is a shade greener and the water sparkles because of four little lines of verse. Just four lines but they appeal immensely.

I dream't you were a dream
And hardly breathed for fear
Of waking; ne'er to dream
Of you again....my dear.

After the creation of this ‘gem of a song', my parents' attention was diverted to preparation for a portentous event involving an overseas visitor.

Neville Cardus, chief music critic of the Manchester Guardian, and considered the doyen of English music critics, had come to Australia. He had been asked to stay for three months by by Sir Keith Murdoch of The Melbourne Herald in order to cover a tour by Beecham. He stayed for seven years as music critic for The Sydney Morning Herald. In later years he commented on his stay. I feel that his words go some way to explain why my father's works are so rarely heard today.

I found I was the one sighted man in a country of the blind. It was provincial and it was necessary for me to establish a tradition. There was no established standard of musical opinion or music criticism. All I could do was to educate the people but it was hard work ... there were Philistines everywhere.

So it was during 1940, in the Sydney Morning Herald, Cardus wrote an article about his concerns.

CONTEMPORARY AUSTRALIAN MUSIC LAGS SADLY

Why is it so "tall hatted"?

I recently attended a concert of contemporary Australian music. Frankly, I was disappointed for the most part. It was old fashioned both in feeling and technique. It was the sort of music that was being composed or manufactured in London a quarter of a century ago. For a couple of hours I waited in vain for one single turn of melody or one touch of rhythm or one modulation of harmony that has not been a cliche for longer than I care to remember.

I hope that I have given evidence in my writings since I came to this country that I am eager to help, as far as I am able, the cause of Australian music; and on several occasions I have expressed the view that there is plenty of talent in the country, and there is good soilawaiting cultivation.

Of this latter point I am certain, but I do not understand how Australian composition can ever hope to find its own soul and voice by imitating and echoing the idioms and formulas belonging to a period now entirely remote - moreover, a period which at its high noon was not one of the most vital in the history of music.

If the concert I attended the other evening were given in London, the critics and audience would ask themselves 'What on earth has this old fashioned timid tall-hatted music to do with Australia? Where is the independence, the freshness, and vitality that we are supposed to associate with Australia? If Australia, as a young country, needs models and foundations to begin composing from, why choose Edwardian England?'

He concluded:

Perhaps after all, the first sign of a genuine school of Australian composition will be a protest from the academics against a new work because of its confusion, obscurity and artificiality.

There was a storm of protest typified by the words of a Herald correspondent:

Mr Cardus heard no educated part writing or well written polyphony. I would suggest he listen harder and more often. Our academic tyrants insist on their students writing thousands of bars of perfect part writing and polyphony.

As for those compositions being echoes of something written in that precious Edwardian age, even a heaven-born genius has to echo something or some-body before he finds his true style.

Of course Cardus had his supporters and a group from the State Conservatorium of Music simply stated that they were

in agreement with Mr Cardus in general and in particular his expressed opinions of this concert.

Cardus was to give my parents the objective acknowledgment they needed, particularly when the attempts to publish the Brennan Songs seemed doomed.

Dr Bainton was true to his word and the Sixth and Final Chamber Concert for the 1940 Season by the Conservatorium String Quartet included five Brennan Songs to be sung by Barbara Russell with the composer at the piano. In December of 1939, he wrote to my father,

I have written to Sir Francis Anderson telling him how much I enjoyed your songs, and also that he will have the opportunity of hearing them at one of our Chamber Concerts next Season.

The concert, held on 6 November, 1940, was a resounding success. There was thunderous applause when the Keats bracket of songs finished and my mother recalled somebody from the audience yelling out,

Don't let this man die before we give him the recognition he deserves!

There was a silence after the comment and then applause resounded again.

Neville Cardus attended this Chamber Concert as a music critic. His review the following day said,

The most distinguished part of the concert, and one of the most sensitive musical experiences I have yet known in Australia was the singing by Miss Barbara Russell of five songs by Horace Keats, to settings of Christopher Brennan. The music expressed the nuance and inflections of fine poetry. How Old Is My Heart and The Point of Noon appealed to me as really individual composition, We Sat Entwined was more closely related to the familiar - it echoed Bantock's easy going lushness in the piano part. But the cycle on the whole, suggested a warm feeling for words and music; it would be a pleasure to hear it again. Miss Russell demonstrated how sensibility and understanding of musical style can add to a modest vocal structure; she was an artist in every phrase. The composer played the piano parts well and unobtrusively.

Hugh McCrae was present at the concert and wrote to my parents about Cardus's review.

My dear darling children

Neville Cardus's eulogy entered deeply into my heart. It's so true, and coming from such a man, must bring you both enuff stimulus for a long time ahead.

I love to know genius is being recognised while it's strong and fecund. This Cardus laurel is a laurel alive, with the promise of fresh leaves to come; so that I thank God, N.C. has watched the sunrise NOT in vain.

If this letter bewilders you, it's only becos my enjoyment's extreme... something too heady to go into a letter. It's wonderful to have known you both and I have to thank Kim for his generosity in not keeping you to himself.

Janet's personality on the platform is hypnotic and (as I said before) she brings the atmosphere of the songs with her even before she sings ... the light preluding the dance.

And the music! The music!! La-la!!! I'm a drunkard when I hear it and will have nothing else

Salute!
Hugo

Kenneth Mackenzie was also at the concert. He wrote to The Sydney Morning Herald on the Friday and said, in part,

so profound was the beauty of the settings that I feel compelled to say that no dead poet could wish to be better commemorated; no greater tribute has ever been paid to that defeated yet inspired, drunken, humane, scholarly man over whose life and death it's useless even to shed tears – for no one could regret Chris Brennan more than he himself did.

In these times of wars and rumours of wars, may one mention art, whose continuity is one with that of the species. If we do fight, we fight for art as well as for mankind, and here in Australia Brennan is already part of our good heritage. Hugh McCrae, who was also listening to Mr Keats' glorious songs gloriously sung, said afterwards "I wish Chris could have heard them. He would have been satisfied." So Mr Keats has (literally) struck a note which, I believe, must go on sounding, if we are to survive as a nation. These songs are a cry from the heart of sane mankind against all that's wrong.

In yet another letter from Hugh McCrae on 13 November:

On Wednesday night, I admired your music and Janet's singing so much that I wrote a letter to The Herald the minute I arrived home; but it must have been too confusedly written, becos it never went in. However Kim's splendid contribution makes more than amends.It is so much to the point, so true, and so exactly said. Please don't think I've been casual on this occasion. It just happened to be one of my unable moments

With apologies and congratulations

The following February (1941) McCrae wrote,

Cardus is a "shrewdie" who knows his harmonical onions; and I advise you both to watch out for hooks and traces .. and NOT to neigh too loudly while the butcher hitches his wagon to a pair of incomparable stars. Congratulations Horace!

The settings for I am Shut Out,, We Sat Entwined, White Wind, Point of Noon and How Old is My Heart restored Brennan to me ... the music more revelational than the words - or nature, the music opened the meaning of the words ... opened our mind to receive it ... Positively you have become responsible for the apotheosis of a great poet.

In 1942, an unmarked news clipping also commented on this Chamber Concert:

A feature of the evening was a first performance of five songs, words by Christopher Brennan, music by Horace Keats, who acted as accompanist to Barbara Russell. Mr Keats is a very fine accompanist and writes accompaniments very cleverly, but on first hearing none of the settings appealed very strongly save the last I Am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart in which sentiment and melodic line ran very prettily in confluence.

Many years later, my mother was to say that they hadn't met Cardus prior to the Chamber Concert. She recalled that he phoned my father the day after the criticism was published and that he said:

I tell you I was a bit horrified with what happened; I thought that when I gave such a good criticism to Miss Barbara Russell every one would agree, now I have a pile of letters a foot high on my desk criticising me for having criticised this woman so well!! He went on to say: You know you've got some people who are not exactly your friends.

In responding to my father's letter of thanks, Dr Bainton wrote of the concert,

Many thanks for your kind letter, but it is really I who have to thank you and Mrs Keats for having suggested a performance of your songs the other evening. I like them even better than when I first heard them in my room. They are the most individual contribution to Australian Music that I have heard and Mrs Keats' very beautiful singing won all our hearts. I hope we shall have the opportunity of doing them again with perhaps some more of your work next year.

Doubtless encouraged by the success of the recent chamber concert, my father once more turned to Brennan and set My Heart Was Wandering in the Sands on 13 November, 1940. It has a performance time of 3.5 minutes and was published by Wirripang in 1995.

One of the delights my parents found in the last two homes was a garden. To both, who had lived in flats for their entire married life, it provided the joy and the healing that only gardens bring. It was no surprise that my father, if given the opportunity, would be inspired to write music to reflect this.

So it was that, in the course of the year, he set A Requiem, using the words of Julia Philip. The song was first performed in the home of Norman McLeod of Chatswood, at a musicale which was part of a series arranged in aid of the Women's All Services Canteen and the District Nursing Association.

A Requiem, which is still unpublished, is a lament for one who loved garden flowers and who died whilst his garden was still being made. Julia Philip was a short story writer, some of her works being published in the Australian Women's Mirror. Her husband, Charles, was a composer and a capable pianist.

Russell, meanwhile, was at sea in the Canberra. In a letter to the family on New Year's Eve, he mentioned that he had not yet suffered from seasickness. This was despite the rough weather experienced whilst steaming to Fremantle from Sydney escorting the troopships, Queen Mary, Aquitania, Dominion Monarch and Awatea.

We tossed and pitched, heaved and rolled till I didn't know whether I was walking on the walls, ceiling or floor.

The composer, having made his preference known for Australian poets, was suffering the consequences.

You would perhaps get a surprise if I read some of the rubbish that is sent to me for setting. And the poorer the quality, the more they seem to think that I should be proud to set it. On the other hand we have poets like Kenneth Mackenzie and Hugh McCrae (to mention two) who think that I am doing them an honour by setting their work. I have never yet been able to convince these two men that a song is a two part job.

McCrae used to spend hours copying other men's poems so that I could honour them. Silly as it is it is nice when men pay you the compliment of being grateful for your efforts.

Mackenzie has written many short poems especially and exclusively for me to set. The Duet for Lovers a long one you are to hear tonight as a first performance.

There is one woman, whom I am glad to say has now gone to Melbourne, who pestered and pestered for me to set the most unutterable rubbish that you ever saw. Certainly that same woman gave me the lyrics of four songs for children that turned out rather fairly. One of them I shall endeavour to give you an idea of ... The title of the song is The Elephant Came to Dinner and it has been sung by Harold Williams in the ABC Children's Session.

The man who wrote Rabbits is a gardener. He occupies a high position in one of our largest seed firms and can make cauliflowers grow where we only get the grubs. He is a keen lyric writer and has, I think spent many pounds learning the technique of writing. He has some novel ideas such as the two that I am going to inflict on you, Rabbits and Weedin. Both topical subjects, but strangely enough written years ago.

There were a number of considerate writers. One was Ellie Russell:

In the pages of Teleradio, Saturday, February 8, I read a most interesting article dealing with your song composition. A quotation says: 'For some time I have set only Australian poetry to music. I intend to follow this practice always.'

Looking through my scrap-book of published, and unpublished verse (Australian magazines) I wondered if any of the enclosed would be useful to you. I do not know if their metres will fit your sense of rhythm - but there may possibly be something in the bunch you can use.

Ellie Russell's words reveal the charm, reticence and thoughtfulness that was to be found in many women of her generation. Her graciousness, too, may have come, in part, from the quietude of those whose life span is drawing to an end:

Thank you for your appreciative letter. I can understand your limited leisure. I am a retired free-lance journalist, and know only too well what it is to stifle creative longing when duty calls. As my span of life is closing in, there is now no question of unfairness in holding indefinitely my verses; and I should be honoured if you will accept the two or three which "make strong appeal" as possible material to set at any future time. To me art has a spiritual essence and, if the verses are worth anything, I could do no better than leave them to your sensitive treatment with the understanding that you make use of them or not, as circumstances and creative inclination allow ... In closing may I say how much I enjoyed Barbara Russell's recent recital - your wife's cultured interpretation of your unusual songs; your artistic settings and sensitive accompanying

Sincerely etc.

Gordon Ireland, writing in the ABC Weekly, praised my father's choices:

Other Australian poets whose words he set demonstrate an unusually literary discernment for a musician.

The year 1941 started well with the promise by the ABC to include in the Australian Composers Session, a performance of The Inchcape Rock which had been purchased by the Commission. This was to be broadcast early in February. The ABC Weekly had anticipated this performance with another extensive write-up on my father's association with that body and on his songs both published and unpublished. Doubtless similar notes were made on other Australian composers whose works were to be heard in the proposed session.

Horace Keats had applied to the publishers, Angus and Robertson, to set Lawson's words, She's England Yet. This was granted and the words set for voice and piano. The manuscript shows where an attempt was being made to orchestrate the work; the orchestration remains incomplete, just as the setting remains unpublished. This work highlighted some rivalry on the part of Varney Monk. In a letter to Russell, my father spoke with some glee of Varney Monk's resentment of the success of his song. I enjoy this letter because it shows my father's balance. So much of his days were devoted to "literary discernment" and yet, when he is attacked, he can say, "Gee! didn't I get it!!"

I don't suppose you heard the Memoriam broadcast to Henry Lawson on June 17th. Well Mrs Monk submitted a heap of settings of Lawson's poetry (?) to the Commission and suggested that they be sung by Harold Williams on Lawson's birthday (June 17th). Well H.W. thought that the music was too lousy to sing and asked me for my setting of England Yet & dug up Chris Helleman's Lily Pond. O.K. until this weeks issue of the ABC Weekly & in it appears a letter written by a friend of Varney Monk's slating my England Yet to the highest (or lowest). He commenced by saying that the two musical and good settings by Mrs M. were most enjoyable. Then not a word about Chris Helleman's song but mine!!! He wonders yet what Lawson would think of the unmusical way in which I hacked the poem about and repeated lines, destroying all sense in the poem. Gee! didn't I get it!!

H.W. said, She showed her hand too plainly didn't she, Horace? Poor Varney, her mad jealousy will lead her to any depths won't it?

My mother, however, had more capacity to be affronted and, also writing to Russell, spoke of her anger:

Varney Monk had an appallingly critical letter written for her abusing Dad's setting of Lawson's England Yet. Dad is amused but I and his friends are furious - it was so unwarranted.

The setting remains unpublished.

Christian Helleman of Sydney composed operas, songs, choral, orchestral and instrumental works. In his day, he was well known as a choral conductor, church organist, pianist and accompanist. Included in his published works are Lawson's The Water Lily, and settings of A. L. Gordon and Tennyson. There are also a number of unpublished works including Prelude Heroique which won an ABC composers' competition.

On 3 January, Roland Foster‘s The Disconsolate Lover was set by Horace Keats for voice and piano. Although it has not been published, it is interesting because you can hear the basic theme for The Duet for Lovers in embryonic form. The Duet for Lovers is a work about the sadness of lovers parted by war, and my family knew such sadness first-hand through Russell's absence.

Russell was a very sensitive young man who found long periods at sea with such a hardened crew harrowing.

If all is as I hope, I shan't be living with you for very long after the war and when I get out of this racket. Picture me stuck here for twelve years? Well start and picture it right anew if you can because I won't be, if there is a possible honourable way out of it. I couldn't stick it Mum and Dad, I'd go absolutely dippy. I never realized what the amount of education and culture I received in my own home really meant to me. Such an uncivilized pack of barbarians I never knew lived. The vile filth of minds and conversation would make you shudder. I don't know! I used to often have a guilty conscience, because I swore occasionally and told and enjoyed a good smutty yarn and some damnably smutty ones, I assure you, and enjoyed them, all the time thinking that you used to think I had a pure mind. I was wrong! Now I know I had one, because I have learnt what a dirty mind really is. Through hearing it going on all around you, day in day out, without a break, one gets to the state, where it becomes impossible to hear a sentence without mentally thinking of some vile construction of the particular group of words.

When we get home, if ever, there are five or six chaps off the whole ship that I want to bring home. Only two of those from my own mess, two midshipmen --- sorry one now, the other left us the other day, and two other ratings. This is out of a complete ship. There is not another one I would dare drag across the doormat!

One thing I have always to be thankful for. The sheltered life you have led me and [my time with the aunts] has given me a tremendous sense of independence However don't do it to Brennan! It's no good! I see too many instances around me of youngsters, many from as good families as our own, who have been sheltered, not necessarily spoilt,but just sheltered, and of a consequence they have no will to say yea or nea, so they follow the sheep and end up drunk outside some brothel.

In a later letter, Russell tells the following story of a fool of a Supply Assistant who joined the ship the other day had thrown every sheet of music I possess in the world, and a lot I don't possess overboard. Everything including your Beethoven, all my Peter's Editions of Bach's Organ etc. My Peter's Mendelssohn, your Songs Without Words, your Grieg, all my good flute music including the irreplaceable flute trios of Bach (Peters) and my flute sonatas. To crown the lot, aussi all my manuscripts, which, though not meeting your approval, you must admit meant dashed near everything to me. I'll tell you the story at a later date, in the meantime standby to defend me in a murder charge for it's likely to happen any tick of the clock. There is only one thing in his favour, he's an imbecile, not malicious.

The unwritten part of the story was that this person was so stupid that the only task he could perform was to clean the decks. Russell's music was found to be missing after this chap had cleaned up the Mess and, when confronted about the disappearance said, "Oh, you mean that paper with funny writing on it. Well, I ditched that stuff."

Meanwhile my father set an untitled poem commencing with words that remind one of Hugh McCrae,

O happy happy bird,
Who lies the leaves among,
To hear the river sing

The pencilled musical notes record a performance time of 2.10 minutes which suggests that the work may have been broadcast. The words were set two days before my father composed the music for McCrae's Sun after Rain. As we know, my father's habit was to set a number of a particular poet's poems at the same time, it is quite likely that O Happy Happy Bird was indeed by McCrae. Sun After Rain has a performance time of 3.15 minutes and we published it in 1995.

Although my father spent so much of his time composing, it must not be forgotten that he was also working for the ABC where he held the position of official accompanist. His work with the ABC Orchestra remains undocumented; however, my mother recalls Sir Bernard Heinz saying that he was the only person he knew who could take an orchestral score to a piano and make musical sense out of it. My father was the very first conductor of what is now the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. Any history of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra that fails to mention that its beginnings go back as far as the 2FC Ltd Trio of 1923 has missed a large portion of that early history.

An article, "An Orchestra Grows Up", published in The ABC Weekly in March, referred to the

ABC's Sydney Orchestra, which started dimly in 1923 as the 2FC Ltd Trio, with J. Farnsworth Hall (violin), Horace Keats (piano), and John Boatwright (cello). Next it became the Sydney Trio with Lionel Lawson, Lindley Evans, and Gladstone Bell. When 2BL and 2FC merged in 1928, it grew into the NSW Broadcasting Co's Orchestra with Horace Keats conductor. Dulcie Blair and Neville Amadio alone remain in the present orchestra, which at full strength is the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.

My father's experience with large and small orchestras and other ensembles placed him in a strong position to write works for them. A number of his songs, although written for voice and piano, were arranged for orchestra. When Kenneth Mackenzie presented him with the words for the Duet for Lovers, he was well positioned to set them for voices and string quartet. By July 27, Duet for Lovers was complete. It was written for soprano, tenor and string quartet. Although played with the piano rehearsal score, doubtless for a music club with my mother and a Mr Jeffrie, this work has yet to be played in public using the quartet parts.

As I mentioned earlier, my family understood the sadness of the parted lovers in this song because of their sadness at the absence of Russell. For them, this sadness was to become intense grief. Duet for Lovers was being rehearsed with a string quartet when my brother was killed. This was in 1942 and the work has always carried the association of desolation and loss for my family. It was a particularly moving time when we published it in 1995.

On October 7, McCrae's The Wild Man's Dear was completed. At first, he expressed strong reservations about the song; however, in later years, when he was married to my mother, he used to get her to play and sing this song and became wildly excited about it, shouting its praises in that booming voice. In the end, I think he liked it best of all my father's settings because of its fiery and boisterous accompaniment "which, incidentally, personified the poet magnificently." It, too, was published in 1995. Hugh and my mother married some two years after my father's death. A child understands so little of the adult world but now, with hindsight, I imagine the marriage was as much for mutual comfort for the loss of someone dear to both of them as for anything else. It was only to last for a short time.

Early in October, Canberra was back in Sydney for a long overdue refit. She was called away again, however, and had to resume escort duties without it. On October 27, my father completed Brandon's The Roads Beside the Sea. The song was dedicated, "To my son, Russell RAN". Originally for voice and piano, it was also orchestrated.

The following November, Brandon wrote to my father expressing delight that the work was to be published by Chappell. Contracts were signed on March 12, 1942 and it was printed in April. It was reprinted later in January, 1945. The song was recorded by Harold Williams, accompanied by my father, for Columbia Records in their Sydney Studios on 21 April, 1942. Canberra returned again to Sydney to continue the refit which had commenced in February. A copy of the recording was hastened to Russell.

The year 1942 commenced with a garrulous letter from my grandmother extolling the virtues of thrift, practiced apparently by my Uncle Bert and certainly not by my father. It emphasised the aging of my grandparents, their religious devotion, and how they were surviving on the thrift of their early married life. Albert Keats was not held in high regard by his brother's family, Russell expressing disgust at the fact that, despite Bert's so-called military commission, he had never held a rifle in his life and held a commission by virtue of the fact that he was a musician.

Early in February, my father received a letter from the ABC expressing an interest in the Duet for Lovers, and indicating that the way was paved for parts to be distributed and rehearsals commenced.

By mid-February, Canberra had returned to Sydney for refit, having completed her escort duties to New Guinea and the Java Sea. Although I cannot remember it, Russell must have spent a great deal of time at home. This must have been so because my father wrote very little music over that period.

More lyrics were sent out by Brandon early in April and on the 27th of that month my father completed Dreams at Eventide. It was accepted for publication by Chappells, Sydney, on 2 May as an excited note from Brandon confirmed. A contract was signed with Chappells on May 28 and the song printed in July, 1942. It was recorded by Lionel Cecil, accompanied by my father, for Columbia on 4 August, 1942.

On the same day that Dreams at Eventide had been completed, Jim Brunton Gibb, a fellow member of The Sydney Savage Club, wrote to my father saying that Norman Hestelow had suggested that he may be interested in setting his poem, They Are Not Dead. Brunton Gibb wrote again at the end of June asking for the work, stating that either Stan Clarkson or Harold Williams would be prepared to sing it at a forthcoming Savage Club Corroboree. The song was completed on 1 July.

By May 31, Canberra had completed her refit and was lying at No.1 Buoy, Farm Cove. This ship was now part of Task Force 44 together with HMAS Australia and Hobart, and USS Chicago and Perkins. At dusk on the afternoon of that day, a few miles East of Sydney, three Japanese submarines released their midget submarines. These entered Sydney Harbour. The attack on Sydney Harbour is well documented. There is a piece of information which was not generally known until recently but which my father heard at the time. During the afternoon of the 31st^,, the ABC newsroom was told that the keeper of the boom gate had seen what he thought to be a large shark slip through after a ferry. When the shark was prodded with a paddle, it made a metallic sound. When the boom-gate keeper reported this, he was told that obviously he had been drinking too much.

That evening Russell was at home with his Naval friend Bill Stanley. At about an hour before mid-night, shortly after the general alarm had been given by the Naval Officer in Charge, the USS Chicago sighted a submarine's periscope, illuminated it with a searchlight and commenced firing with red tracer pom-poms, hitting Fort Denison, a small fortified island in the Harbour, as she followed the target. Russell realised he was hearing the Chicago's guns and decided to return on board. My father and Bill walked with Russell as he went to catch the tram to the city. While they were waiting, Russell lit a cigarette for all three with the same match. Although my parents were not readily given to superstition, many years later I was to hear my mother and Gordon speak of the significance of that act.

Canberra departed Sydney on June 1 and, the following day, my father set Brandon's lyric Sir Francis which takes 3.30 minutes to perform. It was later to be known as Drake's Call and was originally for voice and piano. My father cabled Brandon about setting Sir Francis who wrote back saying that an American composer was showing interest. In light of my father's cable, however, he would save the lyric for him. Contracts were signed on 19 October, 1942, with Chappell. The song was printed in January, 1943, and recorded by Peter Dawson. Later, the composer arranged both Drake's Call and The Roads Beside the Sea for small orchestra of flute, oboe, two clarinets, two horns, two trumpets, trombone, drums, glockenspiel and strings. The orchestral arrangements remain unpublished.

Russell, whose ship was based in Brisbane during June and early July, saw that at last my father was gaining recognition, evidenced by the short time between composing and acceptance for publication, along with recordings of his works being made. On June 3 he wrote,

What news about the records? Doing any more, or any more overnight publications under way? You must try and keep this pace up now you've started.

And later, on June 10,

Many many thanks! The record arrived and I got it today, also the Heralds and Woman's Weekly. It's excellent! It gives me much pleasure and great satisfaction to sit back and listen to it knowing it's you and yours and believing very firmly that it's the start of much more to come. Good work Dad, keep it up.

On June 12, my father set Hugh McCrae's lyric, The Moon, for voice and piano. The performance time is 2.10 minutes. As yet the song remains unpublished.

During July, Task Force 44 was strengthened by the addition of eight US Destroyers. The enlarged force sailed to Fiji to combine with Task Force 61 to rehearse landings for the proposed attack on Guadalcanal in early August. The operation was to be known as "Operation Watchtower". On July 26, Russell wrote the last letter we were to receive from him and it was gratifying to see that he was finding pleasure and friendship from music.

Have been having some very interesting, as well as pleasant sessions with the new chaplain, a Mr Nash from Melbourne. I first went to see him more or less at the imperial command of the Paymaster who seems to take an extraordinary interest in the personal welfare of all his staff. Object of sending me was the fact that, wherever we go, he would find me in a church with an eligible organ. However that idea is the least of my worries these days as far as he is concerned. We have regular record programmes in his cabin, open to all interested, both aft and for'ard.

Last night we had a complete Bach programme, the success of which astounded me. As a matter of fact there were only four of us there, but have already had a couple of requests from people who were on watch for a repeat.

Operation Watchtower was doomed to failure and had been delayed by a considerable number of air attacks. Canberra and the other vessels involved had been at "action stations" from Thursday, August 6 until she was abandoned the following Sunday after undergoing a heavy surface attack.

The circumstances of the sinking of Canberra still remain the subject of conjecture. Many years later, I was to meet Captain Rose when we studied accountancy together. He was in command of Russell's department when the vessel was attacked. When questioned by me, and I put my theories to him, he said, in effect: ‘All of this is interesting, but none of it will bring those boys back.'

Assurances were given to my parents that Russell was killed at 1.45 on the morning of August 9 by the explosion of a shell which made a direct hit on the plotting office. He was killed by blast and the survivors who saw him lying there before the ship was sunk by the Allies the next day, reported that he was not mutilated. This gave some comfort to my parents.

Many years prior to this death, my mother dreamt of maritime accidents. In one instance she had dreamed of the Greycliffe accident before it happened. Her dreams were so predictive that my father said, prior to the family visit to England, ‘Any more dreams and we don't go!' In the case of Russell's death, she didn't dream, but she had a deeply disturbed sleep on the night he was killed.

My father, however, dreamed of the bedroom curtain being blown outwards and seeing Russell standing there with his head battered. Understandably, he chose not to speak to my mother of this. He, who rarely lost his temper with her, was uncharacteristically sharp when she came to ask him a question on the afternoon when the telegram was to come. After they had the news of their son's death, he was able to tell her the reason for his outburst.

The nature of my brother's death, even more than the death, tormented my parents, particularly my father. In August, the Education Commander of Canberra Commander Rednall, wrote to my parents:

Your son and I worked together on HMAS Canberra. He was killed instantaneously at 1.45 AM on 9th August by the explosion of a shell which made a direct hit on the plotting office which was his action station.

He was always most helpful and very good at his action station and many people on board who knew him sadly regret his death.

He was buried with the ship in the Solomons and as far as I could see or tell he was killed by blast and not mutilated.

I am very sorry on his account and yours and feel sure with his music he was a great loss. We were all good friends in the plotting office.

The news of the sinking did not arrive until August 17, and, in the meantime, and despite his worst fears, my father wrote to Russell on the 12th. Part of his letter refers to Russell's pending twenty-first birthday.

In some way perhaps I should have written this before, but circumstances and reason say that now is ample time.

Long ere this reaches you the mature age of twenty-one will have arrived on your shoulders. Congratulations Russ, and may you be spared to see many more and happier birthdays. You've been a good boy (mostly) and we know will be as good a man. Maybe your sense of duty to others has, does and will cause you much trouble and sorrow, but if you manage to curb it a little more, consideration for the other fellow is sadly lacking in the world at present, so your little won't come amiss.

We hardly hope that you are not in the present battle but there is underneath a faint suggestion that you might be on convoy duty elsewhere. Anyhow I'll post air-mail and who knows, this might reach you before the great 22nd.

His letter was returned together with others from my mother and sister and remained unopened until September, 1995 when I opened them for the writing of this biography. As you can imagine, this was an intensely distressing occasion for me.

The survivors of Canberra returned home on August 21, the day before Russell was to turn twenty-one. Soon after, we all went to ‘Inverness', the property of friends out of Guyra, a New South Wales country town. Apart from four short works, my father was so heartbroken that he could not compose for some time. Even rehearsals on the Duet for Lovers ceased. For Russell, ‘the long days that I lived alone' were over. He was a brother whom, as a baby, I adored; his death remained with the family for many years, affecting most of all my father for whom the sun after rain was not to come.

Let the tears flow - far better so
Than the heart might break
He loved we know.
Dear for your own sweet sake,
This comfort take:
Cometh plenty after dearth,
Sun after rain.

Hugh McCrae

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