Before I Sleep (11 page)

We got back to the royal yacht
Britannia
at 8.00 a.m. where the prince quickly breakfasted and changed and at 9.30 was present at the official farewells. When my turn came, the Queen thanked me and said in jest “Don't keep my husband out so late!” In turn the prince presented me with a copy of his book on
Birds of the Antarctic
inscribed “To Ray Whitrod with many thanks P.P.” The use of my first name warmed my heart for it was an indication of our unusual relationship. When in the company of others he always used the formal surname only, calling me “Whitrod” — the English public school form of address. I liked Prince Philip a lot. He could tell flattery a mile off and was often quite short with local dignitaries who were putting on airs and graces because they were entertaining royalty and their neighbours weren't. When the royal couple's eldest son, the Prince of Wales, was sent to Timbertops in Victoria to complete his secondary education, the Victorian Chief Commissioner naturally assumed that he would be responsible for the young prince's security. I queried this with the Prime Minister's Department who cabled the palace. The reply merely said: “We would prefer Whitrod's man.”

Another opportunity to expand the CIS came when a replacement was needed for the New South Wales seconded police officer on Norfolk Island. I proposed that I should send one of my own officers, since Norfolk Island was not a state responsibility and operated under a Commonwealth administrator. There was the usual waffle, but my offer was accepted by the Prime Minister's Department. There must now be over thirty such Commonwealth officers on duty at overseas posts.

My plan to transform the CIS was to give it a vision of itself as a possible national police force. Such an idea had been debated at the pre-Federation conferences in the late nineteenth century, but Kingston had said that it was too early to raise that proposal and it had been shelved. Now there was an expanding number of Commonwealth activities that required some law enforcement protection. The forging of Australian currency emerged from time to time as a national threat. There was no coordination of investigations nor accumulation of expertise except for an individual officer of the Royal Mint who gave it part-time attention. The invention of photo-reproduction techniques was changing the whole nature of counterfeiting at the time: the would-be forger no longer had to be a skilled engraver. I approached the Mint and they agreed to have one of my officers stationed with them to specialise in this area. The smuggling of gold was also a problem: there was considerable money to be made by illegally shipping gold to countries whose paper money was of dubious value. Subsequently this led us into a number of important investigations, some of which involved trips to Ceylon and India, and established our international connections.

A further opportunity for expansion occurred when the chief engineer of the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electrical Authority (SMA), Sir William Hudson, discussed with me the gambling, hard drinking and minor troublesome behaviour in the single men's quarters in the construction camps in the high country. Many of the SMA employees were skilled migrants from northern and southern Europe, so there were also occasional ethnic clashes. The nearest state police were at Cooma, quite a distance away from the construction camps. In winter, the intervening roads were sometimes impassable.

Sir William thought that a continuous uniformed police presence was required to maintain orderly conditions. He asked for our help. I had got to know some of the SMA staff on the occasions when our scout troop spent Easter hiking in their territory. The SMA officers appreciated my scouts' disciplined behaviour and their care for the environment. And since we were well able to look after ourselves in tough conditions, we weren't seen as potential search and rescue customers, unlike some other tourists. The regional managers often went out of their way to offer us little privileges like a free hot evening meal in their canteens after a day's strenuous climbing around cold Island Bend.

I suggested to Sir William that we form an SMA patrol of about twenty men to be employed by the authority, but sworn in as Special Peace Officers, which would give them state constabulary powers. They could be commanded by one of my experienced inspectors, whom I would second to the SMA. We would train them and give any backup support they needed. This plan was accepted, but it was always a ticklish job since the officers were operating in strictly New South Wales police territory, in some cases making use of state legislation to keep control. However, by and large, this arrangement worked to everybody's satisfaction for many years and I think it likely that Sir William would have conveyed that assessment to the prime minister, Robert Menzies, who was personally interested in the progress of the Snowy scheme.

So far all of my ventures at improving the reputation of the CIS and its associated lowly Peace Officer Guard had prospered. I tried one more idea — I introduced guard dogs to improve the efficiency of the POG at the Weapons Research Establishment near Adelaide and in other classified areas. We had large numbers of Peace Officer Guards on duty at these establishments, but often the officers had little to do except guard buildings and their classified contents. I thought we could do these jobs just as well, if not better, by using fewer men paired with trained dogs.

We decided to use German Shepherds, but because of a wartime restriction on the import of new bloodlines, the dogs of this breed in Australia were developing problems. I got Cabinet approval to import a pregnant bitch which was donated by the New Zealand police who used German Shepherds extensively. We began a systematic breeding and training program along New Zealand lines, and soon had the German Shepherds on regular duty in New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia (although not at Woomera because of landholders' opposition). In one instance, one of our tracker dogs and his handler were able to assist the New South Wales police in apprehending a much-wanted prison escapee who had been hiding for some weeks in rough bushland in the Blue Mountains.

We had less success with Mrs Menzies. She didn't like the dog we brought in to guard the prime minister. In those days, the Lodge's gardens were surrounded by a simple hedge. On two sides, the hedge was surrounded by fields. A man patrolling the grounds on foot could easily miss an intruder hiding in the bushes, but a trained German Shepherd dog would soon sniff him out. I had some difficulty persuading Mrs Menzies that, since the dog was on a lead at all times, it would pose no threat to her cat. She wasn't convinced, but I pointed out that we already patrolled the governor general's extensive grounds with a dog and had had no complaints. She reluctantly allowed the dog and its handler into her garden. Within a week, her cat was missing. I was immediately sent for.

“The dog's eaten my cat,” Mrs Menzies told me.

I said I thought this was unlikely, but that I would make all possible inquiries. I told one of my sergeants to take six men and door-knock the surrounding area and also to check with the National Capital Development Commission to see if a dead or missing cat had been picked up close to the Lodge. These enquiries drew a blank. Three days later, I received a phone call from the POG man at the Lodge's gate.

“Director, we've found the cat.”

“Good on you. How is it?”

“Dead.”

“Where was it?”

“Behind some bushes, just outside the grounds.”

“What did it die of?”

“Don't know, but there are teeth marks in its stomach.”

“Don't tell Mrs Menzies. Take it to the nearest vet and get an autopsy.”

The nearest veterinarian was a chap called McKay in Arthur Circle. My man took the cat to him, but wasn't able to get an autopsy done until the next day. I rang McKay myself around midday. The cat, he said, had died of natural causes — there had been something wrong with its liver.

“And the holes in its stomach?” I said.

“Maggots,” the vet said.

“And you'll certify that the cat died of natural causes?”

“Certainly.”

I drove to Arthur Circle, picked up the signed cause-of-death statement and drove straight to the Lodge.

“Your cat's dead,” I told Mrs Menzies.

“I knew it,” she said. “Your dog's eaten it.”

“Mr McKay has certified that it died of natural causes.”

“McKay! He's a butcher. I wouldn't believe a word he says.”

I backed out with as much dignity as I could muster. Up to that point I had achieved good standing with the prime minister's wife, but no longer. Mrs Menzies had considerable influence with her husband and I was concerned at this development, but I don't think I needed to worry. I only spoke to the prime minister occasionally and, as far as I know, we got on well. I was an admirer of his contribution to our country's well-being. Luckily he was in turn a great admirer of the royals and I was made aware that on several occasions Prince Philip had said some nice things about me. It took some time to re-establish friendly relations with Mrs Menzies and we never patrolled the Lodge's grounds with a dog again.

Fortuitously, I experienced further progress towards making peace with the Gnomes. One of them, Sir John Crawford, and his wife lived near us and their only child, Janet, joined my wife's guide company at Manuka. We met infrequently but I think that Sir John and his wife were grateful for the encouragement and fun that their daughter received. Sir John was a former scout and appreciated my contribution. Later, when I left for New Guinea, he presented me with two valuable reference books after I had told him of my ignorance of the territory. One was by Charles Rowley, whom I then got to know personally and found most helpful. Sir John was also aware of my academic studies and I hope that at their lunch meetings he would have passed on to the other Gnomes his assessment that I was not just another rednecked copper.

Since I was stuck with the main body of CIS personnel, people I regarded as mediocre investigators, I sought to give them better leadership. Whenever a vacancy occurred through the retirement of one of my deputies in a state office, I managed to persuade the Commonwealth Public Service Inspector to let me fill it with an outside appointee, usually a competent, well-respected state detective inspector or sergeant. This meant that in most cases I could then rely upon both official and unofficial cooperation from the state forces. As well, I used an earlier friendship with the commissioner of the Tasmanian Police, Bill Delderfield, himself a former South Australian police inspector, to receive an invitation to address the Annual Police Commissioners' Conference of Australasia, which that year was meeting in Hobart. Although I attended only one session, and this as a guest, the invitation was nevertheless a big jump in acceptance by the state commissioners. Since Bill Delderfield was the host, as the chairman of that year, he could issue such invitations. There had been one or two special guests in the past but mainly for some specific purpose. The Commonwealth had never participated before. My speech about Commonwealth aspects of law enforcement — which I was careful to keep non-threatening to the sectional interests of my audience — was well received, so I gained an invitation to give a similar address (I made it a report) the following year in Wellington. There were social activities involved at these gatherings which gave me a chance to assure the state officers that I did not constitute a threat to their areas of responsibility. I offered to ease any difficulties that they might encounter in dealing with Commonwealth agencies — some of which were a little uncooperative with members of state police forces.

I later became a full member of the annual conference and attended twenty-three in all, missing only one when I was overseas. I soon noted that most of the formal work of the conference had been completed beforehand by the departmental secretaries and, in the main, reports were minimal and proposals undisturbing — all that was needed from the delegates was endorsement. The main benefit was the yearly socialising of the heads of the forces and the consequent reinforcement of friendships. At least that was the
modus operandi
of those commissioners who had risen up through the ranks. With the appointment of Brigadier McKinna in Adelaide, General Porter in Melbourne and myself as head of the Commonwealth force, two factions developed among the conference participants. The three of us were interested in introducing businesslike management practices into our forces. The other commissioners were very much in favour of the status quo. They had risen through the ranks and were now comfortably positioned. The world was their oyster, so why change it? Why indeed when, in some cases, the world was supplying an income considerably greater than that normally earned by the head of a police force? At the time I had little understanding of how entrenched corruption was in the eastern states and I don't think McKinna or Porter were any better informed. Nevertheless, Porter and McKinna were more skilled at conferencing than the other commissioners; they personally did their homework and knew their subjects better than the old brigade. They were both experienced commanders from the war and had held managerial jobs in civvy street. Their perspectives and values were strange to the others. They presented their arguments forcibly and eloquently with no kowtowing to long years of law enforcement as a main argument. Formerly, it had been New South Wales with its large numbers that was seen as the unofficial leader — a position which its representative happily accepted and expected. This started to change.

Once McKinna and Porter had joined the conference, I found that I was no longer the lonely expositor of change, forced to couch my proposals in the humblest of terms in order to get a hearing. I had a number of national propositions which I now thought might be approved with the backing of these two former senior army officers. I was keen to have a national statistics unit to collect, collate and analyse crime trends in this country. This suggestion was taken by some state police commissioners as a way of unnecessarily providing their critics with data on which adverse comments could be made.