ÒÉ After my parents were married in April 1888, they went
to live in Darlinghurst, where I was born in November, 1889. We moved later to McMahons Point
probably because so many journalists lived there then. It was handy to the City and a ferry
called the Possum
used to cater for belated newspaper men, but I donÕt know how belated they
were allowed to be.
I do know that Tom Courtney, fatherÕs great friend and a
very brilliant writer of editorials, being then on The Daily Telegraph É was sometimes
delayed till after midnight and had to rely on a personage at the waterfront,
called ÔBill DuckeyeÕ who used to cruise about Circular Quay in a dingy old
rowing boat close to where the ÔChinaÕ boats berthed. Several friends of ÔBill DuckeyeÕ also cruised about in this
area and they used to communicate by calling to one another in a code
consisting of one word – Òquack!Ó which was answered by Òquack! quack!Ó
or a different number of ÔquacksÕ according to the message they wished to
convey. They were searching in
what were then the dark and quiet harbour waters for corks floating near the
ships.
The corks were attached to stout strings on the other end
of which were tied tins filled with opium, which had been thrown overboard and
were reposing on the bottom of the harbour, the floating corks indicating their
whereabouts; and the strings had only to be pulled up like fishing lines and
the ÔfishÕ captured. ÉÓ
Last verses of a poem by Marjorie Quinn after a friend was killed in
World War I:
A Wildwood sweetness in the air
On winter days when wattle blows,
And sad the heart that grieves for one
Who sleeps where never wattle grows.
Green are the gullies; here the trail
Winds up, that knew his happy tread;
Oh gay with gold the bush, while he
Lies silent, with the peerless dead.
Ah, weep for him!
Yet to all grief
A mead of ease the years disclose;
So he, and all his like shall be
Revered, wherever wattle grows.Ó
ÒÉ
Ion Idriess, Winifred Birkett, Ethel Turner, HHM Abbott, Dulcie Deamer, Charles
Bertie, myself and Frank Dalby Davison (pictured below) were eight authors
invited by The
Sydney Mail each to write a short story of about 800 words, (from two
sentences given us) as part of the celebrations of Book Week. No plot or plan was given us; the idea
being to see what different plots, what stories each one of us would evolve
from the initial sentences. The
stories were different, I remember.
Ethel
Turner forsook her child characters and wrote a charming, humorous tale,
whereas I contributed a sketch about a death-ray! That was no so difficult to do then, as now. One could gloss over the where, how,
and why and just cheerfully announce the fait accompli. After all, who among general readers would quibble? How different now it is with the spate
of more or less experienced writers of science fiction.
At
the head of the first page in The Sydney Mail, which featured our contributions, was a
conglomerate photograph of us, the eight intrepid adventurers into this strange
fiction medley. ÉÓ
ÒÉ
When I was still a child, The Bulletin (housed at the old office in Lower George Street) was
to me a sacred shrine. It was old and
dusty, but it had an atmosphere of ink and print and poets all mixed up
together in my mind! I remember
one day my Uncle Rod calling me across the small vestibule to meet his friend,
Henry Lawson. I found myself
looking up into the most beautiful, expressive brown eyes I had ever seen. Henry took my hand and bowed low over
it. He was very courtly. Naturally, I was much impressed, child
though I was. It was said that he
would drop in to see the editor whenever he felt the urge (which was mostly when
he needed some cash). Not that Henry valued money per se, but he was
perennially ÔbrokeÕ because he could not keep it. No editor would refuse help to this brilliant and childlike
man with the melancholy eyes and the drooping moustache but editors and publishers
alike conspired to keep him short.
Otherwise if he were to get his hands on any considerable sum, in no
time he would be destitute.
Sometimes
Henry would issue into George Street holding a threepenny coin, a Ôtrey bitÕ as
he called it, and give it to the first Ôdown-and-outerÕ whom he met, and there
were plenty of them then. It was
only a Ôtrey bitÕ but it would buy a mug of beer at some waterside pub. ÉÓ
ÒÉNo
one now can realise the influence of The Bulletin as it was then. I was only about ten at the turn of the
century. To me it was the supreme
arbiter of talent in the literary world.
Accustomed to long walks with my father and uncle, listening to their
talk of the magical world of literature, I looked on the Bulletin as the hub and centre of
this world. Its poets were
outstanding, its cartoonists unmatched.
ÔHopÕ was there with his puckish humour, Norman Lindsay with his lush and
lavish females, as well as a dozen others. AG Stephens, that doyen of critics, ruled on ÔThe Red
PageÕ. Above all The Bulletin
was an Australian journal, written by Australians, and it always paid for every
contribution, whether large or small. ÉÓ
Page from one of MarjorieÕs
journals
Parliamentary
Committee of Enquiry into Military Affairs
Mr. JCL
Fitzpatrick MP, Major General GA French CMG, Mr R Sleath MP, Mr P Quinn MP, Mr
RD Meagher MP, Captain Wilkes MP (Reserve List)
Dated 1901
(Private Collection)
Handwritten letter to the
Fellowship of Australian Writers from Roderic Quinn regarding the ÔLawson
StampÕ (Photocopy)
In
your last issue of the Fellowship there appeared a paragraph crediting me with
the major part in bringing about the above posthumous recognition of my old
friend and brilliant contemporary. Much as I would like to accept this generous
bestowal of credit on me, the fact is that I had no hand in the matter at all.
The honour wholly and solely should go to the person who earned it.
That
person is Mrs RJ Cassidy, who conceived the idea, and for thirteen years persistently
and earnestly by letter and personal and political contact, laid siege to the
powers that be in Canberra, while ministries came and ministries fell, till her
purpose was achieved. That achievement not only commemorates Lawson, but as all
literary folk should realise, it brightens the status of their calling
throughout the Commonwealth.
For
a period of many years Mrs Cassidy helped and befriended Lawson, and that he
was not unmindful of her kindnesses is borne out by the fact that he wrote ÒThe
Night TrainÓ, his last worth-while poem, in her autograph album.
Roderic
Quinn. (Private
Collection)
Member Notification of FAW
Meeting 21st February, 1934 (Private Collection)
Letter from Walter Stone (Book CollectorÕs
Society of Australia) dated 25th October, 1958 (Private Collection)
Letter from National
Librarian – National Library of Australia, 22nd August 1967. (Private
Collection)
Handwritten letter from Nora
Kelly
Dear
Mrs Williams,
I
am only too pleased and feel privileged to add a laurel to the poetic crown of
the Quinn family.
I
have known Miss Marjorie Quinn for many years as a writer of short stories and
good poems.
As
a woman writer of the Bulletin WomanÕs Letter for many years I can speak at first hand of
the esteem in which her work was regarded by that paper.
Last
year I had pleasure in writing an appreciation of her book of poems Candlelight for
the Australian
Messenger, a Melbourne monthly magazine.
I
have been associated with Marjorie Quinn in many literary groups. The
Fellowship of Australian Writers, the P.E.N. Club in both of which we were committee
members, the Society of Women Writers of which I was twice President and of
which I am still a committee member.
I
shall be pleased if by the help of the Polio-Myelitis Society MarjorieÕs songs
may continue to pour their sweetness into a world beset by nuclear stridency.
Nora
Kelly XB1826
Pen-names:
Nora
McAuliffe
John
Egan
Flossy
Fluffytop (topical verse)
Letter from Prime MinisterÕs
Department, Commonwealth Literary Fund. Dated 6th July 1964. (Private
Collection)
Newspaper clipping dated
January 9th 1929 (Private
Collection)
Newspaper article written by
Marjorie Quinn – unknown publication dated March 7th, 1940 (Private Collection)
Handwritten letter of reference
from Lucy Cassidy
26.10.1957
Dear Kathleen,
I received your letter on Friday and have rung Walter Stone
who will write to you.
Marjorie was a Foundation member of the Fellowship of
Australian Writers and was its first secretary for five strenuous years. She
was also a foundation member of the P.E.N. club, a body of international
writers, whose executive in London had requested her to start a branch in
Australia.
She was a foundation member and secretary of the Society of
Women Writers whose sole concern is the welfare of Australian writers. All this
she did without pecuniary reward.
I thought you would like to have the above facts so that you
could approach any society with a feeling of security.
Hoping you are all well,
Sincerely yours,
Lucy Cassidy
Photo – Patrick Edward
Quinn circa 1905 (Private
Collection)
Photo – Roderic Quinn
1949 (Private Collection)