Featured image: The Abbey at the town of Battle, marking the spot where King Harold was defeated by William, Duke of Normandy.

I happen to be in London on 26 January 1988, the bicentenary of the British occupation of the great south land. I’m invited to a cocktail party at Australia House on The Strand. Some descendants of the original boat people gather to mark the occasion.

To celebrate the 1788 ‘birth of Australia’ as some would have it, as being the day this land was settled is to ignore the existence of many nations of people in this land for over seventy thousand years before the boats arrived.

My intention in this letter is not to arouse division, just to state the truth.

To me, the day would be more appropriately called ‘Sydney Cove Day’ – the name later given to the area where the original boat people landed. Australia didn’t exist.

The land was certainly not terra nullius (Latin for ‘empty land’) as the new occupants and some politicians claimed. It was owned and occupied.

I asked myself, why is this day celebrated when every other colonised country celebrates the day it gained independence, not the day it was invaded?

The celebration on 26 January will always be contentious. In my view that date heralded the commencement of an effort to destroy an ancient culture. The history and culture of the First Australians was regarded as non-existent, or at the least, regarded as inferior to that of white Australians. Indigenous Australians simply didn’t count.

It’s hard to believe that until 1967, Section 127 of the Australian Constitution read: “In reckoning the numbers of the people of the Commonwealth, or of a State or other part of the Commonwealth, aboriginal natives shall not be counted.” In other words, until relatively recently, the first occupants of this land were not recognised as Australian citizens.

Back to Australia House. I didn’t know any of those present so I circulated amongst the large gathering and found myself chatting with a tall, distinguished gentleman who apparently hosted a popular morning television show. Upon learning of my legal background and at least part of the reason for my presence in London – I prefer to be discreet – he invited me onto his programme.

It later became obvious that he was interested in migrating to Australia and for some unapparent reason thought I may be able to assist with that process. I gave him some advice on how to proceed. As a first step and as a renowned actor and producer, the gentleman decided to take one of his plays to Australia. (As a postscript to that, some months pass and I am invited to make a very brief appearance in his play at the Arts Festival. I did so – the start and end of my acting career).

A government official, based in London – for the sake of anonymity I shall call him ‘Rob’ – kindly offered to drive Bernard and I to the southwest of England to visit my cousin. We arrived at Amy’s lovely little thatched-roof cottage in Bridgwater in time for morning tea.

Unfortunately Amy’s husband had a serious kidney malfunction and was daily attached to a kidney dialysis machine.

On occasions the discussion was rather insensitive. At one point, with her husband sitting next to her in the sitting room, Amy said, “I would like to visit the family in Australia. I’m particularly keen to visit Tasmania. I’m told parts of the Apple Isle can be compared to Somerset. Perhaps when he goes (thumb pointing in the direction of hubby) I might arrange it.”

Hubby didn’t flinch. Amy’s remark prompted Rob to lower his voice and ask, “How long as he got?” Hubby still didn’t show any recognition of his apparently imminent demise. As if that question and Amy’s earlier comment were not heard by said hubby!

Castle Combe, Wiltshire.

I’m sure Amy didn’t intend making light of the situation but she merely shrugged her shoulders. That response didn’t satisfy Rob and he asked the same question on more than one occasion during the course of our visit. Each time he did so Bernard and I glanced at each other and cringed in discomfort. I’m thinking how on earth did this bloke get a diplomatic posting?

On our return trip to London Rob deviated from the major route to visit Castle Combe in Wiltshire. If you get to the UK, dear reader, and you are anywhere in the vicinity of this heritage village I strongly recommend a visit. The old part of the village with its stone bridges and tavern from the Middle Ages is only accessible on foot. Quaint houses and shops line the edge of the narrow roads. There are no footpaths.

The village has been used for filming many movies and television series including War Horse, Dr Dolittle, Downton Abbey, Agatha Christie’s Poirot, and even an episode of The Simpsons. Castle Combe is well worth visiting.

So too is the New Forest which provides another picturesque route to the south coast of England. New Forest is hardly ‘new’. It was proclaimed a Royal Forest by William the Conqueror in 1079 and preserved for hunting purposes. Two of King William’s sons lost their lives hunting in the New Forest – Prince Richard (about 9 years after the conquest of 1066) and King William II aka William Rufus twenty five years later.  It’s hard to ignore the historical significance of the area when one is accommodated near the very spot where William Rufus (known thus for his red complexion) met his untimely death.

William the Conqueror.

Indeed, it is impossible to ignore the impact of the 1066 Norman invasion of England. Castles were built a day’s march apart. Many abbeys were constructed on the instructions of King William. A comprehensive legal system, which amongst other things included a record of land tenure, was established.

Despite the massive changes – the land, culture, economic, political, language and other significant changes – there is no annual celebration of the day in October 1066 when William, the 7th Duke of Normandy, invaded England. Near Hastings there exists an iconic Abbey to mark the location of the battle where King Harold was killed and England was changed forever. It’s ironic. There isn’t a public holiday to commemorate that invasion.

Gordon d’Venables has been, inter alia, a teacher, soldier, farmhand, lawyer and businessman. As a lawyer he travelled extensively for international clients. His letters from various times and places around the globe (PNG, England, Ireland, France, USA, Saudi Arabia, Serbia, Iran and others) refer to some of his experiences.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letters.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from USA, pre-Soviet Union Breakup.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from Belgrade.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from Iran.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from India.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from Saudi Arabia.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from Vietnam.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from Germany.

GORDON D’VENABLES: Letter from London.