The Triumphs of Our Fleur-de-Lys: 150 Years of Trinity College Melbourne

This is number two hundred and eleven in the

second numbered series of the

Miegunyah Volumes

made possible by the

Miegunyah Fund

established by bequests

under the wills of

Sir Russell and Lady Grimwade.

‘Miegunyah’ was Russell Grimwade’s home

from 1911 to 1955

and Mab Grimwade’s home

from 1911 to 1973.

THE TRIUMPHS OF OUR FLEUR-DE-LYS

150 YEARS OF TRINITY COLLEGE MELBOURNE

PETER CAMPBELL

THE MIEGUNYAH PRESS

An imprint of Melbourne University Publishing Limited

Level 1, 715 Swanston Street, Carlton, Victoria 3053, Australia

[email protected]

www.mup.com.au

First published 2022

Text © Peter Campbell, 2022

Design and typography © Melbourne University Publishing Limited, 2022

This book is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means or process whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publishers.

Every attempt has been made to locate the copyright holders for material quoted in this book. Any person or organisation that may have been overlooked or misattributed may contact the publisher.

Cover design by Philip Campbell Design

Typeset in 11/14pt Minion Pro by Cannon Typesetting

Printed in China by 1010 Printing Asia Ltd

9780522878424 (hardback)

9780522878431 (ebook)

To the memory of

The Right Reverend James Alexander Grant AM

1931–2019

College Song for the Old Students’ Dinner (1888)

Hearts and voices lift in harmony,

Shout the triumphs of our Fleur-de-Lys!

Fill up your glass with joyous boast,

Fill up your glass to pass the toast.

Drink with three times three

Success to dear old Trinity.

William Lewers (TC 1882) and Felix Cowle (TC 1883)

College Song (1907)

Fill up your foaming glasses, boys, and drink a bumper toast

Of Trinity, the Dear Old Coll., the place we love the most.

We’ll sing a song and make it ring from Ormond to the coast,

A song of the Fleur-de-Lys and Trinity.

Hurrah! Hurrah! For dear old Trinity,

The dearest spot in all the ’Varsity.

Fill up your glass and drink to her success and victory,

And cheer, boys, cheer, for Trinity.

Leonard Arnold (TC 1901)

College Song (1979)

Where Bishops’ lifts its ivy’d tower and Clarke’s long cloisters run,

The College oak stands spreading forth its branches to the sun.

And here are joy and laughter and loyal friends as well;

The Bulpadock rejoices in our efforts to excel.

And whene’er we think on all these things, wherever we may be,

We shall raise our voices higher and sing of Trinity.

Evan Burge (Warden, 1974–96)

Contents

College Songs

Abbreviations

Foreword by John Poynter

Preface

PART I – Father of the College: The Leeper Years

1A Long and Difficult Labour (1835–69)

2Breaking New Ground (1870–71)

3From First Principles (1872–75)

4College Men and Clergymen (1876–79)

5Fair, Play and Competition (1880–83)

6Ladies in Waiting (1883–85)

7A Game at Chesse (1886–88)

8A Woman’s Place (1889–90)

9Rebels with a Cause (1890)

10 A Hostile Reception (1891–92)

11 Deaths and Transfigurations (1893–95)

12 The Play’s the Thing (1896–99)

13 State of the Nation (1900–03)

14 Death and Taxes (1904–08)

15 You’ll Take the Low Road (1909–13)

16 In the Wars (1914–17)

PART II – Sons (and Daughters?): Behan, Cowan, Sharwood

17 Something Old, Something New (1918–19)

18 A Jolly Jubilee (1920–22)

19 A Question of Trusts (1923–26)

20 Putting on an Act (1927–29)

21 Where There’s a Will (1930–32)

22 Constitutional Crisis (1933–35)

23 Deck the Hall (1936–40)

24 Occupied Territory (1941–45)

25 Peace Be with You (1946–50)

26 Fun and Games (1951–56)

27 A Place in Jeopardy (1957–59)

28 Trial Separation (1960–64)

29 Law and Order (1965–69)

30 ‘Bring on the Dancing Girls!’ (1970–73)

PART III – College Spirit: Burge and Beyond

31 Sing, Choirs of Angels (1974–78)

32 Jolly Good Fellows (1979–81)

33 A Sure Foundation (1982–84)

34 Artistic Licence (1985–87)

35 International Relations (1988–90)

36 Sexual Strategies (1991–94)

37 Rooms and Board (1995–96)

38 Large and Liberal (1997–99)

39 Schools of Thought (2000–03)

40 Culture Shock (2004–06)

41 Return to the Fold (2007–10)

42 Divine Intent (2011–13)

43 Great Southern Land (2014–17)

44 The Place We Love the Most (2018–22)

45 Conclusion: The Dear Old Coll

APPENDICES

APresidents of Council

BChairs of the Board

CTrustees

DWardens, Acting Wardens and Deputy Wardens

EPrincipals of Janet Clarke Hall

FChairs of Janet Clarke Hall Council

GCollege Chaplains

HDeans

IDeans of the Theological School

JDeans of the Foundation Studies Program

KFellows

LSenior Students

MOakleaf Awards (2022)

Image Credits

Notes

Bibliography

Index

List of Subscribers

Abbreviations

Trinity students are identified by their program and year of entry in brackets after their name—for example, ‘(TC 1983)’. The program abbreviations are:

The designation ‘TC’ covers all resident students, including resident theologs and (despite the name) those in the non-resident program of the residential college.

Foreword

And he said, Let us take our journey, and let us go, and I will go before thee.

Genesis 33:12

When the present day is full of surprises, it is especially important to understand what we can of the past. Peter Campbell’s impressive volume is published to celebrate a notable anniversary in the history of Melbourne’s Trinity College but its usefulness, and the author’s purpose, is wider. From the full records of the college and the riches of newspaper records he has assembled a compendium aiming to ‘capture the feeling of the times’ as well as the happenings in and to the college. It is a large achievement, in every sense.

When asked to write this foreword I hesitated. It is seventy-five years—half its long life—since I first entered Trinity’s gates, and it remained my place or residence for all but three of the following twenty years, including a decade as dean. I have had some formal link with the college ever since, and have written a biography of the first warden, met the second, and known all their successors, some as close friends. I could scarcely plead ignorance of the book’s subject, but could a nonagenarian with declining powers do justice to the subject? I agreed to try.

This volume is set out in three parts, each named after wardens, the dates almost coinciding with the three half-centuries celebrated. It is also the third account of Trinity’s history. The first, left incomplete and unpublished by the second warden, ‘Jock’ Behan, was an occasionally disapproving account of his predecessor. The second account, James Grant’s Perspective of a Century, ‘compiled’ (he modestly wrote) to celebrate the college centenary in 1972, is succinct, observant and readily readable.

When Robin Sharwood, Trinity’s fourth warden, wrote his foreword to Bishop Grant’s book, he began by quoting Geoffrey Blainey: ‘The rise of the Melbourne Colleges had perhaps no parallel in the new universities of the British Empire.’¹ Their circumstances were certainly unusual. Soon after the newly independent and unexpectedly gold-rich colony of Victoria set up its university in 1854, it set aside adjacent acres for each of the four largest religious denominations to establish colleges, if and when they chose. The Anglicans were first. Blainey claimed that the early colleges—Trinity, Ormond and Queen’s—‘derived most of their strength from the benefactions of the wealthy God-fearing pastoralists who believed that the church colleges were more deserving than the university itself’, and it is perhaps not surprising that Trinity established an annual celebration of its ‘Founders and Benefactors’. A broadening base of private generosity has remained essential to the College’s survival.

It was under the third warden, RWT Cowan, then two years into office, that I found my way from a Kew boarding school (coincidentally named Trinity) to the gates of Trinity College. My objective was a scholarship examination, set and invigilated by the then dean, the already distinguished historian AGL Shaw. We sat at benches in a lecture room in Leeper, pens in hands, writing our answers in longhand on foolscap sheets, until told that time was up. My effort was successful, and a few months later I began my Arts degree, arriving in March 1948 for the beginning of my first year. I was shown to my room in the ‘temporary’ Wooden Wing by Syd Wynne, the ever-resourceful man-of-all-trades and resident builder, later Overseer of everything domestic, from the kitchens to the college cows munching contentedly in the Bulpadock.

The students of post-war Trinity were richly varied, with the apparently innocent young and the all-too-experienced ex-servicemen surprising each other but not the new major-cum-warden Cowan, adept at surprising us all. (He even surprised Prime Minister Menzies, responding to Menzies’ request that Trinity admit the son of a senior British cabinet minister with insistence that admission for anyone depended on their school results.) Thanks partly to this insistence, and to the government-funded ex-servicemen, Trinity’s resident students were more various in their social origins than before the war. They were also full-time, with outside employment only during long vacations, and normally remained in college for their entire courses, creating a natural hierarchy of seniority. Most subjects were year-long, with the year divided into three teaching terms and a fourth for ‘Annual Examinations’. First-year students (‘Freshmen’) had special duties: chopping firewood and answering the sole telephone, a separate line, installed by former army signallers, connecting Trinity and Janet Clarke Hall for ‘private’ calls. We were proud that the annual initiation event, Juttoddie, was an occasion for creative humour rather than the ‘bastardisation’ too common elsewhere.

The matron and her sick bay had been replaced by a resident medical tutor—initially an amiable Englishman with two spaniels sharing his rooms in Behan—treating illness in residents and transferring them to hospital when necessary. The Senior Common Room, with members both resident and non-resident, was active, and the tutorial program, shared with non-residents and ‘the ladies of Janet Clark Hall’, was strong, especially in the professions. (It did not merely echo the university course; in my first-year tutorial in British History, Shaw announced, ‘This year, for some reason, they have omitted Ireland from the syllabus. We shall therefore spend the first term on Irish History.’ And we did).

After my appointment as dean, a role that had been created as a buffer between the students and the warden when Behan was facing his most serious revolt, I chaired most of the student committees as well as enforcing, with diminishing strictness, rules requiring compulsory chapel, and restricting the hours for female visitors and the consumption of alcohol. Cowan’s serious illness in January 1964 and his death, aged only fifty, a few months later, led to the chaplain—the charismatic Barry Marshall—and the dean—still nominally my position—being appointed ‘Joint Acting Warden’ until June 1965, when the new warden, Robin Sharwood, like Behan a brilliant young lawyer, arrived. I returned full-time to the History Department at the university, but continued in residence as a Fellow until 1968 and as a member of Trinity’s Council until 2005. Although university matters dominated my time in successive appointments, the college and university were to share many problems in the following decades.

In The Art of Time Travel: Historians and Their Craft, Tom Griffiths argues that a historian’s writings are a ‘lifelong dialogue between past evidence and present experience’.² After seventy-five years of such dialogue, my own most recent observation is that while we all begin with assumptions and a predisposition to expound them, a true scholar reads to explore the past and writes to explain it. As in every other discipline, the first thing for a historian to learn—in my case from AGL Shaw in Trinity tutorials—is how to ask questions. If we don’t question our own assumptions as well as the evidence, we shall mislead everyone, including ourselves.

Part III of this new history takes the Trinity story from its centenary to a carefully considered ‘Conclusion’ over fifteen chapters—a highly eventful period, as contemporary history must always be. In 2072, the writer of the college’s bicentennial history will have much to tell. I am confident that a book will be written and published (not necessarily printed on paper, though that once-radical innovation has proved to be a great survivor). The earlier history of the college, told in detail on the following pages, will no doubt be re-interpreted by a future generation. Meanwhile, as this splendid volume attests, it is necessary to have faith as well as hope.

Professor Emeritus John Poynter AO

Resident student 1948–50 Dean of the college 1953–65; Joint Acting Warden 1964–65 Resident Fellow 1965–68; Honorary Fellow 1980; Senior Fellow 2010 Ernest Scott Professor of History, University of Melbourne 1966–75 Pro, Deputy, then Assistant Vice-Chancellor 1972–94

Preface

All this he made clear by the writing from the hand of the Lord concerning it, all the work to be done according to the plan.

1 Chronicles 28:19

TRINITY’S FOUNDERS HAD a clear vision for their residential college. While its purpose and value have been debated since, there can be little doubt that what became Trinity College has both stood the test of time and added its own vital and colourful threads to the complex tapestry of Australian life. The history of Victoria’s oldest university college, its trials, tribulations and triumphs, priorities, practices and personalities, is laid out here, showing how Trinity became what it is today and how valuable a role has been played by its students and staff in the larger story of our country’s development.

I make no apologies for this book’s length. Its genesis was the need to gather facts about the college’s history, but the questions kept coming, and the page of notes grew quickly into a compendium. No matter how useful, by itself this would not have made a readable volume. The sheer quantity of material confounded conciseness; the board and council minutes for 2003 alone—not even the most extreme case—stretched to 1100 pages. This did not even take into account the reports of numerous subcommittees, or the college’s own publications. Then there were the archive collections, including the working papers of each of the wardens and of the various divisions and departments. The lists and the shelves were seemingly endless. This volume is the essential story distilled from a far longer first draft—essentially a chronicle—describing the development of each of the facets of this complex institution.

Trinity’s history has been formed by those who have passed through its gates and by others with an interest in its affairs. Its development is a mirror of a society changing constantly around it, influenced and moulded by social values, standards and aspirations, and by economics, religion, politics and even the environment. But how was this story to be told? Writers adopt many styles, reflecting their own preoccupations. Histories can thus be descriptive, narrative, comparative, analytical or speculative in nature, or, of course, any combination of these. My work is largely a narrative; it is chronological in form, documentary in emphasis and unashamedly introspective in aspect. Social context is provided—without that, history degenerates into mere facts—and comparisons are drawn where they illustrate developments in the college, but my overriding motivation was to gather and present the original documents and descriptions as evidence for the who, what, when and how, rather than becoming overly involved in the why.

The college’s publications—The Fleur-de-Lys, the Newsletter and Trinity Today, as well as annual reports and e-news bulletins—provided first-hand accounts from those directly involved. Chief among the secondary sources were the Anglican Church of England Messenger and newspapers, principally The Argus and The Age, in which detailed accounts of early college council meetings were printed. Newspaper searches were enhanced greatly by the National Library of Australia’s wonderful ‘Trove’ facility.

My intention in presenting longer transcriptions of documents is not only to give readers a clearer sense—chiefly through the evocative nature of the language—of the contemporary view, but also to ensure that they can form their own opinions about the events. How I see the events cannot be eliminated entirely (much sifting, shifting, sorting, shortening and synthesis of the various sources was undertaken), but the story has been less ‘fiddled with’ than in some narrative histories. I have been guided somewhat in this view by a minor incident, tangentially related to the college, from 1963. When the historian AGL Shaw (TC 1938), then at the University of Sydney, published a review of the first volume of A History of Australia by his Trinity confrere Manning Clark (TC 1937), Lecturer in History at the Australian National University (ANU), he accused Clark of being rather too free with his facts. This had been done, Shaw felt, to fit Clark’s own leftist interpretation of the story:

That an historian’s writing shall reflect his own fundamental beliefs is today accepted as a truism … Many writers of Australian history have approached their subject from a Marxist, or semi-Marxist, standpoint … Not everyone will agree with Clark’s character sketches … guessing is not writing history … Although no one is perfect … and therefore every author inevitably makes mistakes, Professor Clark has made too many for a work of this character … the inaccuracies taken together are irritating, and add up to create a sense of mistrust in the work as a whole.¹

Hopefully, there are not as many mistakes here. I am, also, in no way equating myself with these giants of Australian history, but the result of the accusation was the breakdown of a close friendship (the pair went up to Oxford together in 1940, and while they were there Shaw acted as best man at Clark’s wedding); I am content to present more facts and less interpretation, and perhaps retain what friends I have made while at Trinity. The resulting text is thus certainly longer but, I think, more readily captures the feeling of the times. Some synthesis of the themes uncovered may be found in the concluding chapter.

In assembling this narrative, I am greatly indebted to the many archivists, both official and informal, who have contributed their skills and their own collections to the college’s archives. The primary sources were all to hand and all in good order, and access to them was a historian’s dream. My thanks in particular go to Nina Waters and Hazel Nsair, sometime Mollison Librarians and archivists of the college, and Dr Benjamin Thomas, Rusden Curator, Cultural Collections, at Trinity, who succeeded Hazel as archivist, and to the numerous keepers of the archives before them for caring for the precious collection so well. Ben in particular provided not only a sounding board for random thoughts on Trinity’s development, but also valuable professional advice on the records being investigated. Collaboration enabled each of us to answer parts of the many questions that arose, and provide responses to an endless stream of queries about Trinity from the greater public outside its gates. Former students Scott Charles, now Director of Advancement, and John Poynter, a noted historian who was dean of the college in the 1950s, read the book in draft and provided valuable insights and clarifications, for which I am most grateful. Any errors remain my own. John also agreed to do me the great honour of writing a foreword for the volume.

Thanks are due also to others on the college’s library staff—particularly Kitty Vroomen, but also Gale Watt, Marina Comport and, later, Heather Baillie—who made my visits so easy and pleasant, with their helpful advice and deep knowledge of what was buried in the compactus. Invaluable, too, was the late Bishop James Grant. It was he who wrote the centenary history of the college published in 1972; his immediate recall of all that he had written, and of all those he had met, both before that date and in the half-century since, meant that I had a walking, talking Trinity encyclopedia to hand whenever a fact needed checking. Both his and an unfinished (and thus unpublished) typescript history commissioned from John Behan after he retired as warden in 1946 were consulted, but only after my first draft had been completed. Neither, of course, covered any of the period since 1972, all of which is recorded here for the first time.

For specific help and advice, my thanks must go to the following: John and Marion Poynter for their painstaking investigations into the correspondence and lives of Alexander Leeper and Valentine Leeper respectively—their work greatly reduced the effort needed to decipher the scrawl of pseudo-shorthand in Alex’s diaries; Leanne McCredden and staff of Special Collections at the University of Melbourne; Sophie Garrett, University of Melbourne Archives; Fiona McRostie, University Records Services; Alexandra Oke, Graduations; Jonathan Wallis of the University of Tasmania for assistance with Latin translations; Tim Fewings of the Victorian Parliamentary Library for help in tracking down some early debates of the Legislative Council (in the days before free online access); Jane Carolan, historian and archivist at Trinity Grammar School; Jane Dyer, Archivist, PLC Melbourne, for providing copies of the school’s magazine from the 1880s; Susan Phillips of Anglican Deaconess Ministries Ltd, for student details from the 1920s; Philip Ward, Archives Officer at the University of New England & Regional Archives; Jack Tan, Damian Powell and Cindy Derrenbacker at Janet Clarke Hall for checking the archives of our once-joined sister college; Hazel Nsair, again, in her later role at the Diocese of Melbourne Archives; and the many alumni who answered questions posed to them on the fly during chance encounters. At MUP, my grateful thanks go to my publication manager, Cathy Smith, and my editor, Katie Purvis—Katie and I remain friends of now more than thirty years, despite this book!

My thanks go also to former warden Andrew McGowan (and to Campbell Bairstow, twice acting warden), who allowed me time—a little within but mostly outside normal working hours—to devote to this research. While not begun at their prompting, it was continued with their blessing, the impetus being their constant need for detail of the founding of this, or the origin of that, or the reason for the other, that could be found only by reference to the original sources (or the prodigious memory of Bishop Grant). After the umpteenth rummage through and deciphering of the copperplate council minutes, it was clear that what was needed was a single-volume (!) reference that left virtually nothing out concerning the college’s history. I trust that I have, to some large extent, achieved this—hopefully not at the expense of interest or readability. More recently, the unwavering support of Trinity’s current warden, Ken Hinchcliff, has been vital to the successful completion of this long project.

With this emphasis on being a documentary history, less reliance has been placed on personal recollection than might have been expected, except for the immediate past years and the final analysis of Trinity’s place and success. In the present electronic age, fewer printed documents are being produced and even fewer preserved in any accessible form; certainly correspondence is a vastly different concept now that email is ubiquitous. These factors mean that the story of the latter years is written with a greater reliance on memory and opinion than was recorded in earlier periods. This is what makes writing history fascinating, and it has been a pleasure to complete this project over the past ten years, spurred on by the rapid approach of the college’s 150th anniversary. May there be many more birthdays, and many more stories to tell about the achievements of this remarkable institution within the church, the university and the state of Victoria, as the ‘Dear Old Coll, the place we love the most’ continues to uphold its mission, begun in 1872, of transforming lives.

PART I

Father of the College: The Leeper Years

1

A Long and Difficult Labour

1835–69

Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.

Psalm 127:1

EUROPEAN SETTLERS FROM Tasmania arrived in Port Phillip Bay in 1835,¹ when John Batman negotiated a ‘treaty’ with the Wurundjeri people for use of vast areas of their fertile lands on the Iramoo plain. Colonial governor Richard Bourke later invalidated the deeds—the Crown did not recognise Indigenous inhabitants as owning the land—but he saw the value of formalising the new settlement, and in March 1837 the town, consisting of a dozen buildings and 180 settlers, was named in honour of the British prime minister, Viscount Melbourne. The white invasion had begun.

By 1839, John Fawkner, Batman’s rival promoter of the settlement and publisher of its first newspaper, was already calling for spending on education:

There is another purpose for which we are anxious to see a portion of the crown lands set apart, the revenues of which might be … appropriated to the establishment and support of a College in the capital of Australia Felix … No truly paternal Government, can or will sit down content with the mere erection of gaols, courts of justice, barracks, &c. … Such Government would surely display as anxious a wish … in providing by means of education, for the prevention of crime … by the erection of infant schools, seminaries, and colleges for all ages, and all classes.²

Following the appointment of Charles La Trobe as superintendent of the Port Phillip District, Fawkner included ‘a reserve for a College’ in a list of ‘those necessary Acts which his people will require’.³ In September 1839 he lamented that they had ‘not yet commenced a College’, later urging La Trobe to

reserve in the (as yet) unsold parts of the town, proper sites for several Superior public Schools; and either in the townships, or somewhere contiguous, to reserve also a large piece of land, on which, at some future but not distant day, a College may be conveniently erected … Again we say, the land is now open; there are not parties to conciliate; no vested rights (except the overlooked rights of the poor Aborigines), to contend against.⁴

No progress was made over the subsequent ten years, but in June 1850 Fawkner, who had been elected to the first Town Council in 1842, renewed his calls, urging Victoria to keep pace with New South Wales, where plans for a university were already well underway: ‘We must have a public University, open to all denominations, and co-extensive in its objects with those of the mother country.’⁵

As plans for the separation of Victoria from New South Wales progressed, in 1850 lawyer William Stawell chaired a meeting considering the ‘best mode of exhibiting their joy at the consummation of the approaching event’. Fawkner pledged his readiness to ‘put down £50 towards the erection of an university’ and reported that he knew others of a like mind.⁶ But it would be more than a year after the separation in 1851 that the first move was made. In November 1852, La Trobe transmitted the estimates for 1853 to the Legislative Council, including £10,000 ‘set apart for the establishment of the University of Melbourne’. La Trobe hoped the Council agreed with him in ‘thinking the early initiation of this Institution desirable’.⁷ In Council, the auditor-general, Hugh Childers, said: ‘Sydney had a university, and he trusted before long that Melbourne would also be able to boast of a flourishing one.’⁸ A select committee was appointed to investigate ‘the expediency of establishing such University’, with Childers noting the great need for providing the ‘means of obtaining primary education, but that the formation of a sound system of collegiate education was also highly important’.⁹ The committee quickly got down to business and its interim report, presented to the Council in January 1853, recommended the ‘immediate establishment of an university at Melbourne’.¹⁰

Australia’s first tertiary institution, the University of Sydney, was an obvious model. In the New South Wales Legislative Council in 1849, William Wentworth had urged that a university would allow ‘the child of every man, of every class, to become great and useful in the destinies of his country’ and that its ‘gates would be open to all, whether they were disciples of Moses, of Jesus, of Mahomed, of Vishnu, or of Buddha’.¹¹ On the question of religion, then, Wentworth’s position was clear:

no religion at all should be taught in an institution such as he proposed … [I]f a university on these principles were founded, he should be willing to allow other denominational collegiate institutions to affiliate themselves to it—such institutions might, if they thought fit, establish foundations for degrees of divinity, and share in the advantages of the university by attendance on its lectures. One of the principal objects, indeed, which he had in keeping the central institution free from any sectarian influence was, that … it should be open to all, though influenced by none.¹²

While it was his experience from Cambridge that ‘collegiate institutions engendered a laziness and inertness, both in teachers and pupils, destructive to the objects they were designed to obtain’, nonetheless, Wentworth acknowledged that residence ‘was an advantage which he admitted that the University he wished to establish would not possess’. His bill, however, ‘gave to the officers of the University a surveillance over the private residences of the students’.¹³ The University of Sydney opened for teaching at the end of 1852, though colleges were yet a way off.¹⁴

On 6 January 1853, Childers moved that the Legislative Council consider his committee’s report on the founding of a university in Melbourne:

The plan proposed was similar to that which had been adopted at Sydney, and should be conducted, as nearly as possible, in the same manner that similar institutions were managed in England … It was intended that Collegiate Institutions should be established in connexion with the establishment, and not that any pecuniary aid should be given to them from the funds appropriated to its use, but that the students might avail themselves of the lectures that were given by the Professors in the University.¹⁵

Childers assisted Stawell, who was now attorney-general, in drafting the legislation. Their scheme differed from that of Sydney, which ‘contemplated grafting a College upon the University’, thinking rather that it was ‘necessary the College and University should be separate’.¹⁶ Thus, unlike Sydney, there was no provision for funding of residential colleges from within the university, but they proposed to ‘give greater facilities for the affiliation of Colleges established by private founders’, as all undergraduates were to be ‘required to reside, during Term, either with their Parents, Guardians, or persons appointed by their Parents or Guardians, or in some College or Boarding house licensed by the University’. Separate legislation for the ‘partial endowment of Affiliated Colleges’ by the government in Sydney was passed in 1854, leading the Anglicans to found St Paul’s College, which opened in 1856.¹⁷ Childers rejected public funding for colleges in Victoria. Instead, clause 8 provided that:

It shall be lawful for the said University to make any statutes for the affiliation to or connection with the same of any College or Educational Establishment to which the governing body of such College or Establishment may consent and for the licensing and supervision of Boarding houses intended for the reception of students and the revocation of such licences provided always that no such statutes shall affect the religious observances or regulations enforced in such Colleges.

From the outset, then, the legislation prevented the teaching of Divinity within the university, but affiliated colleges would be free to pursue it. The first council of the University of Melbourne, consisting of twenty prominent men of the colony (including both the Anglican and Catholic bishops), met for the first time on 3 May 1853. Mr Justice Redmond Barry was elected the first Chancellor, with Childers as part-time Vice-Chancellor.

Charles Perry, first Bishop of Melbourne, led the push for the founding of a college.

To prosper, the university would require sufficient numbers of well-prepared students. Some had access to private tutors, but what was really required were better schools. At the time, these consisted of a variety of small establishments owned and run by individuals. Gradually, from the mid-1840s, the churches founded their own schools: the Anglicans started the Melbourne Diocesan Grammar School in 1849, and the Presbyterian Melbourne Academy (later Scotch College) began in Spring Street in 1851.¹⁸ All that was needed now was a determined individual to push the idea of a college forward.

From all accounts, Charles Perry was that man. Born in London in 1807, he was a graduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was a contemporary of Tennyson. Perry was ordained priest in Ely in 1836 and soon began work on behalf of the Church Missionary Society. His successes there brought him to the attention of the secretary, Henry Venn. It was Venn who nominated Perry when the secretary of state for the colonies sought candidates to lead a diocese in Victoria.¹⁹ Charles and his wife, Frances, arrived in Hobson’s Bay on 23 January 1848. Five days later, he was installed as the first Bishop of Melbourne at St James’ Pro-Cathedral. Perry’s letters patent set the geographical boundaries of his diocese and, now that Melbourne was the seat of a bishop, raised its status from town to city.²⁰

Before his departure, Perry had put out a call for priests interested in joining him in Melbourne; three clergymen and three lay readers arrived with him on the Stag. The new bishop also set about certifying local men as lay readers. Though this was a practical solution for a church short of qualified officiants (and the funds to pay them), Perry was censured by the church authorities at home and it spurred him to even greater commitment to the training of a local clergy. Well-trained clergy usually completed degrees before commencing theological training, but Perry was concerned in 1850 that Victoria was not ready: ‘With regard to a University, or a College (properly so called) my deliberate opinion is, that we are not yet ripe for one, and I, for my part, will not join in any attempt, which I feel assured would prove a failure.’²¹

The Church was not established in the colonies as it was in England. Perry wished the Church in Victoria to be self-governing and insisted that lay representatives play a role in governance through an elected synod.²² With this accomplished, he turned to schools, negotiating with St Peter’s, Eastern Hill for land for a school built with a grant from the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK).²³ His Diocesan Grammar School was, however, short-lived: the exodus of people to the goldfields from 1851 caused a lack of both teachers and pupils, and the school was closed at the end of 1854.²⁴

Recognising the limitations of his first experiment, Perry began planning for a larger school. On 26 May 1853, he convened a meeting at which ‘a large attendance of influential members of our church’ was present to consider how to found a school on a ‘more permanent and efficient basis’ as well as the ‘expediency of establishing a College in connection with the proposed University’. Among a number of recommendations, the meeting resolved that ‘a Collegiate Institution, in connection with a Grammar School, should be established in this City, with a view to the affiliating of the former with the Melbourne University; and that the same be established on Church of England principles’.²⁵

Two months later, the objects of the college were agreed as giving students a ‘sound religious education, according to the principles of the Church of England, and exercise over them a strict moral discipline’, and supplying ‘instruction in those branches of learning and science which are omitted in the University course’. Some wanted to remove all reference to the university, but HB Macartney, one of the clergymen brought over by Perry and appointed Dean of Melbourne in 1852, objected: while he felt the ‘entire colonial system with regard to religion was wrong’, there was now no alternative but to accept the university as it was, or have none at all. He was supported by Perry: it had ‘already been settled that the College should be affiliated with the University … If the amendment was agreed to, it would make the proposed institution an independent college, which, he had no doubt, would be a failure.’²⁶

Governance of the ‘Grammar School and College’ was to be under a nine-member council, chaired by the bishop. At least four on the council were to be laymen, chosen by the ‘shareholders’, and the number of votes each held would be determined by his financial contribution. A further two members would be elected from among the graduates, ‘so soon as twenty students of the said College shall have obtained the Degree of Master of Arts or any equivalent degree at the University’, rising to four representatives once there were fifty graduates.²⁷ As to the physical manifestation of the college, the draft constitution stated that:

The site shall be within, or in close proximity to, the University limits. The college shall lie under the management of a Provost, who shall be a clergyman of the Church of England in full orders; assisted, as circumstances may require, by one or more Fellows, who shall have signed the Articles and be members of the Church of England, to be selected as the Council shall appoint.

The provost would reside in the college, receive a fixed income and hold office quam diu se bene gesserit—that is, for as long as he did good work. Provision was made for a bursar, whose duties were to include ‘receiving fees, keeping accounts, supplying provisions, and managing all domestic arrangements’. The council would be responsible for setting student charges ‘sufficient to cover all the expenses of rooms, commons, and fees for tuition’.²⁸

While the grammar school and the college were to be separate entities, at first there was a single council overseeing both, and it seems clear that the original idea was for the two institutions—school and college—to be located physically near to one another. In September 1853, the university council requested 100 acres (40 hectares) in Carlton, ‘adjoining the Sydney road’.²⁹ Governor La Trobe offered 25 acres, but reserved the remainder ‘for ultimate educational uses in subordination to the University’.³⁰ After further pleas, the colonial secretary wrote in April 1854 agreeing to extend the grant, but only from 25 to 40 acres.³¹ The new lieutenant-governor, Sir Charles Hotham, then laid the foundation stones for both the university and the Public Library on 3 July 1854. Originally, it was hoped they could build the school ‘upon the North side of Melbourne’, near the university site, but the colonial secretary warned that if such land were granted, ‘every religious denomination would solicit a similar privilege, to accord with which would be highly prejudicial to the interests of the metropolis’.³² The land was deemed so valuable that he could offer only 2 acres there, but perhaps 20 acres in a suburban district such as Prahran. A year later, Hotham granted the Anglicans the present Grammar School site in South Yarra. Bishop Perry laid its foundation stone on 30 July 1856 and the school opened in April 1858 with seventy-seven students. The first stage of Perry’s education plan was complete.

The four inaugural professors at the university, William Wilson (Mathematics), Henry Rowe (Classics and Ancient History), Frederick McCoy (Natural Sciences) and William Hearn (Modern History, Literature and Political Economy), were appointed ready for classes to begin in April 1855. After matriculating the first students, the chancellor noted that following the establishment of a university,

Colleges legitimately follow, spring from the exigencies of, and form a supplement to Universities; and the time … is perhaps not far off, when, as the number of students increase, and a demand arises for a more particular and peculiar inforcement of certain branches of secular knowledge, and a more immediate influence on their religious principles to be indoctrinated, the occasion for their establishment will be provoked here.³³

At the time, the university’s first building was not quite finished. What is now known as the Old Quad was opened in October 1855, containing offices and teaching space enough to accommodate the sixteen men who were admitted in that first year. As for colleges, the first statutes, adopted in November, specified that:

Students of any College, affiliated to the University, shall be allowed credit for attendance on such of the courses of lectures in that College as shall be recognised in the Statute of Affiliation, and shall be permitted to proceed to any Degree in the University, provided that every such student shall have passed all the University Examinations, and shall have complied in other respects with the Regulations of the University.

No request for use of any of the land for colleges had yet been made, but the possibility was still an important matter for the university. In May 1856, the governor’s office approved the ‘conveyance to the University of Melbourne, in trust for affiliated Collegiate Institutions, of the remaining sixty acres reserved for that purpose’.³⁴ The council immediately instructed the buildings committee to ‘take measures for fencing in the reserve’. That seemed to settle the question of the location of any future colleges, but it was another three years before even the dogged Perry found the energy to raise once again the question of a building.

On 14 November 1859, Perry prompted the school and college council to turn its attention to the ‘want of accommodation at the University for students belonging to the Church of England’. Council waited on William Nicholson, the new chief secretary, requesting a grant of £8000 if they raised a further £12,000 by public subscription. The reply, sent on 16 August 1860, was not favourable. Nicholson noted that the ‘state of the public revenue, and the claims upon it, would prevent his placing any sum on the estimates for collegiate purposes’.³⁵

The first approach to the university regarding the reserved land was in March 1861, from the Roman Catholic bishop of Melbourne, James Goold. Goold asked that the council now apportion the land that had been ‘set apart for the purpose of erecting thereon a college’ in 1856.³⁶ The university council recommended that the grounds should ‘not be divided into more than six portions’ and that once the land had been conveyed, maintenance of it ‘be borne by those bodies’.³⁷ George Rusden, clerk of the executive council and a member of the Board of National Education, took exception, feeling that ‘any recommendation made by the Council of the University as to the partition of the College Reserve would be a departure from the board principle of non-interference with … questions affecting religious bodies in the community’. The government surely had not had this sort of distance in mind when drafting the statutes. The teaching of religion may have been forbidden, but there were at least four churchmen appointed to the university council. Rusden’s amendment was defeated, and the request for division of the reserve was sent to Governor Barkly. Although they were first to urge action, the Catholics would be the last to begin building.³⁸

In January 1862, the secretary of the Board of Land and Works advised that the governor had approved the subdivision.³⁹ The plans showed an equal distribution of the land among the four major religious denominations (the same four that had received funds for school buildings): the Anglicans, Presbyterians, Wesleyan Methodists and Roman Catholics. With the land question seemingly settled, the denominations began imagining colleges. Their chief desire was for theological training. Since 1860, Perry had been sending Victorian candidates to Moore College in Sydney, supported by a diocesan grant, but in June 1862 there were calls for the immediate founding of a theological college for Victoria, because ‘our arrangements for preparing future ministers must be very imperfect until we can offer facilities for such preparation, without requiring the student to leave the colony’. The correspondent suggested that a lecture room could be built for £200, the same amount being paid to assist two students being sent to Moore College. Spending the money here would provide a facility where ‘as many students as offer themselves would be enabled to obtain the assistance they require, and a part of our future college would be completed’.⁴⁰ The editorial in the August issue of the Church Gazette was supportive:

An early campus plan showing the college reserves and the first three buildings at the University of Melbourne.

We may fairly expect that, before very long, we shall have a Theological College erected. When this college is completed, our candidates for orders will reside within its walls, and will be brought into continual intercourse with its principal … We should not postpone the building of part of our future college because we cannot raise funds now to complete the whole … surely we can raise sufficient to build a Lecture Hall, and this, we think, should be built as soon as possible.⁴¹

A petition was already circulating and had been ‘signed so numerously, and by so many influential members of the church’ that they felt the bishop would soon agree. The 128 signatories urged the appointment ‘as soon as the necessary funds can be raised’ of one or more lecturers in Theology and the building of a college ‘on the ground set apart for that purpose adjoining the University’.⁴² A formal resolution was then moved by William Stawell (now chief justice) in the Church Assembly in January 1863. He stated that the ‘absence of any mode by which candidates for holy orders can receive in Victoria an education for the ministry, is detrimental to the interests of the church in this diocese’ and that, ‘in addition to a theological institution, a Church of England college affiliated to the university is urgently required’. Stawell’s motion asked for ‘stipends for a divinity professor and lecture-hall, and accommodation for divinity students, until the funds sufficient for the establishment of a permanent theological institution, and erection of suitable buildings, shall have been procured’. Members of the assembly had already agreed that the number of clergy in the colony needed to be increased and, given that ‘even in England the church was not sufficiently supplied with ministers’, the obvious conclusion was that they ‘must look for their clergymen amongst themselves’. Stawell explained that having to rely on Moore College had a ‘paralysing influence upon their own efforts’:

Many young men who would enter the ministry if there was a college here which they could attend without deserting their secular employment, so that they could at the same time obtain an education and support themselves, were prevented from doing so … At present, the university was but the half of a university, and must remain so until colleges were established in affiliation with it, for parents would not expose their sons to the temptation of a huge city without their having any control over them. It would not be necessary to confine themselves to theological students. An institution might be established where a theological training would be afforded, and where any young man passing through the university could be received.⁴³

Other reports observed that at present the university was ‘only suitable for young men whose parents lived, perhaps, at St Kilda, Brighton, or the other suburbs of the town, whilst it was practically not of the slightest advantage to those who were residing in the country, and who should be entitled to equal benefits’.⁴⁴ Bishop Perry was happy to give Stawell power to proceed, but reserved the right to make arrangements in respect of the ‘professor to take charge of the institution’, whose duties ‘could scarcely … be discharged by a parochial clergyman’. In his opening address to the Church Assembly on 6 January 1863, Perry responded to the petition, noting that:

a Church of England College, in connection with the University, would be of great advantage. It should be a general Church of England College for the education in the Ministry of those students who had graduated in the University, and he hoped that this undertaking would before long be commenced.⁴⁵

‘Before long’ turned into a year. The resolutions of the assembly were sent to ‘influential members of the Church in Victoria’, along with a circular asking if they would be willing to serve on a committee for ‘carrying these resolutions into effect’. On 4 January 1864, the inaugural meeting of a ‘Provisional Committee for the Establishment of a Theological College’ was held in the bishop’s registry, with Stawell as chair. The meeting resolved unanimously that ‘it is desirable to commence by the erection of a substantial inexpensive building on the reserve adjacent to the University sufficient to provide a separate room each for eight or ten pupils, a common hall and a residence for a principal’.⁴⁶

The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge was then asked for a grant towards the building, and Professor Wilson was given the task of commissioning sketch plans for a building from the diocesan architect, Leonard Terry, along with ‘estimates of probable cost of portion to be now erected’. In December, Perry confirmed that the SPCK grant of £2000 for a college was still available, the £700 advanced earlier for the Diocesan Grammar School and the remaining £1300 that had been borrowed to purchase prefabricated iron churches from England for the goldfields having been repaid to it in the meantime.⁴⁷ The bishop made it clear that he wanted to move more quickly, urging that ‘steps should be taken to set on foot the erection of a College on the University Ground, in connection with the Grammar School’. The council left it to Perry to consider how to ‘promote the erection of a College in accordance with the original constitution’.⁴⁸

On 10 January 1865, Perry told the Church Assembly of the SPCK donation and suggested that half of the £1000 bequeathed by Charles Griffith, late chancellor of the diocese, be added to it, the other half going to the Cathedral Building Fund. Perry was now reimagining the initial focus of the new venture:

The college which it was proposed to erect would be affiliated to the University. He did not exactly like the term Church of England College; but it might be called Trinity College, or have some other name to be hereafter decided. It would be a college belonging to the Church of England for the reception and superintendence of students at the University, and for supplementing, so to speak, the instruction which they received from the University professors. This would be the primary object of the college, and a theological Institution might be engrafted upon it.⁴⁹

Thus the name ‘Trinity College’ was proposed for the first time. It would not at the beginning be a theological institution, but would exist rather ‘for supplying that religious instruction which could not be given by the University Professors’.⁵⁰

The provisional committee that met on 6 June 1865 consisted of Bishop Perry in the chair, four other clergymen, and four laymen. Justice James Stephen moved that ‘it is expedient proceedings should be taken for the establishment of a Church of England College in connexion with the University, of which a Theological Institution shall form a part’.⁵¹ James Spowers, general manager of The Argus newspaper, seconded Stephen’s motion, and it was agreed they meet soon with the council of the school and college to determine the best way forward.⁵² This inaugurated what was thence known as the Church of England College Committee. A subcommittee consisting of Stawell, Wilson, Stephen, John Bromby (headmaster of the Grammar School), Thomas Cole (vicar of St George’s, Malvern), Francis Grey Smith (manager of the National Bank of Australasia) and Charles Sladen, MLC was elected in September to carry out the work.⁵³ Their first task was to secure a Crown grant for the land on which a college might be built; clearly it was desirable that the land should belong legally to the college—or, rather, the Church of England—rather than the university.

Professor Wilson was appointed secretary. He wrote to the chancellor on 4 October 1865 seeking clarification over the status of the land, ‘upon what trusts the Reserve was granted’, whether the Crown grant had been issued and, if not, what its legal status was, and what steps should be taken for ‘obtaining the transference of the portion appropriated by the Church of England’.⁵⁴ The chancellor replied with a promise to allow Wilson to view the map of the allotment. The grant had not yet been received, but he would ‘apply for it immediately’. This he did the same day, though it was not what Wilson had intended. He asked Chancellor Barry to delay, for surely it should be the churches, not the university, applying for the Crown grants.⁵⁵ The letters, of course, crossed in the mail, and in the meantime the Board of Land and Works had sent a reply to Barry stopping the whole process, considering it quite premature for the churches to be requesting grants when there were no immediate plans for buildings, but promising that ‘When the several Denominations have erected affiliated Colleges within their respective sites, Deeds of Grant will issue’.⁵⁶

Not to be put off, the Anglicans used their considerable influence on the university council to push for control of the land. At the December council meeting, Stawell moved, seconded by Bishop Goold, that the university council

sanction applications being made to the Government by any of the Denominations for whose benefit land has been reserved as site of affiliated Colleges that such land may be granted to Trustees for an affiliated College for the Denominations applying provided the Deed of Grant contain in substance clauses similar to those contained in the Deed issued to the University.⁵⁷

In January 1866, council determined that university support for college proposals would be contingent upon ‘approval by the Council of the design of the Buildings to be erected, as being suitable in their external architectural character’. Perry moved that ‘every student at an affiliated college … shall within six months after he has entered into residence either be matriculated at the University or admitted ad eundem statum [at an equivalent status] therein’.⁵⁸ The motions were carried, providing some ground rules for future colleges.

Barry forwarded his title request to the attorney-general, George Higinbotham, in January 1866. This began a protracted bureaucratic process. In May, Perry’s office sent a formal application to have ownership of the land vested in a panel of Church trustees, only to be told again that no such order could be made until the land was built upon. Perry and Stawell met personally with the president of the Board of Land and Works, James Grant, on 20 June, who ‘promised to give an assurance that the grant would issue on the conditions stated by the University as soon as the college buildings were commenced’.⁵⁹ A week later, Perry wrote to Grant seeking his formal assurance, but Grant now replied that he ‘could not at present give the pledge asked for’. In fact, Higinbotham had already replied to the chancellor:

upon application being made for any such grant, the Government will take with its careful consideration the views of the Council as expressed in the Resolution, and will also consider whether it will be expedient to insert in the grants any further or different conditions for the purpose of carrying out the policy adopted by the Legislature in the matter of public institutions.⁶⁰

It was clear the government was not keen on simply handing over the land at a time when the rapid increase in suburbs was making sites close to the city much more valuable, but the first stage of the process was concluded on 16 July 1866 when orders temporarily reserving the land were issued. The Gazette described the ‘site for Church of England College’ as being ‘Nine acres three roods [4 hectares], more or less, county of Bourke, parish of Jika-jika’.⁶¹

Copies of Higinbotham’s letter were sent immediately to representatives of the other three denominations, expressing grave concern as to the possible ‘conditions’ that might be imposed upon them by the government. They were invited to ‘cooperate with the College Committee on the subject’ and a meeting was arranged for 29 August.⁶² Stawell convened the meeting of representatives, with the chancellor presiding. The terms of any future land grants were considered, the conditions previously fixed by the university were accepted, and it was resolved that the grants ‘ought not to contain any other restrictive clauses’. A delegation was then elected to meet with the commissioner of Crown lands.⁶³ They were particularly concerned that it would be ‘impossible to collect funds for buildings until the conditions alluded to were known’. On 11 September, the commissioner gave his assurance that there was

no desire on the part of the Government to deviate in any way from the original object for which the land was promised; that his only desire was to secure for each church the full control of it for such purposes, with such restrictive clauses only as would prevent collision with the University, and he finally promised that a draft of the deed should be at once prepared and submitted to the several churches.⁶⁴

The deed was delivered on 10 December, but was ‘found to contain very objectionable clauses’. Presumably, these related to the uses to which the land could be put, which might restrict the religious activities offered within colleges. Letters of objection were sent by Bishop Goold and Adam Cairns, principal of the Presbyterian Theological Hall. Confronted with this stern opposition, Grant disavowed any knowledge of the deed’s content. He disapproved of it as much as the complainants, and agreed to have it redrafted. During 1867, the registrar of the diocese (Thomas T à Beckett), Dr Cairns and Thomas Cole met with the commissioner on several occasions, but no new draft had been received by the next meeting of the Church Assembly in January 1868. And there, with the land at least temporarily secured, matters were to stand for another two years.

Leonard Terry’s elegant yet restrained 1868 proposal for the complete Trinity College buildings.

The college committee did meet during that period. On 19 November 1868, Wilson read a letter from Bishop Perry ‘strongly