On a foreign field

Tags

1930s, Critic, history, international students, medicine, mining, war, writers

Alexander Maclure (mistakenly named here as Arnold) and other international volunteers arrested while attempting to enter Spain, at an appearance in a French court in 1937. Image from the Workers Weekly, 2 July 1937, courtesy of the Hocken Collections, S16-521d.

I’ve written previously about the university in World War I and World War II, so to mark Anzac Day this year I’m exploring the intriguing and little-known story of an Otago student killed in one of the other conflicts of the 20^th century, the Spanish Civil War. Alexander Crocker Maclure was not your average Otago student. For a start, he came from Canada, not a common origin for students at that time. Born in 1912, Alex Maclure grew up in Montreal. After leaving school, where he did well, he headed to remote northern Manitoba, working as a wireless operator at Fort Churchill. He was, it seems, a man of adventure and one keen to escape his roots in Westmount, a wealthy Anglophone enclave of Montreal. His parents loved their oldest son, but had no time for his leftist politics; indeed, his father chaired the council of the Montreal branch of the Royal Empire Society. In 1931 Alex Maclure enrolled at the Otago School of Mines. We can only speculate about why he came here when he could have attended one of Canada’s mining schools. The Otago school had a distinguished international reputation, so perhaps that was the drawcard; perhaps he wanted also to explore a new country.

There were only around 1100 students at Otago when Maclure arrived, and he quickly earned the reputation of being the most politically radical person on campus. That wasn’t an especially big challenge: a study by Sharon Dooley of Otago students in the depression concluded that most were ‘conservative members of the middle class’, preoccupied with completing their qualifications. There were a few, like future history professor Angus Ross, who were shocked by the poverty they witnessed in those difficult times and took an active interest in politics as a result, but Maclure was unusual in being a committed member of the Communist Party (it expelled him more than once for unorthodox views). Maclure was a driving force behind the formation of the first formal left-wing groups on campus. The Public Questions Union, first affiliated to OUSA in 1932, organised regular discussions and mock parliaments; it also served as a ‘front’ for the Independent Radical Club, ‘an influential cell’ of more radical students, with about 30 members by 1935.

Maclure was heavily committed to his political beliefs. He was always up for a discussion and a very good speaker, though his views shocked many. He started out living at the Dunedin YMCA and later lived in digs in Cumberland and Hyde streets. His university enrolment card for 1935 gave his address as ‘no fixed abode’; that may have been when friends recalled him living in a deserted house, unable to afford heating or food. He had little choice but to turn to his parents for financial support. Writer Dan Davin, a student contemporary, later wrote a vivid portrait of Maclure (disguised as McGregor) in his short story ‘The Hydra’, published in The Gorse Blooms Pale in 1947. It revealed the radical as an extremist, who always ‘seemed too vehement, slightly absurd’; other students threw him in the Leith when he advertised the first meeting of the Radical Club. But Davin also expressed some sympathy with Maclure’s views on food riots by the unemployed, and felt uncomfortable at his conviction and fine for scrawling political slogans on Dunedin footpaths. Maclure wrote about politics wherever he could, including in student publications Critic and the Otago University Review. Meanwhile, he slogged his way through the mining course, completing some of the practical component in the West Coast mines. He took a year off his course in 1933 and it is unclear what he did then; perhaps he simply got a job to fund his later studies. He completed his final course work at the school of mines in 1936; he didn’t receive his diploma, but that was only because he had yet to complete the required thesis about his practical work, often submitted by students a year or two after they left the mining school.

Maclure now had other priorities. Like other political junkies he developed a keen interest in events in Spain, where in 1931 a coalition left-right government took over from the previous deeply conservative dictatorship and monarch, and after the 1936 election a coalition leftist government – the Popular Front – won power. Later that year the right-wing military began an uprising, led by General Francisco Franco, and a brutal civil war broke out in earnest; the war was eventually won by Franco in 1939. The fight was confined to Spain, but it had much broader significance as a battle between the extremes of left and right in a region where fascism was on the rise. Hitler and Mussolini committed resources, including troops, to Franco’s cause and, in the absence of any effective intervention from other countries, leftists around the world recruited volunteers to support the republican government’s battle against the right. The International Brigades, as they were known, eventually included around 40,000 volunteers from 50 countries. Soon after the war broke out Alex Maclure helped set up the General Spanish Aid Committee, later absorbed into the Spanish Medical Aid Committee, which became this country’s major relief organisation for the war.

But Maclure wanted to do more than raise funds. Early in 1937 he returned briefly to Canada, where he joined a group of Canadian and American volunteers heading to Spain. He intended to get involved in the blood transfusion unit, but because of his record as a crack marksman (he won prizes for his shooting ability at school) he was posted to a fighting unit of the MacKenzie-Papineau Battalion. The first challenge was to gain entry into Spain, as France closed its border in February 1937. Maclure and some of his companions were captured by French authorities while travelling up the Mediterranean, hidden in the hold of a fishing vessel; together with several others, picked up by border patrols in the Pyrenees; they spent 20 days in a French prison for evading a non-intervention agreement, which supposedly banned all foreign powers from intervening in Spain. The Workers Weekly, the New Zealand communist paper, published a letter from Maclure in jail, as did the Grey River Argus. The prisoners were in high spirits, and received lots of support from French locals. They finally made their way into Spain some weeks later, crossing by foot in darkness over mountain trails.

Maclure’s movements in Spain remain unclear, but he became sergeant in charge of one of the American Division’s machine guns and was reported wounded and missing in August 1937; he died a couple of months later, probably in battle at Fuentes de Ebro, in the Zaragoza (Saragossa) province of northern Spain. News of Maclure’s death reached Dunedin in December 1937; the Workers Weekly proclaimed the heroism of a comrade ‘killed in action defending, with his comrades in the International Brigade, freedom and world peace against the Fascist invaders’. He ‘demonstrated that New Zealand can point to men to whom freedom means more than life itself’. An obituary in the first issue of Critic for 1938 recalled Maclure’s years as an Otago student, noting his ‘considerable’ intellect and his whole-hearted promotion of his Communist beliefs. ‘His enthusiasm, his sincerity, his moral fearlessness earned him the regard of all who respect such qualities’. Critic did not, naturally enough, demonstrate such approval of Maclure’s politics as the Workers Weekly, commenting that ‘there are many who heartily deplore the theories for which Maclure fought’. It did, however, acclaim his sincerity: ‘to whatever creed we cling we can not but feel admiration for the rare and fine qualities in Maclure’s character, qualities that are revealed by his giving up his life for his ideals’.

Maclure was, to the best of my knowledge, the only Otago student or graduate to serve as a frontline soldier in the Spanish Civil War, but a couple of others did play significant roles in journalism and medicine. Geoffrey Cox completed an MA in history at Otago before heading to Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar in 1932. He stayed on in England, beginning an acclaimed career in journalism as a junior reporter for the News Chronicle. In the early months of the Spanish Civil War, Cox became the paper’s correspondent in Madrid. The original correspondent had been captured, and Cox suggested he was sent because the paper saw him as junior enough to be expendable. His reports from the Spanish capital, then heavily besieged by Franco’s forces, became one of the few sources of information to the outside world. His vividly written eye-witness account of five weeks in Madrid was published in the book Defence of Madrid the following year. His reputation as a correspondent grew as he reported for the Daily Express from Vienna and Paris in the years leading up to World War II, covering the Anschluss and Munich crisis and the invasion of Poland, then the war in Finland and German invasion of the low countries. After the fall of France he signed on with the New Zealand Division and served with distinction. When the war ended he returned to his career as an English newspaper journalist, later becoming a pioneer of television journalism.

Geoffrey Cox, photographed by S.P. Andrew in 1932. Image courtesy of the Alexander Turnbull Library, reference 1/2-C-22830. Alexander Turnbull Library

Douglas Jolly was another Otago graduate who published a book based on his experiences in the Spanish Civil War, but it had a very different purpose: to equip surgeons for battle. Jolly graduated in medicine in 1930. During his university years, and later, he was heavily involved in the Student Christian Movement, becoming a convinced Christian socialist. When the war broke out in Spain he was in England, close to completing his specialist qualifications as a surgeon. As the republicans lost most of their military medical services with the army rebellion and the Red Cross refused to intervene in an internal conflict, there was a call for international volunteers to support the leftist cause. Jolly immediately abandoned his studies, arriving in Spain in November 1936 with the first contingent of British medics. He was assigned to the XI International Brigade, for whom he formed a 50-bed mobile surgical unit. He gave two years of almost continuous service as a frontline surgeon, only departing when all international volunteers were withdrawn from Spain. He proved an excellent surgeon, ‘courageous and totally reliable’, much respected by all with whom he served. His patients included civilians injured in air raids alongside frontline soldiers, and the settings for the ever-mobile field unit ranged from the basement of a shell-ruined flour mill to railway tunnels and a cave. After the war he campaigned on behalf of post-war refugees, including during a return visit to New Zealand in 1939. When World War II broke out he returned to England and wrote the medical manual Field Surgery in Total War, published in October 1940 to glowing reviews. His advice on abdominal surgery saved many lives, and his systems for dealing with multiple injured patients became the basis for surgical units in World War II, Korea and Vietnam. Doug Jolly also signed on with the Royal Army Medical Corps, serving as a surgeon in North Africa and Italy. His long service on the battlefields of two wars eventually caught up with Jolly; after World War II he lost his enthusiasm and confidence for surgery, spending the rest of his career as medical officer at Queen Mary’s Hospital for amputees in London.

Marianne Bielschowsky in April 1939. Image courtesy of the Hocken Collections, Bielschowsky papers, MS-1493/036, S16-521d.

The involvement of two later Otago staff members, Franz and Marianne Bielschowsky, in the Spanish Civil War was less intentional than that of the three Otago-educated people already mentioned. They were already living in Spain when war broke out. Franz Bielschowsky, son of distinguished German neurologist Max Bielschowsky, undertook his medical training in a succession of German universities before completing an MD at Berlin and embarking on a career in medical research in Dusseldorf. Early in 1933 he was dismissed from his job because of his Jewish parentage and fled to Amsterdam. In 1934 he relocated to Madrid, where he became a lecturer in the medical faculty; in the following year he was appointed director of the biochemistry department of the new Institute for Experimental Medicine at the Central University of Madrid. Marianne Angermann, a German biochemist who had worked with Franz Bielschowsky in Dusseldorf, joined him at the Institute in Madrid late in 1935; they were to marry in 1937. Angermann and Bielschowsky refused offers to leave Spain when the civil war began; they did not feel vulnerable and respected the support they saw for the republican government. But as the siege of Madrid lengthened, their research work became impossible. Franz joined the republican medical service and worked at a military hospital in Madrid. The Bielschowskys remained in Madrid after the withdrawal of international medical staff in 1938, but fled Spain early in 1939, as Franco’s forces prepared to enter the capital. They were now refugees for a second time, and as war took over Europe they ended up in England. They both obtained work at the University of Sheffield, where Franz’s research took a new direction, investigating the role of hormones in the development of cancers. In 1948 the Bielschowskys arrived in Otago, where Franz had been appointed director of the cancer research laboratory. Like his work in Sheffield it was sponsored by the British Empire Cancer Campaign Society. Franz continued a productive research career at Otago for 17 years, until his sudden death in 1965. Marianne, who worked alongside him, continued her work until her own death in 1977. She was especially known for her development of various special strains of mice, used worldwide for medical research.

Franz Bielschowsky in 1949, when he was Director of Cancer Research at the University of Otago. Image courtesy of the Hocken Collections, Physiology Department records, r.6681, S16-521c. (I would be delighted to hear from anybody who can identify the woman in this photo).

The Spanish Civil War of the 1930s might be dismissed as foreign by many New Zealanders, but its dramatic progress caught up several people from these distant shores. The involvement of people connected with Otago reflected the international influences – and standing – of this university. There were an international student from Canada whose politics drove him to his death in a fight against fascism, and two New Zealanders – a Cromwell-born doctor and a Palmerston North-born journalist – who took the skills developed at Otago and further honed in England to make their own contributions during that brutal war. Last, but by no means least, came the cultured German scientists whose fortunes became caught up in that war; it was one of the events which led them to eventually settle and make an important contribution in this more peaceful corner of the world.

I am grateful to Wellington historians Simon Nathan and Mark Derby for sharing information about Alexander Maclure. I highly recommend to anybody interested in learning more the book edited by Mark Derby, Kiwi Compañeros: New Zealand and the Spanish Civil War. Mark tells me discussions are underway about a possible memorial to Doug Jolly in his home town, Cromwell.

An update (18 July 2016) – somebody who knew the Bielschowskys has kindly been in touch to alert me that the photo labelled as being of Franz is not actually him! She suggests it may be of Leopold Kirschner. If you recognise this gentleman, I’d love to hear from you.

A further update (20 July 2016) – a couple more people have confirmed that the man in the laboratory photograph is not Franz Bielschowsky, but Leopold (‘Poldi’) Kirschner. Kirschner was a microbiologist and worked in the Medical Research Council’s Microbiology Research Unit. He was another of Europe’s Jewish diaspora.Originally from Austria, he did important work on leptospirosis in Indonesia, but was interned there during the war. He continued the work on leptospirosis at Otago. My sincere thanks to those who helped correct the photo identification. The identity of the woman in the photo remains a mystery – suggestions are welcome!

Off to war

Tags

1910s, classics, dentistry, languages, medicine, mining, war, women

Alexander Trotter, who graduated MB ChB from Otago in 1913, took this snapshot of some of his colleagues from the NZ Medical Corps in Jericho. They include Capt Warren Young (an Otago medical graduate of 1916), Capt Martin Ryan (a dentist) and Col Robert Walton (an Edinburgh medical graduate). Image courtesy of the Hocken Collections, AM Trotter papers, MS-3397/008, S14-589a.

The barrage of World War I centenary events is now upon us, and this month Dunedin commemorates the embarkation of the first troops who departed here for the war in Europe. It seems an appropriate time to think about the impact of the war on the University of Otago.

At the beginning of 1914 there were just over 600 students enrolled at Otago, 70 per cent of them male; a considerable number were part-timers. Numbers attending dropped off rapidly as young men headed off for the front. The chancellor reported at the end of March 1915 that “at least a hundred students are wearing their King’s uniform, and small detachments are constantly leaving to join the reinforcements.” The March 1915 annual reports of the “special schools” revealed the large impact of war. Of the 29 students in the School of Mines, 9 left in August 1914 to become part of the main expeditionary force, and by March a further 5 had joined them on active service. The tiny dental school, which had just 8 students enrolled in 1914, provided 3 of those to the armed forces. The medical school, too, contributed significantly. Like the dental and mining schools, it allowed students who had nearly completed their degrees to finish early, expediting their departure: “In consequence of the demand for surgeons a special final examination was held last August [1914], and sixteen of the fifth-year students who passed either joined the Expeditionary Force or replaced others who did so.”

The university council took great pride in the contribution being made by its students and former students to the war effort. It had been horrified by news of the “wanton and lawless destruction” of the “ancient and honoured University of Louvain” by German troops invading Belgium; many irreplacable books and manuscripts were lost along with buildings. In an October 1914 letter of sympathy to Louvain, the council noted its pride “that many of its own alumni have gone forth to serve as comrades in arms of the Belgians in the cause of freedom and humanity.” An early sign of the tragedy of war can be seen in the minutes of the following month’s council meeting, which record sympathy at the “cruel death of Dr Angus McNab on the battlefield. While in the act of rendering surgical aid to wounded soldiers it has been reported that he was bayoneted by the Germans, although he was wearing the red-cross badge on his arm.” McNab completed a BSc and BA at Otago in the 1890s, and went on to become a medical specialist in London.

In May 1915 the university council recorded its last sympathy motion for war-related deaths, noting its “mingled feelings of sorrow and pride” at “news of the death at the Dardanelles of three students of the University of Otago – Lieutenants R. Duthie, J.S. Reid, and E.M. Burnard.” All three died at Gallipoli. Death at war, it would appear, then became so common that it no longer warranted a special mention: by the end of the war nearly 100 staff and students had been killed. Their names were recorded in the University of Otago Calendar and photographs of “fallen comrades” appeared in the student publication, the Otago University Review, but there was no longer space for recording them in the council minutes. The council did, however, continue to record military honours awarded to university people, sending congratulations to the families of those concerned.

Putting aside the personal tragedies of the many deaths and injuries, the biggest headache the war created for the university authorities was retaining sufficient staff to keep its normal activities going. Of course, they had no idea how long the war would last, and nobody suspected in 1914 that it still had four years to run. When William Phillipps, a demonstrator in biology about to leave on military service, requested 3 years of leave in February 1915, the council resolved “to grant Mr Phillipps leave for twelve months or until the end of the war should the war terminate in less than twelve months.” Deciding whether or not to grant leave, and how long for, was tricky, and once conscription was introduced in 1916 the council also had to decide whether or not to appeal against the calling up of its employees.

There was a particular demand for people with medical expertise, and replacements for medical school staff could be difficult to find. When Percy Gowland, Professor of Anatomy, asked the council in February 1917 if he might proceed to the front, it sympathised, but informed him that “his services are indispensable to the Medical School.” When Gowland was called up in the ballot in 1918, the university appealed. At the same October meeting of the Military Service Board, it appealed against the calling up of William Carswell, surgical tutor and assistant lecturer, and Alexander Kidd, who worked in the anatomy laboratory. Kidd had asked the council for leave to proceed to war, but Gowland stated he was “essential for the proper working of the Anatomical Department.”

A familiar wartime sight. This unidentified photograph is from the papers of Roland Fulton, one of many Otago medical graduates to serve in World War I. After qualifying in 1914 he headed to England for further training in surgery; he served with the Royal Army Medical Corps during the war. Image courtesy of Hocken Collections, RAH Fulton papers, MS-1667/008, S14-589b.

Some senior staff did head overseas to the war, often for long periods. Daniel Waters, Professor of Metallurgy and Assaying in the School of Mines, served as an officer in the New Zealand Tunnelling Company for a couple of years; he returned to the university after being discharged no longer fit for service at the end of 1917. Henry Pickerill, Dean of the Dental School, served from 1916 to 1919 with the New Zealand Medical Corps, becoming famous for his pioneering work reconstructing the jaws and faces of those injured by war. The Professor of Surgery, Louis Barnett, joined the Royal Army Medical Corps in Malta early in 1915 and was transferred to the New Zealand Medical Corps in Egypt in October 1915. He returned to New Zealand early in 1917, after the university had convinced the military authorities he was essential to the training of the country’s future surgeons. Thomas Adams, Professor of Classics, enlisted early in 1917 and did not return to New Zealand until 1920, having been seconded for army educational duties in England.

Some subject areas struggled in the war years due to a lack of students. With its dean away and very few students, the Dental School was under threat of closure, but managed to survive the war years before expanding greatly in the post-war period. One casualty of the war was the university’s German language programme. In 1915 lecturer Frank Campbell resigned because he had no students. The council regretted “the loss of a teacher of his experience and the removal, even for a time, of so important a study as that of German from the subjects of instruction within the University.”

A more common difficulty, though, was finding substitutes for staff serving overseas. One solution was to appoint women, who were more readily available and not liable to conscription into the military. Isabel Turnbull became assistant to Adams in 1915; for the three years he served overseas she took on full responsibility for Otago’s teaching of Latin. Gladys Cameron was appointed to teach in bacteriology and public health in 1917, and Phyllis Turnbull as assistant in French in 1918; other women became demonstrators. Outside the School of Home Science, women academics had been non-existent at Otago prior to the war. Now new opportunities were opening to them, though sometimes these were temporary. Women also became more prominent as students during the war years, accounting for almost half of students in 1918 before men took over again in 1919.

The ‘Great War’ clearly had an enormous impact on the university, its staff and its students. It is also clear that the university made an enormous contribution to New Zealand’s war effort, with the council  minutes recording numerous students, staff and alumni mentioned in despatches and awarded military honours. For more information about the university and World War I, see this recent article in the alumni magazine, which also features on article about the war commemorations by Professor Tom Brooking.

Becoming part of Asia

Tags

1950s, 1960s, 1970s, Africa, Arana, Asia, biochemistry, Colombo Plan, international students, mineral technology, mining, Pacific, physics

Oo Khaik Cheang, Philippa Wiggins and an unidentified person at a farewell morning tea for Oo in the Department of Biochemistry, c.1964. Photograph courtesy of the Hocken Collections, Department of Biochemistry records, MS-4113/009, S14.512b.

In the middle of the twentieth century Pakeha New Zealanders, who had for generations looked “home” to Britain, became increasingly conscious that they were part of the Asia-Pacific region. The arrival of Asian students on New Zealand university campuses as part of the Colombo Plan played no small part in this changing perspective of the world.

The Colombo Plan – named for the city where it was signed, Colombo in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) – was a 1950 agreement between various Commonwealth countries to promote economic and social development in Asia and the Pacific. There were various aspects to the scheme: more developed nations sent money and technical expertise to countries in need of assistance, and they also provided education within their own tertiary institutions for promising students from developing nations. Around 3500 students came to New Zealand as part of the Colombo Plan during the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. This country then withdrew from that aspect of the scheme, though the Colombo Plan survives today, considerably modified from its origins of over sixty years ago.

Otago’s first Colombo Plan students arrived in the early 1950s, with numbers gradually building up. In 1965 there were just over 160 international students on campus, more than half of them from Asian countries. Probably most, if not all, of the Asian students were here on the Colombo scheme. The largest group came from the countries which would later form Malaysia: 39 from Malaya, 11 from Sabah and 8 from Sarawak. Another 10 came from Thailand, 8 from Singapore, 8 from Hong Kong, 2 from Ceylon, 2 from Indonesia, 1 from Java and 1 from Burma. A quarter of these Asian students were women. Otago also had 28 international students from Africa and 26 from the Pacific Islands that year.

The Colombo Plan students completed courses in a wide range of disciplines. Most lived in residential colleges for at least part of their course, and in recognition of this the government provided funding for the university to expand its residential capability. The money was used to extend Arana Hall (now Arana College), with its new Colombo Wing opening in 1968. But authorities were keen for the Colombo Plan students to be integrated throughout the community, so they were spread around all the colleges, and also enjoyed the hospitality of New Zealand host families during holidays.

Arrival in Dunedin, with its less than tropical climate, could be something of a shock for students from Asia! Furthermore, especially in the early years of the scheme, many New Zealanders were unaccustomed to the presence of ‘foreigners’ and treated anybody speaking in another language with suspicion. Fortunately, other members of the community made a real effort to welcome the visitors and the students themselves appreciated the opportunity to learn about Kiwi culture. Some really threw themselves into student life. One outstanding example of this is Mazlan Othman, who arrived in Dunedin in the early 1970s as an undergraduate science student and went on to become the first woman to complete a PhD in physics at Otago. She enjoyed all the capping events, attended protest rallies, played in a band, worked in a restaurant, visited the mountains and enjoyed long discussions at the pub with other students. She learned to appreciate New Zealanders’ egalitarian outlook on life.

Some of these mining students are likely to have been at Otago on the Colombo Plan – they were clearly getting into the spirit of Otago student life! Freshers’ welcome 1964, Department of Mineral Technology album, MS-3843/005, S13-561b, Hocken Collections, University of Otago.

Like many other Colombo Plan graduates, Mazlan Othman went on to a successful career. She returned to Malaysia to teach, and later worked in the Prime Minister’s office to oversee development of Malaysia’s national planetarium. She then became Director of the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs. Many became university lecturers in their home countries. Oo Khaik Cheang, who features in the photograph above, became Professor of Biochemistry at the University of Malaya (Kuala Lumpur). He completed a PhD on “The biosynthesis of bacterial cell wall constituents” at Otago, graduating in 1965. Others went on to signficant political careers. A well-known example is Sulaiman bin Haji Daud, who graduated in dentistry from Otago in 1962. Over many years in Malaysian politics he served as minister in various portfolios, including education and health. Soedjati Djiwandono, who studied education, politics and languages at Otago before completing post-graduate qualifications in London, became a distinguished political scientist in Indonesia.

The Colombo Plan offered the opportunity for students to complete qualifications not yet available in their home countries, and to bring the benefits of that learning to their home communities. But the plan also had great benefits for the host countries. It brought a new diversity to the student body and introduced New Zealanders to new cultures. Lifelong friendships were forged in Otago’s residential colleges, lecture theatres, labs and the student union. The scheme brought some especially bright minds to Otago, for competition for the scholarships was fierce. The connections made through the Colombo Plan would have a very long impact on the university, as the goodwill built up encouraged further generations of international students to enrol here. It is no accident that the largest group of international students at this university in more recent decades has been from Malaysia, which was also the home of the largest group of Otago Colombo Plan students.

Did you attend Otago under the Colombo Plan? If so, do you have any memories to share? Can you help identify anybody in the photographs? I have published the image of the mining students on this blog previously, but I’m yet to identify any of the people, or the location!

Update – 27 March 2014: Many thanks to Alison Finigan of the Alumni Office who found a mining graduate at an alumni function in Kuala Lumpur who identified some of the people in the mystery photograph! Among the men standing are Boon Meer Prasart (left), Vivoon Petpaichit (3rd from left), Chai ? (wearing dark glasses) and Paichit Patasorn (right). All four were from Thailand. Can you add any more details?

Another update – 16 December 2014: A big thank you to Nic MacArthur who identified Ray Soper as the man standing second from left in the photograph of mining students at their freshers’ do. Ray graduated with a BSc in 1967, a couple of years ahead of Nic, who graduated with a BSc (Hons) in mineral technology in 1969. A check of the graduation programmes also reveals what are hopefully the correct names of three of the Thai mining students. Viroon Petpaisit graduated BSc in December 1965, while Paichit Pathnopas and Sunan Boonmeeprasert were awarded Bachelors of Engineering in December 1966. I’m still wondering what the venue is – anybody out there know?

More information – 26 July 2016: My thanks to Jean Kennedy, who identified the man in dark glasses in the mining student photograph as Riew Kongsangchai, who graduated with a Bachelor of Engineering degree in December 1965. Jean became friends with the Thai mining students through the International Club in 1963 and remembers them as ‘the best cooks among the Asian students’; they shared a flat in Clyde Street.

The miners’ mystery venue

Tags

1960s, 2000s, 2010s, Colombo Plan, hotels, international students, mineral technology, mining, orientation

Freshers’ welcome 1964, Department of Mineral Technology album, MS-3843/005, S13-561b, Hocken Collections, University of Otago.

Were you at Otago in the 1960s? Do you recognise this venue, possibly on campus? After our success in identifying the mystery 1950s dentists, I’m hoping this more recent image will prompt somebody’s memory! The photograph was taken at the freshers’ welcome for mining students in 1964 – do you know any of these happy people? This was a time when the Colombo Plan was in full swing, bringing students from Southeast Asia to Otago and other Commonwealth universities – some of the men pictured may well have been part of that scheme. This was also the last year of the independent Faculty of Technology (formerly the Otago School of Mines). In 1965 metallurgy courses came to an end and the Department of Surveying and Department of Mineral Technology were absorbed into the Faculty of Science. While surveying continues to thrive at Otago, in 1987 the government transferred mining courses to the University of Auckland (in the face of loud southern protest).

Student social venues have been in the news recently, with ‘the Cook’ – the historic Captain Cook Tavern – closing last week. The hotel, which opened in the 1860s, is slightly older than the university, but for many decades students have been an important part of its clientele. In recent years, though, student drinking patterns have changed, with more people drinking at home or gravitating to the flourishing bars around the Octagon and environs. With profits dropping at the Cook, the building owners have been unable to find anyone willing to take on the expiring lease.

The university had a more active role in the closure of two other historic hotels in north Dunedin. In 2009 the university bought the Bowling Green Hotel, which had been home to a string of controversial promotions during the eleven-year lease of its final publican. A year later, the Gardens Tavern building was sold to the university. After multi-million dollar refits, the former ‘Bowler’ and ‘Gardies’ pubs re-opened for entirely different purposes. 71 Frederick Street – the prosaic name of the former Bowling Green Hotel building – now houses the university’s Bioethics Centre, Maori Health Workforce Development Unit and Pacific Island Research and Student Support Unit. Early this year the Marsh Study Centre opened in the former ‘Gardies’, providing a comfortable study space and reducing crowding in the libraries around campus.

Do you remember socialising at the Cook, the Bowler and the Gardies? Which other venues have been important to Otago students and staff?

Update – 31 March 2014: I posted this photograph again in a piece about the Colombo Plan, which you can read here. Take the link to find the name of some of the men in the photograph. I’m still looking for more information though!