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He had no time for John Howard as Treasurer in the Fraser government and even less for him as Prime Minister. He was a good judge of people. He adored his wife, Norma, his daughter and his grandchildren, and loved his church, though he would tolerate no heresy from the pulpit and would send a caustic note to Rome if he detected any. He was staunchly patriotic and unashamedly conservative, though he told me recently that he would hand out cards for the Labor Party if Howard went with a GST. He stuck to his principles and never wavered in his belief that Australia was a great country that was being stifled and murdered by the mediocrity of political parties and their apparatchiks—elected and all too often unelected—who dictated policy and believed they knew better than the masses. Eighteen months ago he told me that out there there was a wall of anger being feverishly held back by the forces of political correctness. So he saw the Hanson movement as a return to the values that could reinvigorate Australia, take account of the bush and pick up that great mass of people who he saw as significantly left out of the political process. In the main, these were the real battlers whom he believed Howard had dishonestly used to further his own political ends. He saw the need to unite like peoples, to disown the far right elements of One Nation but to nonetheless bring under the banner of a United Australia Party those people wanting change from One Nation and the other political parties. He would have been overjoyed by the Queensland election result but, alas, he passed away before he saw it. I am sure he got St Peter to phone through for the results, and I am sure he would be arranging the celestial tally room for the massive breakthrough, come the federal poll. The last time I saw him was at his home recently. He was delighted to have me visit. Sometimes he was baking bread. He would brew the coffee, slice the fruitcake and, wickedly, bring out the white wine before I left. He hated puffery and pretentiousness. Testimony to this was a recent letter to the Australian in which he debunked suggestions of problems for adopted children such as his own daughter. He told me he loved her more than he could possibly explain. He referred to those who came out with highbrow theories on this and other topics as typical EBBS—educated but bloody stupid. I spoke to him a lot. He was a touchstone of wisdom and clarity of thought. I will miss him enormously. He wrote poetry too. May I just read this poem entitled A Once Jolly Swagman : From the shadowy depths of hopeless night, Spirit of South Land Plucked my soul from sorrow and bore me gently in His Hand To lofty snow-capped mountains, remote in space and time, And there revealed to me the full flowering of this love of mine. I saw her abundant treasures, riches, all that man could need And a free and happy people toiling with no thought of greed. I saw truth and justice, like her golden sunlight gleaming, And even Black Brother, innocent, happy in his time of dreaming. SO I LAUGHED, AND IT WAS MUSIC IN THE SOARING WINDS OF HOPE;IT SEEMED ALL THE WORLD CAME-A WALTZING MATILDA WITH ME. I say about the late Charles Connelly: what a fantastic bloke he was and I will miss him very much.