The other journalist, Peter Barnett, then political correspondent of The West Australian, says of that first meeting, 'I can never forget the feeling of peace that filled the room that morning, like light.' The quartet, he recalls, regarded their invitation to lunch as something of a risk. 'The dining room was small; the house was clean but none too tidy; and in the kitchen we had a funny old electric stove and the oven door wouldn't stay shut. Frank arrived. And with him were eight people. We were astounded to see so many in our small dining-room - in fact the guests had to walk sideways to get to their places. Frank enjoyed himself immensely. So much so that for the next six weeks he came at least once a day to our home for a meal.

'His tastes were simple, and just as well because the kitchen stove wouldn't have coped with anything difficult. Frank's diet was more or less standard - corn soup, roast lamb with mint jelly, and a milky rice pudding, finishing off with Earl Grey tea. During these days our home was used to entertain some of the most distinguished people in the national capital. Fortunately an American lady travelling with Frank came in and helped to cook.'

Farquharson's mother was staying with them at the time, a shy person who felt her place was in the kitchen. Buchman insisted that she sat at his right at table, says Barnett. 'In a few minutes she was relaxed, and she and Frank were talking like old friends.'

'These were the most privileged days of our lives,' Barnett reflected years later when he was the Australian Broadcasting Corporation's correspondent in Washington. 'We got to know Frank as a man. He was a gentle, affectionate, humorous father to us all. No matter how he felt, what time of the day it was, he was always the same. He radiated a joyous peace. The harsh Australian light affected his eyes. But whether in pain or not, Frank was always quietly happy. Though he was partly paralysed, he fed himself, with his superb, expressive, sensitive long fingers. He never assumed he was boss, but always behaved as a guest in the house.'

'We found him fascinating,' writes Oliver Warin, a government geologist. 'What would he say next? He was utterly unpredictable and possessed of a great sense of fun. When someone reminded him of an incident from the previous day he said, "I know. I woke up laughing about that this morning." He was also simply a very interesting person; he had done so much, been to so many places, and had met and talked deep and long with so many people.'

'One evening and a follow-up the next day I particularly remember,' continues Warin. 'Frank spoke of someone he was seeing that evening and invited his dinner guests to go along. He did not particularly invite me and I didn't go, nor feel left out. To tell you the truth, I commonly thought of myself as something of an also-ran in Frank's sort of company . . . Next day I got a call at the office. Could I possibly get away to lunch with Frank? When I got home Frank, who one always felt was such a robust, impish, vital spirit held captive in a frail body, was bobbing about on the front step waiting to greet me. "I am so sorry I did not invite you to join me last evening," he said. "And I just want you to know that I am the kind of fellow who makes those kind of mistakes."'10

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