Anyone who prefers to doubt the existence of a White Australia policy, or who sees modern restrictions on women here as excessive, will be pushed to reconsider after reading The Mad Doctor, by the popular novelist F J Thwaites and published in Sydney in 1935. By April 1947 this book was in its 11^th re-print, and Thwaites had rewritten some of it: modern literary theory would assert this tells us something about the society that produced this text. 

To think about: What image does ‘The Mad Doctor’ bring to mind, before you know more about the story? 

Perhaps the extreme tragedy of the novel’s background was necessary to have any dramatic impact at all after the massive and ongoing trauma of the First World War. A young surgeon is implored by his beloved sister to perform an illegal abortion on her. He agrees, she dies, he goes to prison for five years, and his reputation is ruined. Upon his release his father disowns him, so he disappears. 

Some time later a doctor is heard of in the African jungle, apparently able to cure paralysis, one of the ancient curses of medicine. There is only one problem:  

‘… “Where has he gone?” 

“Up the river” she answered lifelessly. “Plague has broken out in some tribe- he’s gone to them. Will be away a day or two I fear.” 

Sir Austin lifted himself on both elbows and stared across at his daughter like a man unable to believe his ears.

‘Do you mean the idiot left me here to die- that he’s gone, God knows where, to treat natives in preference to a white man?” His voice fell to a whisper as he finished. “Why it’s unbelievable. Is- is he mad?” 

“They call him the mad doctor, Daddy.” ’

 

Later, another heroine comes to the Kasser river:  

‘To Adele, as she watched the scene, it gave a fleeting impression that here was a great human ant-heap, swarming natives, happy because they were working. 

An occasional flash of white mingled with the drabness and was lost, as some European in topee and drill strode masterfully through the crowd. While here and there a turbaned Indian peddled his wares along the street.’

 

The novel is proudly nationalistic, and it is ‘British Justice and the BMA [British Medical Association]’ that puts the doctor away. There are some entertaining swipes at the old country, as when the doctor is ordering his servant around: 

‘ “No soap, master,” he said in English which, though not really fluent, was simpler and more direct than that used by many Oxford graduates.’ 

Strickland, a leading neurosurgeon, is against the brain-drain that has afflicted Australia for a century: 

‘ “I’m able to do work in Australia, just as well as I could in New York or London, and I’m needed just as much here; so why should I leave the country of my birth?”’ 

To think about: If Thwaites is so keen on Australia, why did he not set his novel in an aboriginal community? 

Perhaps you recall the Dr Patel case early in 2005. For today’s reader this adds a sinister dimension to this conversational remark: 

“You’re too modest Graham, and too timid. That’s why you’re still a G.P.  Given the most remote chance of success, I’m willing to operate, and, because I’ve an intense confidence in myself, I’m generally successful. Confidence, after all, is the best ally of any surgeon.” 

However, we must remind ourselves it is a novelist, not a surgeon writing these words. Indeed, one is glad one is not a patient of F J Thwaites, who ministers to a dehydrated, collapsed old man in the African jungle: 

‘She lifted his head and moistened the lips with brandy, then gently forced some of the life-giving drops between them. For long minutes he lay as though dead…’ 

Unfortunately ‘she’ dies of a fever, and he decides to throw himself to the crocodiles, not forgetting to beseech the doctor in a letter: 

‘Doctor, I urge you to leave this country…England- go there…In your hands you hold a cure for thousands of crippled men and women…kill the cynic in your heart that cries to you of life’s injustice…go out into the world and return good for the evil done you…’ 

To think about: Here, Sir Austin clearly states Englishmen are more important than Africans. But what of World Wars One and Two…could Africa be a metaphor for the infested swamp of war, and England for bigoted civilisation? Perhaps people in 1946 wanted to know how to assimilate their wartime lives…how to forgive and carry on? The novel’s expression of metaphor may have had a social purpose. 

Finally the mad doctor falls for the number two heroine. Unbelievably he is not recognised by his father, even after weeks together in the jungle with only some grime and a beard to disguise himself. The finale enforces an over-reaching moral without any attempt at literary disguise: 

‘There was humble ring in his voice. “The mad doctor is dead, but there times when his spirit still haunts me. I must forget- only God can help me.” He drew a deep breath. “And- and you can give me back my faith in God.” 

For a moment she was too affected to speak. Then slowly her wet eyes were lifted to his. 

“I’ll try ever so hard, darling,” she whispered; “ever so hard.” 

He stood very straight, his arms holding her close, his gaze lifted towards the star-encrusted heavens, and at that moment his face held a beauty that does not come from earthly things- for the mad doctor had found his way back to life- and to God.’ 

A historical footnote: ‘Doc’ Evatt 

I suppose that thanks to this novel that Dr Evatt was called ‘the mad doctor’ from time to time. (His degrees were in Law.) Evatt was deputy prime minister under Chifley during WW2. He was president of the third General Assembly of the UN from 1948-9; the first chairman of the UN Atomic Energy Commission; and opposition leader from 1951. He retired from politics in 1960 to become a high court judge.  

References and further reading 

Thwaites FJ (1935 to 1947) The Mad Doctor (11 editions)  Peter Huston  Sydney 

for a brief biography of Dr Evatt:

www.lib.flinders.edu.au/resources/collection/special/evatt/evattbiog.html

for a reference to Evatt as the Mad Doctor, see Voice: A Journal of Comment and Review  15/20   Canberra