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| My great-grandfather, my grandfather, me, and my son all wore our country's uniform. |
Speech at 'Menzies and the British Commonwealth of Nations', Robert Menzies Institute Conference at the University of Melbourne, 28th November 2025.
"God, King, and Country" is an intriguing concept. As a political scientist, my approach tends to be historical institutionalism, focusing on legacies and how they inform policy choices in the present, as well as elements like continuity, disruption, and often serendipity.
In terms of serendipity, it's notable that Lord Kitchener was invited to Australia by Prime Minister Alfred Deakin to report on the Australian land defence forces, specifically the Australian Army. At the time, there was controversy over whether it should have been Lord Fisher to review the Navy, which might have made more strategic sense. As it happened, Kitchener arrived in 1909 and stayed until 1910. He travelled extensively throughout Australia, visiting places like Seymour, Darwin, Townsville, and elsewhere. He was greeted with great fanfare; the country folk particularly admired this war hero, known as Kitchener of Khartoum. Kitchener, of course, became the face of the First World War recruitment campaign. Eliza and I discussed this last night, noting how Uncle Sam is a fictional character, whereas Kitchener was a real, living hero. He was often criticised for sending many young men from British country towns to their deaths. In any case, Kitchener advised the formation of the Royal Military College Duntroon, which was established in 1911 along the lines of Sandhurst in the UK. It was quite natural that British identity would form part of the early institutions of the Australian Army in particular, and the military more generally. Kitchener remarked that Australians were natural soldiers.
I probably won't offer any groundbreaking theoretical contributions today, but one thing that stands out for me is my personal connection: I am one of four generations in my family who served in the Australian Army—my great-grandfather, my grandfather, myself, and my son. The Australian Army has been part of our family history for a very long time, and it feels entirely natural. As a teenager, I had the Union Jack and the Australian flag hanging in my bedroom, and I took them to Duntroon for my room in 1992 and 1993. I don't know exactly why I did that—it just felt right. That's what I mean: there's something inherently natural about that British identity in the Australian Defence Force (ADF).
When it comes to "God," my first experience in the military was the laying up of the colors for the 51st Battalion, the Far North Queensland Regiment, in a church during a church parade. That was my initial encounter with the military. I'll never forget at Duntroon the trooping of the colors on the Queen's birthday. The call was "three cheers for Her Most Gracious Majesty: hip, hip, huzzah!" Honestly, if you're not a monarchist after shouting "huzzah," what's wrong with you? Again, it felt very natural. And for "country," the 51st Battalion's motto is Ducit Amor Patriae, which essentially means "love of country leads me." Thus, God, King, and Country are embedded in the symbolism, practices, and institutions of the Australian Defence Force.
For me, this is deeply personal. What I'll argue, in terms of Robert Menzies, is that he was part of that continuity. I dare say that without Queen Elizabeth II reigning for so long, we wouldn't have had the same level of continuity. I don't know if King Charles would have had the same appeal had he been the monarch we relied upon as the representative of the Crown for Australia. There was a deep affection for Queen Elizabeth II, shared by Robert Menzies—famously "British to the bootstraps"—as seen in his poem about the Queen walking by him in Old Parliament House. So much of this feels natural, serendipitous, and enduring. The importance of God, King, and Country in the ADF stems from the unique sense of purpose it provides, which most other professions lack. When commissioned as an officer, you receive a commission from the sovereign—in my case, the Queen—stating that you are to follow orders, even if that means sending your soldiers, and yourself, to their deaths. That's profoundly powerful, and it's shared by warrant officers and other ranks as well. I'm examining Menzies' role in perpetuating this ideal, which truly begins in the modern ADF context with the Korean War. I'll explain that in detail, but I want to start at the end.
The Australian Defence Veterans' Covenant was introduced in 2019 under the Morrison government, building on earlier veteran support initiatives from previous administrations, including the Howard era, and has been reaffirmed in recent years. It's interesting because my generation of Australian soldiers was very disillusioned with the Returned and Services League (RSL) and the Department of Veterans' Affairs (DVA). Only in recent years have we started returning to the fold. I don't know why, but I think we missed it, and we've reached an age where we realise its importance and want to reintegrate it into our lives. I wasn't even aware of the Covenant until my hearing failed—as an artillery officer, of course—and I discovered I was pre-registered for hearing aids. Suddenly, I needed an RSL advocate, so I rejoined, dug out my old badge from 1999, and off I went. The Covenant introduces an American-style "thank you for your service" ethos, with its oath: "for what they have done, this we will do." One of its most important aspects is that the DVA covers all mental health treatment for every single soldier, sailor, and air person who has served. Things have changed significantly, much like after the First and Second World Wars, in terms of veterans' status. Yet this Covenant sits comfortably alongside British military customs. Attlee's idea of the New Jerusalem was similar in its general commitment to looking after veterans, though with more of a socialist bent than Sir Robert Menzies would have liked.
The living British traditions in the ADF are evident. In the regular army, I served with the Royal Regiment of Australian Artillery. This title was granted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1962. I'll never forget, as a young officer—a subaltern—being the newest member of the regiment and having to say grace at a dining-in night. These are formal events where you're not allowed to leave for the bathroom until the loyal toast is done, and they could be quite excruciating back in the 1990s—I can only imagine what they were like before that. The grace was simple: "For what we are about to receive, thank God." When I was told to say that, it reminded me of Duntroon, where I once asked the regimental drill sergeant major for advice on a parade and got a bum steer, landing me on extra drills for two weeks. I was always wary of pranks, like a tradesperson being sent for skyhooks—that was the culture. But the grace was indeed correct. The loyal toast for the Royal Regiment of Australian Artillery in my day was "the Queen, our Captain General." Of course, King Charles is now the Captain General. These are direct, frequent affirmations of the Crown and the Christian tradition.
That tradition continues in the RSL, which has its roots in the First World War. Like the Gallipoli Memorial Club in Sydney, which still exists, they initially faced issues with restricting membership to only Gallipoli veterans, but that didn't last long historically. They've had to adapt over time. Even today, at RSL meetings, we usually have a Union Jack alongside the Australian flag, and we always recite the Ode with the Last Post—it's almost archaic but very moving.
I mentioned the Korean War. My grandfather, whom I knew well, served in the Second World War and then joined the 67th Battalion, deploying to Japan in Hiroshima as part of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF). Australia was naturally part of this Commonwealth effort. The 67th Battalion became the 3rd Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (3 RAR) in 1948, which was our paratroop battalion until recent times. The "Royal" title was appended to the Australian Regiment in 1949. It's interesting that we began serving with Americans as the Royal Australian Regiment during the Korean War in 1950. Before that, it was simply the Second Australian Imperial Force (AIF) and BCOF. As a forward observer in the artillery, I worked directly with Bravo Company, 6 RAR, in Brisbane, and you really feel part of it. They are extremely proud of the Royal Australian Regiment. The Royal Australian Navy and Royal Australian Air Force have their own traditions, which I can't speak to as much, but we see the continuation of the British Army regimental system in Australia. In my time, we still used titles like SO3 (staff officer grade three), which was a captain, followed by your specialty like command and signals. That has now changed to American titles for interoperability, but the British have evolved along similar lines anyway—it's more of an alliance thing. Honors and awards are still approved by the sovereign, and the Crown remains the legal source of military authority in Australia.
The RSL was very much focused on imperial service, even in the interwar and postwar periods. My grandfather, after retiring, lived in an RSL home called War Haven in Cairns, which was essentially an entire village of veterans—you can imagine the shenanigans. But there was this sense of loyalty, belonging, and camaraderie. Service in the two world wars was largely seen as service to the Empire. Even though Curtin brought back the 6th, 7th, and 9th Divisions, turning toward the Americans out of necessity, it hasn't diminished that inculcated Britishness in the ADF. Returned soldiers received enhanced social status; if you look at property maps of Australia, you'll see the impact of land grants and other benefits, particularly in country towns. Military service was a badge of superior citizenship, rooted in British imperial loyalty.
Menzies was self-described as "British to the bootstraps"—it's almost a cliché when discussing him these days—but he sought to preserve a cultural Puritan inflection of British character in Australia. I think it's unfair when the left admonishes him for this, as he did lecture in the United States and had fond connections there. Through his demeanor, in my view, he reinvigorated monarchist and imperial sentiment in the 1950s and 1960s. When you add that our military units were gaining royal titles—which still exist relatively unchanged today—it created a favorable climate for the RSL's British-oriented veterans' culture, which persists to this day. The Royal Australian Regiment formed from the BCOF, and this happened under the Chifley government. This is not all Menzies' doing, but in my previous chapters on communications and Menzies and nuclear policy, he wasn't always the instigator but certainly the perpetuator of these ideas. The Royal Australian Regiment became the first permanent Australian infantry regiment, based on British models.
Going back to Kitchener, he recommended compulsory military service, which existed from 1911 to 1929. Menzies reintroduced national service in 1951. During these foundational periods in the ADF, basically every able-bodied male of a certain age experienced that tradition, perpetuating the inculcation of British military history through the Australian military. If you come to Gunning in my village in the southern tablelands of New South Wales, with a population of around 800, we routinely get 300 people turning up for the Anzac Day dawn service. Particularly in the regions, this culture and sense of identity still exist. The Royal Australian Regiment's hat badge motto is "Duty First." If you weren't doing your job, your colleagues would remind you to read your hat badge. You might not think much of symbols like the Melbourne University insignia, but in the military, these are constantly reinforced—they're living institutions in themselves, inculcating a sense you wouldn't find elsewhere.
In the Commonwealth of Nations context, Australia retains the Crown even as republics have been admitted, but the ADF continues to operate within Commonwealth military culture. This includes the ABCA Armies program (American, British, Canadian, Australian), with New Zealand joining later to form ABCANZ, involving regimental exchanges. At Duntroon, my gunnery officer was from the 1st Northumberland Fusiliers, a British regiment. Our artillery regimental officers' basic course was trained by a regimental sergeant major from the Royal Horse Artillery. These exchanges between Australia and the British military continue to this day and are very important. The integration is surprisingly seamless—the main cultural difference is that Aussies tend to rib each other more than the Brits or Kiwis do, aside from a few drill variations.
In terms of British identity in the defence force versus civilian Australia, in civilian life it's largely symbolic and declining. We still see influences like coats of arms in regional towns on prisons and courthouses, but they're not in your face or a lived tradition. In the ADF, these traditions are institutional, daily, and operational. In many ways, I see the ADF as the last redoubt of God, King, and Country. The difference persists because tradition and esprit de corps require continuity—you can't recreate history. If you've ever marched in column to a pipes and drums band playing the same tunes the British marched to in the Seven Years' War in the 1750s, you know how that adrenaline surges. These are tried-and-tested ways of motivating troops, and the same tunes continue today. The regimental system is inherently conservative because tradition is vital. There's also interoperability with UK and Commonwealth partners, extending to the Americans now. But there's a constitutional reality: the King, through the Governor-General, remains the commander-in-chief of the military. Veterans' organisations continue to reinforce that Britishness.
To conclude, the ADF remains one of the most British institutions in contemporary Australia, and loyalty to King and Country—and implicitly God—is not mere ceremony but a living tradition. I'll never forget, in my early days at Duntroon, lessons on various religions where the lecturer asked, "Hands up who doesn't believe in God?" A few raised their hands, and he said, "Well, let me tell you this: when we were caught in an ambush by the Japanese in New Guinea, everybody prayed." Implicitly, God is part of that. There's a saying—the Americans have it—that there are no atheists in foxholes. This identity was consciously preserved through the Menzies era and continues to shape the profession of arms in Australia. In my chapter, I hope to highlight examples of Menzies integrating with and delivering speeches to the RSL—he was a strong supporter. In the military, more than anywhere else in Australian society, this British identity endures.
Just in conclusion, if you look at the black-and-white photographs across the top, that's my great-grandfather. The second photo is before he went overseas, and the ones on either side show him changed substantially after war preparation training. The photo on the far right is him in the Second World War, as he went back for another six years. You can imagine that impact. Underneath are my grandfather, myself, and my son. As I say, it's very difficult to separate the personal from this idea of British identity because, to me, it's just natural. Thank you.
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