In 1950 Australia was, in many ways, a fascinating country. It made me think of a giant who had for long been fast asleep, but was now beginning to stir before waking up. Architecturally and socially its cities were like transplants from pre-war Britain, although in politics and in labour relations they seemed to me much more raw and aggressive. It was an interesting time from an academic viewpoint, for the university scene was on the threshold of great changes. The creation of a university of technology in Sydney had been agreed, and some staff appointments had been made in 1949 although the new university (now the University of New South Wales) had as yet no buildings of its own, and, when I was there in 1950, most of its work was being carried on in the Sydney Technical College, which was (and, I believe, still is) located in Ultimo, not very far from the University of Sydney. Philip Baxter (now Sir Philip), the professor of chemical engineering in this new university, had taken up office about a year before I visited Sydney; I had known him in England, where he was Research Director at I.C.I. Ltd General Chemical Division at Widnes. We had been associated, partly through chemical defence work during the war, and subsequently in my capacity as consultant for several years to the General Chemical Division. He and his wife were very kind to me in Sydney, and I was greatly impressed by the way in which he was getting a grip on things, not only as regards chemical engineering in the new university, but through his development, even at that early stage, of good relations with the government of New South Wales, and the way he appeared to be taking a leading part in matters relating to atomic energy. At the time of which I write, the Vice-Chancellorship of the infant university was temporarily occupied by a civil servant from the New South Wales Department of Education, but it was clear that he was, in effect, just a stop-gap until the university had premises of its own. That, I confess, seemed to me a long time off. Philip Baxter took me one warm and sunny morning to see the university site at Kensington, where building was said to have begun. It consisted of a large open space with, somewhere near the middle, a brick wall about thirty feet long by ten feet high, evidently the beginning of a larger structure; at the base of the wall, on its shady side, reclined half a dozen builder's men apparently asleep. Such hives of activity seemed to me to be not uncommon on construction sites in Sydney, so I reckoned (erroneously, as it turned out) that the University of New South Wales would take a long time to develop. One thing was clear to me, however - Philip Baxter would surely take over as Vice-Chancellor; this he did, in due course, and the impressive new university is in effect a monument to his ability and drive.
In general the universities were in a poor way. They were swamped by elementary teaching and frequently at loggerheads with the state governments on which they depended for support. Research was at a rather low ebb; most of the best people they produced went abroad to study for a doctorate, and usually did not return. The situation, at least in chemistry, was not helped by the low level of industrial activity, with a consequential paucity of openings for graduates outside the institutes of the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation, which were doing an excellent and very necessary job in supporting agriculture and livestock production on which the country's welfare mainly depended. Shortly before my visit, it had been decided, on the advice of some leading expatriate Australian scientists, spurred on by Sir David Rivett, the head of CSIRO, to create an Australian National University at Canberra - a decision which, not surprisingly, was greeted with no great enthusiasm by the existing state universities. I recall being at a dinner in Melbourne given, if I remember aright, by the board of I.C.I. (ANZ) Ltd at which Rivett and I were guests. He expounded his views on the national university scheme indicating that it was to be essentially a research university, where all the best Australians would be able to develop work which would achieve international recognition. I asked whether it might not be wiser at this stage to do something that would put the state universities in order and enable them to develop into world-class institutions, rather than embark on the national university scheme. With this view he disagreed vehemently, saying that the state universities were quite hopeless and could never develop in the way I suggested. In reply I said that, if the state universities were neglected, reliance on a national university would be no solution, and that, if the state universities were not properly supported and encouraged, the long-term outlook for science in Australia would be bleak indeed; to my mind, one should build up the state universities and create a national postgraduate university later on. We had quite a set-to that evening. In the event, of course, I was proved right in one respect by the development which has since occurred in the state universities, which are now flourishing both in teaching and research. On the other hand, as Rivett hoped, the national university - although I still think it was founded earlier than it should have been - has settled down and is now a fine institution.
A few days before I was due to leave Australia for home I received a telegram from my old friend and former Vice-Chancellor, Sir John Stopford, in his capacity as deputy chairman of the Nuffield Foundation. It informed me that I would find at home a formal invitation to become a Nuffield Trustee and finished with the words 'and don't dare to refuse'. So, on returning to England I became a Managing Trustee of the Nuffield Foundation. Thus began a long and intimate association with this great charitable foundation, which I have served successively as Managing Trustee, deputy chairman and chairman until the end of 1979, and since then as chairman of the Ordinary Trustees. The Nuffield Foundation was created by Lord Nuffield who, having made a large fortune in the motor industry, wanted to set up a trust which would apply his wealth to the advancement of health, and the prevention and relief of sickness, the advancement of social well-being by scientific research, the development of education, and the care and comfort of the aged poor. During the first twenty-five years of its existence the Foundation devoted most of its resources to the promotion of research by grants-in-aid to individuals or groups seeking to explore and develop new areas in science, medicine, or social studies. Through these, and through its large ventures in various fields, e.g. the development of radioastronomy at Jodrell Bank, the Nuffield Science Teaching Projects and its stimulation of some relatively neglected fields of science, I believe the Foundation made a contribution to science in the post-war years in this country and in the Commonwealth out of all proportion to the actual sums of money it provided. A detailed account of the Foundation and its work during its first twenty-five years of existence has been published in book form (Clark. A Biography of the Nuffield Foundation. Longmans, London, 1972), and I need not enlarge on it here. Suffice to say that I have enjoyed every minute of my association with the Foundation, and that I have learnt through it that to spend large sums of money wisely on education and research is far from being an easy task!