In the Matter of Lance Meng - Class of 1968

Lance had a dogged, slightly awkward quality about him. He was the physically less impressive younger brother, earnest rather than confident. His smile was a grimace of endurance. He bore with dignity the role of public pianist at the school assemblies, pounding his way through hymns and national anthems. You would have thought him the willing instrument of Process, the man born to wear a school uniform through life.

And yet…Lance Meng was a Communist

What drove those hands and feet?

As an Australian of Chinese descent growing up Mackay, George Meng would have seen enough to know the dice were loaded. The Depression hit Queensland hard. Its miners fought the bosses at their game, until Pig Iron Bob’s ingots came back as Japanese Zeroes. Fred Paterson took the seat of Bowen in ‘44, but our first Communist MP was bashed into retirement by His Majesty’s Police. Marriage to the daughter of Italian immigrants brought no conversion for George. The system was rotten and needed changing, but whatever happened, the best chance for their children lay in education. 

Lance Giovanni Meng’s early life was no easier than his father’s. Year after year, he was forbidden from playing sport unless he finished in the top twenty in the exams. Did he actually like music? Who knows, but he learned his lessons well.

The Party kept its hopes up through the sixties. An unpopular war and the jailing of Clarrie O’Shea kept the red flag flying, despite years of full employment. Young Lance was there, quiet but committed. Bong’s feint at free speech gave him the chance he had to take. Five minutes to address the school on Conscription…

Sincerity has a sound that equals music. Of Lance’s arguments I remember nothing. The fly-specked sheets of Tribune, stuck behind shop windows, would have been their source. I remember a pained and earnest voice, a badge on a uniform, a speech through gritted teeth. His head was tilted to one side, the eyes half closed, as he fought to remember the words he had learned by heart. And finally, the frozen face of Bong, and the mechanical delivery of claps from his hands.

“On piano, Lance Meng…..”

Paul Feldman