R.D. FitzGerald - A Profile

Abstract

R. D. FitzGerald, the poet, talks quietly in the big room, the slight burr in his voice, light falling on his white hair, strong brow and glasses. The house, like its neighbours on Hunters Hill, is mellow brick and stone, long since at peace with its garden; a place of clocks, dark chairs, paintings and books. 'My father, the botanist, came to Hunters Hill from Balmain in 1871; not to this house—I didn't buy this one until the Second World War—but to one not far away', FitzGerald says. 'I was born on Hunters Hill in 1902 and had nearly all my childhood here. In those days the old family houses clustered on the ridge. There was a water-bound macadam road that ran along it, with a row of pines, and paddocks on either side. This house has been here as long as I can remember—it dates from the start of the century or thereabouts."