To paint a word picture of Dick Harris is a responsibility I accepted in rather sanguine mood at the time. As the weeks passed, without pen being put to paper, I found myself increasingly apprehensive about the task of portraying, to those who did not know him, the multifaceted and lovable character of this big man. And he was a big man in every way.

His roots were in New England, his father having practised medicine at Armidale until his early death at the age of forty-eight, when Dick was six years of age. Completing his schooling at The Armidale School, he entered medicine in 1934, a student at St Paul’s College, becoming senior student in his final two years. Later he was to become sub-warden of that College.

Graduating at the end of 1940, he became a resident at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Rejected by the armed services because of hypertension he stayed on to become clinical superintendent, as had his father before him. He discharged this role with great distinction, in the very difficult conditions of wartime, and its immediate aftermath. He was appointed honorary assistant physician in 1946, and honorary physician in 1961. In 1968 he was made a member of the board of directors of the Hospital.

Dick was no academic, failing first year medicine and having to repeat; in addition he required several attempts before passing the Membership examination of the College in 1949. But he became a sound general physician, with great clinical nous, and a superb doctor of acute medicine. Inevitably, perhaps, he tended to distrust the super-specialist, and was heard to remark that you had to direct them to the appropriate cavity before letting them loose. His was a holistic view of the role of the physician, and the doctor-patient relationship a sacred trust. His patients responded instinctively to his compassion and his care, and he had an enormous following, particularly throughout the north-west of New South Wales, based on his role as a consultant physician to the Armidale and New England Hospital.

As a student teacher, he was concise and to the point. Whilst there may not have been much of esoteric fancy in his tutorials, they were extremely practical, to the undying gratitude of hard pressed under-graduates.

His service to the College was given unstintingly from the time of his appointment as honorary secretary in 1960. Elected a councillor of the College in 1966, he remained a member of the College executive committee until his death. He was meticulous in his homework for these roles, and his knowledge of College activities was encyclopaedic. It was typical of the man that in the year prior to his death he unhesitatingly resumed the mantle of honorary secretary for six months, due to the illness of the incumbent at that time.

Dick further cemented his ties with New England when he married Anne, the only child of Mr and Mrs GE Forster, of ‘Abington’, Bundarra. Her family bequeathed a family home and estate on the outskirts of Armidale in 1938 to the University of Sydney for the New England College, later to become the University of New England. In 1966 Dick was appointed to the council of that University.

He was a scholar of history, including early Australian history, and a collector of Australiana. He wrote brilliantly on this subject, and from the rostrum was capable of oratory that approached the lyrical.

A New England gentleman, sub-warden of St Paul’s College, councillor of The Royal Australasian College of Physicians, member of the board of directors of Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, a member of the Union Club, the label of conservative and reactionary, perhaps even that of snob, would appear at first glance not inappropriate. But such an appellation would miss entirely the warmth and depth of the personality. More than any man I know, he had the capacity for friendship across the whole breadth of society, friendship which was lifelong. At his beloved ‘PA’ he knew and was the friend of everyone from the cleaner to the chairman of the board of directors. What he didn’t know about the place was not worth knowing.

He loved a party, a good story, and revelled in telling a bawdy tale, if it was funny. He also had a capacity for summing people up, particularly in committee, often delivered as a sotte voce aside, which could be quite devastating to the composure of his confidant. His death in 1970 robbed medicine and the College of a dedicated son, and his wife and family of a loving husband and father.