In remembering Bob Hawke, we should not forget Hazel

In paying tribute to one of our most iconic prime ministers we should not forget the woman who stood faithfully and loyally by his side for so many years — even in the face of humiliation, writes Claire Harvey.

Please let’s not forget Hazel.

Smart. Dignified. Quietly proud. Loyal.

Hazel Hawke was Australia’s first true First Lady in the modern sense: a woman of great integrity who helped her husband, the late Bob, get elected for a historic four terms with her gentle warmth and intelligent determination to make life better, particularly for women.

Her vision was as big as Bob’s, but not as fashionable: she was a boots-on feminist, speaking honestly about the loss of her own newborn son, raising funds for SIDS and stillbirth research, and advocating for abortion rights, recounting the illegal abortion she endured in 1952 to allow her then-fiancee Bob to pursue his Rhodes scholarship to Oxford.

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At every charity do and plaque-unveiling, she was there making a speech, often about something distinctly non-flashy: indigenous Australians, poverty, women’s rights.

Hazel Masterson with Bob Hawke in 1951, before their marriage. Picture: Supplied

Later in life, as Alzheimer’s disease took hold, she talked with great courage about the disease she knew would kill her, in the hope of helping others.

In the deserved eulogising of the Bob Hawke — a man I admire greatly — we must not gloss over his greatest failing: the public humiliation of Hazel.

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Bob and Hazel were a package deal: his razzamatazz and her restraint in one good-looking combo. Even before he publicly admitted he’d walked out on her in 1994, Hazel was widely pitied for the suffering his womanising inflicted upon her.

Hazel let him be the extrovert, the brilliant and effortlessly charismatic showman, the dry-drunk who could still be the life of the party as long as there were plenty of fruit-juices and pretty girls.

Hazel and Bob Hawke were a formidable duo of restraint and razzamatazz. Picture: Supplied

I remember the public mood of sorrow and outrage in 1994 when Bob and Hazel announced their long-suspected split, three years after he left office; and then the excruciating sight of him and his new wife in matching dressing gowns, declaring their love in the glossies without a backward glance at what you suspected they saw as Hazel’s drab suburbanism. Both have been honest about the fact they just couldn’t resist the pull of their mutual attraction, even though they knew Hazel would be devastated.

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Hawke never pretended he was ashamed of his new relationship with his adoring biographer, Blanche d’Alpuget, the woman most Australians had known for years was his mistress.

Bob and Blanche, clearly, were twin souls. Their shared exhibitionism, their overt romanticism, sent his life into a new chapter — his re-emergence as a Labor Secret Weapon with a brain for business and a body for fun.

Suddenly he was drinking again, skolling beers at the cricket, revelling in “the love of a good woman” as if he’d only just discovered it.

Hazel, with Bob Hawke in 1983 awaiting the arrival of the Prince and Princess of Wales, weathered her husband’s affairs. Picture: Fox Photos/Hulton Archive/Getty

Upon Mrs Hawke’s death in 2013, at the age of 83, Bob Hawke’s public statement read, in part: “I remember Hazel with deep affection and gratitude. She was more than a wife and mother, being father as well during my frequent absences. I think there is general agreement that Hazel did an outstanding job as Australia’s First Lady from 1983-1991.”

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Behind the scenes, according to daughter Sue Pieters-Hawke, Bob did at least apologise to Hazel’s memory, when at a private memorial he “was quite emotional and conceded some of the distress he caused her and I think it was very moving that he did that. I think he’s a man who’s made amends where amends need to be made, mostly.”

Bob Hawke later told of how he visited Hazel on her deathbed and quietly sang “Danny Boy”, the song he knew was her favourite.

I’m glad he did that.

At the end, at least, Hazel knew she was loved.

Claire Harvey is the deputy editor of the Sunday Telegraph.