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Kenneth B. Cumberland: A memoir

2007; Wiley; Volume: 63; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1111/j.1745-7939.2007.00087.x

1745-7939

Kenneth B. Cumberland,

Geographic Information Systems Studies

Kenneth B. Cumberland arrived in New Zealand to teach geography at Canterbury University College in 1938. In 1945, he set up the New Zealand Geographer, and a year later moved to Auckland University College to establish its Department of Geography. The New Zealand Geographer is privileged to produce, with Professor Cumberland's permission, extracts from his autobiography, Milestones and Landmarks, which is to be published in full late in 2007. The extracts focus on his Canterbury and early Auckland years. Some of the issues that he faced will have a ring of familiarity to readers 60 years later; many will not, even in an age that thinks itself greatly under-resourced. University classes then were quite different in character to those of today, and included a high proportion of both teachers and teachers’ college students. His work modernizing the teaching of geography at school and university level is recorded, as is the help he received from one of the greatest scholars to work in New Zealand, the philosopher Karl Popper. In 1938, Cumberland was part way through an ‘appointment as temporary junior lecturer on the staff of the Department of Geography at University College, London’. There one of his mentors was the ‘Reader in Geography, R. Ogilvie Buchanan, a New Zealander, an economic geographer, one of the best teachers and tutors in his subject that I have encountered’. Early in 1938, R.O. Buchanan received a letter from George Jobberns in Christchurch. It was an urgent plea for assistance in recruiting a lecturer to assist Jobberns in taking the teaching of geography at Canterbury to Stages II and III. I suspect Buchanan had not had the letter long before he came through from his room to mine in the new departmental building we had just occupied in Malet Street. Without hesitation, having related to me the content of Jobbern's letter, he asked me whether I could be interested. Relying on what very little I then knew of it, New Zealand had more attraction for me than any other dominion, and much more than the United States. ROB himself submitted me to no pressure whatsoever. He very rarely spoke about his native land. But a day or two later he called me into his room to meet Lillian Jeffreys, assistant librarian at Canterbury University College, who, on a training course, had found time to call on him. She made Christchurch appear the most English town within either New Zealand or England, excepting that the beach at New Brighton, and the temperature of the water there, were unmatched in Britain. And if I were a mountaineer, the Southern Alps were within sight of the college's staff and lecture rooms. I had already made up my mind, within a matter of hours, that if Canterbury College was prepared to make it possible, I was going to go to New Zealand. The appointment to the lectureship at Canterbury, on 400 New Zealand pounds a year, was soon jacked up. I was instructed from Christchurch to see in London one Dr Harrop. He, I soon discovered, was not only a distinguished New Zealand historian but also the editor of the New Zealand News and agent in London for the University of New Zealand. For me, Dr Harrop booked a passage in a three-berth cabin, which I had to myself from Tilbury to Colombo and again from Fremantle to Sydney, on the Orient Line's Ormonde. From Sydney I was to cross the Tasman on the Wanganella to Wellington. From there I had a berth on the overnight Cook Strait ferry to Lyttelton. The whole journey was to cost Canterbury University College the magnificent sum of 45 pounds! I left on Saturday March 26, 1938. Beside the wharf at Tilbury, was R.M.S. Ormonde, 15 000 tons, by far the largest vessel I had ever boarded. It was to be my home for six weeks, until Saturday May 7. I remember half a century later the horror and agony of waiting for the withdrawal of the gang planks. I cannot imagine the far greater agony and distress that my parents must have experienced. I glided smoothly away from them, down the Thames, out onto the open sea, and towards a younger land, a land, I hoped, of promise and opportunity. As night fell we passed a collier, the Consett, like Masefield's ‘salt-caked smokestack butting through the Channel’ on a chill March night. We glimpsed rosy chalk cliffs as the sun went down, and before long ghostly clouds of dull light, overhanging Portsmouth and Southampton, and thin strips of fairy lights separating a black sky from a blacker sea. The last glimpse I had of my native country for nearly 14 years came next morning as the Cornish peninsula to starboard slowly faded and merged with the grey of the ocean. The infant Department of Geography was housed in two tiny classrooms of the former high school. Most of the old school was now occupied by the university's School of Engineering, then the only one in the country. It also accommodated the Departments of Geology and Economics and a little theatre, the (Dame) Ngaio Marsh theatre. Dr Jobberns had a first-year class of 70 or so; he was happy, he said, to give the first-year lecture course and to endeavour to widen what had hitherto been entirely physical geography (predominantly geomorphology) by introducing and later expanding his programme to include human geography. He would also do the more advanced physical geography prescribed for Stage II. That left for me the introduction of a practical and mapwork course at Stage I and a course on the regional geography of Europe, including the British Isles, at Stage II. About 20 students had enrolled in the preceding February for Stage II. My main problem was that there were no topographic maps to read! It would be another year before New Zealand produced its first, and for many years its only modern, contoured, coloured 1:63 360 sheet (NZMS 1 Napier-Hastings). Before I left England, however, I had ordered class sets of sheets of Ordnance Survey and Land Utilization Survey maps. They were to be freighted to New Zealand. They arrived half way through the second term. With only 20 copies of each sheet, and a class of more than seventy, I had to repeat the laboratory class three or four times. I had also ordered, again with George's approval, some Hermann Haack-Justus Perthes wall maps of Europe, the Mediterranean Lands, the Pacific, Australia, etc. When these arrived they caused quite a stir. They were probably the first brought to New Zealand, unless the army had some tucked away somewhere. At University College, London, I had been accustomed to a class that was quite unusual in its make-up, including older students from many parts of the world, especially India. But the part-time students at Canterbury were different again. Very few were of normal student age. Fewer still were not working. The majority of them were established teachers, some were teachers’ college students. Indeed three or four were headmasters, and 40 or 50 years of age. All were keen; all were grateful for the opportunity they had at last of getting some leads in teaching geography and some formal qualification in the subject. One of the first tasks George and I had to do was to endeavour to secure approval for the updating and modernization of geography syllabuses, not only in the University of New Zealand but also in the schools, too. It was a ticklish business. In those days there was a strong and rigidly conservative opposition, both to the establishment of new departments within the universities, and to geography as such, especially from the systematic physical sciences. In addition there was also the traditional reactionary opposition of administrators; and, in the schools, there was sullen resistance to change from many who had always taught what they taught and were opposed to being disturbed. At Canterbury we had no opposition to defining our own subject and courses. The obstacle there was to the admission of geography to the faculty of science, and to its approval as a subject for the BSc and MSc degrees. The barrier was erected more especially by active and ambitious young New Zealand members of the staff, particularly in the Departments of Physics and Chemistry. Fundamentally their opposition arose from a fear that geography would, as a laboratory subject, become an additional competitor for limited funds available for equipment. It was this antagonism that later required my election to the professorial board as a lecturers’ representative. George organized that. Not having a chair yet, he, too, was a member of the lecturers’ association. My most valuable ally in this argument came from an unusual and unexpected quarter. There was in the Department of Philosophy at Canterbury an Austrian refugee who was rapidly making for himself a name as one of the most perceptive and masterful logicians in the world. His particular interest was the philosophy of science and scientific method. At Canterbury he had a most enthusiastic band of disciples among the younger members of all the science departments. His name was Karl Popper. Among the notions that he preached was the quite revolutionary suggestion that all theoretical or generalizing sciences make use of the same methods, whether they be natural sciences or social sciences, and that this unity of scientific method can be extended with certain qualifications to the fields of historical and chorological sciences. From my second year at Canterbury, I had a room next to Karl. We had numerous discussions about the nature of geography and the application to it of appropriate scientific methods. At that stage, Karl himself had not thought much about geography as such. He had been more interested in history, economics and sociology. He was interested enough in geography, though, when I raised the question, to read my copy of Hartshorne's recently published two volumes on The Nature of Geography. I drew confidence from his assurances about the validity and status of social, historical and chorological sciences. This helped me in research and writing, and in presenting to university academic authorities the case for the admission of geography to all levels of university study, and to both arts and science faculties. I owe a great deal to Karl (later Sir Karl) Popper. Not only did Jobberns and I manage to secure official recognition and acceptance of geography at the highest levels of formal education in the Dominion but we also managed to redress the balance between physical and human (or cultural) geography in the school syllabuses. The existing prescriptions – and so the programme of instruction followed by whoever, in the absence of qualified geography teachers, was designated by the school to teach the subject – emphasized especially mathematical geography. Both for school certificate and university entrance examinations children were required to learn and to be examined on topics such as latitude and longitude, the movement of the earth and other planets in relation to the sun, the inclination of the earth's axis, the causes and periodicity of the tides, time zones, etc. Elementary ‘physiography’ was also a major part of courses in schools. The only aspect of human geography prescribed was ‘political geography – the political subdivision of the continents, boundaries and frontiers’, a hangover from the changed political map of the world following World War I. There was no regional geography, no geography of location or of places. In 1939, I was provided with a room of my own at Canterbury University College. I nearly wrote ‘new room’, but that would be inaccurate and misleading. The college carpenter's workshop occupied the ground floor of an old weatherboard house in Montreal Street. Here he and his off-siders had their electric planers, saws and buzzer machines. Upstairs were three wallpapered bedrooms and a toilet. A desk, two chairs and a moveable wooden bookcase were placed in each bedroom. Here I was installed between Karl Popper and Ralph Winterbourn, lecturer in education and later professor at Auckland. Mine was the middle room directly above all the carpenter's machinery. I learned to grit my teeth when the saw howled and the buzzer whined. Fortunately they spent less than half their time in the workshop. One of the traditional requirements of taking science subjects under the regulations of the former University of New Zealand was the granting of a ‘practical certificate’. This was authorized by the teachers of a subject on satisfactory attendance and performance of the student at a course of practical and/or fieldwork. We were able to use this provision to require our students of geography to attend courses and pass tests in map reading and field observations. From the start we used the award of a practical certificate to underline and emphasize the significance in geography of fieldwork. We were able to muster three vehicles for field trips, sharing the cost of what then was called ‘benzine’. They included a Chev tourer and an A model Ford. These negotiated fords, deep and shallow, with consummate ease. They traversed miles and miles of roads that were almost hubcap deep in boulders or river shingle, and took us through rivers and creeks up to the floorboards. By 1945, it is a rather remarkable thing that all three other institutions had already decided, or were very soon to resolve, to introduce the teaching of geography. It no doubt reflected to a considerable extent what we had been able to do at Canterbury during the war. There was now an amazing pent-up demand for qualified geography teachers in post-primary schools. The war itself had doubtlessly stimulated additional interest in many places, particularly in the Pacific. New Zealanders knew very little of the Pacific realm, and of the oceanic environment in which they lived and had quite suddenly discovered they were a part. Since the Pākehā's arrival in New Zealand they had looked first and fixedly to Britain and Europe. Now they had discovered and had been obliged to take into account a totally new world in and around the margins of the Pacific. There were apparently archipelagos of countless islands which had strange names and which many, if not most, New Zealanders had not known to exist, and a series of countries to the north of Australia, not really very far away now aircraft were regularly crossing the ocean, which had large populations, and they lay in the direction from which had come the threat of invasion. There was an insatiable appetite for reliable background information about these and other places in which New Zealanders had per force developed an active interest. By emphasizing regional geography at Canterbury, and by equipping an eight-year outflow of teachers qualified to teach it, we had clearly pointed the way. And we had produced an informative journal, the New Zealand Geographer. It was devoted not only to New Zealand but also to Australia and the rest of the Pacific; and it had invaded all post-primary school libraries, and come into the hands of many primary school teachers as members of the society. We had demonstrated that geography in the university was neither the old ‘capes and bays’ gazetteer stuff nor a dry physiography and mathematical study of latitude and longitude, the tides and map projections. We had also transformed the geography prescriptions not only for university courses but also in school syllabuses. A personal issue now suddenly manifested itself. If geography was to be established in one or more of the other university colleges, would I want to be part of it? The matter was precipitated in October when Auckland advertised a vacant lectureship-in-charge. With Auckland calling for urgent applications, one could not wait to see if other institutions might advertise a similar vacancy to be filled before the next university session started. So I applied for the Auckland vacancy. Little time passed before I was invited to the big city for an interview. I have a quite vivid memory of meeting Hollis Cocker, a prominent lawyer and chairman of the college council, whose office then carried the title President. In his little room, just inside the entrance of what was still the relatively new arts building, with its ‘wedding cake’ tower, in Princes Street, I also met Sir Douglas Robb, the eminent physician, A.H. Johnstone and L.K. Munro, editor of the New Zealand Herald. Johnstone was Cocker's deputy and a high court judge. Like Munro, he was soon to be knighted. The then chairman of the professorial board, Professor A.B. Fitt, was not present at the interview, but I met him later. It was abundantly clear that Hollis Cocker was the man in charge. I do not think there was any other interviewee; certainly not that day. I may have been quite mistaken, but I came away with the distinct impression that the interview was to some extent a formality. In any case it was not long before I had a letter from LO Desborough, the registrar, offering me the responsibility and the opportunity of establishing a department of geography at Auckland University College. It was late November when, after lengthy family deliberation, and on George Jobberns’ recommendation and approval, I accepted the appointment. No matter what the official and academic conception of the nature of geography was at Auckland on my arrival, no provision had been made for its teaching, or even contemplated, other than the timetabling of accommodation for delivering lectures. Thinking also that I might need a wall map, or something, to display as a teaching aid, the university council had also made a generous subvention of 25 pounds as a setting-up grant. It had also increased the university's annual grant to the college library by an unknown sum to enable it to spend something on its virtually non-existent geography section. On being informed of this munificence at my interview, I had naturally indicated the inadequacy of such meagre provision. But over the long vacation, nothing further had been done. So when I received news of my appointment, I had approached the New Zealand Army and had managed to beg some surplus topographic maps; and, on my arrival in Auckland, I had secured the registrar's authority to order one or two sets of Ordnance Survey sheets from England, as well as half a dozen Justus-Perthes wall maps, through London agents. It was possible to do this, and to do it expeditiously, because the total extent of the bureaucracy in the college had, in 60 years since its inception, grown from one to no more than six. The next question was where would I be able to put to use any equipment or materials I managed to acquire. I needed a map room, a ‘laboratory’. At Canterbury, as the first-year class grew in size, I had been obliged to use an upstairs room in the public library, five minutes from the university. At Auckland the best the university authorities were able to offer in my first year was accommodation in a recently abandoned hut eight kilometres away from the college in a former United States hospital for GIs wounded in the Pacific. The American forces had taken over Hobson Park in Market Road, Remuera, soon after the Japanese entry into the war. To give practical instruction in the reading and interpretation of topographic maps, I had to take the tram either from Symonds Street, or from the bottom of Parnell Road, to Market Road, five times a week. With 200 students and sets of no more than 30 sheets of maps, I had to repeat the two-hour class five times. I did have the assistance of two ‘correctors’. They were members of the class who had served in the air force or in army intelligence, and who supervised the work of the class for an hour or more after my hour of instruction. And they carted the roll of topographic maps back to the university after each class since there were no safe storage facilities at Market Road, and the sets of maps were precious. I, though, hugged the roll of map sheets on the outward journey, which often meant changing trams at Newmarket. The first-year class at Auckland was a still more diverse and motley assembly than either my Asia class at University College, London, or the class I first encountered at Canterbury University College. Although perhaps 50, or a quarter, of those enrolled, were full-time students, all classes, except one map work practical, had to be held after 4.00 p.m. Half the full-timers were fresh out of school; the other half were an assortment of returned servicemen on rehabilitation bursaries. The rest were a strange miscellany of men and women generally much older than I. They were often established teachers anxious to acquire some instruction and qualification in a subject they were already teaching. Many were heads of social studies departments in their schools, including geography masters and mistresses from leading grammar and high schools, as well as teachers’ college lecturers. There were also some lawyers, accountants and journalists. Throughout 1946, I ran the new department alone, teaching both the physical basis of geography and the cultural elements as well as the practical course of mapwork. I had transferred to Auckland the editorial office and the responsibilities of editing the New Zealand Geographer. And with 200 students, I was kept pretty busy. What at the time was the largest first-year class in the college gave me ammunition with which to argue for extra staff, and for an assurance that I would be authorized to extend the teaching of geography through all undergraduate stages. It had for many years been a somewhat variable practice at Auckland to require new appointees to chairs to present, sometime during the first year of their tenure, a formal inaugural address not only to their peers and academic colleagues but also to the general public. In 1946 this honour, and formidable task, was extended also to the senior lecturer-in-charge of the new department of geography. I fancy it was the lay members of the university council, rather than the professional members of the professorial board, who were behind this move; they were no doubt keen to see what return their new departmental enterprise, the first in many years, and their investment in me, seemed likely to provide. I spent a great deal of time on that inaugural address. It was delivered to a large assembly of people in the Great Hall on April 2. I called it The Geographer's Point of View. The address was reviewed by Hugh Parton, then senior lecturer, and later Professor of Chemistry and deputy Vice-Chancellor at Canterbury. When I was at Canterbury he was one of the most formidable opponents of the establishment and expansion of the teaching of geography. His review admitted that ‘Nine years have passed since Dr Cumberland came to New Zealand, a young graduate from London, setting out on his voyage of teaching and research. Nine fruitful years they have been in both fields of endeavour. The Geographer's Point of View reveals the sources of his success. It leaves the reader with a feeling of confidence that under his guidance “the new department of geography at Auckland University College … will not have been established in vain” ’. In mid-1946 the college agreed to appoint both a lecturer and a junior lecturer. Applicants were few. Among them, though, were two people I knew very well. One was Ron Lister, the best student in his year at University College, London, the year I was teaching there. The next year he took finals, and was awarded a first. Subsequently the army had taken him to India and Burma. Since married, he was now keen on securing an academic appointment. So too was my old fellow student and roommate at Nottingham, Jim Fox. He also had done military service, more particularly in the Mediterranean and on Malta. Jim, though, only had a second class degree. He had applied for the lectureship: so I wrote to him to ask whether he would be willing to accept a junior lectureship appointment, with prospects. When he replied ‘Yes’, I was able to recommend the appointment of both of them. Ron and Jim arrived in Auckland in April 1947. They travelled by sea, but on different vessels. Both couples settled in quickly. Jim relieved me of the laboratory course and mapwork at Stage I, and took over the teaching of the regional geography of Europe at Stage II. Ron did the teaching of advanced physical geography at Stage II as well as the second-year practical and fieldwork. The next year when we tackled Stage III work, Ron did the regional geography of Asia course, and I got back to my teaching of the geography of New Zealand. Ron took over from me soon after his arrival the teaching of elementary economic geography. We all shared responsibility for fieldwork at Stage III. I also soon persuaded the New Zealand Geographical Society to make Jim Fox assistant editor of the Geographer. I already had in mind the possibility of relinquishing editorial responsibility in the not too distant future. Jim, in fact, took it over altogether in 1955. The journal was then 10 years old, and firmly on its feet. From then on, I had merely a consulting role. Meanwhile the college bureaucracy had been on the ball again. Early in my second year, before the arrival of the additional teaching staff, I was able to move into ‘new’ accommodation destined for the exclusive use of the department of geography. It was not strictly new. It consisted of two and a half of four prefabricated metal army huts built originally in the United States, used by American troops somewhere in the Pacific, and purchased after the war by the New Zealand government. The ‘geography huts’ were erected very quickly under the great oak trees behind the main Arts Building, partly on what had been a cricket practice pitch. They had floors of large sheets of plywood – five-ply – slung across the steel framing. The sheets sagged appreciably as you walked over them. The huts were painted dark green. Hut 1, nearest the rear of the Arts Building, had in one half of it three small staff rooms and another little room for the department's first secretary-typist, Betty Reid, who joined us the next year. The other half of the hut served as a small lecture room-laboratory used by Stage III, and later by graduate students. A second hut replaced the Hobson Park-Market Road suburban Stage I mapwork laboratory. The ‘half hut’, we acquired a little later. In 1949 we were allocated a novel alternate-year visiting lectureship (in lieu of an annual one-year junior lectureship), and needed an additional staff room. We were also gradually accumulating a voluminous collection of maps, as well as the beginnings of a departmental library. These, too, had to be housed. So we were allocated the rear of a third hut, as well as a staff room just inside the entrance to the hut. With staff and accommodation problems solved for the time being, I could find time to breathe again – and to write again. I could also prospect more seriously future problems, topics and places for research. Professor Cumberland was the first geographer to be elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of New Zealand, in recognition of his achievements in research. These are recorded in the festschrift published to mark his retirement (Anderson 1980). He became well known to New Zealanders for his presentation of the 10-part series, Landmarks, first shown by Television New Zealand in 1981. Video copies were issued to schools at the time, and TVNZ is now considering re-releasing the series on DVD.