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Wran's office.)

        The Premier had done his bit, but we had to get through this day in Manly without stuffing things up.

        I hammered on Randall's door again and at last it was opened.   Randall was in dressing gown and slippers.   "Come in and have a cup of tea," he said, "I haven't finished breakfast yet."

        "But Peter we need posters at the Manly School!" I yelled.

        "All right, all right," he responded, "there they are."

        He pointed to an untidy stack of assorted election material leaning against his living room wall.   I hastily picked out a large bundle of poster boards for the school: and left Randall, my endorsed campaign manager, to his breakfast.

         The posters were received with relief by the workers in Manly, where a large crowd was already voting.   Alf Thorpe was furious with Randall but I did not stop to commiserate.   It was time to return home, to our improvised command post.

      The house was full of people packing sandwiches and drinks for distribution to the workers in the field.    It was just like shearing time.

        Rod Power was waiting for me.   He suggested that my job was to show my face as much as possible around the booths:   that I should leave the logistics to others.   He would be my chauffeur and guide.   Perhaps he judged

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