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to endorse Mr Stewart's tenure or Mr Meers' challenge before they place their ballot paper in the box today."

This time I was confident that our organisation would work smoothly. All the booth materials had already been distributed, and the rosters of workers had been filled. Our organisation was designed to monitor the situation throughout the day, to ensure that any deficiencies were quickly made up. Donna was in charge of communications in my office in Manly. Bob Quail circled the electorate with a car full of spare workers. David Stewart, now old enough to drive my Commodore, sped about carrying messages. My three daughters set off in a brightly decorated Ford van which was crammed with food and drink for the troops. Will and I drove around in her little yellow Gemini, which had an audio casette player. As we approached each voting booth, the volume on the player was turned up, broadcasting the campaign jingle, "It's got to be Wran, Wran, Wran..." This raised a cheer from our people, and even made some of the Liberals grin.

There was a serious hole in our defences. For the first time in living memory the Harbord Literary Institute was not being used as a polling booth. Somehow, the premises had been booked for a private function, so that they were not available for hire to

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