Graeme 'Bluey' Thomson 1942 - 1999

According to political commentator Barrie Cassidy, when Graeme ‘Bluey’ Thomson died in July 1999 there was no photographer with a better pictorial record of Australian political history, from the Robert Menzies era to that of John Howard. ‘Bluey was the trailblazer in the Canberra press gallery.’

According to Cassidy, photographs did not play a prominent role in political coverage throughout the 1960s and 70s. Those that were published tended to be part of a carefully orchestrated event. Cameras were never permitted in the chambers.

But that changed dramatically through the 1980s and into the 1990s as a new generation of equipment allowed photographers access and opportunities never before afforded. Editors eventually began to give more space and attach greater value to the work of the political photographer. Bluey was at the forefront throughout that evolution.

Says Cassidy, ‘Like a good cartoonist, a photographer can sum up an entire political event or trend with a single shot. That was Bluey's forte.’ And even though he was one of the best chroniclers of political history, a former workmate at The Daily Telegraph, Kerry-Anne Walsh, says he was very modest.

‘He never once lost his cool,’ says Walsh. ‘He was a solid and unassuming presence. Bluey never walked anywhere. He was like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, always rushing from job to job, fearing he might be late or miss the best photo opportunity.’

Photographers often competed with cameramen for position and space, but Channel 10's Tim Sweeney, an 18-year veteran of Parliament House, says Bluey's style was to be effective without being obtrusive.

‘His greatest asset … was that he was never fazed by others, no matter what their station in life. He treated everybody with respect, and that's why politicians like Bob Hawke and Tim Fischer in particular were so fond of him.’

Fischer spent a lot of time with Bluey, partly because of his passion for trains. His photos, according to Fischer, ‘added to the retention of what had become a fast-vanishing railway heritage.’ His passion for trains went well beyond photography. He was a member of the Australian Railway Historical Society who worked tirelessly on restoration projects.

Thomson was known for his quick wit and wry storytelling. During the 1990 election campaign, Brisbane radio announcer, Rod Henshaw, had a hole to fill when Hawke was running late for a studio interview. He saw Bluey among the waiting media throng and hauled him in for a spontaneous interview on life on the road with the prime ministers. For good measure, Bluey performed a pretty good Hawke impersonation.

He was a caring and empathetic professional. Walsh recalls working with Bluey on the Cootamundra fires in the late 80s. They had both been working non stop for several days, and Thomson had picked up a bad virus. ‘But it didn't stop him,’ She says. ‘Not only did he continue to get as close to the raging fires as he could, but he always found time to pause and console those who had lost cattle and property.’

Born in Sydney in 1942 and raised by his adoptive parents, Dave and Gwen Thomson, whom he adored, he was a junior soccer star and was selected to play for the New South Wales primary schools team. But he suffered a severe bout of rheumatic fever, which effectively ended his sporting career, until skydiving became a passion in later life.

Thomson’s first career break came when he was hired by The Australian at its inception in 1964. He had a photo on page one of the first edition. His work was published around the world through foreign press agencies and Time magazine.

He won the Nikon award for Best News Photograph of the Year in 1987. But the photograph he is, perhaps, best remembered for is a political photograph shot of former ALP leader, Bill Hayden, pretending to curtsy to the newly installed prime minister, Bob Hawke, who had replaced him just weeks earlier. Bluey's instincts told him not to waste time setting up for a group shot - but to be alert for idiosyncratic behaviour on Hayden's part. The photograph is remembered while the words that accompanied it are generally forgotten.

Crispin Hull was a raw cadet journalist in 1972, when we went out with Bluey Thomson on a Sunday shift to cover six jobs. When Thomson died in 1999, aged fifty-seven, he observed the following:

‘To get a good image for the press requires three ingredients which are as essential now as they were in 1972 on my first assignment with Bluey. The image must tell a story. The photographer must get a rapport or at least some information from the journalist. The photographer must get a rapport with the people being photographed. And the photographer must extract an arresting two-dimensional arrangement from a three dimensional world. Whether that was from a camera mounted on his helmet in a skydive, amid the steam of a locomotive, or at an interminable parliamentary press conference, Bluey, the press photographer, did that.’

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