5B English - The Trapdoor

From Anne Paul

 

Mr Price taught our final year English class. It was memorable for a few reasons. Whenever we read Julius Caesar Mr Price would allocate all the parts. As the reading progressed he would gradually take over each part until he was reading the whole play. When he was reading The Passage (surely the most boring book ever to grace the secondary curriculum) there was a scene where one of the women went swimming while she was quite pregnant. Mr Price said it was the only time he had the class’s attention for the duration of the book.

 

But those features of this class weren’t what made it really stand out.

 

At the back corner of the room, near the window that overlooked the quad, was a trapdoor. In hindsight I can’t believe it wasn’t locked, but there it was, waiting for us to find, explore, and relieve the tedium of 5th year English

 

Under the trapdoor was a cavity, not quite high enough to stand up in, but about 2-3 metres long and 1m wide. It had been dug out of the ground and along one side there was a low shelf which several of us could sit on at the one time. The cavity was adjacent to the cadet room.

 

The lessons proceeded like this. Mr Price would have his head down reading as one by one students made their way to the back corner of the room, lift the trapdoor and climb down into the cavity. Towards the end of the lesson everyone would come up out of the hole and make their way back to their seats. On the busiest trapdoor day I recall I would guess more than half the class was missing. Mr Price looked a bit bemused, but made no comment. (It has crossed my mind, in hindsight, that he might have known about the trapdoor.)

 

I sat at the front of the class, so it was a bit more difficult to get there than from the seats closer to the back wall, but not impossible. Those at the back would slide off their chairs and crawl along the floor. We had to walk to the back of the class, having a brief chat with a student if Mr Price looked up, then get on the ground and crawl to the hole.

 

 

To this Jenny Osborne adds …

I remember climbing down into that underfloor cavity twice.  It was in room 17.   The funniest one of those occasions was when the whole class got down there before Mr Price arrived.  He was anxiously wondering where we all were and crossed to the windows that looked out onto the playground, plaintively calling out for 5B!  (A bit like ‘Sheep, sheep come home!’)  As he crossed the floor back and forth – between the windows and the door to the corridor – a couple of the guys  followed him under the floor, knocking on the floorboards as he went, to confuse him. Those below struggled to stifle their laughter. I can’t remember the outcome.  I think he eventually left the room and we crawled out, some giggling hysterically, others shaking with fear of possible repercussions. I don’t remember any but I was always in Mr McPherson’s office for one thing or another anyway so it wouldn’t have stood out in my memory!

 

And Anne replies …

I had forgotten that. I am sure there were no repercussions. Mr Price was a gentle soul. Never vindictive.

 

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Anglican Scripture (Or Not)

From Elizabeth Friederich (nee Bullock)

 

Although most students went to the hall for scripture, we anglicans had our own lessons, provided by volunteers from the anglican community. I remember our first scripture lesson for first year students, in one of the class rooms under the arches. Our teacher was a self-righteous, rather intimidating lady. She began the lesson by commenting that, now we were high school students, we would start to show an interest in the opposite sex. This was not the beginning of a sex education class, but an introduction to religious bigotry. We were advised against becoming interested in catholics as boyfriends or girlfriends. It was best to nip this in the bud and not even go out with them. If we did, it could be too late…we may have fallen in love with a catholic. This could lead to marrying a catholic!  That could mean the marriage might have to take place in a catholic church!!  AND all our children would have to become catholics!!! It was a memorable introduction to high school scripture lessons.

 

All the other scripture lessons that followed over the years were quite unmemorable for me, until fifth year. This time we were in one of the classrooms near the front office. Our scripture teacher was a very earnest gentleman, who mistakenly thought he could treat 16 year olds as adults. His vision for our scripture classes was a journey of discovery where he could guide us along the road which we ourselves chose. He suggested the study of religions from around the world, or perhaps discussions on a moral or philosophical subject. We were to write down suggestions, then the class would discuss them and come up with a program for our future lessons. Being the goody-goody that I was, I thought the study of other  religions would be quite interesting. As I concurred with this suggestion, I suspected I could be in the minority, especially as sniggers could be heard in other parts of the room, especially from the boys, as they wrote down their suggestions. These were handed in and, not surprisingly, many of them were ridiculous. “Lion taming” is one that comes to mind. I really felt sorry for the poor scripture teacher as his aspirations for our class were deflated and he struggled to control the hilarity in the classroom.

 

The next time we were to have scripture, the earnest gentleman did not come. Instead it was Mr McPherson, or some other senior teacher.. I can’t remember who it was. Our class was reprimanded for our disgraceful behaviour. We were informed that our scripture teacher would not be coming that day or any other day. Moreover, there would not be a replacement scripture teacher.  Our scripture lessons were to be replaced by private study.  So for the rest of the year we remained unredeemable atheists. Maybe some of us even went out with catholics.

 

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Condom Contemplation

From Marina Armstrong

 

This occurred in our 3rd year of school during a maths lesson in our room underneath the arches.

 

Quiet room…, everyone working hard…, Mr. Martin teaching and watching … and watching… and …

 

Suddenly a small package landed on the desks that Janeen and I were sitting at. It had been tossed to us by the two boys sitting across the aisle (identities escape me at present) who smirked and giggled ever so quietly as they watched our expressions.

 

We looked carefully at the foil packet, that seemed to contain some circular item and, with the precision and attention to detail that future mathematicians should possess, we examined the item (top and bottom) and finally realised it was a CONDOM!!!!!!!

 

NOTE - WE DID NOT OPEN THE PACKET!!!!!!!

 

Unfortunately, as realisation dawned we also began to smirk and giggle. Doubly unfortunately, this alerted Mr. Martin to the fact that something untoward was happening and down he came to retrieve said packet. He asked where it had come from and, as frightened 14 Year-olds, we indicated the direction.

 

I cannot remember what happened next, and am hoping that someone can finish this little story. Who were the boys? Did they get the cane (I hope not!!)? Did Mr. McPherson get involved? Did he and Mr. Martin have a good laugh at the end of the day? (I hope so!!)

 

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The Kidnapping

From Marina Armstrong

 

From memory this occurred in 1965 in our 5th year of school on our ‘muck-up’ day.

 

I don’t know who thought of the idea, and why I was involved, but it all seemed like a harmless prank at the time.

 

Someone who had previously attended Catholic Girls High School, Griffith (now St Clare’s) provided me with a uniform from that school, and I changed into it. Laurie Noakes provided a vehicle, and some other boys provided the muscle!

 

We all piled in and drove to the school just before starting time, when girls were arriving and heading in . We may have done an initial lap but then I was dropped off at the ‘bottom’ of the school grounds.

 

 I started walking up the pathway alongside the road that led up to the entrance. The boys were following slowly in the car. As I almost reached the main entrance to the school, the car roared up the final few metres and the boys (except for the driver) rushed out and grabbed me. I kicked and screamed as they ‘forced’ me into the back seat, and then we all drove sedately back to school.

 

What a hoot we all thought. Then …….I was called in Mr. McPherson’s office!

Apparently some sharp-eyed girl (or girls) from CGHS had taken note of the number plate, and passed it on to the staff.

 

The next I knew I was called into Mr. McPherson’s office. He spoke to me about the police being involved in that they tracked the number plate and then contacted Laurie’s father. He spoke about the distress this ‘prank’ had caused the staff (and the girls who witnessed the ‘kidnap’), and he asked that I ring the Principal of the school to apologise about my part in the ‘prank’. 

 

I said I would, but I was not able to keep my promise through embarrassment and really just not knowing what to say.

 

And all through the calm but firm talk that I was given I had just the sneakiest feeling that there was a little twinkle in his eye at the thought that his students (including a goodie-goodie prefect) were able to think of, and implement, such an event. 

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Scattered Memories of Being a Student at TPHS 1961-1965

From Lindsay Ferguson

 

Miss Milliken, history teacher, so very pretty (think Vivian Leigh) and neat in her tartan skirt and bottle green twinset, rolling down the big world map at the front of the room and reaffirming for us that ‘all the red bits are ours’.  Also making the firm pronouncement that the Chinese are renowned for their cruelty.  (Mortified at her insensitivity in our multicultural class, I apologised to a fellow student at the end of the lesson, expressing the hope that he would not find all Australians having such attitudes).

 

Mrs Hinder, so big, so beautiful, I adored her and felt jealous of those who had the talent to do art -  I would have loved to have her as a teacher.  In the playground one day, some of we gals were sounding off to her about the possibly boorish behaviour of some our male companions.  Her advice was to ‘Treat ‘em with ignore, treat ‘em with ignore.’   I have never forgotten this phrase or the advice it contained.

 

Mrs Shute was never destined to be one of my favourites.  Being genetically incapable of enjoying sport, I did not look forward to Wednesday afternoons or our weekly session of ‘gym’.  I did German, so our gym session was a very exclusive event, perhaps about 8 of us only.  Mrs Shute never turned up for this class, so we would sit in the change room chatting til it was time to go to our next class. (Get that: sitting, chatting!  Not skiving off to Kingston for a beer, or smoking behind the sheds.)  One day – after probably months of absence – she turned up and berated us:  Why aren’t you changed and ready for gym?  I retorted:  Because you never turn up for this class.  Her response was to make us do squats, quite a cruel punishment and out of all proportion to our non-crime.

 

Mr West was trying to conduct a geography class with a somewhat noisy and unruly bunch.  He found Lesley Wright’s behaviour particularly provocative (I can’t imagine she was doing anything particularly evil).  He hurled a ruler towards her.  It hit Lesley just below the eyebrow, knocking her glasses off then scratching her eyelid.  Today, this would be called assault.

 

On another occasion, a minor riot was going on in the classroom, while we waited for Mrs Michalak (apologise, correct spelling forgotten after all this time).  She was very, very late and the boys were getting out of hand.  Poor Peter Reagan received a blow to his nether regions, which saw him doubling up and tears coming to his eyes.  Don’t know who landed the damaging blow.  To his credit, Peter did not burst into tears, but left the room for a time, bent over double with his hands between his legs.  I can only hope he made a full recovery.

 

Every winter I would be away from school at some stage with either tonsillitis or bronchitis.  After one of these bouts, I was in the science corridor with my friend, Lynda Golding, during the lunch break, while she brought me up to date with class notes.  (Being a prefect, I was required to be on ‘patrol’ at lunchtimes to save school property from the delinquency of my fellow inmates).  Down the corridor in full Boadicea mode comes Miss Smith.  I never saw that woman in a mood other than angry and aggressive.  Did she have a soft side?  Well, we were both roundly abused and Lynda was sent packing, even though we were completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

 

My memories of high school always include Anita Dunn, she of the bandy legs, the red hair in a very ‘mod’ style and the glamorous aura.  I loved her lessons, and felt such pangs of jealousy and yearning when she showed us her slides of her times in Paris – including one memorable image of her standing in the middle of Place d’Etoile with her arms in the air while about 4 cars tootled around the circle.  By the time I got to see that intersection myself, you couldn’t see the tarmac for the crush of vehicles.  I owe my lifelong Francophilia to Anita.

 

The casual racism, the aggression, the unfairness of some of this behaviour is notable.  It would not be tolerated by the over-zealous parents of today (even less so, the students).  But we accepted it as part of our lot.  Although it is certain I did not make the most of my opportunities, school days were happy enough – I certainly never felt unduly oppressed or miserable.  And now there is the joy of reconnecting with many of those with whom I shared ‘the best days of our lives’.

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Mr March

From Anne Paul

 

Mr March taught 3B Maths. His dry, and at times quite colourful, style of speech was often sarcastic, but without being malicious.  He played for laughs. He regularly called me ‘ a poor silly twisted child’ - I felt quite special!

 

This particular afternoon he was late for our lesson after lunch in our classroom under the arches. Someone - I have no doubt it was one of the boys, decided it would be fun to turn the chairs upside down, remove the rubber stoppers and throw them cross the room. 

 

This quickly escalated to a scene where desks were turned upside down on other desks to form fortifications on both sides of the room and rubber stoppers were flying all directions.  Someone was flashing the ceiling lights on and off (those of you who had a classroom under the arches will remember how dark they were) and another boy (or two) was making air raid siren noises.

 

Into this scene Mr March arrived. Without missing a beat, as he walked across the front of the classroom to the teachers’ desk he said …

             ‘It is good to see you children working so diligently’

 

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The Story of a Green Car

From David Schodt and Matthew Klippan

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                                                                 The Green Car in its normal state

 

The Green Car, an Austin A-40 born sometime in the late 1940s, began its life as a member of the Telopea community with the beginning of the school year in 1964. David Schodt had acquired the car for £15.00, the low price offset to some extent by the fact that the car did not run and had to be towed to his house. After several weeks spent tightening bolts, tugging on wires, and engaging in heated conversations with the cold engine, he discovered that the linkage between the accelerator pedal and the carburetor had been removed. Whether this had occurred through the work of some mysterious gremlins, or from deliberate sabotage by the disgruntled former owner was never determined, but once fixed the car sprang to life--well, sort of. Although painted an aspirational British Racing Green, the car could only rarely be coaxed to speeds over 35 mph. And, at those high speeds it appeared to consume petrol and oil in approximately equal proportions. 

 

For a brief period, the Green Car sported two political bumper stickers from the U.S. presidential election of 1964, with the Republican Barry Goldwater affixed to the rear, and the Democrat Lyndon Johnson pointing forward on the front. It would be nice, but false, to attribute this placement to the prescient political instincts of the car’s owner, as the conservative Goldwater was left behind in the electoral dust by his opponent. The reality, unfortunately, was that the stickers had been seen only as a (slightly cheeky) way of offsetting the monochrome green of the car’s exterior with some splashes of colour. 

 

The Green Car would appear at Telopea primarily on rainy days when it provided rides to an assortment of classmates. During the summer holidays that year a number of us had jobs in Civic Centre, and the Green Car was pressed into service as an informal shuttle service. It sputtered back and forth across the bridge, followed by clouds of oil-fueled smoke. On one trip, for some reason after dark, the Car was followed by the police for a number of blocks. In the darkness, their interest was not the smoke, which fortunately wasn’t visible. They pulled the car over to inform us that a rear light was not working. It was a relief and a bit of a surprise that was the only noticeable thing not functional! They were prepared to write a ticket but noticed the diplomatic plates on the Car and let us go with a warning to get it fixed. It may have also been that few cars with a similarly dilapidated appearance sported such plates, making the Green Car a suspicious target.

 

When David left Australia for university in the United States, he sold the Green Car to Matthew Klippan, who turned out to be the front man for a syndicate of shadowy buyers with further plans for the Car. Matthew, who christened the car “Lettuce” after a more honest appraisal of its color, bought it for the princely sum of $30, or £15 as it was then.  This was its original price, despite the extensive, although subtle, improvements David had undertaken; about $417 in today’s money and a bargain whichever way you look at.  Although we didn’t know it at the time, the car was clearly the forerunner of ride/drive share because she was driven by various people, mainly on the Yarralumla to Telopea run. 

 

Matthew undertook his own improvements, among which was shortening the exhaust slightly in the hope of making it sound a bit sporty--but that was an understandable failure as the A40 was about as far removed from a sports car as a Clydesdale is from a thoroughbred racer.  But she never broke down, and as Matthew worked at Larke Hoskins after school and weekends (with Rodney Stone), he had access to the hoist and tools for the basic servicing frequently needed to keep Lettuce on the road.  

 

Lettuce was not a quick car – contemporary road tests reported an unverified top speed of 70 mph and at least 40 seconds to accelerate to 60 mph.  She was most comfortable at 45mph, but wasn’t much for distance. Prior to acquiring Lettuce, Matthew and Eric Nelson used to hitch-hike to the Lakeview hill climb–about halfway between Queanbeyan and Bungendore –a distance which didn’t seem that far.  One evening Matthew bravely took Lettuce out to the hill climb and, given her leisurely pace, became a bit concerned that he wouldn’t get back before dawn.  And she didn’t get out of second gear coming up that hill.  

 

Several times after school, a few of us (apart from Eric it’s unclear who else was there) would take Lettuce to Westbourne Woods, which at the time was undeveloped and pretty much deserted. We would mark out a track and pretend we were rally drivers – only problem was that Lettuce wasn’t a rally car – but she didn’t break and didn’t roll over, although to be honest at that speed nothing would!  But it was fun. Not sure if David would have approved though.  

 

One trip which springs to mind is visiting Ray Reavley in the old Canberra Hospital.  Ray had broken his arm playing football that day so a bunch of us decided to visit him.  Lettuce was pressed into service, and although nobody seems to remember how many people climbed in, it was at least six, maybe more.  It’s unclear who was driving that day, but whoever it was must have been very compact because the seat had to be pushed as far forward as it would go to accommodate the people in the back seat. There was much laughter and great relief when we got to the hospital, and Ray was surprised and pleased to see us.  

 

There were rumours that Lettuce might have played a supporting role in the Catholic Girls High School kidnapping that Marina Armstrong (and others) were involved in at the end of 5th year. This was almost certainly apocryphal, as the leisurely acceleration of that car from 0 to 60 meant it would have had little utility as a getaway vehicle. As Matthew notes, even a sprightly nun could have run it down.

 

Lettuce met what was probably a fitting end. Ian Rooney, now a well-known thespian, but then an aspiring apprentice golf professional, worked at the Federal Golf Course. Lettuce gallantly took him to work, which wasn’t an easy task for her as she had to drive halfway up Red Hill.   She seemed to prefer going down to going up because the road was quite steep, and she could kick up her heels a bit on the downhill run. It should be noted that in the road tests of the day, Austin A40s were not renowned for their brakes, requiring a great deal of pressure for “maximum results”.  And maximum results were not great results.  So, on the way down, Lettuce picked up speed and Ian panicked a bit thinking that the brakes might not pull her up before the Mugga Way intersection at the bottom of the hill.  He quickly slipped her into second gear. That was too much for dear old Lettuce; her conrods gave up in protest, and her engine died. She coasted to Deakin and ended up in the yard at Larke Hoskins in Yarralumla.  She was in need of a new engine and sadly none was available. She stayed in the yard until Larke Hoskins ceased operating after which she was probably crushed and recycled.  It was a sad end to a gallant old lady who provided a lot of fun to a bunch of juveniles.  And no one was hurt.

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Some of Those Stories from TPHS

From Lawrie Knock

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Marina's story of the kidnapping was entertaining.  It actually had a prehistory.

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I had initially thought that it might be fun to have a mock holdup of one of the banks in Petrie Street.  As I envisaged the event, we would come rushing out of the alcove which some banks had in front of the doors, with a couple of calico bags.  

I discussed this with my father who pointed out the inherent dangers should someone such as an armed police officer be in the area and decide to put an end to our escape.  Being shot didn't really appeal so something different was called for.  Someone from another school had done something involving CCEGGS and the headmistress had called the police in immediately.  Doing something which could lead to prosecution didn't really appeal, but doing something which caused a stir was definitely on the agenda.  

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Some of us decided that if we kidnapped someone who appeared to be a CCEGGS student, but who was not actually a student of that school, it would create an interesting situation for the administration.  Our view was that they would first need to work out who had been kidnapped.  We decided that we would get one of our girls to dress in CCEGGS uniform and we would kidnap her from outside the school, in full view of the students and staff but far enough away from them that she could not be identified.

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Several students including Helen Lample, Antje Kark and enough others to fill a VW beetle with a legal load, set out earlier in the week to acquire a CCEGGS uniform for the intended stunt.  Anne Robertson was a former CCEGGS student was an obvious choice for supply of wardrobe but was unable to assist.  We encountered numerous setbacks in our search.  When we did locate a CCEGGS uniform, it was too small for any of the girls we had willing to wear it.  Eventually someone offered us a CGHS uniform suitable for a senior student.  None of our intended kidnapping victims was of a suitable size for this piece of kit.  I suspect that Antje or Helen determined who to approach and they did a great casting job.

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Antje and Helen parked themselves opposite the school to observe the event.  We dropped Marina off outside the old Freebody’s premises.  From there she walked in a very student like manner towards the drop off point for the school buses.  We did a few circuits in my father’s station wagon and someone else’s Holden (I think)  When Marina reached the target zone the event was staged pretty much as Marina herself recounts it.  She was magnificent.  Had we not known that she was a willing participant I think we would have let her go.  We dropped Marina off at TPHS.

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I returned the car to the garage at home and took the beetle to go to school.  To get the vehicle it had been necessary to obtain parental endorsement.  About 9.00 am my father answered the door to a couple of police officers who were interested in the whereabouts of his vehicle.  He was able to show them that it was where it should be.  When it was established that they were likely to take to event as it was intended, he let them in on it.

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I was interested to read that Marina thought that Mr MacPherson might have had a bit of fun out of the event also.  This does not surprise me.  I think my father and “the boss” were reasonably good friends.  They spent five years of secondary schooling together at Hay Memorial High School during the 1920s and early 1930s.  I wasn’t ever told what they got up to during their schooling.  Had they been mobile and had a conveniently located girl’s high school, they may well have beaten us to it.

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The Great Bag Scramble

From Lawrie Knock

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Having pulled off a flawless kidnapping there was little left to accomplish.  The students of TPHS were being feted to a performance by those 5th year students in possession of artistic skills.  Some of the rest of us just had to sit back until it was over.  The need to achieve drove some us to consider other possible activities.

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The hallways and classrooms of the school were littered with school bags, carelessly left lying around by students, who were indulging in the entertainment spectacular.  It was likely that after such an exhausting event many students would be disoriented and would need assistance settling back into the normal timetable.  Finding their bags for some of these students may have been challenging.

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Some of us decided that it might be helpful if we placed all of the school bags in one central location where the students could mingle together while choosing a bag to their liking.  The cricket pitch in the centre of the oval seemed to be a good central location with plenty of space on all sides to allow a dignified and orderly recovery of bags by their rightful owners. 

 

Every bag which could be located was carefully placed on the pitch without any discrimination.  The endorsed TPHS shoulder bags were placed alongside other types of bags with exactly the same reverence shown to the more affluent kit.

Some of us were shocked to see the disarray into which the younger students of TPHS had descended in only a few minutes from when they had been released from the final entertainment spectacular from 5th year.  By the time we had returned from a quick visit to Narrabundah High School, an orderly assembly of the school had been put in place, with students being allowed to search for bags in class groups.

 

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Scripture or Religious Instruction

From Lawrie Knock

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I always thought of that 4th period on Tuesdays as scripture.  I think it was officially identified as religious instruction.  The Methodist minister of the day was a bit of a fire and brimstone type.  He insisted during the first lesson, that we all attended “divinity” – I think that is what he called it - of our own free will.

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Being a scrupulous supporter of the principles of honesty and fearing the consequences of deceitful behaviour, I was confronted by a terrible dilemma.  Fortunately, Bob Stanton had a Morris Minor which on Tuesdays was parked outside the Manuka Squash Courts.  Allan Crossing and Tim Wilson, I think, were also traumatised by the prospect of deceiving a Minister of religion.

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We decided that the honourable way to deal with our dilemma was to leave the school at the start of recess, drive to Deakin, play 100 up of billiards, and then return to school in time to attend 5th period.

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This arrangement worked pretty well for the whole year after the first scripture period.

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Not Only Academic Excellence from TPHS Students

From Lawrie Knock

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I arrived at TPHS as a new student entering 5th year under the old leaving certificate arrangements.  I came from central NSW.  In my home town there was quite a number of what are now called elite sports people.  There had been talented cricketers, footballers, athletes, hockey players and tennis players..  Some of the members of our swimming club were in training under Forbes Carlisle who I think was the coach of the Olympic team at that time and we had a few state swimming squad members.

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Our municipal pool was open from late August until Anzac Day.  I was nearly good enough to keep up swimming freestyle with the best of the club’s swimmers using a kicking board.  I could actually walk from one end of the pool to the other, a lot faster than most of the members of our club could swim it.  But down here in Canberra the real swimming season ran for a couple of weeks before Christmas and sometimes there was another couple of weeks of hot weather after new year.  What a treat for a swimmer who couldn’t even win a place in the school relay team.  Not surprisingly, it did not matter how good one appeared to be against the ACT competition, in North Sydney pool the competition was fair dinkum and genuine talent was quickly revealed.

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Having established some credibility in the rarified ACT water, I was quizzed about what other sports if any I pursued.  Tennis came up and I was asked how I thought I would go against one Barbara Walsh.  Back in the country we had a girl some years earlier, who had been ranked in the top three in NSW.  I had already been advised of Barbara’s ranking.  Based on my past experience I figured that Barbara was only a girl and I was not intimidated by her reputation.

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Eventually we arranged a play off at Forrest Tennis Courts one afternoon after school.  As testament to Barbara’s kind nature, there were no spectators.  I quickly raced to a 40 to love lead in the first game.  Barbara then proceeded to take the next five successive points.  Nearly every game went to the same schedule.  It became clear that these things were not happening by accident.  Eventually Barbara let me win the notional game before taking the set.  She did it again the next set just to demonstrate that it wasn’t a fluke.  But what elegance.  Yes, just a bit of a humiliation, but the execution was so graceful that it was a pleasure to be flogged.

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I concluded that there were people at TPHS who could not keep their mouths shut.  Had those who informed Barbara of my thinking kept my confidence she might have let me win two games in each set.

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Once Upon a Time in Telopea

From Dermot Smyth

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With the exception of a memorable day of action and reaction (see below), my recollections of my Telopea years are a blur of friendships, teachers and routines rather than particular days or events.  I remember the before-school bike rides from Yarralumla, across Adelaide Avenue, past the Prime Minister’s Lodge, through leafy Forrest to Telopea Park, meeting up with a posse of fellow riders along the way.  The way home was slower, uphill and on a good day might include a snack-fuelled stopover at a friend’s place.  I remember lunchtime football-kicking on the oval where pairs or quartets of kickers would team up, a phenomenon inexplicably called “waxing”, to increase our chances of catching the ball amidst the fierce competition of more expert practitioners.

 

I remember Mrs Thompson for equipping me with sufficient mastery of English to write myself into further study that morphed into a career.  I remember Mrs Hughes who instilled in me just enough Chemistry to scrape into a science degree, which opened the doors that became my life.  I remember Mr Martin for his E-Type Jag.  I remember Miss Dunn for her entry into the Miss Australia Contest.  I remember Mr McPherson for his kindly reference when I was finally released into the wild.  

 

And I remember Mr McGann for the caning he delivered on the one Telopea day that I do recall vividly:

 

It was during the first or second year of high school, and the second day of combat in one of the classrooms that ran along the southern edge of the parade ground.  Day 1 had involved low grade, intermittent hostilities between combatants armed with hastily improvised paper pellets propelled by elastic bands fired from cocked thumbs or carefully aimed rulers.  By Day 2 the opposing forces, located in the front and rear rows of desks, skill levels had increased, targets more aimfully selected, and stockpiles of tightly packed pellets prepared.  Hostilities began immediately after the teacher left the room after the first lesson of the day and lasted for the five or so minutes before the next teacher arrived.  The battle raged, the pellets flew, honour was won and lost and, unfortunately, blood was spilled.

 

The blood in question oozed from one eye of a boy in the front row, an event that was simultaneously noticed by the equally horrified pelleteers and the incoming teacher.  Perhaps already alerted to the mayhem, Deputy Principle McGann appeared seconds later demanding to know who among the chastened rabble had taken part in the battle, and he beckoned the injured boy to join him at the front of the class as evidence for the prosecution - an innocent victim of unconscionable behaviour.  Surrounded as we were by rubber bands and paper shrapnel it seemed pointless to deny our guilt, so one by one our hands went up and our fate was sealed.  McGann’s triumph was somewhat deflated when he turned to see the injured boy slowly raise his hand too – not so innocent after all.

 

I don’t recall whether any of the girls were part of the affray, but certainly it was only boys who were sent on the long march to the Deputy’s office to await their punishment.  The long minutes outside the office in earshot of the THWACK, THWACK, THWACK, THWACK, THWACK, as the cane was brought down five times on trembling fingertips, was almost as bad as the blows themselves when my turn came.  The stinging pain was quite bearable and didn’t last long, but the impact of the event was profound and enduring.

 

Mostly I think I was shocked that the institution and the people who ran it could suddenly shed their role as educators to inflict violence upon us, leaving me wary of hierarchical institutions thereafter.  Of course, McGann was just expressing the values of the times and what would now be regarded as serious assault was widely accepted as legitimate discipline.  And, astonishingly from the perspective of all these years later, we students subscribed to these values by obediently responding to the request to hold our hands steady to enable the assault to occur.  If a similar request was made of high school students these days, expletives would be hurled, the police would be summoned by Twitter and the video would go viral on Instagram!

 

I often wonder whether I should blame or thank Mr McGann for my subsequent unsuitability as an institutional employee, which in turn led to many satisfying decades of self-employment.