early years 4

Later primary school was probably the epiphany of my educational experience, if measured on the happiness scale. We had moved to Killarney Heights in 1968, a fairly well-to-do suburb for young families. Good schools, bushland, organised sport, safety. That probably made it a good place to raise a family, supposing that family had sufficient internal cohesion, or stability. Ours was crumbling.

But the school environment was encouraging. In fourth grade, my teacher, Reginald Oldland, regailed us frequently with stories of his time in the RAF. It didn't take a lot to sidetrack him into a long digression on Spitfires and near misses, and being a Welshman, he had the gift of storytelling. He was firm but kind, an excellent educator who understood that life stories mattered as much as maths or english.

Upper primary was also a time of making new friends, in that innocent, open way that preteens have of doing it. I had lost contact with my Rose Bay Public friends, sadly, but others came along. At school recess and lunchtime, groups of boys would descend on the fringe of scrubby bush adjacent one of the buildings. I don't exactly remember the impulse, but the site became an intense place of digging and quarrying. Old bottles were filled with freshly powdered sandstone, dozens of small caves excavated in sandy banks became shelters for Crater-Critters, stories were told, broken and retold. The place seemed to have a slightly magical quality to it as I recall it through adult eyes. Even so, one day it became out of bounds, for reasons best known to parents and principals, so we all moved to the playground or the nearby oval. The end of a very small era.

By sixth grade I had the extra job, with best friend Wayne, of operating the PA system. Housed in a cupboard in the admin block, the PA had a record player and radio receiver. These were hooked up to the quad speakers and those quaint tannoys that used to grace each and every classroom. If there was a broadcast (this word still has an authority that belittles terms like podcast) we had to set the system up to run in the appropriate classroom. Most importantly, it was our job to set up the mikes and put on the morning 'marching music' following the assembly. The single LP selected for this job was one of Scottish tunes, replete with bagpipes and drums. The best tune with the most appropriate marching beat was preselected for us. I have a confession to make. One more than one occasion when my friend Wayne had the helm, so to speak (and I was out on the assembly), I had flipped the album over so that a different track was selected. A slow air.

That mischievous streak has got me into trouble more than once, I can assure you.