After I left WTC. ..............
(Have to admit: I cannot make this text "fit" this page. I cannot move it to the top. ) :(
"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well."
I'm quoting a former "boss" - as we used to call the principals (our supervisors) of the primary/public schools where we taught.
Having just read some summaries of teaching careers, written by fellow ex-Wollongong Teachers College 'Pioneer students', I am using this blog to tell my story, my way.
In 1964, after two years' study, at Wollongong Teachers College, I received the first of those telegrams which read: "You have been appointed to........" In my case, Riverstone Public School.
So far away from Hillsdale, where I was living that it might as well have been called "country-service", it, of course wasn't. Riverstone is on the 'country-side' of Sydney, where quite large areas used to flood, when the nearby rivers could not cope when the grey clouds gathered and the area was overwhelmed again, by the steady, soaking rain.
Those first three years of teaching were a little like a 'baptism of fire'. Management, i.e., principal and deputy principal, ( the executive ) at first, quite clearly, did not know what to make of me but each year the annual reports to the district inspector seemed to be more and more positive, once I could demonstrate what I could do.
I used my accordion to teach singing, using only SOME of the songs from the ABC song books that were used as most of the other pupils were taught to sing by a p.a. system broadcasting the ABC radio programs.
I remember 'Morning-town Ride", "Puff the Magic Dragon", etc., with great fondness.
I also ignored the 'folk-dancing' lessons, taught via those p.a. systems. After all, I'd been attending Bob Potter's Ballroom Dancing lessons for quite a few years by then.
In hindsight, I'd like to think that my still Dutch accent and background of having attended primary school myself, in Gouda, was an advantage, really, as many of the residents who lived in Riverstone then, had come from Scheyville Migrant Hostel, not too far away. (I had briefly been a 'resident' of Scheyville, too, as a boy of 12.) Of course there were a number of Dutch-born/background children in the school.
After that first year of slowly being more appreciated for what I COULD do, my love of art was also recognised, 'culminating' in the 'huge' 'Speech-night' backdrops, painted by the pupils. A fun memory is having taken 'teams' of Riverstone pupils to Paddington Town Hall, to participate in the Eistedfodd there.
But......while Riverstone wasn't exactly country, it certainly wasn't 'city' and so I still had to face my mandatory 'country-service' and the next telegram read: "You have been appointed, as teacher-in-charge, to Maude via Hay."
***
I woke up in fright because Sydney was too far away.
I've told it so often: The 'standard' telegram arrived and I stood with my mother and our friends, in the kitchen in Flint Street (then still said to be in Matraville. It was 1967.) and we pretended to be excited at this message re the transfer from Riverstone to Maude-via-Hay. THEN we found our NRMA map and located Maude, not THAT far away from the NSW border with South Australia.
So, at the end of January, I packed my vw beetle and VERY early in the morning, headed for my appointment as Teacher-In-Charge, in Maude via Hay. Just google: "How could they send a boy, straight from Holland to a place like that?" to find me retelling of running out of petrol THIS side of Hay; being rescued and given a lift into Hay; pouring in the petrol from the can and not understanding that it was only meant to help me reach Hay. So, running out of petrol again, on the other side of Hay and being helped by relatives of my pupils to be, who were on their way to Maude to see what the new teacher was like.
No electricity. No running water. Really lovely kids. (22 of them, from Kindergarten to Year 3 High School (doing correspondence), was not really something that I'd been prepared for. In short, it all went wrong and being transferred to the other corner of far west NSW and the primary department of an "Intermediate High School", while again being 9+ hours drive away from home, was a MUCH better situation. Sharing not only accommodation but the whole experience with the other young teachers.
(I WAS still Mr Mul then, of course.)
Bourke:
card games, Anson St, melodrama, Alice-in-Wonderland, Rodeo, Watching Dr Zhivago, in deck chairs, in the open-air picture theatre..........
That last part of the 9+ hours' drive from Sydney to Bourke, after passing through Nyngan was yet another new experience for this 'boy from Gouda'. Just one slight bend in the road, with absolutely nothing but space and in the distance the trees, where there might be a river and where the kangaroos might come from, at dusk.
Finding the house, in Anson Street where I was to share boarding with four other male teachers, is one of those moments in life that is so clear in the memory. Rick was there, relaxing on the lounge and offered me the first of hundreds of cups of coffee. (After that first one, the rest, here in Sydney, years later).
A wardrobe was turned on the back verandah to give me 'privacy' and I had a bed and a place to put my stuff. Again, I have told these stories (re my stay in Bourke) so often! Please google, if you're really interested.
Alice in Wonderland, Bourke. The assistant principal on my left.)
When it was my turn to cook, I only knew of one recipe: "Hutspot" (=hotchpotch) Mashed potatoes, carrots and onions and some kind of sausage or crispy bacon to add some flavour.
We played lots of 500. "Big Bruce" was unofficially in charge. Every so often a hose was put through the house, when it was felt that the place was too messy and a clean-up required.
The assistant principal of the primary department lived next door and kept an eye on us. We sometimes minded his little daughter. The principal of the high school summoned us all one day to tell us to take better care of the house.
I became friends with an infants teacher there. (No doubt it was the red hair that initially attracted but I'd like to think that we were very good friends then.) Fondest memories are ~ again ~ of the card games (500) which had started at Wollongong Teachers College. There was a time when Rick and his partner and my red-headed partner and I had a weekly game of 500 at the house of the then deputy mayor of Bourke. All just very pleasant.
The verandah of "The Old Gaol", in Bourke, where I boarded, after 'Anson Street'
and shared with fellow-ex-WTC-student, Warren.
Some highlights; the 25 MILES!!! walk in the burning heat, which left its mark on my shoulders for about a years. (The t-shirt was open on most of my shoulders.) Also my first 'go' at having the pupils 'do Alice in Wonderland' for Open Day; also playing the 'hero' in the melodrama, presented in the high school assembly area, on a very hot summer's night, when my lines included: ....."the cold, cold snow".
Again: I've already written about it all so often. Please google, if interested......'ozcloggie, jo mulholland, joop/joe mul, etc.)
But 'home' was still too far away and, one means of getting back there, and better still, of being transferred to a school reasonably close-by, was to apply to enroll in the "Art Teachers Conversion Course", (training two-year-trained primary school teachers, to become (4-year trained-status-) (Visual) Art Teachers.
Chopping wood for the slow-combustion burner that heated the water for the shower, in the 'Old Gaol'.
The city's water supply was filtered on two days each week.
I had NOT ever had any 'art lessons', until teachers college, where I held a palette and brush for the first time. During the break, back in Sydney I went and drew the Captain Cook Bridge and submitted that (to qualify). Whatever the reason, I was accepted to do the 4-year course: attending four nights-a-week and 4 weeks during the school holidays. The venue was (then called:) The Old East Sydney Tech(nical College).
I was transferred to Mascot Public School.
One of those moments!! It wasn't particularly earth-shattering but I remember so clearly getting into my vw, at the end of that first (pupil-free) day, in the Mascot Public School parking area, i.e., the front of the school and the conversation being along the lines of: Gosh! What have we got ourselves into here?
But 1969-1972 were the years in which I 'found my feet' teaching and always picture me bounding down that staircase, at the end of the block, close to the staffroom.
The majority of the staff used the downstairs one, while upstairs was the 'domain' of four quite mature ladies. Even we, fellow colleagues felt obliged to politely knock on their door on the rare occasions that we ventured in there.
While downstairs there was rowdy, lively conversation, upstairs, picture the ladies, with their cups of tea. Nothing wrong, it was just 'funny'.
Got into my stride at that school. Loved coaching the THREE soccer teams. Loved making the WHOLE primary department do so many progressive dances in the circles in the playground for Open Day. Enjoyed taking the children's art to the Waratah Festival in Hyde Park.
To take advantage of my first step on the ladder of promotion, I transferred to Busby West, as "D.M." (Deputy Master, which later morphed into "E.T." ~ Executive Teacher).
Memories of Mascot PS and Busby West PS practically blend into one: Again, perhaps even more soccer, dancing, art, music, excursions, athletics carnivals etc., which were all so energetic and fun.
The memories kept alive by a number of my favourite paintings.
........"and then the rains came"........... (That phrase/title so 'haunts' me!) I mean: then there was a 'dip', i.e. a strange (close to unpleasant) period.
The system always made us apply for moves to schools to fit in with where we (wanted to) live(d) and to 'climb the ladder of promotion'.
Attempting to be transferred to a school a little closer to home, I was allocated Narwee PS and that was the beginning of a less pleasant period. (The 'kids' were still great but the situation was way out of my comfort zone.) One thing I missed was being allowed to coach soccer. Soccer had been drastically lowered in importance by the then school principal who had strong opinions on lots of matters.
It might help to describe how lunch was eaten by the staff in a small staffroom, where the principal led the conversation.
There was a change at the end of the first year but I needed to escape and that was done by accepting the position of 'Co-ordinator of Multicultural Education Resources, through the Child Migrant Education Centre in the Department of Special Programs'.
I lasted one term sitting in a former store-room, at a desk, with a phone hoping to help implement the then brand-new Multicultural Education Policy and desperately missed being in the classroom.
Deployed with the status of only 'List One', I was so grateful for being invited along a few times, by the two ('List 3') Senior Education officers to visit school and sit in circles to discuss the 1979 version of the new policy.
I was transferred to a bigger office, in Bridge Street, to sit at another desk, along with more people but having nothing significant to do.
I was so grateful, in 1980, to be allowed back into the classroom, in Georges Hall, where the first year there, was almost as unpleasant but things picked up again, and having soccer teams coming out of my ears comes to mind as the beginning of getting back to normal although the most productive years are remembered as being spent at Mascot and Busby West (with Bourke having had its charm too).
From a solitary time in first a storeroom and then an office with nothing to do, I found myself in a big school and among the many positives (Soccer already mentioned) was the social side: Friday afternoons a few drinks in the Bankstown Airport's venue and squash games and by the way, sharing my 'D.M.' office from the second year there onwards with the future mother of my children.
Took the opportunity during one of the Christmas Holiday breaks to do what I'd always wanted to try: Grew that beard.
Tried for promotion there ("second list") but had the misfortune to be assessed by a lady called Betty. No doubt it was possible for her to find faults but I gained the impression that she was rather good at that.
I transferred to Milperra and was successful there. I'd like to think that putting the emphasis on my positives simply provided just as many reasons for the step up as the negatives did to stop me.
An amusing moment that I remember from the two years at Milperra PS, is the first assembly of the second year, when the colleague whom I'd 'supervised' at GHPS, who HAD been successful at the promotion attempt and who was now MY 'superior', as Deputy Principal, introduced the new teachers and also explained that, while I was not new, I DID now have a new name.
No longer: 'Mul' (and often pronounced: Mule~ except by pupils),
it was now an Irish name: Mulholland.
Passing the 'test' to be put on List Two, at Milperra, was in small part due to having been in charge of the 'Personal Development' 'course' that was implemented there for the year 6 pupils. In a different approach to the annual talks that were traditionally given to the sixth grade girls and the sixth grade boys at evenings which had a "men's and women's-business" with a religious touch to it all flavour, this course was supported by the organisation which supported expectant mothers and sent what the sixth graders in my 6th class considered to be quite 'spunky' (young - unlike me) educators who did a great job, leaving me with ~ some ~ of the credit.
I suspect that I did just as 'good' (or bad) a job at this school as the previous one but it was time for promotion.
The next school was a really strange experience. Felt very much like a fish out of water. The one other male classroom teacher (who was really nice) ~ proudly showing the photos of his (As you know it's STILL not legally possible-) 'marriage' to his (male) partner. That year it 'felt' (Only felt!) like I was working in an absolutely female-dominated school, with a kind 'boss', who certainly did not need my advice. The 'pecking order' felt different to the official one. Symbolically the sign on the male teachers toilet door had been made non-sexist.
After this 'being some-what lost' period, the last almost third of my career was spent on the side of the slope, in Jannali, as A.P..
Loveliest memories:
Reading 'Bridge to Terabithia' to my class, sitting on the rocks behind the school fence above the slope down to the valley.
Fond memory: The librarian whose system I was so often wrecking by running into her library, ~ at the times when she was not there ~ to grab some book to show my class, and being too 'excited'/preoccupied to properly take care of the formalities of recording what I'd done.
Apart from the woman who was like my 'other mother' when we migrated here, she was the only (other) one to have a habit of 'bashing' my elbow but the memory makes me grin/smile!!!
(I suspect that there are quite a few ~ now adults ~ who might not have been in my class(es) but remember me either as the one who MADE them dance or as the one who played the piano-accordion.
© Jo Mulholland, 8 December, 2012.