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| Palmers Channel School 1935. Dad and his sister Aileen were students at the time |
My student days began in late 1956 after Mum made an
arrangement with the teacher that allowed me to attend for a while prior to my
starting 1st class – or grade 1 as we know it today – in 1957. I don’t know how
common this was but Neville Carr started at the same time. Neville was a few
days younger than me and we ended up exchanging birthday presents throughout
our primary school years. Neville died many years back from skin cancer.
The school had two rooms and a veranda. Part of the veranda was
enclosed in my third or fourth year to make a library. The two rooms were
divided by a fold away petition and the rear room had a stage from where we
presented the annual Christmas tree concert.
There were two lunch sheds – one for the boys and the other
for the girls. These provided shelter from the weather and were well separated.
Enrolment was probably a little short of 30 with the six
classes being under the control of one teacher. Most of the children had some
family connection to the Marsh family, it being by far the largest family on
the Channel. We sat at desks in neat lines, all facing the front, the teacher
and the blackboard. Corporal punishment was in vogue in those days and a call
to the front often meant a smack or two across the back of the legs with the
teacher’s ruler. Boys were frequently called to the front but I can’t recall
girls undergoing the same discipline. There was obviously discrimination
against males.
I had three teachers over the six years, each for two years,
Misters Folkard, Keating and Lee. Mr Keating was a Catholic, a thing that
people noticed in those days and Mum expressed her delighted surprise when he
turned up at the annual Sunday School concert. He obviously earned a few
brownie points with Mum for that. Mr Lee had been in the air force during the
war and Mum has always blamed him for me wanting to join the RAAF, but I
suspect it was a steady diet of Biggles books and history articles of the
glorious days of the British Empire.
The teacher lived in a house next to the school. His yard
was out of bounds. At morning tea and again at lunch time he would disappear
into his sanctuary, only to emerge at the end of each break to face the mob.
This meant we were unsupervised during breaks. Today teachers are rostered on
during recesses and children well supervised. Lack of appropriate supervision
has resulted in many costly litigation cases.
There was no playground equipment. We played tag, hide and
seek and other games. A couple of the big boys in my early years invented a
game that was rather character building for us smaller ones. One would hold us
down with our legs apart and the other would direct a medicine ball at our
groin.
The school was on a few acres of land with a creek through
the middle. The grass on the side the buildings were on was kept well mown, not
so on the other side. We played in the creek, creating dams, waterways and
other construction projects, unlimited by our imagination. Shoes were unheard
of in summer so there was no problem with getting them dirty. Mum insisted I
wear shoes in winter, much to my disgust, but I regularly came down with
bronchitis so it was probably for the best.
Once I made a periscope, copying the pattern from a
magazine. It came in handy, so I thought, playing hide and seek. We hid in the
long grass on the other side of the creek but, unknown to me, my new toy was a
bit of a give-away.
Back then the Government provided free milk to primary
school students. Looking back, this made little sense in a community where every
family milked. But policy was policy. The milk was delivered early each morning
and placed in the shade of a large camphor laurel tree next to the school gate.
In summer particularly this had probably started to go off before we got to it
at morning recess. It came in a small bottle, probably around 400 mL with an
aluminium foil lid. We had the choice of plain, chocolate or strawberry. While
I could handle the strawberry in particular, I though the plain was absolutely
revolting. It was nothing like the fresh milk we got from the cow each morning.
The milk was pasteurised, but not homogenised, permeate
free, permeate added, skim, low fat, calcium added or anything else. The cream
floated on top so you could scoop if off if you wanted fat free – not that
anyone worried about stuff like that then – or give it a good shake before
opening for the full cream taste.
We did some activities on the veranda. One I remember was
basket weaving. Basket cane was soaked in buckets of water to make it flexible enough
to form into the basket. On one such occasion I was sitting too close to my
friend Neville as he was using a knife to cut the cane to size. It slipped and
I still have the scar in my right knee. When I got home Mum was rather upset
that I hadn’t been taken to a doctor as she felt it should have been stitched.
I don’t however recall her taking me.
These were the days of White Australia, God, Queen and
country. One ritual I remember well, while I cannot be certain as to frequency.
I would guess weekly. The school lined up in front of the flagpole, which was
located in a well-kept garden barricaded with a white fence to keep us out. There,
we recited the pledge of allegiance before marching into school: ‘I honour my
God, I serve my Queen, I salute the flag,’ or words to that effect.
Two palm trees stood proud, about a meter and a half apart,
at the rear of the school – although one always did look a little healthier
than the other. These had been planted to commemorate the fallen – I assume
WW1. There was a well-worn track between these as we often ran between them
playing tag. The district’s honour board, remembering those who had served or
fallen in our wars was displayed in the School’s rear room. Out of respect for those
men and possibly women I hope that board is still retained in a suitable place.
Community movie nights were held at the school. I remember
Dad, who was quite good with his hands, making a cabinet to house the projector
and its accessories. It was fitted with castors to enable it to be moved around
and double as the projector stand. In my last couple of years they also built
community tennis courts on the other side of the creek.
The highlight of the school year was the Christmas Tree
concert, again a community event. We sang carols, presented skits, and those
who could presented musical items. One year, probably my last, we did a play ‘The
Wedding of the Painted Doll.’ This involved all the kids in the school. Our mothers
spent weeks, if not months, making costumes. I played the minister. At home
somewhere I have a picture of us in our costumes with me standing head and
shoulders above the other kids.
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| The Wedding of the Painted Doll |
The school has long since passed. Last time I visited the
Channel it had been converted to a house. Can a house stand as a memorial to a
bygone era, a way of life that no longer exists? As much as I would like to
think so I don’t believe it can. Some of us have memories of those days, but as
we pass so will the memories.
There is one transcript I would like to add. Keith McLeay
and I started in first class at Palmers Channel in 1957. At the end of 1966 we
both left Maclean High, having shared 10 years of schooling. The following year
I joined the air force.
Keith, I believe, started an apprenticeship in Newcastle. I
remember looking him up once after I got to Williamtown. Keith was called up
for two years national service – he must have been one of the last intakes. He
stayed with the army, completing over 20 years’ service.
Two boys from a one teacher country school who completed
their school years together that gave a combined total of more than 40 years to
their country in military service. The older I get the more I wonder how often
that has happened.
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