Education Week
When I was a country parson in the early 1960’s of the little country church in the little country town of Ararat, gateway to the Wimmera, I taught religious instruction each week in the one teacher bush school at Jacksons Creek.
Jacksons Creek was a typical one teacher country school that was still to be found in those days throughout the bush. The one teacher, who had been there for more that 20 years in 1964, was Miss Pat Bradley. She was a no-nonsense, country girl made teacher who had dedicated her life to the education of the children in the area where she had grown up.
Miss Bradley was strongly built with good arms, big hands that were used to milking for perhaps the previous 30 years. She wore sensible lace-up walking shoes with flat heels, lisle stockings, and it seemed the same dresses. She was a good hearted Christian who devoted her life to her pupils and when the weekend came spent Saturdays working with the church youth groups and Sundays teaching Sunday School.
Miss Pat Bradley’s whole life centred around children except for when she went back to her parents’ farm which she half ran under the watchful eye of her frail, failing father.
I was a country parson that came out to the little one teacher bush school to teach religious education each Thursday morning. I was a university graduate and had been teaching classes in secondary school for six years. After a week or so Miss Bradley saw that I could cope with the ten, eleven or twelve children who happened to be there and asked if I would mind taking charge for an hour or two while she would slip into Ararat to do the school banking and a few other chores she had to do. That worked well with me and I started a regular routine where I became the teacher for all of Thursday morning while Miss Bradley went into town to do whatever she had to do.
She left me with a good standby “While you are teaching one class your lesson, get the other children to read the next section in the School Reader”, she said. I knew the School Reader fairly well because I had been brought up with it. The School Reader used by the Victorian Education Department, was first issued in 1930 and it was used regularly up until the end of the 60’s. Each child had a School Reader according to their grade and the School Reader became the means of keeping the rest of the classes busy while I taught at an appropriate level. Each week I gave the same lesson three times but adjusted to the advancing grades within the school. The eleven kids were scattered over eight grades.
1964 was a big year at Jacksons Creek. In fact it was a big year for the rest of Australia. The newspapers were full of the terrible sea crash between the Royal Australian Navy carrier “Melbourne” and the destroyer “Voyager”. They had been steaming in company in a series of exercises designed to perfect communication between the two ships. Actually communication needed to be perfected because for all sorts of reasons we could never find out from the newspapers, the “Melbourne” suddenly became aware of the smaller “Voyager” sailing right in front of her and although Captain Robinson ordered full speed astern with both engines, the huge aircraft carrier just kept coming and sliced the “Voyager” in half with 89 men drowning. The papers were full of it for months. It was the worst tragedy that Australia ever had seen in peace time among navy vessels and way out at Jacksons Creek where not one student had ever seen a destroyer let alone an aircraft carrier, everybody had their ideas. Part of the creek would be dammed by some of the boys and chips of wood floated down representing the aircraft carrier and the destroyer.
The other piece of news that really turned the kids right round was the visit to Australia of The Beatles from London. Everybody knew their songs and huge crowds gathered in Melbourne and Sydney and wherever else they went. Parents were talking about The Beatles. The Shire Council was talking about The Beatles. The Probations Officers and the Children’s Court Magistrate were talking about The Beatles – everybody was talking about The Beatles, but most of all the kids at Jacksons Creek. We suddenly had an outbreak of “Beatle Mania” and the hair on the boys began to grow longer.
In the rest of the community there was also unrest on another issue. The Prime Minister, Mr. Menzies, had announced that compulsory military service was to be introduced because of what was happening in South East Asia, especially in Vietnam. All the young fellows in the countryside, when they were 20, had to register and they knew that there would be a ballot and a marble would be drawn with a birth date on it. If their birth date was on the marble selected they would have to go overseas and fight for the country.
No one liked the idea of that compulsory call up and there was, in Ararat – a strong railway town with a strong ALP and trade union movement background – a very strong anti-war, anti-conscription and anti-call-up movement. The Anzac Day Parade that year was interrupted by people wanting to make a protest about the call up. But the way the people felt about Anzac Day up in the Wimmera it was lucky they escaped with their lives.
But in spite of all these big events that rocked the nation, what was bigger than the “Voyager” disaster and more significant than the arrival of The Beatles and involved the young people even more than the military call up, was the day Jacksons Creek became the school our local member of parliament was to visit for Education Week.
Education Week came every year and it wasn’t a big deal. We always had displays set up for the week and parents were invited to attend, but with only six lots of parents at Jacksons Creek, it wasn’t really a big deal.
But Miss Pat Bradley always worked hard to illustrate the work that was being done on the blackboard, to have the children’s work all set up on display, to have the pin boards at the back of the classroom covered with drawings by the younger children and some of the handwork of the older children. There would always be someone to sing or recite and the children were pressed into being on their very best behaviour. What made it different this year was that Miss Pat Bradley received a telephone call to say our local member of parliament was coming to visit.
Now for many people the visit of a local Member of Parliament would be no big deal either. But on this Thursday the local member for Hampden had decided to visit several of the schools in his electorate during Education Week and he would be followed by an entourage of press. For our local member of parliament, for the seat of Hampden, who lived on a farm not far from Jacksons Creek, who had gone to school himself in the area and had grown up to become a farmer and then to represent us in the State Parliament was none other than the most famous Premier Victoria had ever had – Mr. Henry Bolte.
Mr. Bolte was a man loved and hated at the same time by everyone. He had only been Premier at that time for a few years. He was going to go on and dominate all the rest of that decade and the next and establish himself to become an institution. He had already made his own mark when teachers gathered out in front of Parliament House marching backwards and forwards in protest and when asked what he thought about the teachers’ strike and march, replied: “They can march out there till their feet ruddy well drop off!”
He was a colourful character. With his friend Reg Ansett who had developed a famous Australian airline out of the taxi service that he used to run from Hamilton just south of Jacksons Creek, he also took on the airline hostesses when they went on strike. He described them as “just a batch of old boilers”. But I can never think of Henry Bolte without thinking of him down on his farm not far from Jacksons Creek on a hot day swimming in his dam. If it was good enough for Chairman Mao Tse Tung to swim in the Yangtse River, then it was good enough for Chairman Henry Bolte to swim in his dam. Not at all troubled by pesticides or pollution, wearing the skimpiest pair of bathing togs, covered by the largest pair of old khaki shorts you could imagine, he dived into the dam and happily floated around while the press took his photograph for the front page of the dailies.
Miss Pat Bradley rang me. “It’s going to be a really big do this year,” she said. “Henry Bolte is coming and I know they will always have a lot of press photographers. The District Inspector has told me we should have a proper ceremony for Education Week and really make a good display of it. I am wondering if you can help?” I readily agreed and instead of having any Religious Education that morning we were both on duty for the visit of Mr. Henry Bolte.
The night before Miss Bradley had spent hours setting up the school room ready for the official visit. I had gone over to help her and choose the best of the work and to make sure it was on display. We had been doing a series about Joseph in Egypt and some of the children had coloured large and impressive pictures of Joseph as Prime Minister of Egypt overseeing work on the building of pyramids and leading caravans through huge crowds of slaves. We pinned up all the best work.
It was while we were just finishing off the room, checking everything, that I noticed that Billy was looking rather odd. Billy was the other member of the classroom although the most silent of all. He was loved by all the children and in fact was the special pet of the Tynan twins, Evelyn and Elwyn. They had brought him to school about two years earlier in a round tank, and the tank had sat there on the window ledge out of the direct sun for more than two years while Billy every day just swam round and round. Because the boys used to drop pieces of chalk and ink into his fish tank there were very strict about who was able to feed the fish and when, how frequently and how much. Consequently the kids were always very keen to do the task and a roster system had been established. I guess some people think Billy is a rather silly name for a fish but Billy was a rather silly looking fish. He had two huge boggle eyes which made him seem totally top heavy and a very long drooping tail. Day by day he spent his life swimming up towards the top of the water but then the weight his huge head and eyes seemed to drag him down to the bottom and then he would start and flip his way to the top again. Round and round, up and down, all day, every day. Such as the life of Billy the fish.
We had cleaned up the room, made sure the desks were all in a straight row, and just glanced round to see if everything was right and there, over in the bowl, was Billy with his head hanging down, his tail hanging down, and his belly upwards towards the surface of the water. We both went over together. A tickle under the belly of the fish brought no result. It was obvious. Billy was dead. What could we do. If Evelyn and Elwyn discovered him dead the next morning they would be terribly upset. Here, with the Premier coming, two of our little girls in tears, and even some of older children like Lisa Goldridge, were likely to start howling as well. We had an instant problem on our hands.
Miss Pat Bradley knew there was nowhere in Jacksons Creek that she could get a replacement fish. And even so a replacement fish would raise two many questions tomorrow just when we wanted the kids to concentrate on their singing and doing their work and sitting up straight and not getting upset. What could we do?
Suddenly a germ of an idea came to mind. Miss Pat Bradley had a plastic bag in her desk in which she kept an odd assortment of pencils and rubbers. I tipped these all out onto her desk and went over to the tank, picked poor old dead, boggle-eyed Billy up by the tail and dropped him in the plastic bag. “Don’t worry, Miss Bradley” I said, “I’ll fix it up.”
I didn’t quite know how I would fix it up but I carefully took Billy the boggle-eyed fish home in the plastic bag and drove round to Ken and Bel Cathwright’s place. They lived behind a pet shop which they operated up on Enright Street. I knocked them up after tea and asked if I could have a look at their fish. They looked at me in a rather puzzled way. You see I had taken Billy straight home from the school and popped him in the plastic bag in the freezer. The old Kelvinator froze him good and proper and there he was lying in his plastic bag, hard as a board, and straight as a tack. They turned him over and looked at him carefully. “But he has to be exactly like this one.” They went into the shop and switched on the fluorescent lights over the tanks. They had several boggle-eyed fish but none of them really looked like Billy until there, at the back, was one of almost exactly the same shape and size, with two big boggle eyes and a long droopy tail. They fished him out for me, popped him in another plastic bag full of water and I carefully took him home. The original Billy the boggle-eyed fish was dispatched with a heave down near the wood heap, and the next morning, before any of the children got to school, a new Billy the boggle-eyed fish was swimming contentedly round and round, and up and down. No one noticed the difference.
Because of the arrival of Mr. Henry Bolte at 9.30 in the morning the children were allowed to stay outside playing for a while. But Miss Bradley had drilled them thoroughly. “When Mr. Bolte comes, I’ll blow my whistle loudly. I want you to stop still in your tracks and whatever you’ve got in your hands to drop it and pay attention.” Everybody enjoyed the extra half hour playing round the backyard of the school. We had our flagpole there and the flag was flying proudly while we waited for the entourage of the Premier to arrive.
In those days the milkman that came up from Maroona way used to drop off a small crate of milk bottles. It was always the Bethridge boys job to come out and bring in the small crate. Every child in Victoria used to get a free bottle of half a pint of milk each day. If you left the milk sitting in the crate outside at the front gate it used to go sour and no one would like to drink it. Mostly I think the kids thought the milk tasted awful, mainly because it was pasteurised milk and most of these kids from the farm used to drink full cream milk straight from the cow. However, the law said they all had to drink half a pint a day and consequently we all drank it even though it tasted awful.
The kids were playing around, highly excited and yelling when, all of a sudden, three black cars pulled up on the Ararat Road as it crossed the bridge over Jacksons Creek outside the school. Miss Bradley sprang to attention immediately and grabbing her whistle, blew it hard. “Drop everything” she shouted. And at that moment Tom and Jason Bethridge let go of the milk crate. A dozen bottles of milk crashed to the ground and half of them broke, spilling the contents in ever widening circles. Miss Bradley quickly sprang to the boys. “Get rid of it” she said. And the boys grabbed the crate with the broken bottles and disappeared around the back of the school. She went to meet Mr. Bolte who bounded out of the car, walked over to her with a firm handshake, and started talking to her as if he had known her all her life, which perhaps he had.
Mr. Bolte walked around to the back part of the school where the kids were all standing at various angles, perfectly still in the backyard. She blew her whistle again and called out “School, fall in.” And the children quickly ran to stand in their places starting with the tallest, Tom Bethridge, up one end and going down to the smallest, young Evelyn and Elwyn, at the other. The school stood before Mr. Bolte. A few parents stood around near the water tank at the side of the school. Miss Bradley said, “School, repeat the oath” and every child looked at the flag and said:
“I love God and my country,
I honour the flag,
I will serve the Queen,
And cheerfully obey my parents,
Teachers and the laws.”
Miss Bradley continued, “School, salute” and very promptly everybody saluted the flag. At that point Miss Bradley made a brief opening speech welcoming the Premier to Jacksons Creek. It wasn’t the first time Mr. Bolte had been to Jacksons Creek but it was the first time the Premier of Victoria had ever been to Jacksons Creek. This was an historic moment. The cameramen popped away with their bright flashes and took photographs of young Lisa Goldridge walking up and presenting a bunch of flowers to the Premier.
At this point Miss Bradley asked me to say a prayer of blessing for our country, our government, our families and our school. I uttered a simple prayer and in it prayed for our leaders and our Premier. Henry Bolte stood there with his bald head shining in the sun, bowed in a deep sense of reverence. Henry was a farmer and he knew how much the land depended upon God.
After the prayer Miss Bradley signalled to Lisa Goldridge and she stepped forward in front of the parents and the Premier. She had had three days to learn her poem but it really wasn’t that hard because she had learnt it the year before when she was in the Fourth Grade and had learnt it from the School Reader. She was shy and blonde and very sensitive and it was a big ordeal for her to stand before the Premier, the parents and the press, and repeat:
Australia fair, I love thee,
The dear land of my birth;
To me thou art the sweetest,
The brightest spot on earth.I love the leafy gullies
Where palm and fern tree hide,
The tall gum trees that clammer
On many a steep hillside.I love the ferny pathways
Where wattle blossoms fall,
While, in the dreamy distance,
The bellbird rings his call.Dear southern land, Australia,
Wherever I may roam,
My heart will turn forever,
To thee, my native home.
Mr. Bolte made a good speech as I remember, something about the significance of education and hard work and how application brought its own reward.
In the way he spoke, you recognised that here was a farmer, a pretty tough and gruff man, on whom the benefits of higher education had not been wasted.
Mr. Bolte and Miss Bradley led the children and the parents into the school room. Each child went immediately to their seat and stood there until Miss Bradley told them to be seated, and then Mr. Bolte proceeded to inspect the work of the children. He took interest, made comments to several of the children and then stopped just near the Tynan twins, “That is a funny looking fish you’ve got there! What is his name?” The girls looked at each other and giggled. “That’s Billy” called out Michael O’Rourke. “That’s Billy the boggle-eyed goldfish.” Henry Bolte laughed. He was a bit boggle-eyed himself.
The interesting thing was that as the Premier passed on and the children went down to work or to watch what he was doing, no one took a second look at Billy the boggle-eyed goldfish. If only they had known that the real Billy, who had spent his night frozen stiff in a Kelvinator freezer, and was then unceremoniously dumped up near the wood heap, had been replaced by this Johnny-Come-Lately. But nobody noticed. Henry Bolte made a few more complimentary remarks, squeezed into a little seat with the girls on both sides of him while the cameras popped their flashes a few more times, shook hands with everybody smiled, and left. Education week was over. Miss Pat Bradley saw him off at the gate, came in and in spite of the other parents all standing around, kicked off her shoes and sank into the chair.
There was an instant outbreak of talking, laughing, giggling, and moving as people felt relief from tension. The best and biggest Education Week in Jacksons Creek was now over. And everybody was happy, including Billy the boggle-eyed goldfish No.2.
The School Reader was my constant friend in those days when I lived in Ararat and taught the eight classes in the one teacher bush school at Jacksons Creek.
GORDON MOYES