Christchurch: Wollongong

I wasn’t in town yesterday, but quite a crowd was — and I am proud of my city! Here is Wollongong yesterday:

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And proud of my Friday lunch companion Chris T, who posted this on Facebook:

O.K. I’m not Robinson Crusoe here. I have spent the weekend watching the horror that is the A.B.C news and trying to come to terms with this atrocity. I have, like all of us been trying to come up with the answer to the obvious question, what can I do about it. The answer is always the same. Little or nothing. Not acceptable to me. I must do something. So I make this promise. I have Fridays off and usually do very little with them. From today I will spend my Fridays outside my local Mosque during Friday prayers. I’m not a hero and I assume that this action is entirely symbolic but my message is simple. If you want to go in there and kill Muslims you will have to kill at least one White Christian first. I invite you all to join me. I doubt that anybody will turn up with a gun but if they should perhaps they will think twice before killing people who look like them.

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Stormy weather

Last night was a corker! Such thunder and lightning, and so close overhead in West Wollongong.  Some pics by way of illustration: the first I took from my place five years ago, but it could have been yesterday. The second is from Illawarra Storm Chasers, and is in fact February — but it is so good!

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So the important things are in train…

Here is an old bastard who seems to have appropriated my identity. He is sitting as I write in City Diggers, Wollongong. His fingers are on my laptop keys! How does he do it? Note 1) the Irishness in the background and 2) that card, to be accurately completed over the next few months.

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And in this celebration of an old friend from the 70s onwards, I note an episode that is almost certainly true, though I don’t recall it from my Wollongong High days. The writer was there at the time though.

. I remember one parent-teacher night when she came to speak to a few of my teachers at Wollongong High School, whose classes I was having trouble with. My maths teacher at the time was pretty useless and Mum explained to him how bad his teaching method was and what he could do to improve it. At the end of the night, this teacher bumped into one of Mum’s friends, Neil Whitfield, who was also teaching at Wollongong High. Looking exasperated he told Neil he had just met “the most awful woman”. “Oh”, Neil replied, “you must mean Nina Southall. She’s a good friend of mine.” I’m not sure what my maths teacher learned from this experience. He certainly didn’t take up mum’s offer to attend her lectures on the philosophy of education.

…and in March 2014

Selections from my archive.

Weird sky: West Wollongong:

Mount Kembla — brooding:

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Hellenic Club, West Wollongong:

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Batty: near Figtree:

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Lunch at Steelers with long-lost cousin…

Not really lost, but as he is considerably younger than I we hadn’t seen all that much of each other over the years, though his late father unfailingly kept in touch. See What a gathering of the clan that was! and Roy Hampton Christison 1927 – 2011.

The “selfie” of the two of us is by Russell Christison, the rest by me. Dampish day, but great conversation.

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After Steelers we went to the Illawarra Brewery. When Russell left I stayed on and read for a while over a half-pint of Apocalypso.

Talking about 1979 — 2

I see I posted extensively on my 1979 back in October 2012, the trigger being a sad event. See mais où sont les neiges d’antan?, some of which I now repost:

[repost] My time at Wollongong High teaching English, History and, would you believe, Photography was in two segments: 1975 to 1976 and 1979 to 1980. 1977 and 1978 I was working in Dip Ed at Sydney University.

But today I want to focus on 1979.

1979: Annus Mirabilis Horribilisque

There’s something about me and 9 years. 1989 was another case in point, 1959 was my last year of school, and 1969 my last year as a teacher at Cronulla High School. In 1979 I returned to Wollongong High after my Sydney secondment and the year was in fact pretty good in most ways. I had a very memorable Year 12 Class in 1979.

[There were rumours last year that Mr Smith was having it off with a Year 12 girl.]

– Would you like some coffee?

[There were rumours last year that Mr Smith was having it off with that spunky librarian.]

– Thanks, J.

[There were rumours last year that Mr Smith was having it off with the milkman. “Had your cream this morning?” the class wit, Carcase, used to ask him.]

That fictional version is true to the extent that there were such rumours which in fact were about me. None of the rumours was actually true, however, though I was in the company of the Librarian – a 20-something – and her friends more than once. And there was a boy nicknamed “Carcase”, though I fancy he spelled it “Carcass”…. And he was one of the more memorable people I ever taught.

Physically he was a stereotyped blond surfie, of South African background (or was it Dutch?), and a person with a long record of run-ins with authority. I had taught him before I went to Sydney, and in fact he was in a class I was inspected on for my dreaded “List 2” promotion in 1976. “That boy doesn’t like authority,” the inspector, Tom Dobinson, said afterwards – but congratulated me for the way I had handled him. And strangely enough when I found myself with a senior class of not the keenest students Wollongong High could offer, Carcase was in it. He had been skating on thin ice for some time, apparently, and there were rumours he had spent at least part of Year 10 working for Wollongong Council as a labourer while still at school. I won’t swear to the truth of that, but I can well imagine it.

I was younger and enthusiastic and determined to win this group over. In 1978 I had been in the Balmain Theatre Group, playing Clarrie, a Rugby League commentator, in Alex Buzo’s The Roy Murphy Show.

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Good to see it getting a run more recently.

Back in Wollongong with that senior class, we had something very daring for the time on our text list: David Williamson’s The RemovalistsI thought it would play well with the group and it did, especially after a book-in-hand rehearsed class reading that almost went wrong but in fact went very right….

In the original Kenny is handcuffed to the door when  the corrupt cop knees him in the nuts, to which Kenny replies with the C-word. Naturally I had cast Carcase as Kenny and myself as the corrupt cop. We didn’t actually have handcuffs and I didn’t actually knee him in the nuts, but Carcase, who was a great actor, gave a very loud and convincing response.

I had forgotten I was next to the Social Science staff room. The Head of Department, father of another ex-student of mine who is currently a Fairfax journalist, came in with several colleagues to rescue me, Carcase’s line not having lacked in projection. I held the book up and pointed to the line, while the class rolled on the floor laughing – well almost! Subsequent discussion with staff  along the lines of “Jeez mate, that was a bit fucken rude! You’ve got to remember there’s women about…” was somewhat ironic really, a fact I shared with the class later on before setting them an essay on whether the text was suitable for school study.

Carcase’s essay was so good it was later published in the English Teachers Association Newsletter.

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Meanwhile the Balmain Theatre Group was putting on another Buzo play, Coralie Lansdowne Says No. To extend my class’s understanding of theatre and their knowledge of Australian drama, I arranged with the director for the whole class to travel up to Sydney several times to follow the play from casting to first night.

On the casting night I was wandering about by myself on the stage feeling more than a bit nostalgic – as I would have been in the play myself had I stayed in Sydney. Carcase appeared and said something totally unexpected: “You belong here, don’t you…”

Later  after the first night performance the class and I attended some of the after party. Alex Buzo was there and I spotted him and Carcase having quite a conversation about the nature of dramatic language. “What a lovely boy,” Alex said. I assured him very many people at Wollongong High would be shocked to hear such a thing.

Then came the HSC and one of the worst events in my career, as the students found – as did I – in the exam room that even though the fact had been known and indeed publicised that we were doing Huckleberry Finn, there was no question about Huckleberry Finn on the paper. Our texts had been chosen from the previous year’s list – easy to do as they were not very well signposted in those days. It is an English teacher’s nightmare and I was upset more than you might imagine. I was of course investigated but the Head of English is the one who was really hauled over the coals. Not a good time.

In the midst of all this when I was alone back in Church Street North Wollongong and feeling very low, there was a knock on my door late one night. It was Carcase and his then girlfriend, who just happened to be the Regional Director of Education’s daughter. Carcase had come to tell me that no matter what some might be thinking, as far as he was concerned I had been a fantastic teacher and I shouldn’t worry.  Of course in the end the students were not disadvantaged as “misadventure” provisions evened out the marks.

That was the last I saw or heard of Carcase, and I have no idea what he went on to do, though I have heard some of it involved music and he ended up in Queensland.

Earlier this month Stewart Holt, another Wollongong High ex-student who, had he stayed on, would have been in the class photo above, told me he had heard Carcase had died.

Saturday’s Mercury confirms that Mark Bosman, aged 51, had indeed passed away and the funeral is next week.

Hence these stories. RIP.