Memoir

Photos above from the 50 year reunion of students in 2012
taken at Armidale Teachers college by an ex-student

Armidale, a regional University town, is situated in the northern tableland area of New England, halfway between Sydney and Brisbane with a population of 25,000. In the sixties, when I was a student there, there would have been perhaps half this number of people living there, and even fewer during university and college vacations. My early childhood was spent on a property in the Clarence Valley outside South Grafton, on the Glen Innes Highway that leads to Armidale. Dad chose Armidale Teachers College as the obvious choice for me: “You can always go back to teaching when you have a family.”

There were 600 students and thirty-odd staff members at Teachers College in 1962. Most of us had only just turned sixteen when we started at Armidale, and would be out in front of classes by the time we turned eighteen. At college, we learnt how to teach all the theory subjects, as well as choosing several options seen as being part of our general educational enhancement. It was like an American campus, in that everything took place on site and we were housed in segregated student accommodation colleges within walking distance of the college on the hill. There was little chance of sexual misconduct in those days, as we had to be inside by nine o’clock during the week and eleven on weekends.

One of my options was Philosophy with Miss Margaret Mackie. (See the tiny stockinged figure in the bottom far-right of the photo). She was a brilliant teacher. An inspirational teacher. She taught me how to think. It was during the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet bloc. We discussed issues to do with the atomic bomb that made it less frightening for us. Miss Mackie made me realise that you could have different opinions from the rest of the crowd without feeling like a renegade. She made us all think. I even loved doing her syllogisms. She taught us about Socrates and Plato and regaled me with stories of the Delphic Oracle. Despite having studied with other fantastic lecturers in universities both here and overseas, no-one surpassed Margaret Mackie for sheer pedagogical brilliance.

The women I shared sections of Smith House with, especially in the lovely old terrace called Southall that was joined to one end of the rest of the building, have remained friends until this day. We had to make our own fun to a great extent, but there were regular dances organised by the College, and sport was an ongoing obligatory activity.

Today the college stands like a monument to the past. It was built in 1929 during the depression years from funds supplied in part by wealthy graziers as a means of bringing status and employment to the district. The gigantic columns and other traits in the classical style of the Italian Renaissance are intermixed with fifties art deco features. Situated on a hill it overlooks the valley in which the town is located, and is surrounded by green lawns and colourful flower beds.

Our recent Reunion, held over three days, was well-organised by a committee of several ex-students most of whom have retired on the north coast of NSW. On Wednesday was “Meet and Greet” evening at 5pm at the Returned Servicemens’ Club. Name tags had to be picked up and attached to clothing with women’s single names displayed as well. Two hundred people turned up and mingled for this event. Amazing to see so many of us recognising so many friends from the past; or trying to put names to faces, or remembering the names, and trying to dredge up the faces from the distant past. Many stories were recounted and memories jogged on this very special night. Quite a few couples had met and married during their time at Armidale Teachers College. And were still married after forty-five years!

The next night was the formal dinner and dance during which we sang some of the old songs, including “Gaudeamus Igitur” and tried to dance some of the old dance numbers. It was a hoot! Daytime activities included golfing and bowls, as well as guided visits to the College and to the residential buildings. They are now stored i na museum for this purpose.

One of the highlights for me was a guided tour of the Hinton Collection of art works. Howard Hinton (1867-1948) came to Australia from England at the turn of the century. He lived in a small room in a boarding house in Cremorne. Between 1929 and his death in 1948, Hinton sent over a thousand works of art to the Armidale Teachers College to adorn its walls. This was for the cultural benefit of the students who would later teach pupils in the schools of New South Wales. We all remember being enthralled by these beautiful works of art as we walked the corridors of the College between classrooms: they were everywhere around us. Today they are stored in an art gallery not far from the college, and lent our for regional exhibitions. The collection includes paintings by William Dobell, Adrian Feint, Elioth Gruner, Hans Heysen, J.J. Hilder, Gladys Owen, Margaret Preston, Thea Proctor, Tom Roberts, Ethel Spowers, Arthur Streeton and the Lindsay family.

Norman Lindsay

Arthur Streeton: McMahon’s Point Wharf 1890

1894, Mosman’s Bay,  Tom Roberts,

1890, Tom Roberts: Mosman Bay

1941 Elioth Gruner: The Beach

Residents of “Southall” Corridor of Smith House 61-62

There is a photo of us back then: my Smith House room-mates and classmates from Armidale Teachers’ College in 1961-62. We went to a Photo studio in Armidale to have our group and individual photos taken. Dianne Short (married name, Gallaghar) was not able to be present, so her photo was superimposed into the photo (top left). We were studying to become primary and infants school teachers at the time. Some of us left for overseas, as soon as we had completed the obligatory three years and did not return to teaching small children. Our names were like our hairdoes, a signal of the times: Dianne, Sandy, Heather, Marnie, Julie, Daphne, Leonie, Jill and Anne. We lived in one wing of Smith House called Southall, which was actually a separate building joined to the rest for convenience sake.

I recently first learnt of a doctor who had lived in our building at the beginning of the century, and had shot himself accidentally under strange circumstances, when answering the telephone. In hindsight, this sent a shiver up my spine when I thought back to the seance that we conducted using an ouiji board in, quite possibly, that very room. I would be interested to know what the name, or letter, was that we conjured up together that night with our hands on the pointer. The final word that the pointer arrived at was ‘Elysian Fields’, which one of the girls, Daphne, later claimed to have spelled out.  Daphne, on the far right of the photo, was a bright, funny  girl I’d first met at primary school in Grafton. She claimed later, that she had forced the pointer, so we’ll never know if there was a ghost willing to be contacted in that room that night.

Despite the fact that I did not really want to teach children, and despite the strictures placed on us at Smith House, my memory of this time in this group is one that I treasure. We all seemed to complement one another with our different names and personalities, some ‘big’ some meeker, like our hairdos! But all contributing in some way to the group dynamics. I was shocked that first evening when Miss Dulcie Lindsay, the head warden, as she was called, in her mannish grey suits and black shoes, made her first speech and told us we would have to sign in and out by 9 pm every week night and 11 pm on weekends. She acknowledged that we would want to “try out our wings!” which made it worse, for I had had enough of this at home, and I wanted to take off. So we all remained immature and innocent for those two years; I remember thinking how “bad” the girls from Sydney were, always climbing in and out of windows and balconies after hours. But they knew how to look after themselves and never got caught! (Lynne says she used to let them in a lot as she had the room at the front of Smith House).

As for us, we made our own fun together, and we had lots of it; who knows if it would have been better or not to have had more freedom?

My brother Donny was brave. He could climb the tallest trees in the valley where we grew up. I was three and afraid of the dark, when Dad sent me back to my room in the middle of the night. Because he wanted Mum all to himself. I climbed in next to Donny and felt the flip of his penis like a lizard, as he moved in his sleep to make room for me. Donny wasn’t afraid of snakes or frogs or anything. We rode Midge bareback and did circus tricks upon his rump. Donny got blamed for everything, even putting water in the rain gauge, that time I did it to punish Uncle Eric because he scared me with his gruffness. He ran Grandma’s farm like the Godfather. His red face, loud mouth and jerky hands on the reins. When my brother went off to school, I was sad and angry. He didn’t notice me when he came home on that first day. Mum and Grandma laughed when I said the words. I might have shouted out bad words after that, down by the gum trees on the farm next to the swamps. One day Midge reared up and crushed Donny’s skull. I felt guilty, as if it was my fault. Donny wasn’t good at school; not like Billy, who was the cuckoo in the nest; Mum said he was a genius when he listened to the ‘Chickabidees of the Air’ at two years of age. ‘There’s a thin line between genius and madness!’ Grandma said to her. Donny liked finding birds’ eggs and blowing them, putting a tiny speck of red wax on the hole and placing them in a glass-lidded box. Once he caught a sparrow on the farm next door, and showed it to Old Ned, who took it from him, raised the axe slowly and deliberately, and smashed its head upon a block. Don’s head has been asleep for a long time now. It’s time for me to go to him in the nursing home. It’s time to whisper in his ear. The same words of love I cried out that day long ago. He’s in a dark place and afraid to let go. Time now to fly and soar like an eagle high up in the sky. Fly, Brother Eagle, fly!

Thermal Baths

A road train à Moree Australie (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Original Pipe

Grain Silos

MoreetoBoggabilla (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Moree, with a population of about 8,000, is situated in the north-west of NSW on the Mehi River and at the junction of the Gwydir and Newell Highways. It is famous for its Artesian Spa waters, which were discovered accidentally in 1895 when a bore was sunk in search of irrigation waters. Instead, mineral water heated naturally to 45 degrees spurted upwards flooding the area. For years I had wanted to return to this town, so loved by my father.

Grey Nomads Bathing

Rainbow Over Moree

An Outback town