After composing yesterday's post I started to think about my school days and realised that they were full of little snippets that would turn a modern educator's hair white.
Days before duty of care , ADHD, individual learning packages , political correctedness and indeed any degree of sensitivity or caring.
Much like the way many learned to swim - being thrown in and left to sink or swim - so were my memories in a Catholic school.
I remember the days in Fremantle where the view from our school yard was limited. Hemmed in by concrete monuments to prosperity in the Port city there was no greenery or school oval. Morning breaks were spent with maybe the occasional game of chasey brought to an abrupt end by skinned knees as overzealous participants fell on the asphalt or skipping with a big rope or maybe a game of sticks.
This was a novel game where you jumped between sticks that were moved various distances till you could no longer reach the next one. Trending saw games come and go like knuckle bones and marbles - anything that could be played with some success on limited yard space.
The real entertainment was the joy we got from playing I spy - when we faced one direction we were confronted by the coffin makers that backed onto the funeral director that shared our space. Depending on your mood , facing the other way we could watch the ladies of the night strut their stuff in the terraced houses over the road.
Of course activity was limited but the irony never escaped me and while the nuns worked feverishly to ensure our impressionable young minds were never allowed to stray too far from the doctrines of Catholicism , the real world was only a few paces away.
The rich fabric of life in all it's diversity was on our doorstep and again the ever pervading aura of death and despair was all too evident unless of course you could see the funny side.
I remember being asked by the Head nun to remove a dead cat stuck between the building and a bike rack. My friend and I had to extricate the cat and bury it in a plot of land that was later to become Coles shopping centre - we would later laugh that we reckoned it was probably under the deli department.
I can still see the stiff rigor mortis riddled body of this sad black cat and marvel at how at no point did we ever question this task.
School days were marked by a rigid school uniform code including sockets that were worn over our shoes in order to avoid marking the floor and pinafores that covered our uniform.
The floors we struggled so hard to protect were actually cleaned by us as we were a handy source of cheap labour .
Other fun uniform facts include the nuns' perverse pleasure following us as we ventured home from Fremantle to make sure we were wearing our hats and gloves and heaven forbid we shed said items in transit we were held up for public ridicule next assembly.
I have memories of sitting outside my maths room for YEARS - my high school history teacher accusing me of running a conspiracy, being tyrannised by ruthless music and Drama teachers who loved nothing more than to rap your knuckles or scream in your face if you mispronounce lieutenant .
Oh and the cane - let's not forget the cane.
You learned to play hockey by having the sticks wrapped around your shins but played on regardless.
I learned to read and write and other fun facts and am grateful in part for my rigid respect for time and organisation .
We did have hot chips for lunch every Friday from the school tuck shop 😀
I like reflecting and realise that I have a lot for which to be grateful - resilience and tenacity and a full conventional education that has allowed me to appreciate community and the power of knowledge - maybe not a direct result of my school days but definitely by default .
Could have been worse - could have become a Nun 😀😇
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