General News
22 April, 2025
A LIFE CHANGING ADVENTURE — An expression of thanks
An inner suburban kid who had grown up in two allegedly tough parts of Melbourne, ie Preston and Fitzroy, and having spent my first year of teaching in the idyllic city of Warrnambool — with its beaches and rich dairy farms.
Warrnambool was green, green, green.
As I stood on the platform at Castlemaine Station I boarded the rail motor to Maryborough.
It was a single motorised unit filled with upwards of 30 passengers (men, women and children). It headed along the track stopping at Newstead Station.
Amazingly along the Moolort Plains it pulled up suddenly along the way with no siding, platform or landing and about a dozen passengers alighted.
This happened twice before Carisbrook and finally arriving in Maryborough.
My first impression was positive as the station befitted a fine city.
With my two cases in tow and receiving instructions from the station master, I headed to the Albion Hotel for the night.
Being Sunday, the hotel was closed, and it took ages to rouse the publican who was taking a nap after a heavy Saturday night with the Royal Park Football team — which had almost won a game (six months earlier).
The publican was a character who offered me the choice of any room. I chose one with a window onto the street.
After a sleep for two hours I was woken by the dinner bell.
I found my way to the dining room where the publican and the cook greeted me.
I was the sole diner, apart from the publican.
The table was laid out with enough food for a small army.
I was hungry and had a good appetite but hardly made a dent in the feast.
After a solid breakfast and a walk around the town (it was a public holiday), I was asked if I could help behind the bar.
For an hour or so it was quiet and then it suddenly became packed.
I had a rapid apprenticeship in using a “pluto” — a barrel.
If you put too big a head on the beer you were soon told “this isn’t an ice-cream parlour!”
Most of the patrons were going to Carisbrook trots. A sport I knew little about, but like all keen sports fans I had read about the champions of the sport.
A gentleman from “Bushy Park” and his mates gave me a lift.
Arriving at Carisbrook I couldn’t believe the crowd (half the town must have been there).
When I examined the race book I was stunned to see the quality of the fields.
Jack Moore, the local doyen of the trainers had two Australian champions racing (Dale’s Gift and Tony Bear).
Both were off severe handicaps but stormed home to win.
After the last race and totally bemused I had lost my transport, a local bookmaker, Tom Moore, asked if I wanted a lift and thus began a long and wonderful friendship.
We adjourned to the Albion, meeting with footballers still celebrating their near win.
I hardly slept that night, a million things were going around in my mind.
The next morning I left my luggage in the room. The publican offered me free board for a few hours here and there.
The school was only a couple of hundred yards from the Albion and I arrived at 8.30 am.
I immediately met Harry Gibbs who was a most relaxed character.
At Warrnambool East it was a brand new school — PS 404 was of the old world.
When I went into the staff room I was amazed — I thought it was an “old persons’ home” and there were two other male teachers (both quite old in my eyes). One was the great Bill Richardson.
I had one years’ teaching experience — a grade six, 11 and 12-year-olds — well behaved and full of mutual respect.
The vice principal listed the grades and I had been allocated a preparatory grade of 52 children.
Their teacher, Mrs Bell, had taken sick and wouldn’t be available for the first term.
On the first day I had to change two children.
Anyway, my teaching adventures were another story.
Harry Gibbs drove me to my board which was a colonial style house with large passages and stuffed birds peering down from the walls.
My bedroom had an enormous stuffed owl in the motion of swooping on an unsuspecting prey.
Mrs Harling (a darling old lady) ran the boarding house, with more restrictions than a straight jacket.
Her chip heater didn’t work so it was cold showers or a basin of boiled water from the kettle.
The boarding house was next to the Knitting Mill which was a great concern to Mrs H who believed in the event of Maryborough being bombed, it would be the first target.
Within the hour of my arrival and Harry’s departure another boarder arrived.
His name was Bill Brae and he was fresh from Glasgow (Glasca they call it).
Bill was part of an assisted immigration program sponsored by Phelans.
He was a cabinet maker, carpenter (highly skilled in both areas).
Bill’s accent was extremely broad but strangely I understood every word.
His compatriot, Bob Neilson and I also became close friends.
Bob was an outstanding citizen who worked voluntarily (despite having limited personal resources) for any needy cause.
After moving to Melbourne with his wife June, he suddenly became ill and passed away.
When volunteering at the dance at the Workers’ Hall, Bob was confronted by a group of local larrikins worse for drink and behaving boisterously. He refused them entry.
They argued among themselves about who would beat him up.
They made the mistake of calling him “a Pommie”.
Within a moment two of the assailants were flattened and they all fled.
Amazed I questioned Bob and he explained that in Glasgow they fought with razors, so fists were of little consequence.
Also in Scotland because of the cold winter, gymnastics and boxing were popular sports. He won junior championships in both.
Bill and I shared a room at the Railway Hotel until he shifted to Ballarat. He met and married a Ballarat girl and gave me the privilege of being his best man.
Bill’s greatest gift he gave me was to take me to the Cambrian Hotel for our “nightly” where I met the darling of my life Judy Burke.
From that moment onwards my life has been blessed.