Good evening, Murray Cox your MC, here’s a brief delivery,

not quite a crime of a rhyme - just some verses to mark our time

at the old school -

’68 - skivvy, Hush Puppies and a cigarette,

I was desperate - to look cool.

 

From the junior playground in short pants

to the Whiskey-a-Go-Go, our last school dance,

they were six short/long years of to-and-fro

from smooth balls and cheeks to a bum fluff mo.

Music, listening across the entire Beatles oeuvre.

Reading, from Biggles to the Naked Lunch, cover to cover.

History, from a map of British Empire, in a pink sheen

to the rosy glow of our saviour, the US marine,

then the muddled muddy jungle war, in a country not far away,

with an unlucky number you could be, conscripted to the fray.

 

A long incumbency of Robert Menzies,

(didn’t like those radicals or commies),

then a succession of lesser mortals

moving through the federal portals,

while far below were our restless teenage dreams,

our studies, aptitudes, ambitions and schemes.

What was cool, what was French kissing,

69, just next year, has it something to do with fishing?

 

Our old school  was a meritocracy,

learning your ABC, tables and vocabulary,

orderly, compulsory, Globite suitcase and uniform,

socialising young males, tethering their testosterone,

quelling anti-social behaviour with cane and detention,

rewarding those who stood politely, or paid attention.

It’s a wide cohort, the schoolboy spectrum - have and have-nots,

bright lads and clots, daydreamers and swats.

 

With the tools at hand

how could those teachers command

the necessary ‘in loco parentis’

when the home life can be quite dementis?

 

Those were the days of shaping an identity,

few had a clear view, most of us, just uncertainty.

Who was going to make use of the 2nd law of Thermodynamics,

or 1588, when a freak storm sank the armada of the Hispanics?

It was an education, but in what subject?

To be a class clown or head prefect?

Rites of passage through years of transitions,

incremental, physical and mental decisions,

from puberty through to a ‘grown up’, whatever that meant,

for some, late adolescence was the peak of their development.

 

With so many boyish, tribal and parental codes

did vocational guidance put you on the right road?

Was a ‘career’ a path to take you from boy to man?

It means ‘a street, a carriageway’ in Latin,

could mean ‘consecutive, progressive achievement’ -

a high school certificate, then a university degreement.

It also means ‘at top-speed in a headlong headstrong way’.

Drivers licence, cassette tape and drinks in a mate’s old FJ.

Crash. 

Well it had to happen, sooner or later,

it’s the way of the world and a young man’s nature.

And frankly, we are probably better people after a fall from grace,

a bit of humility and we land in a more compassionate place.

 

6 years, 9,600 periods, add homework and elbow grease,

that’s about the 10,000 hour theory of expertise,

but for me there were few of those Eureka moments,

just a slow drip of examination information, without portents.

Of the teachers, some I had interest and some grudging respect,

Mandy Tunica, Ernie Tucker on one side, on the other, HK Harris and Jerebek.

From Maths Master Coroneos I learnt nothing erroneous,

from Harry Kresner, from that crinkled wrinkled face,

came Shakespearean wit, without malice, to put me in my place.

 

A last thought, or two.

 

Was there a thing you loved to do,

that perhaps, you learnt at school,

that enriched your life

but wasn’t your livelihood?

Did Shakespearean metre send you to the theatre?

Did particle physics take you off to play golf,

or to the pool hall, to subtly strike a ball?

Did a study of the Industrial Revolution

lead to your scale model, steam train collection?

Or is there a waylaid interest from those youthful days,

a spark to rekindle, now you are out to graze

these pastures cultivated with your sweat and shit,

still got a childhood dream - 

and can’t quite put your finger on it?

 

My pleasure to introduce

the convener of our alumni,

our very own ‘lumen scientii’

that light upon our hill - Robert Domabyl.