HIGH SCHOOL DAZE....(part 3).

For those of us who knew the pain of Valentines that never came.
And those whose names were never called when choosing sides at basketball.
It isn't what it seems. At 17.

Far from being a centre of academia my new school would prove to be a centre for elite snob-ism, victimization, bullying and homophobia.

The school was set in a semi-rural suburb in north-western Sydney.  It was set high on a hill with wonderful panoramic views of small acreages and bushland stretching all the way to the distant Blue Mts. The grounds were enormous with several playing fields, the school campus, a seminary for the Brothers and it's own farmland.

From day one it was a nightmare for me.  I had already made up my mind that I didn't want to stay there and had the idea that if I behaved badly enough that they would expel me.  Unfortunately the school had never expelled anyone in it's history and punishment was either in the form of the 'strap' or Saturday morning detentions.

The boys were all from rich, catholic families and lived in the surrounding suburbs which at that time were considered to be the new elite suburbs.  They took their status so seriously that mothers would drive their Mercedes and Volvos all the way up to the main office (instead of dropping their children at the school gate) and emerge attired in evening gowns, complete with corsages and coiffured hair-do's.

I was one of only two new boys that year in the whole school, both of us in the same year.  Coming from a rough public school wear uniforms were at the most dirty and worn sloppily, suddenly I was expected to wear 'dicky' uniform of powder blue trousers and shirt with a maroon and yellow striped tie and maroon blazer - even in the summer time.  Uniforms were inspected daily at morning assembly and was to prove one of the catalysts for my misery.

Australia in 1978 was still very macho and totally behind the rest of the world when it came to music and fashion.  While everyone was listening to rock bands like ACDC, Kiss and The Angels, I had already discovered The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The B52's and Kate Bush.

Accordingly I had my long blonde hair cut into a Paul McCartney style - I wanted to keep it long as I was still very much into the surf scene on the weekends- and before I started school had done alterations to my uniform.  I was good with a sewing machine, a skill learned from my mother, and had cut and re-sewn my tie so it was straight and narrow.  Unpicked the flaired trousers and made them 'drain-pipe' style and stole my fathers black winkle-picker (pointy toe) black shoes.

My own worst enemy!

I was tormented for this look even before I arrived at school.  I had to catch two trains,with a 15 minute wait at the main terminus station and then a school bus.  At the terminus station dozens of boys from other private schools all traveled around the same time.  I was instantly labelled 'poofter', spat on, pummeled and laughed at every morning for the next 3 years.  Both morning and afternoon.

Again it was not the bashing's which affected me so much as the humiliation of being ridiculed in front of dozens of people daily, and not once did a single person come to my defense.  On the school bus it would be the same.  If it had been just a few boys I could have coped and probably retaliated but each day it would be 10 or 12 boys tormenting me, and when they had finished another group would start.

The school was strictly divided into grades with each 2 grades having their own areas.  I became the target of almost every boy in both years. Name calling, being spat at punched in the stomach walking between classes.....far from being supportive the Brothers seemed to not only allow this to happen but some even seemed to take perverse pleasure in inciting it.

Again my own worst enemy.

The school values were based purely upon your sporting prowess.  You either joined the Cricket, Rugby, Swimming or Athletics team.  Now for years at my former school I had avoided P.E classes and sport afternoons.  The sports masters last words to me before I left year 9 were ' you know Richard, they won't let you write your own notes to get off sport in the Catholic School?'

They didn't!  I was expected to join in all classes with enthusiasm.  It's really hard to do swimming training when you've just spent 5 minutes in the change rooms getting kicked and punched!  Of course the Brothers either stayed outside or choose to ignore my beatings if they saw them.

My biggest mistake was about 3 weeks into my new school.  We were having the Athletics trials for the school district. I'd already not made it into the Rugby, Cricket or Swimming team and was told by our Form Head Brother that I was expected to not only participate but get onto one of the teams.

With 200 odd boys all trying out for different events it was easy to lose myself in the crowds for most of the afternoon.  Eventually the Head Brother found me and put me in place for the 16000 metre event.  This was an open age event and I was expected to race against boys up to 3 years older than me, and being small, nearly twice my size.

16000 metres is 8 laps of the football field!  Now one thing I could do was run.  And run I did.  By the fifth lap I was lapping scores of other boys and by the 7 lap I was half a field ahead of everyone.  For the first time boys in my class were actually cheering me and teachers were calling my name with respect.  The senior girls who were watching were all cheering for me wildly - funny how I was the only boy in the middle school to have senior girl friends but I was still a 'poofter'.

Then I realised what the consequences of winning would mean.  I could easily have won with at least 500 metres before any other boy crossed the finish line.  Winning would mean not only being on a team of thugs, but after school and Saturday morning training.  It would mean giving myself to the school and Brothers and students I hated.  I ran towards the finish line and stopped about 3 metres from the line and sat down. My own worst enemy.  From that day on I was pariah to both students and teachers.

Of course I would make some friends, but that wouldn't happen until the following year.  For my entire Year 10 I was bullied and verbally abused by the students at school, likewise on the way home on a daily basis, and victimized by the Brothers and teachers.

In 1978 Sydney still used mainly trains which were nick-named 'red rattlers'.  They were red (obviously) and had been designed in the 1920's.  Some were so old that they really did 'rattle' as they sped along the tracks. They also had manually operated doors which could be opened by sliding them by the handles both inside and outside the doors, this could even be done whilst the trains were traveling.

At my old school I had often ridden with my friends, doors open sitting with our legs outside the moving train just for the fun and dare of it.  Now traveling home from my old school after a day of abuse and humiliation and knowing that at home my parents would be arguing or my father would find an excuse to belt me, I often found myself sitting with the doors open, legs dangling out and wanting to jump from the moving train.

Eventually the 3 years passed and unlike most students I would definitely neither miss or cherish my high school years.