FINAL DAZE.....(part 2).

We been broken down
on the lowest turn
and been on the bottom line
sure ain't no fun
but if we should be evicted from our homes
we'll just move somewere else
and still carry on
Hold on, Hold on, Hold on

Thankfully it was the Easter holidays when I moved into my new house.  I had two weeks in which to clean and furnish my new house.  On the day before I left Nuno came around and helped me with the clearing and packing of what was left of my life with Matty (and Christine).  It was a hard farewell. I had spent nearly 6 years here and the memories were strong.  Nuno was just as keen on me as he always had been.  I gave him Matty's old pushbike and a last kiss goodbye before climbing into the removalist truck and heading into a new life.

My parents came and spent the whole day helping me clean.  My mum was horrified at the state of the house but by the time we had finished even she could see the potential in the house.  I spent the next few days buying new furnishings.  I hit the second hand stores around the bottom end of Newtown and got some amazing items that were all in character.

An art-deco lounge suite that had (ironically) come from the foyer of the Kings Cross Hotel, a beautiful wrought iron, glass top 1950's dining table and matching chairs, a fabulous art-deco dressing table and mirror for the bedroom and numerous other items all retro in style but at a bargain price. I would spend the next 6 months slowly adding finishing touches to make the house feel like my real first home.

Although Matty and Christine had moved into a duplex that was in the southern suburbs of Sydney I quickly realised, after doing a walk around of my new suburb, that I could visit them easily.  A ten minute walk and I could catch a bus across town, through parts of Sydney that were new to me, and be almost on their doorstep.  Admittedly the bus ride took over an hour but I loved discovering the new 'between war' suburbs that we went through.  By now you will have guessed that I have a real fascination for both history and architecture and this bus ride gave me everything on a plate.  From the early colonial architecture of Sydney, through the Victorian, Edwardian, Art Deco, Post Modern and the less attractive architecture of the 1970's and 80's.

The suburb I had moved to (Croydon Park) was a reflection of all of this.  Across the busy main road where I lived all the houses were either tiny Victorian workers cottages or middle class Victorian villas.  Behind my street the suburb was a mixture of between war quarter acre blocks with amazing art-deco and post modern family houses.  Along the street where I lived was a mixture of all these styles plus the glaringly out of place 70's and 80's blocks of home units.

It was one of the first 'outer suburbs' of Sydney which until the 1920's had been mainly farmland and therefore when sub-divided had houses built on large blocks with wide streets, many of which were divided by 'green strips' giving an almost English atmosphere.  Between school, working at the taxi company and visiting Matty and Christine I would spend many an enjoyable (stoned) time walking my dog discovering the delights of the suburb.

Visiting Matty and Christine was not easy.  I had moved house in early April and for the first 3 months Matty enjoyed relatively good health.  Although Christine was more than welcoming I always felt like the odd person out.  Matty was a different person and Christine totally dominated his every action.  For the first time in over 9 years I felt like a stranger in Matty's company.  I would always put on a 'brave and happy' face but coming home on the bus I can still recall trying hard to stop the tears flowing.  Once home I isolated myself and smoked myself into a stupour.

Thank goodness I had school to keep myself occupied.  As I mentioned in my last blog, many children from Glebe had enrolled for the new term. Camperdown was a 'vanishing suburb'.  Long past it's heyday and encroached upon by Sydney University and the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital as well as numerous retail and light industrial businesses lining Parramatta Rd, the suburb was lacking in families to fill the school and with at least 6 schools within a 2 km radius there wasn't much hope for gaining any more.  So besides the new Glebe enrollments the Principal decided she would start taking in 'rejects' to increase both the student population and school funding.

We started to get all the children who had been literally rejected from most of the schools in the area.  Two of these turned out to be the younger brother and sister of the 'sexually abused girl' whom I had taught at Glebe.  Another boy went into Carol's year 5/6 class.  He had been in and out of numerous institutions and expelled from every school he had attended.  He was 13 and should have been in high school but due to repeating classes and missing out on many months of school he was a year behind educationally.  Unfortunately he was at least two years ahead physically of the other kids and would 'lose it' at least twice a week.

During these moments he was both uncontollable and very dangerous.  Carol used to send the other children out of the class and call me over to help.  With wild kids running havoc in the playground it was Carol's job to round them up while I was left alone to deal with 'Michael'.  I remember the first time walking into Carol's classroom, which was totally trashed. and Michael heaving anger ready to lash out at anyone who walked in.  'I don't know about you Michael, but I need a cigarrette, want to come with me?'... it was totally unconventional and broke all the Department's rules but it worked.  Time after time I would take Michael around the block where we smoked a cigarette each while he calmed down.

Almost all the children in my class were misfits.  Children of single mums, children whose parents were drug addicts, unemployed, prostitutes or whose father's were doing time in jail.  Maybe that's why it was easy for me to teach them.  I felt as one with them and my classroom became a haven for them to relax and feel both secure and needed.

No-one touched me as much as two boys who arrived in the final term of 1995.  Wayne and Dale lived kilometres outside our school district but due to Wayne's, who was the elder of the two boys, uncontrollable behaviour he had been expelled from over 10 school within the past 18 months.  It didn't take me long to find out why.  Wayne's mother was a hopeless heroin junkie and he had been the victim of sexual abuse from more than one of her 'boyfriends'.  At 10 years old he had suffered immensely and was both reclusive and reactionary.

Wayne was one of the many victims I taught who was a product of both his home environment and the miserable failings of DOCS (Department of Community Services).  Weighed down by bureaucracy and their politically correct goals of 'keeping children with their parents' he had time and time again been abused, the offenders removed, only to be replaced by new offenders. Each time the DOCS 'investigations' began again.

3 or 4 years later Wayne was featured on a national current affairs program as being the 'most uncontrollable child in the public school system'.  Even with his face blanked out his voice gave him away.  Given what would happen at the end of 1995 I wasn't surprised - only saddened at yet another young life lost in the system.  At least I had the satisfaction of knowing he had had at least one good year of schooling and a sense of belonging. 

It took me nearly two weeks to get through to him but when I finally asked him if he felt 'uncomfortable with a gay teacher' we broke the barriers down. I let him know that I too had suffered as he had and that it was not 'our' faults. He fell into my arms and cried and cried while I promised him he would never have to worry as long as he was in my class.

He was the only child I have ever hit during my teaching career.  Camperdown Public School, while facing one of Sydney's busiest roads, backed onto a beautiful park where I would often take the children for time out.  One afternoon when returning, with both Carol's class and mine, Wayne managed to find a long, thin metal pole.  With 50 children to take care of I didn't have the ability to stop what I knew was about to happen.

Looking at his younger brother, I saw the gleam in his eye before he lashed out with the stick and delivered a stinging blow to the back of his brother's leg.  Having been the victim of caning many times during High School, I knew exactly the pain his brother was going through.  'Wayne, give me the stick' I said.  With a guilty look he handed me the stick and I told him to turn around.  I gave him one swift, but hopefully restrained stroke on the back of his legs and said 'Now you know what if feels like?'...'Thank you sir', was his meek and comprehending response.

David, my aboriginal boy, was another case in example.  I had noticed that he had been suddenly flashing money around the playground.  Buying lunches for his friends and giving them other gifts.  When I confronted him he told me, without batting an eye, that he had learned how to break into Sydney University's sports shop and had been stealing Nike shoes and selling them.  Against my warnings he continued.

He was eventually caught and spent a night in Yasmar Boys Home.  Too young to be officially charged he was returned home and the next day a DOCS  councillor arrived to act as both a teaching support and to investigate the reasons for David's wild behaviour.  I wasn't allowed to give any details on him.  'The Department doesn't accept here-say and has a good record for identifying issues which lead to such behaviour'!  It took the lady nearly 6 months to identify  David's issues.  'You know his mother sells drugs and won't let him into the house until after 9pm at night'?  OMG this is what I could have told her on the first day she arrived.

In the months to follow, Matty would start getting sicker and sicker, eventually ending up in hospital.  My class would flourish and both Wayne's mother and the 'sexually abused girl's' mother from Glebe, combined with Matty's downward spiral, would ensure that the final days of teaching in 1995 were some of the toughest trials I would face in my life......

FINAL DAZE..... (part 1).

Touch me in the morning
Then just walk away
We don't have tomorrow
But we had yesterday
Hey, wasn't it me who said
That nothin' good's gonna last forever
And wasn't it me who said
Let's just be glad for the time together
Must've been hard to tell me
That you've given all you had to give
I can understand your feelin' that way
Ev'rybody's got their life to live

Easter 1995 and Matty and Christine walked out of my life leaving me in an almost empty house.  Empty of furniture, empty of life and empty of love.  As much as I wanted to make Matty's last days and wishes happen for him, I couldn't help but hate Christine.

Every piece of furniture in the house had been bought with my money, much of it before I had even met Matty.  Christine was determined that we should split the furniture as by now she had given up work and was on a carer's pension so her excuse was that they couldn't afford to buy new furniture.  I don't know it Matty ever told her that everything belonged to me but he seemed as adamant as she was that we split everything down the middle.

I had, by this time, had enough of everything.  I was sick of the jealousy and petty arguments that Christine had perfected.  I was sick of being cast as the villain for just being me and I was sick of watching Matty using Christine just as he had used me for the past 9 years.  I gave in without much of a fight.  Thankfully when we had originally moved in the house had an existing lounge suite which was the owners.  So apart from my bedroom furniture and the few antique items and pictures which I had owned before I even met Matty, I let them take everything.

I only had two weeks to find another house and was happy to live with minimal furnishing.  The less I had, the less I had to move.  My only issue was in actually finding a new house to rent.  In the inner west house rental prices were becoming outrageous and much more than I could afford.  On top of that, I had a dog and most rentals were not 'dog friendly'.

The pain of Matty's casual departure was erased by both my school commitments and my frenzied search to find a place to live that was both affordable and willing to accept a dog.  There was nothing in the area that fitted the bill, so I started looking further afield, but still without much luck.  It was one of the taxi drivers from work who told me, a week before I was due to move out, of a house that might be suitable.

It was about 5km further out from where I was living and looked to be in the middle of nowhere as far as transport and shops were concerned.  I couldn't have been more wrong as it turned out.  I was by this time desperate to find a house and gave the agents a call.  They were very friendly and the price they were asking was extremely cheap - $175 per week.  The only downside was that the previous owners had been kicked out for having six dogs in the house and the property owner was not keen on having a tenant with dogs.

I decided to meet the agents and arrange an inspection.  At the agents they were surprised that I was interested and were very honest in telling me that although the house was a good bargain, it was in a disgusting state due to the previous tenants, and the owner had refused to spend any more than was necessary to clean the property before renting it out.  They weren't lying!

I got the keys and arrived at the house.  It was a 1930's semi-detached bungalow and situated on a main road which was very busy.  The front garden was totally overgrown and walking down the side passage which led to the entry door I could already smell the noxious odours of mildew and urine.  On opening the front door I was almost knocked out by the smell.  It was so bad that I couldn't go inside and instead went around to the back door (via a broken gate) and opened it to be met by an even more disgusting smell.

Being me, I had a few joints in my cigarette pack and as the back door was inset to the back of the building, and my adjoining neighbour didn't seem to be home, I decided to sit and smoke a joint while waiting for the smell to dissipate with the air flow from the opened front and back doors.  One thing that I liked was that, even though the back yard was small and half of it was taken up by a shared car-port with my neighbour, it looked out across a beautiful green paddock that stretched up a hill for a few hundred metres and was full of gum trees and flocks of Rosellas.  Unlike the cheap, small houses which lined the main road, the houses in the streets behind were all big and had huge gardens which seemed to be well tended - later I would find out that this area was mainly full of Italian immigrants which explained the lovely gardens

After smoking my second joint, and realising that I only had 40 minutes before the estate agent closed, I summoned up the courage to go inside. It was the worst place, including many squats I had been in during my 'street days' I had ever seen.  The back door opened onto a built in verandah with a laundry and separate toilet - both stinking and covered with mould and black spots all over the ceilings (this turned out to be 'fly blow').  A step up and there was a dining room and kitchen, again covered in mildew and fly blow.  The kitchen was small and had virtually no bench space but I figured I could use the dining room table (when I bought one) for food preparation.

A huge lounge room was next.  If you overlooked the mould on the walls and the diminishing fly blow on the ceiling and the carpet which was an unrecognisable colour as it was covered in moulding piles of matted dog hair, then it actually wasn't too bad.  It was spacious, had beautiful original art-deco cornices on the ceilings and the large windows overlooked the neighbours garden.  Through the lounge room and a long hallway led past a bathroom, a second bedroom, then the entry door before ending up in a huge master bedroom.  Thankfully the further down the house I went the cleaner it became.

The bedroom was about 4 x 5 metres with an attached (built in verandah).  To get to the verandah were original art-deco doors and windows.  The veranda itself was nothing special but as it was built in would give me a study area and also the owners had at sometime double glazed the window so the traffic noise was barely audible.  The only room I hadn't yet looked at was the bathroom.  This was the selling point!  Totally original art-deco fittings, enormous bath tub (a rarity in Australia) and the most gorgeous yellow and black art-deco tiles.

It would take a lot of cleaning but I knew I wanted the place. I think the agents were not only shocked that I put in a lease offer, but also that I said I was willing to pay for steam cleaning the carpets and fixing the side gate provided they give me a one year lease and re-do the kitchen linoleum (which was in shreds and filthy).  I didn't mention the dog.  Surprisingly I got a phone call the following afternoon to say the owner had accepted my offer and I could sign the lease agreements immediately.

 Rambling on about a cheap rental seems trivial in terms of my life story.  However this decision would be one of the best in my life.  Firstly it gave me a focus to take my mind of the terrible loneliness of having Matty out of my life.  Secondly it would be a place where I was to find the first real friends I had made since Betty died. Thirdly it took me away from the almost constant work/life existence that living and working in Camperdown had become.  Lastly it would be, in time, the start of re-finding myself.  The first 9 months were to be possibly the hardest of my life but after that the next 7 years would possibly be the best times in my life- although, typically for me they wouldn't be without their ups and downs.

LAST DAZE.....(part 4)

The more I think about sex, the better it gets.
Here we have a purpose in life:
Good for the blood circulation,
Good for releasing the tension,
The root of our reincarnations.

I see myself suddenly
On the piano, as a melody.
My terrible fear of dying
No longer plays with me,
for now I know that I'm needed
For the symphony.

I spent a lot of my time looking at blue--
No wonder that I blue it!

Flash forward to 1999 and I was diagnosed with cancer.  I had developed a squamous-cell carcinoma on my tongue.  6 months of fear, pain and anger and I successfully recovered from surgery.  It's another chapter but today it seems to have come back to haunt me.  Last night I suddenly realised that I have developed another lesion on my tongue.  It's probably been hiding there for months but it made me realise that this blog will be one of the few things I will have for people to remember me by.

No tears this time.  I have to decide if I want to go through the agony of surgery and most likely have my tongue removed, the prospects don't seem positive so maybe it's something I just have to accept and make sure that I make the most of the time left.  More importantly to make the best of times for my partner before I tell him.  If I'm lucky then it will just be a false alarm but I don't think so.

Back to 1995......although I never said a word to Nuno's parents about what I had done it soon became apparent that my actions had worked.  The first indicator happened in class a few days later when David suddenly asked Jack to share his 'computer time'.  Jack was almost as shocked as I was.  David wasn't a bad kid.  He was just a kid who had a tough life and I believe he realised as much as I did that Jack didn't have it much better.  This eased tensions in the class no end and my actions soon became talked about.  It was almost the end of term and suddenly we had numerous applications from Glebe families to enrol their children at Camperdown for term 2. 

A few weeks after visiting David's mum Nuno's parents knocked on my door.  Carrying a big bunch of flowers and asking me if I would be able to come to their house on the following Saturday to celebrate both Nuno's return and his 18th birthday.  How could I refuse?

It was an amazing day in so many ways.  Jack and Nuno's parents, despite being poor, had gone to great efforts to organize an amazing feast of Portuguese food (and wine for us adults) and ensure the day was more about me than Nuno.  That was slightly embarrassing as it should have been Nuno's day but to refuse or leave early would have insulted them.  They were truly grateful for what I had done for them and for ensuring that Nuno was now able to safely return to the family.

For me it was a time of both reward and reflection.  Rewarding because I was truly happy that my efforts had made such a difference to them and reflective because it reminded me of my own childhood.  Strict immigrant parents, proud and protective, and doing everything they could to give their kids a better chance in life than they had.  It also made me realise that Nuno was just a kid, even though he was now 18, and after the experience he had bee through a kid who needed to get himself straightened out.  He didn't need me there to complicate things. 

Later in the evening, when he walked me home, we shared a couple of cones and eventually ended up in bed.  It was at his urging, but I told him that, even though this was something I wanted, it was going to be the only time.  I think he understood why it couldn't be anything regular or permanent. To say that it was both a wonderful and memorable encounter would be an understatement.  We remained close friends and within a few weeks I had managed to get him a mechanics apprenticeship with a local firm whom I knew through school.  Over the next few years I would see him blossom into a skilled young man - that was reward enough for me.

With the events that were about to happen I was lucky that Camperdown became my 'purpose in life' and would remain so until mid 1997.  It was only a short time but it was possibly the rewarding time of my life. I loved the school and I felt a great empathy for both the students and their parents.  More importantly I was just what the school needed.  Someone young, passionate and someone who would bring the school out of it's decline and give both the resident teachers and students the opportunity to move forward.

Besides the principal who was in her early 60's and had taught at the school for over 20 years, the two other teachers were also elderly ladies, who while excellent teachers were, like the principal, stuck in a time warp and afraid to embrace the technology and new teaching methods which were beginning to become mandatory in public schools in the mid 90's.

 Over the time I was there I would introduce computer technology for both the students and teachers - running my own training sessions for the ladies.  Bring sporting activities into the curriculum which was something the kids hadn't had in years, introduce a free breakfast program, teach the children the history of their amazing suburb and bring in local sport teams (South Sydney Leagues, Sydney Swans and Balmain League players) to give coaching sessions and after a few months totally revamp the school time-table to make a workable day for both teacher's and students. I would even establish a 'school farm' with numerous domestic farm animals and crops....all another part of the story.

With Nuno finally 'out of my system' I still had the issue of being on my own and watching Matty and Christine flaunting their romance at every opportunity.  I wasn't happy going out at nights and obtaining sexual gratification from quick pick ups.  Physically they were good fun, mentally they were easy to deal with, but morally (ironic coming from an ex-prostitute) they made me feel sick to my stomach.  I still had that guilty baggage that a strict catholic and Victorian era parenting endowed me with - and I was still desperately in love with Matty.

On one of my nights out at the Newtown Hotel I met a really cute and lovely Aboriginal boy who I started to see regularly.  Just using the term 'Aboriginal' sounds extremely racist.  Believe me, I've never had a racist or bigoted bone in my body, but it it important as it was to become another amazing and insightful chapter in my life.

In the 6 weeks we were seeing each other I would be introduced into the world of 'The Block'.  Sydney's still notorious Aboriginal ghetto in the suburb of Redfern - you can google 'Redfern Now' and watch an amazing TV series that is very true to life from my experience.  Long story short, I ventured into a world that wasn't much different to my days of living in Kings Cross, except that here whole families lived a similar lifestyle.

Welfare recipients, marginalized from the comfort of suburbia and the Australian Dream, drug and alcohol dependant, but proudly independent and loyal to each other.  Robbie (that was his name) lived with his Aunty and extended family of cousins.  He was a happy go lucky beautiful boy.  Jobless and without much thought to his future, he was still good fun.  We would spend lots of time with his community but couldn't have sex at his house.  Not because his family disapproved but because there were so many people living in the house, not too mention neighbours coming and going, that it just wasn't comfortable or convenient.

So we would generally spend the afternoon with his family, drinking, smoking, eating and having a great time before walking down to the Newtown Hotel for a few drinks and then on to my place.  We always stayed in my room and tried as hard as possible to not intrude on Matty and Christine.  However with the toilet at the back of the house it meant that we couldn't avoid each other totally.

While I tried to minimise any disruptions to Matty and Christine, it was hard to avoid.  Robbie soon realized that he wasn't particularly welcome and our relationship began to cool off.  Before that happened however Matty approached me one night just after Robbie had left.  He told me that Christine wasn't comfortable with what was going on and asked me if I would stop bringing Robbie to our place.  This wasn't just Christine (although I'm sure she had a big part in it) but also Matty.  It had been the same for years.  Any time I started getting close with another boy Matty always got jealous, usually allowing himself to sleep with me and knowing that I would immediately give up which ever boy I was seeing and spend the next few weeks pretending that Matty and I were an item again!

It all ended up in a huge argument, after Robbie had pointed out that I was not prepared to have a real relationship with anyone as long as Matty was around and dropped me like a stone - after letting me buy him 3 rounds of drinks.  I went home and tried to have it out with Christine and Matty. I didn't stand a chance.  Matty feigned sickness and Christine just told me it was plain selfish for me to be having a good time while Matty was sick and throwing it in his face.

Two days later they announced that they were moving out.  They were kind enough to give me a months notice and pay rent for that period.  It was all done in a very friendly manner and I was promised that I could visit them as much as I wanted to.  It was to be a short lived victory for them.  While I immersed myself in my teaching success at Camperdown, Matty and Christine were to have 3 short months together before he was admitted to palliative care and I was once again to become the person who looked after him.

The rest of 1995 would be one of the most eventful and changing periods of my life.......