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......