SOLITARY DAZE......(part 2).

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

Sunlight through the trees in summer
Endless masquerading
Like a flower as the dawn is breaking
The memory is fading

I got through the summer holidays and had no idea what lay in store for me.  Unbelievably 1996 would be one of my best years.

The last day of the holidays and I got a call from Camperdown School offering me a one year position which I automatically accepted.  I would still be a casual teacher but have my own class and all the benefits of being a 'permanent casual' - sick pay, holiday pay and a very good wage.

I gave one weeks notice to Taxi's Combined.  As much as I liked working there and benefited from the extra money it gave me, I didn't need the emotional baggage that went with it.  

Everyone there had been lovely to me since Matty's death - in fact too nice.  It was uncomfortable to have to take everyone's sympathy and try and put on a brave face.  Everywhere I looked there was a memory of Matty.  On top of that Christine was finally returning to work and even though we would only see each other for an hour each day it was more than I could handle.

For the next three months I threw my heart and soul into my teaching career.  Again I had a composite class of Year 2/3/4 (plus some year 5 & 6 students) but as hard as this might sound it was just what I needed.  The new year brought with it new students as well as the loss of some old students.  Wayne and Dale were amongst these.  They had been put into foster care while their mother was put on a rehabilitation program.

Our new students brought new issues.  Our old students had, due to the fire incident, formed themselves into two distinct groups.  Based upon their parents view of who was to blame for the deaths of Joey and Serena.  Class teaching wasn't an issue but playground duty became a nightmare for us 3 teachers who would be constantly trying to prevent fights between the 3 groups.

On top of this we had to manage a school with very little support from the Principal.  Camperdown is one of the oldest public schools in Sydney and it's buildings reflected that.  The main building was built in the 1870's and had 3 wings.  The front entrance housed the office sections which formed the middle of the building.  On either side of this area were single classrooms which led to and east and west wing consisting of three classrooms.  The east wing had been turned into the assembly hall.  Then there was the original school teachers house, which was Carol's Year 5/6 classroom.  

The other buildings consisted of three double classrooms, all built in weatherboard and put there during the post war era when the suburb was booming.  Now we were all assigned classrooms in the 'out-buildings' while the Principal had the main building entirely to herself.  Being classified as a 'small school' (with less than 100 pupils) the Principal was supposed to be a 'teaching Principal'.  Basically this meant that she was supposed to give us each 1.5 hours of teaching time off as per Department regulations.

While she was happy to do this for the Kindergarten/Year 1 teacher, Carol and I had to share 1 hour per week between us, where the principal would take Years 3-6 into the assembly hall and do singing lessons.  Not only was this outside of the 'curriculum specifications' it meant that Carol and I had to teach all curriculum subjects as well as deal with behavioural problems and facilitate the non-english speaking children into our very busy schedule.

To top it all off the children hated the Principal.  Inevitability her singing lessons would end in chaos with children running all over the playground or full scale fights breaking out where  Carol or myself would have to intervene.To demonstrate the children's dislike I can recall two specific incidents which happened early in the year.....

The first, while comical, was also highly dangerous and resulted in the expulsion of two students.  The Principal had gone for a toilet break during the singing lessons, leaving the school secretary to supervise. When she returned she apparently had toilet paper hanging from her dress which had got stuck in her waistband.  Unbeknown to her she continued the lesson, amidst the giggles of the children, and at one point when she had her back to the children, one of Jack's sisters borrowed a cigarette lighter from a boy and set the paper on fire.  No serious damage was done, but you can imagine the terror of the Principal as she ran from the room trying to put the flames out, while the kids screamed with laughter and called her a 'dirty bitch'!

The second incident was not only classic but deservedly earned by her.  Towards the end of the term she organized a parent/teacher night.  Or rather she announced that we would be having one.  It was up to Carol, Michelle and myself to do the organizing.  The basic agenda would be a welcome to the parents in the assembly hall which was then to be followed by a showcasing of the new Maths and Computer teaching which Michelle and I had initiated into our teaching programme.

When I had first arrived at Camperdown there were no computer lessons ( only 12 computers still sitting unpacked in their boxes) and maths lessons were all 'chalk and talk'.  Between us Michelle and I introduced a more hands-on interactive maths program.  Carol was by no means unwilling to adopt 'modern teaching methods' but had been prevented by the Principals lack of monetary support and refusal to let her attend development sessions.

Between the three of us we basically bought hundreds of dollars worth of equipment to be able to teach according to the current curriculum requirements.  I would take my class along to Carol's where I would teach both classes and Carol could help supervise and also gain knowledge and skills.  By the end of term we had a really good program established.

The big night arrived and the three of us spent 2 hours setting everything up in one of the connecting classrooms of the main building, while the Principal went home.  Everything was completed and we went out to have dinner together at the local pub to return at 7pm.  We had a fantastic turnout, considering that most parents hardly showed their faces during normal school hours, and the evening got off to a great start.

The Principal made a great fuss of how 'she had instigated a whole new teaching system' and ' how much money she had spent on new equipment'.  The parents were suitably impressed and all followed her to the classroom where Michelle and I were to demonstrate the new maths and computer lessons.  As she triumphantly opened the door we were all hit by the overpowering smell of human faeces!  One of the children had snuck in at an earlier stage and deposited a huge dump right inside the doorway.  We got through the night....

Given all the playground issues, the lack of teaching support from the principal and the almost impossible task of being able to provide the full curriculum requirements I began working on a plan which I believed would solve our problems.

Daily I was at school by 7.30am (this early start meant I didn't have time to smoke dope) I was able to leave straight after school and be home before 4pm.  I had weekends free and my only activities were walking the dog, smoking dope and visiting John & Trudi (to smoke dope and buy more to smoke at home).  So I had plenty of time to re-structure our school program and present it to the teacher's and principal in the hopes we could start it in the second term.

Basically it changed our day from 3 breaks into four with a shorter lunch break and an added mid afternoon break.  This meant the children had less time to get bored, frustrated or wound up and begin fighting.

The biggest change of all though was that Friday would become an 'extra curricular day'.  Meaning that between Michelle, Carol and I, we would all teach each group of children and get our allotted 1.5 hours off.  In the morning I would teach the groups Art while Carol taught the groups singing/music and Michelle had her time off.  I had the middle session free and then took sport lessons in the afternoon while Carol had her time off.  Michelle then had two sessions to teach Computer. 

 Instead of 3 classes we combined Kindergarten, Year One and Year Two into one group and Years 3-6 into the second group, giving us two 45 minute sessions with each group.

It sounds complicated but it worked really well and the children loved it. It not only gave them new social groups to work with, but also ensured that they got to cover activities which we had had little time for previously. 

The Principal was even happier.  Once she realised that she was free of any classroom duties she had 'rubber-stamped' it.  She only had to take over the before school playground duties, which was easy as the official school entry time was 8,30 am and the children dribbled in slowly.  She could also appear to be more involved with the children as their parents dropped them off.

I promise not to ramble on about school so much in the future, but that would be my life for the next 18 months.  As time went on I became more depended upon and the key figure in the school for the teachers, students and parents.  This is what gave me a new life and helped the memories fade away.  That and my neighbour introducing me to Ecstasy which would open up a whole new chapter in my life.......

SOLITARY DAZE


I spent a lot of my time looking at blue,
The colour of my room and my mood:
Blue on the walls, blue out of my mouth;
The sort of blue between clouds, when the sun comes out,
The sort of blue in those eyes you get hung up about.

Actually I spent a lot of my time looking at orange...the colour of my lounge room.  It was school holidays and I had 5 weeks to fill in and try and come to terms with my loss.

Matty died on Sunday 17th of December.  On Monday morning Christine rang me from the hospital saying that I could come over and view his body.  I couldn't do it.  I wanted to remember him as he used to be.  Strong, vibrant and confident.  Seeing him layed out on the morgue table was the last thing I needed.

I got through the day, stoned as usual, re-assuring the dozens of people who called that I was okay.  My parents were frantic and ready to drive the 100km from their new house to stay with me.  It was easier to be by myself and come to terms with my loss in my own way.  I do remember that I finally pushed myself out of my misery to walk my dog sometime in the late afternoon.

Peace Park is a beautiful and large park that was about 15 minutes walk from my house.  It is situated on the crest of a hill and overlooks the Cook's River and a vast area of southern and south-western Sydney.  I used to go there all the time with Toby (my dog) as it was a place where he could run freely.  The park was enormous.  The top half was landscaped with walkways and family picnic areas, leading onto a small bushland area (the last remnants of the original environment) and in front of this falling away down the steep hill was a grass meadow.  Just on the crest of the hill was an old water tower which had been turned into a lookout.

It was here I sat for nearly two hours, watching my dog run freely, and the sun setting on the western horizon of the Blue Mts.  Alone and with the world stretching out before me I cried and cried until my tears ran dry.  This would become my special place over the next few years.  It was the place where I said my final goodbyes to Matty as the sun set brilliantly over 'my city of Sydney'.

Matty's funeral was on the 22 December.  In less than two weeks I had attended two funerals.  My mother came, even though she had never approved of Matty.  His father and new wife came from New Zealand and just about everyone who could from Taxi's Combined attended.  It was all a sobbing blur to me.  Christine was calm and composed throughout the ceremony (later I would find out that she had been given sedatives).  If only I had thought to do the same.

For the first time in forever I had arrived without getting stoned beforehand.  Perhaps I should have.  I sobbed my way throughout the eulogies and when his casket was sent through the curtains for cremation I lost it completely.  I was in such a state that my mother and one of the bosses from Taxis had to escort me outside.

I didn't attend the wake as I was in no fit state.  My mother came home with me in a taxi where we ended up having an argument as she was embarrassed by my emotional and very public display of grief.  It would be months before I could speak to her again.  I felt that nobody truly understood the depths of my love for Matty.  It wasn't surprising as he had always played both hands during our 10 years together.  Everyone knew that we were close, everyone knew that I loved him, but they also knew that he had always had girlfriends and had never publicly stated that we were 'together'.

I spent the holidays in a stoned daze.  Either at home, locked in my own world of memories or working every shift I could at the taxi company.  That wasn't easy.  Besides having to face everyone who had known us for 6 years, I also had to sit and watch every place he had been.  Every desk, every room, every corner of the building was a reminder of him.  To make it harder, catching the train to work meant I had to go past our old houses at Stanmore and relive the memories.  I tried as much as possible to get night shifts to avoid this.

I worked on Christmas Day - the first time in over 14 years that I had not spent with my family.  Both my sisters had re-married and between them had 5 young children all under 8 years old.  It was a time of celebration and the last thing they needed was my misery to spoil their day. I also worked on New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year at taxi's.  Again I didn't want to celebrate, I felt like I had nothing positive to look forward too and work was a way to take my mind of both my depression and sense of isolation.

My only connection with the outside world was John and Trudi.  Living not far away from me John would often pop in to have a smoke with me and bring me something home-baked by Trudi.  At other times I would catch the bus over to theirs and spend 2 or 3 hours with them.  Getting stoned and always eating dinner with them at Trudi's insistence.  Without them I don't know how I would have managed.  It took the edge off going back home to an empty house and an empty heart.

As I mentioned before, Trudi's sister and her boyfriend had both been executed in Thailand some years earlier for drug smuggling.  She left behind two young boys who eventually ended up being returned to their father (a 'recovered' heroin addict) and were living in a house that was half way between my place and John and Trudi's.  The boys spent more time with John and Trudi than with their father and over the first few weeks after Matty's death I got to know and love them very much.

John organized a 3 day camping trip on the south coast at a beautiful beach in the middle of January.  I was invited but at first refused.  I just wanted to be left alone to wallow in my own misery.  It was the boys who convinced me to go with them.  While John and Trudi played the parental figures they never had, I think I represented the nurturing and loving figure that they also lacked in their lives.  They were just like my pupils at school and I treated them both as equals and with tenderness, always putting them first and letting them experience the fun and adventure that children that age should all have.

We had a wonderful time.  While the boys played havoc with all the other campers, who constantly complained to us about their unruly behaviour, Trudi and I managed to win the 'middle class nuclear' families over by explaining to them about the boys horrific background.  Our campsite (because we were constantly smoking dope) looked like 'a Bosnian refugee camp'.  We had it cordoned off with sheets of black plastic and a driftwood fence that Trudi and I made.  It was just what I needed.  Three days of fun and love and watching two boys who had been through hell and back finally being able to run free and have the time of their lives.

Seeing them revel in the simple joys of a seaside holiday was a tonic for me.  Two boys who had spent most of their lives in foster care.  Two boys whose only memory of their mother was from news headlines of her in the Bangkok Hilton and whose father cared less for them than for where he was getting his next dose of methadone made me realise that I had a lot to be grateful for and that my loss was really very minor compared to theirs.  It wasn't an overnight transformation but it did help me to start pulling myself together and begin to think about my future in a positive light.

Sadly both boys would end up living very short and tragic lives.  With their father a hopeless case, and DOCS (the Department of Community Services) failing to intervene the older boy would overdose on heroin at the age of 17.  The younger at the age of 22.

I worked, I went home, I got stoned, I walked my dog and I cried.  I did manage to spend some time outside working furiously to make a lovely garden around my house.  I didn't have much to work with.  A half metre wide strip between my neighbours house which I weeded and planted with Nicosia and Canna Lillies where the sun shone.  At the end of the strip opposite my front door was an existing overgrown Rufus shrub with lovely dark red leaves which I trimmed and under-planted with Hydrangeas.

I had a small front lawn which I kept mowed with one of the few remaining items that Matty and I had brought together - an electric lawnmower.  But I dug out a metre wide garden bed along the front fence and the fence I shared with my other neighbour.  Again using the same plants to give a cottagy feel.  In front of my sun-room window was a large rubber tree which had gone berserk. This I trimmed down to a neat hedge sitting just above the bottom of my front window.

Around this I dug a curved garden bed and continued my planting theme.  The back garden consisted mainly of a concrete slab (covered with a carport) and a washing line.  Along the side their was a metre wide strip of garden.  The shaded part which ran alongside the house I planted with Angel Begonias and the larger section which was in the sun I turned into a vegetable garden with Tomatoes and Capsicum plants.  A 10 minute bus ride from my door was a large nursery where I could get everything I needed to make it into a prospering garden.  It wasn't long before the neighbours were making comments about how lovely I had made the place look.

Through this I started getting friendly with one of my neighbours.  A young couple with a small baby who was only 3 or 4 months old.  After exchanging introductions and them saying how nice my garden looked we found we had a common interest - smoking dope!  They could look straight from their back garden into my lounge room and I'm sure had seen me sit there night after night with a bong at hand watching TV.

 The other friend I made during these holiday weeks would turn out to be one of my best friends to this day - even though we are separated by a few thousand kilometres.  Bronwyn worked a few minutes walk up the street from me at the local Laundromat.  Being on my own it was easy for me to take my washing up once a week for a bag wash.  I was always stoned when I went there so I had no intention of sitting there for an hour or so off my face watching the machine spin.

It was a few months before we started talking on a regular basis and a few months more (just before Matty's death) that she broached the subject of marijuana.  That was enough introduction for me and I immediately asked her if she would like to visit after she finished work for a cup of tea and some home baking (with special accompaniments of course).  We clicked immediately and became firm friends.

Other than my colleagues at the taxi company and family she was the only person who knew about Matty.  I was able to share all my dark secrets with her without shame or fear of rejection.  She, an older, straight woman, seemed to be the one person who truly understood the agony I had been, and still was going through.  She was both supportive and confidential - to a point.  It would be a few months before my neighbours/friends let on that they knew about Matty and why I had been living virtually as a recluse for nearly 3 months. This would open a whole new chapter in my life......

FINAL DAZE ......(part 3).

When will I see you again
When will we share precious moments
Will I have to wait forever
Will I have to suffer
And cry the whole night trough?
When will I see you again
When will our hearts beat together?
Are we in love or just friends?
Is this my beginning
Or is this the end?

 

The final school term of 1995 was one of the hardest times of my life.  In early September Matty was admitted into hospital and placed into a private room in the palliative care unit.  This was the ward for the dying.  I could never work out how he managed to swing a private room, while others with the same condition, were bunked up 10 to a room just a few metres down the hallway.....but this was all part of Matty's magnetic charm, even in death.

 

For the next three and a half months he rapidly deteriorated.  There was never anything that the doctors could diagnose.  One day his lymph nodes would be swollen out of proportion making it hard for him to breathe and he would be placed on oxygen.  At other times he would be breaking out in burning rashes or be unable to control his bodily functions.  The worst day was when his heart rate suddenly hit 384 beats per minute and he was rushed to intensive care with Christine and me spending a harrowing 4 hours waiting to find out that the doctors had managed to normalise his heart rate and he was returned to his room.

Christine and I became allies during this time.  She was now spending the whole day and night with Matty.  I would finish school at 3 and walk the 10 minutes to the hospital to spend the next 3 or 4 hours with him so she could get some rest.  Both of us were emotionally and physically drained.  Both of us were angry with the doctors who kept giving Matty 'experimental' drugs.  Some of which seemed to work but others which resulted in him going into rapid decline for days on end.  At this point we both confided in each other that it would be better if he simply passed away rather than continue suffering.

One afternoon I arrived and Matty seemed quite lucid (despite the drip delivering copious amounts of morphine)  so Christine took the opportunity of going for a rest in the 'relatives room' while I stayed and chatted with Matty.  Suddenly he gave a cry and started urinating uncontrollably.  There was no bed pan handy and I could only put my hand over him to stop him pissing all over the bed.  After he had finished I managed to remove and change the sheets with him still in the bed.  When I went to wash my hands I realised that I had paper cuts (from school) all over my hands and they were stinging.  Amazingly I never contracted anything, a point which would be almost ironic a few years later.

 

 

When I returned Matty was understandably embarrassed and humiliated.  For the first time in almost 10 years he finally held his arms out to me and told me how much he loved me and how sorry he felt for the way he had treated me.  He knew that I had nothing but total love for him and always had.  He tried to explain that he had always known this but even though he felt the same there was something inside him which prevented him from admitting it and something which made him lash out at me instead of returning my love.

I didn't need any apologies.  I just wanted my beautiful blonde boy to be better again.  I wanted to see him shine and dazzle like he did the first day I met him in his bright blue jumper which matched his beautiful blue eyes.  I wanted him to live.

 

A few days later Matty and Christine married.  In the hospital ward, with two nurses acting as witnesses and without me knowing.

 

 

Back at school I was, thankfully, run off my feet.  Our numbers had more than doubled and the elderly Kindergarten teacher, whose name totally escapes my retired.  She was replaced by a wonderful young girl on her first teaching post.  With the Principal and Carol both in their 60's more and more responsibility was falling on my shoulders.

 

I had a Year 2/3/4/5 class and most of the children were extreme behavioural and social cases.  The new teacher was great but taking time to learn the ropes.  Carol had years of experience but her age was a handicap.  She had the Year 5/6 class and they were more than a handful.  The Principal was totally useless.  She was supposed to be a teaching principal, standing in to give us our allotted 2 hours a week free from teaching time but she always had an excuse as to why she couldn't cover for us.  We had to share our 'relief' time between us, mostly running videos in the school hall or taking the children out to the park while each of us had a break to catch up on marking and programming.

 

The second last Friday of the school term and I was up early getting ready with the TV on in the background.  There was the morning news running and a report came on which said 'a mother and 2 young children had burned to death in a house fire in Glebe' the previous night.  I knew instinctively that it was one of our families.  I rushed straight out the door and was at school at 7.30am.

 

 

Greeted by Carol and the DOCS teacher my worst fears were not only realised but added to.  The 'sexually abused girl from Glebe's' mother, younger brother, who was in my class, and sister who was only 5 years had been trapped in their house when it caught fire and all had been burned to death.

To make matters worse two other families living either side of them, and both with children in my class had had their houses severely damaged.  Even more dreadful was that during the course of the day we found out the incidents behind the horror.

It turned out that Wayne's mother and her current boyfriend had accused the other mother of stealing their mobile phone (this was when mobile phones were still 'bricks' and very expensive'.  They had gone around to confront her numerous times during the day but she refused to open the door.  Later in the evening she had hit up with heroin but not before locking the children in their bedroom.  Wayne's mother and boyfriend returned in the early hours of the morning and threw a petrol bomb through the front window.

 

 

With the mother nodding off from her heroin hit, neither she or the children stood a chance.  The fire gutted the house in no time and all that remained were three charred bodies.  We later found out that Joey (the boy in my class) had put himself in front of his sister in the cupboard to try and protect her as the flames licked at their bedroom door.

 

There are no words to describe the horror of that day or that week.  We all had to continue teaching, try and comfort the victims, and worse for me was that I had to handle a class where two of the boys were the children of the perpetrator of this shocking, senseless crime.  Wayne's mother dobbed her boyfriend in and was released on bail, while her boyfriend was charged and locked up.  This meant that Wayne and his brother were still at school.  The atmosphere in the classroom was bitter and tragic.  I don't remember it clearly but I think we spent most of the week either watching videos, playing sport or trying to cheer the children up by making Christmas decorations.

The following Friday, and the last day of the school year, was the funeral.  Before leaving the hospital rang me to say that Matty was in rapid decline and could pass away at any moment.  

The funeral was dreadful.  A split family all in mourning and all accusing each other of neglect.  Verbal fights erupting during the sermon.  Other families all affected and crying.  Matty dying.  It was all too much for me and I had to leave the church in tears.  One of the 'normal mothers' followed me outside.  I was in hysterics and in front of her boys (both in my class) I finally told her about Matty.  It had been forever since I had let go.  It had been over 10 years before I finally had a mother who just held me and let me cry everything out.  Eventually I pulled myself together and returned to finish the last school day of the year.

 

By the time I reached the hospital I was a wreck.  So much so that the nurses took one look at me and took me aside to ask me what was wrong.  When I explained to them the events of the day (the story had been playing on the national news for the past week) they immediately gave me a bottle full of pills and insisted I take two before going in to see Matty.

Matty was by now slipping in out of consciousness. When he was awake he was totally unaware of his surroundings and becoming delusional.  For everything that Christine did to me in the past few years, taking Matty from me, causing so many rifts between us and marrying him behind my back, nothing made me hate her more than her response to his last few tragic days.

She couldn't cope whatsoever.  She had no idea how to handle his babbling or his delusional episodes.  When he woke up and started asking why Toby was here (Toby was my dog) and was actually looking at Christine's sister she just broke down and admitted that she didn't know what to do and asked me how I could handle it so calmly.

I was angry, but used to dealing with children, I explained to her that it was just the same.  It was easy for me to go along with Matty's rambling and pretend it was another infant child playing make-believe.  I would engage him in conversation which was totally inane but gave him the comfort of knowing that someone was there to listen to him.

He lasted through Friday night, all day Saturday and most of Sunday.  Christine had by this time given total responsibility of sitting with him to me.  She just couldn't cope or deal with him.  I understand now that it was a very emotional and stressful time for her, but at the time, I couldn't believe that she didn't have the guts to 'just pretend' and help me humour him in his dying moments.

 

Late Sunday afternoon and Matty woke up.  We spent a few hours watching TV and chatting.  Whatever subject he brought up I just went along with it.  He fell asleep again and around 7pm he woke up again.  The television show 'Keeping Up Appearances' was playing.  For years we had joked how the main character was so similar to my mother.  Matty looked at the TV and said 'what's your mother doing on TV?'  We laughed together, our final recognition of each other before he slipped back into a coma.

I knew that was the end.  I lay with him on the bed for an hour or so.  Holding him, talking to him, forgiving him.  I couldn't forgive Christine.  When I left the hospital she was fast asleep.  I didn't even try to wake her.

At home I smoked myself into a stupor and eventually fell asleep around 11pm.  As god is my witness I woke up to find (or dreamt) that Matty was standing at my bedroom door (the image is still as vivid now as it was then)  calling my name over and over again.....the phone rang, and rang and rang......when I stood up Matty smiled at me and faded away.  I didn't need to pick up the phone to know that it was the hospital.  Matty had passed away a few minutes before - but not without coming to me for a final goodbye.

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.