Primary School Days

Unfortunately, I don’t remember much of these six years of my life.   How much of that is attributable to my inner need to distance myself from my past and youth, and how much is a product of moving schools and having to re-start each time, I don’t know.

My first Primary School was Turvey Park State School, Wagga Wagga, NSW.  We were living in Wagga at that time.  My sister who is two years older than I, had already started school at what was to be known as Turvey Park, but it had yet to be built.  She attended classes at the Wagga Showgrounds until the school finally opened in 1952 – and that was my first year.  A few years ago, my sister and I visited Wagga and we found the Showgrounds with the sheds and the school with its foundation stone for 1952.  I had hoped that the sight of the school would bring back memories, but it didn’t.

When I was to go into Grade 3, we moved to Melbourne and lived in Sunshine.   This was a very different school to Turvey Park. Turvey Park was new – Sunshine was old.

The school commenced in 1891 after much pressure from the community, but without any significant support from the government – it was considered too early in the settlement to establish a school at that location.   The first Headmaster was Thomas Flynn, the father of ‘Flynn of the Inland’.  He wrote complaining of the ‘shed’ that was the school and its conditions soon after opening commenting on the lack of ventilation with sealed windows, mud in the play yard that it shared with a dairy, and the fear of recurrence of typhoid that was prevalent at that time.  Upon opening it was registered as school 3113.  It is that number that I have always remembered as it is reads the same from left or right.   It is also sculptured in the facia of the building that was finally built in 1931 after the Medical Authorities condemned the old wooden, tin and canvas shelters previously used as classrooms.

I have only three memories of my time at this school.  The first is the Headmaster, Mr Baty.  He was a kindly and very visible Headmaster who always seemed to be walking through the playgrounds during breaks and speaking with the children.  He wore a tweed jacket and his hands were always in his pockets.  This had the effect of causing the front of his jacket to be significantly longer than the back.

The second memory is that of the milk bottles with their glittering tops, sitting out in the sun waiting for us to drink them at recess.   This was a very welcome treat most days, but not in the heat of summer when the milk, being contained in glass and sitting in the sun for hours, produced curdled, hot milk that we were expected to drink.   In winter the treat was to carefully open the lid and scoop out the cream that sat on the top with my finger – very lush.

As to the third memory, this is the only student I remember and the circumstances were not great.  We were in Grade 3 and his name was Trevor King.   It was Christmas, last day of school and we were having a class party.  There were sausage rolls and cream cakes and we certainly out our fill – Trevor more than most.   Trevor had been named Santa for the day, and I was the Christmas Tree Fairy.  I don’t remember all the details, except that we were standing next to each other and Trevor was to make a thank you speech.  Instead, having over-eaten, he vomited all over my shoes.   Some highlight!

During my time at Sunshine there was the great post-war migration and that school was crowded.  We sat three to a desk and each day the three of us would rotate.  The only days your writing was up to par was when your right hand was unhindered and on an aisle.   It was a real issue for those who were left-handed and I do recall such pupils being forced to write with their right hands.

Corporal punishment was still the norm and although I don’t recall ever having received the strap at school, I did witness many others having such punishment.  Sometimes it was a leather strap and at other times a rather flexibly whippy rod.

I was in my final primary school year, Grade 6, when we moved to Boronia in the foot of the Dandenong Ranges in Melbourne.   The school was almost at our back door.   I recall sitting on the tray of the removal van as it was being unloaded and some children stopped to talk to me as they were on their way home from school. “What’s your name?”, they asked.  “Faye Hoffmann”, I replied.  “Not another one!”, they cried.   What! There was another one of me!!  Wow!   As it turned out, she was Fay Hoffman – no ‘e’ and no second ‘n’.   We were referred to as Faye 1 and Faye 2.  I was 2 as I came after her.   Other teachers’ names?  Other students’ names?  A blank.

That school has now merged with others to be a K-12 Boronia College, a far cry from the small, almost country-style school of my day.

Through all this, I did gain an education and was able to commence secondary education being able to read, write, have some knowledge of history and basic maths.   I’m just sorry I can’t give any recognition or acknowledgement to those who made it possible.