The Phoenix People performing in a TIE play: Imagination Can Set You Free: Nepean CAE in the 1970s
Maybe you have seen my descriptions of earlier journeys into academia. This is an account of my studies for a third degree. Special memories.
What a powerful influence on our lives the theatre has been. It is so involved with our language. We have a theatre of war and our lives are saved in an operating theatre. When young people die in a road accident, it is a tragedy. Our rivals will constantly steal the limelight and try to upstage us. The policy of our political opponents is either a farce or a comedy of errors. That frivolous lady friend will always be making a scene and in spite of her, all the world’s still a stage. A policeman might unmask a criminal and make a dramatic arrest. A car model might make a world debut and a debutant might play a leading role with an orchestra. Politicians might get a chorus of approval. It is such fun to study the theatre because it is so relevant to our lives.
I began my next degree course, an MA in English Literature, at the University of Sydney. The main focus was on theatre although there was some consideration of other literary forms.
I enjoyed for example, discovering the haruspication – in ancient Rome the interpretation of omens by inspecting the entrails of sacrificial animals – in Joseph Heller’s Catch 22. In this case the sacrificial animal was a wounded airman observed by the central character Yossarian.
The divination theme was a powerful literary trick that swept me away because it was so powerful when you discovered it. I enjoyed the satire too.
Then there was Jane Austen, with her small piece of ivory two inches wide on which she “worked with so fine a brush” (her own words). There she was, writing at a time of great upheaval yet she was content with a study of manners.
Just fancy: here was a great woman author unable to publish using her own name. I have long enjoyed the ironic realism of her work and have taught HSC classes about Emma. When you teach, there is no doubt you learn something twice.
That’s all I have room for regarding other literary content. We studied lots more. But now for the theatre.
It is such a vast subject too. I want to share more detail of that study of mine so I’ll focus the rest of this post mostly on my condensed version of its story as I learned it all those years ago (in the 70s).
A History of Western Theatre
You can’t escape the influence of the ancient Greeks when you trace the story of our theatre. The theatron was their “seeing place,” originally for viewing ceremonies dedicated to the gods. The orkhestra was the dancing and singing place; quite different from today’s symphony connotation. It was simply a flat area where the chorus danced, presumably often to music although none of that remains.The skene was the changing tent or the place where the fatal action occurred. The Greeks never killed in public view. It was always done “offstage” in the skene.
A catastrophe was originally a turning point for the ancient chorus dancers. It meant a “turning down.” Antistrophe was another turning point this time meaning “turning against.” The chorus had traditional movements. I find the ancient word for an actor most interesting. Guess what it was: hupokrites. So the original actors were hypocrites. What a surprising and wonderful thing language is.
We have only a small percentage of ancient Greek drama available to us. The comic and tragic masks are well known though.
Masks. Attribution: Creative Commons
Masks were a definite way of portraying character. Actors would step offstage, change masks and become a different character. Sophocles apparently was an actor at first but lacked the required strong voice so turned to writing.
I believe the acoustics in the plays’ amphitheatres were very good. One of my friends who visited Greece told me so.
The word “drama”by the way comes from the Greek drao “I do.” Reminds me of a saying I have used on and off during my teaching: “I hear what you say but I see what you do.” Drama in all its forms in the classroom remains a passion with me. Actions speak louder than words is the old cliché that still seems relevant here.
As part of our studies at Sydney, we were required to read extensively from the few remaining plays of the ancient Greek period. I remember quite well the Oresteia of Aeschylus and Aristophanes’ great comedies Lysistrata and Frogs, as well as Medea by Euripides and Sophocles’ play Antigone. I won’t discuss them or any others here as I want to talk more about the theatre itself.
Now the chorus was a vital part of the Greek theatre. It had a leader. Thespis of Icaria (c. 6th century BC) is believed to be the first chorus leader with lines distinct from the rest of the chorus; that is he was the first actor (?). He apparently wrote plays with one actor. Aeschylus is thought to have pioneered more than one speaking part. Some writers say Sophocles gave us three actors although others think Aeschylus gave us all three.
At this time I came across Aristotle’s term catharsis. To him tragedy had a cleansing effect, causing the audience to suffer with the characters and then end up somehow cleansed with a better awareness.
I later learnt of Bert Brecht’s alienation effect (Verfremdungseffekt) that took a different point of view. He seems to have sought to limit the audience’s emotional involvement and protect them from the brain washing that he alleged characterised traditional Western theatre. Brecht stressed that conscious awareness of ideas was essential for true understanding of theatre. For this effect he would from time to time write something outside the written narrative to remind the audience that it was theatre and not the real world, to break the spell you might say, perhaps to check up on whether that audience was paying attention.
So there we have two philosophical positions: catharsis versus alienation. Theory and practice are not necessarily the same in our contemporary productions. I have come to think that the dramatist’s instructions are what truly matter, and I am not very fond of “director’s theatre” where original ideas are often cast aside.
One of the problems I have with this post is the vastness of the subject matter. How can you deal with two and a half thousand years in a single post? I’ve decided simply to rely on pleasant memories as they come to mind. So it will not necessarily result in orderly chronology.
The Golden Age
What an incredibly fruitful era for theatre began during the reign of Elizabeth I! The period from 1580 to 1630 must be considered a golden age for dramatists. Before that time the status of actors and theatre in society was very low indeed.
The 1572 Vagabonds Act said that…all common players and minstrels not belonging to a Baron of the Realm or a person of higher status, and without a licence from at least two justices of the peace, “shall be taken and adjudged to be deemed Rogues, Vagabonds and Sturdy Beggars.”
Actors were linked with pedlars, tinkers, jugglers and “petty chapmen” as undesirables and ready to be punished at law.
What a change came over theatre life during the period in question! Distinguished people including the royal Elizabeth and James came forward as sponsors of theatre companies. Actors had theatres for performance instead of inns or rooms in rich people’s houses. Theatre companies flourished. Audiences grew to fantastic heights.
Actors were suddenly significant and reputable. Some became the equivalent of our movie stars. Edward Alleyn, for example, was very rich. So rich that he founded a College – Dulwich – that still exists.
One of his claims to fame was his marriage to entrepreneur Philip Henslowe’s stepdaughter Joan. Henslowe was a very influential figure, an impressario, frequently paying advances to dramatists and thus promoting a spectacular array of plays for performance.
Alleyn was famous for his roles with three of Marlowe’s characters: Tamburlaine, Barrabas (the Jew of Malta) and Faustus. Richard Burbage, son of theatre builder James Burbage, was another distinguished actor. Shakespeare often wrote with these actors in mind when he created characters.
When his first wife Joan died, Alleyn married Constance, the very young daughter of John Donne, poet and Dean of St Paul’s – much to the anger of Donne and his wife. When he died, Alleyn was worth six times as much as Shakespeare. No mean effort.
Burbage was very successful too, although not as rich as Alleyn. He was a boy actor with great success in women’s roles and worked his way into prominence as an adult. Shakespeare wrote these roles especially for Burbage: all the kings, Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello and King Lear.
Alleyn and Burbage were the leading actors of the time, very popular. But there were many others, including Nathan Field and Gabriel Spencer who enjoyed considerable success.
Spencer had a tragic life. He was an argumentative type and killed a man in a fight. He in turn was killed by Ben Johnson. To avoid execution, Johnson took the Church. That is he recited a required biblical text, the first verse of Psalm 51 known as the ‘neck verse,’ and became overtly religious, thus avoiding the hangman. He kept up this holy persona for twelve years.
While on the subject of Johnson (a close friend of Shakespeare), I found his partnership with Inigo Jones in the creation of court masques fascinating. If you get the chance to see the wonderful stage settings of Inigo Jones in colour, I recommend you see them. This site shares a little of that background.
Dramatists other than Shakespeare in the golden age mentioned above are also a captivating group. One who interested me greatly was Kit Marlowe.
Marlowe was a brilliant innovator as well as a spy for the Queen and died young in a tavern (aged 29), murdered (I believe) by another spy. During his studies for his MA at Cambridge he was frequently absent. When there was some doubt about him graduating because of his long absence, a message from the Queen via the Privy Council, insisted he be granted graduation as he had been absent from studies on important royal business.
This business was looking for Catholic conspirators overseas. Despite the many other possible reasons now given for his death, I think he was executed because he had become an embarrassment to Sir Francis Walsingham, head of Elizabeth’s spy network. His plays, especially Tamburlaine, The Jew Of Malta and Doctor Faustus were great successes.
Despite the triumph of the theatre in the age I mention, life was hard and many of Shakespeare’s contemporary dramatists had tragic lives. Take Thomas Kyd for instance, the author of a groundbreaking and highly successful play: The Spanish Tragedy.
Unexpectedly Kyd was arrested and tortured by government authorities in a quest for evidence against Christopher Marlowe. Had Marlowe lived in our age he would have been studied by MI-5.
One of the interesting features of the time was that many dramatists worked together to construct their plays. This was the case with Kyd and Marlowe. As Marlowe had fallen out of favour, authorities were using Kyd to get evidence on him. Hence the torture.
Soon after this arrest Kyd died at the tender age of 35. The torture produced little for the government but left Kyd very ill.
One of the interesting features for me of Kyd’s life was his attendance at the Old Merchant Taylor’s School. In 1989 I played cricket on their lovely ground during a tour of England with the Australian Old Collegians. Edmund Spenser, who later wrote The Faerie Queene, also attended that school.
Robert Greene was another tragic figure. He was born c.1560. He had a BA from Cambridge and an MA from Oxford, a rare feat in any age. He wrote a number of plays, that were very popular. One of these, Orlando Furioso, he sold to a theatre company and then, while the company were touring, he sold it again – this time to Philip Henslowe the main entrepreneur of the time. Greene had become desperate for money.
One of his plays, Ponderoso, influenced Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. Greene was a very bitter critic of Shakespeare, calling him “an upstart crow.” Greene died in poverty at the age of 32 in 1592.
George Peele was another dramatist who met a sorry end, also dying in poverty. He was a brilliant scholar, with a BA and MA from Oxford. His plays included the Old Wives’ Tale a comedy,The Battle of Alcazar, a patriotic play, and a biblical play: The Love of King David and Bethsabe. His death was a sordid affair.
So life was tough in these times when you fell out of the company of the powers that be. Shakespeare we all know was the brilliant success with no worries concerning money.
There were so many other dramatists in this golden age. They included George Chapman, Thomas Dekker, John Marston, Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher, John Webster, John Ford and Philip Massinger.
I’ve got space to talk about George Chapman here. He spent a bit of time with Ben Johnson in gaol for writing a smash hit play, Eastward Ho, that offended King James. He was perhaps more famous as a brilliant translator of the classics. I remember in another place studying John Keats’ lovely sonnet: “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer”
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific—and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Chapman seems to have led a more peaceful life, having given up writing plays to concentrate on translating the great works of his past.
Long before Shakespeare’s age there was another event from my study of the history of theatre that stays in my memory. It was perpetrated by Ethelwold, Bishop of Winchester from 963 to 984. After the fall of Rome with the onset of the so-called Dark Ages, events to be described as theatrical were limited indeed.
Ethelwold did something that contributed to a change of this. Looking at his church service one day he was suddenly inspired to enliven the service by adding a little drama. He devised what is now known as the Quem quiritis trope (“Whom do you seek?”). You can read about it here.
A trope is a phrase or verse added as an embellishment or interpolation to the sung parts of the Mass in the Middle Ages, according to Merriam-Webster. So that was what Ethelwold did. He jazzed up the service to add force to the story.
I believe this was the first step in the rise of Church drama in the Middle Ages, the remarkable miracle, mystery and morality plays. We spent a lot of time reading these during that course. I remember The Second Shepherd’s Play and Noah’s Flood quite fondly. The morality play Everyman seems to me to have a timeless relevance.
As the director of tertiary student plays at one stage of my teaching, I became very interested in stagecraft, especially lighting and set design. This has a fascinating history from the deus ex machine of the Greeks, Hell mouth of the Middle Ages, Renaissance sets, elaborate melodrama stages of the Victorian era and lighting from limelight to Fresnels.
When I go to the theatre, before the play begins I find myself caught up by the magic of that environment. I look at the lighting equipment when it’s visible. I think about the staging – whether it’s end staging or arena. I think of Wagner’s idea about gesamptkunstwerk, or “universal art work,” how the theatre becomes a remarkable combination of so many art forms including music – visual effects are so magical in the modern theatre; sound is important too. I always tried to include music when I was directing.
Another aspect of theatre coming to mind now from my studies is Expressionist drama. It involved a focus on the inner workings of the human mind. I recommend a visit to this site to experience the troubled Swedish life of August Strindberg, a major figure in this type of drama.
My interest here in Expressionism was especially focused on Eugene O’Neill, the American dramatist and Nobel Laureate.
Part of my reason is that I directed one of his plays during my time as a Sydney teacher. That play was The Emperor Jones. It’s a very good example of Expressionism. In the plot, Jones is a leader of natives on an island. He is a former murderer who has fled the United States.
He is worshipped on the island as an “emperor” but suddenly loses face and has to flee. For the rest of the play a drum beat sounds to match the rhythm of his heart. That heart beats faster as the action moves towards a violent climax. Among the characters in the play are Formless Fears who writhe across the stage on one occasion. It’s very much an illustration of the inner mind.
One other joy I had with this course was the Commedia dell’arte (Comedy of the profession). The Commedia flourished in Italy and elsewhere from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century. They were travelling players who wore character masks, improvised heavily and devised dramas appropriate to the place where they were performing.
The Commedia influence spread from Italy to England via Shakespeare and France notably via Molière. The influence can be seen in The Tempest, Love’s Labour Lost and The Taming Of The Shrew and Tartuffe for example, by Molière.
Here is a good list of Commedia characters.
Other characters began as stock masks and developed into well-known characters in the hands of the most talented players. The Capitano developed as a caricature of the Spanish braggart soldier, boasting of exploits abroad, running away from danger at home. He was turned into Scaramuccia by Tiberio Fiorillo, who, in Paris with his own troupe (1645–47), altered the captain’s character to suit French taste. As Scaramouche, Fiorillo was notable for the subtlety and finess of his miming. The zanni, who were often acrobats, or “tumblers,” had various names such as Panzanino, Buratino, Pedrolino(or Pierrot), Scapino Fritellino, Trappolino, Brighella, and most notably, Arlecchino and Pulcinella (related to the English Punchinello, or Punch). Pulcinella, like Capitano,“outgrew” his mask and became a character in his own right, probably created by Silvio Fiorillo (died c. 1632), who had earlier created a famous Capitano, Mattamoros. Columbina, a maidservant, was often paired in love matches with Arlecchino, Pedrolino, or the Capitano. With Harlequin she became a primary character in the English pantomime’s harlequinade. The zanni had already been differentiated as comic rustic and witty fool. They were characterised by shrewdness and self-interest; much of their success depended on improvised action and topical jokes. Arlecchino (Harlequin), one of the zanni, was created by Tristano Martinelli as the witty servant, nimble and gay; as a lover, he became capricious, often heartless. Pedrolino was his counterpart. Doltish yet honest, he was often the victim of his fellow comedians’ pranks. As Pierrot, his winsome character carried over into later French pantomimes. The zanni used certain tricks of their trade: practical jokes (burle)—often the fool, thinking he had tricked the clown, had the tables turned on him by a rustic wit as clever, if not so nimble, as his own—and comic business (lazzi).
It is the revival of the Commedia in Italy after World War II by Amleto and Donato Sartori. There is now an International Museum of the Mask in Abano Terme near Padua in Italy. After my degree study, in 1989, I went to Padua and talked to Donato about the Commedia and mask making. The manufacture of masks is a highly specialised art form. Actors at the time of my visit went to Padua and stayed there for a considerable time being measured and modelled until the mask virtually grew on their face.
Here is a picture of an Arlecchino mask. It’s mine. I bought it in Venice for around $300.
My final task for this degree was to write a long essay with two aims: a critique of the plays of Robert Bolt and an account of my Theatre In Education work at Nepean College Of Advanced Education.
Robert Bolt has my enduring respect. I haven’t read his plays since those readings before 1980 but they are still vivid in my mind. I remember my sympathy for the central character in Flowering Cherry when he finally over reaches and dies. The Tiger and the Horse also generated my sympathy for the wife of the ambitious professor who finally realises what he has done to his wife through his relentless drive.
A Man For All Seasons is one of my favourite plays. I particularly remember the role of the common man who acts as a chorus and as other characters including the executioner.
The Thwarting of Baron Bolligrew inspired me as a teacher. In my many teaching days I have not found a better work for children.
Vivat! Vivat Regina! is another play I remember with much respect. I remember especially the dignity with which Mary Queen of Scots faced the executioner.
State of Revolution, Bolt’s last performed play, was produced after I studied for this degree.
Theatre In Education (TIE)
Theatre in Education is my passionate field, and I have had considerable experience in it. I had my own student TIE Company, the Phoenix People, at Nepean CAE. The group performed with dignity and success in Western Sydney schools for audiences totalling more that 4,000.
To complete my final task for the degree I had to write an account of this aspect of my teaching days. First we contacted schools around the College offering to write and perform plays on the subject of their choice. Two plays resulted, one Imagination Can Set You Free, an Arthurian play about the heroic defeat of a dragon, and Billy Button, the story of a teenage convict who was sent to New South Wales.
In my later years, I went to Coventry, by choice that is, and interacted with the Belgrade TIE Company, the originators of TIE. I used this 1987 study leave to explore theatre throughout much of Australia, in Italy, Germany, France, and in the UK.
Here are images of the King Arthur TIE play: The audience: School for Deaf and Blind, Sydney.
Here is a newspaper action shot of the Billy Button play.
I hope this humble set of recollections, despite my numerous flaws and omissions, touches on some of the joys of the study experience. How lucky I was to have studied before the imposition of the HECS tax on students! My knowledge from those three degrees has been shared with thousands of students. That learning was supported by governments, not penalised.
And so kind sir I take my leave and comment on your service
You have shown me the cost when freedom is lost
And made me extremely nervous
So I will be off highly tempted to scoff yet retaining my decorum
Though every semester will demand an investor
The seers of good sense will ignore ’em… gaudeamus igitur
An Impolite Message
Let us shut our eyes
And talk about the weather
Gilbert and Sullivan: The Pirates of Penzance
Begone dull fool
And take your great lies with you
Science should be a tool
Not a horse without a tether
You must obey one rule
If you talk about the weather
Evidence my friend
Gives you the right to speak
God’s truth you must defend
Or your influence is weak
You prattle with divergencies
Designed to hide reality
Describing the emergencies
With constant bleak banality
Meanwhile the world is in a spin
With drought and fire and storm
While you proclaim with a sickly grin
It’s nothing but the norm
You spread falsehoods like jam on bread
A kind of last repast
If you have your way we’ll all be dead
False colours nailed to the mast
You lie about this you lie about that
With flights of fancy forming
Your status is slightly less than a rat
In the light of global warming
You tell tall tales and play your role
To keep the trade fires burning
While the future of man falls into a hole
With the wheels of industry turning
Thus the air we love suffers above
In a surplus of CO𝟸
You gently tweet like a turtle dove
But not a word is true
So be on your way you devious worm
Before I grind you to pieces
Or you’re put away for a sizeable term
As all that you’ve said is so specious
That’s it; that ends my harangue
Now I’ll brush you away with a duster
So you’ll disappear with a bang
Caught up in a Southerly Buster*
*Only one thing left to say…Have a nice day.
Concerning My Black Armband
Please come in…
Take a seat…
Now we can be
Relaxed and comfortable
What’s all this mystery about history
Not getting your attention
As in your world
Only business gets a mention?
Is not the now
A child of what once was?
And does not time present
Beat the drum for time future?
Were you there
When they chose to free Barabbas?
Did you seek to count the dead at Peterloo?
Did you take a breath of deadly gas at Ypres?
Have you heard of the mournful Creek named Waterloo?
Have you seen the fine Enola Gay display?
Did you notice genocide down Dresden way?
Have you found the reason yet for Vietnam’s war?
Was Rwanda an evil Hell or something more?
Were you swept away by the grief of 9/11?
Or by King Leopold’s Congo paean of greed?
Does Death still line the battered streets of Yemen?
Does the Unknown Soldier extol a futile deed?
So many questions pound upon the brain
And conjure forth more pity than disdain
O must we not rap with hope on history’s door
If madness is to hold its sway no more?
For the sake of countless lives that were destroyed
Bygone lessons have to be deployed
There is so much from early days to master
Lest present follies lead us to disaster
O brother, why look you so aghast?
The choice is yours, there’s guidance in the past
And if I fail to change your point of view
The old will quickly vilify the new
So tell me please, just what do we need to do?
What think you, pray?
Can yesterday be relevant today?
Your words are what I feared to hear you say
So on my own I’ll scan the ages proudly
Begone my friend; it’s time you went away
Leave quickly ere I curse your mind more loudly
In ways that are unbecoming…
On The Matter of Waterloo Creek
The massacre at Myall Creek was just one of a sequence of violent events that accompanied settler expansion in the Gwydir region of north-eastern NSW in the 19th century.
While it is likely that only a fraction of the violence is recorded in the conventional historical record, it is telling that a contemporary authority and eyewitness, Muswellbrook police magistrate Edward Denny Day, termed this conflict ‘a war of extermination’.
Violent attacks increased in savagery towards the latter part of the decade. The summer of 1837–38 was particularly violent. Major James Nunn, the Commandant of the New South Wales Mounted Police, had been sent from Sydney to lead a punitive expedition against the Aboriginal people who had killed stockmen in separate incidents of Frontier conflict.
His response, however, was extreme. On 26 January 1838 Nunn and his men massacred up to 50 Aboriginal people camped at Waterloo Creek (my bold). They also encouraged nearby stockmen and settlers to murder any Aboriginal person they came across.
Sweet poesy! that hath anciently had kings, emperors, senators, great captains, such as, besides a thousand others, David, Adrian, Sophocles, Germanicus, not only to favour poets, but to be poets…
But I speak to this purpose, that all the end of the comical part be not upon such scornful matters as stir laughter only, but mix with it that delightful teaching which is the end of poesy. Sir Phillip Sidney: The Defense of Poesy
Polly Put The Kettle On
It’s good to see you
Thank you for the visit
The main idea is to polish our policies
Get on with the real task of running the country
As you know
Things have not been going well lately
Umberton is putting a spanner in the works
He’s a cursèd idealist of the worst kind
Wants to get rid of coal completely
Fund renewables at the cost of our oil search program
Even put the kibosh on the demolition of the town hall
Who cares if it’s the last of its kind?
Then last Tuesday
You’ll never guess what he did
He sought to penalise wrong use of insecticides on farms
Just imagine what that would do to our electorates
On top of that
And this is the last straw
He wants to force all corporations
To contribute to an Environment Protection Plan
What will he think of next?
You see my friend we have work to do
We’ve got to organise public opinion
Work with the Press as usual
To make sure that our program of expansion
Is not stifled
That it lives and breathes where it counts
The market must be respected
As I said in a recent speech:
Free enterprise is the cradle that nurtures us all
We have to act now before it is too late
So that’s why it’s good to see you
I’ll tell you what
Let’s make a cup of tea
And then let’s get down to business
Really get down to business…
A Consequence Of Time
Come right in
It’s good to see you
Through here, that’s right
Take a seat
Would you like a drink?
All right then
Let’s get on with it
The reason I’ve called you in
Is quite straightforward
Things are not crash hot with the firm
Business is uncertain
The times are truly changing
And we have had to move with those changes
You no doubt have noticed differences lately
Alterations we’ve just completed
In fact it’s a significant restructure
Of the company
Basically to ensure survival
This has given us a major challenge
With our staffing needs
Now what does that mean for you?
Well…how long have you been with us?
Thirty seven years
Yes I assumed it was something like that
Anyway the reality is
The work you have done so well in the past
Is no longer relevant
What does that mean?
It means my dear friend
Sadly we are in no further need of your services
The position you leave will not be vacant
It will not exist
As I said before we have had to move on
How old are you now?
Ah yes well you see our future
To put it bluntly, depends almost entirely on youth
No there is no way we can fit you in
It’s all a matter of fiscal expertise
Indeed of survival itself
Now one of the reasons you are here at this moment
Is for me to thank you personally
For the years of outstanding service
You have given us
There will be severance pay of course
This handshake is one I give gladly
To wish you, your wife and family well
In the days and years ahead
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me
You are most welcome
Is this your usual job?
Now where were we last time?
Checking out the records of detention
You will find
Things going according to plan
Only four hundred inmates left
All confined without redress
Children not a problem any longer
Except for a few
From the inquisitive media
PR top of the class
Constant emphasis on people smugglers
Justifying our iron clad objective
To ban entry
Regarding occasional mental health issues
We have managed to curtail reporting
So this has kept things quiet
Parliamentary back-up excellent
A nice bipartisan mood still applies
Even though minorities
Occasionally disturb the peace a little
Stop the boats
An almost out of date slogan now
As indefinite detention is
Going so well
As to the funding
We keep it quiet
The cost is one billion a year
So there you have it my friend
Up to date facts
On our penal domain
I can clearly say
No problems now remain
Is that you Charles?
It’s me Merton
We have a problem
That self interested bastard Coles
Is at it again
He’s been gathering support
And I think
We’re in for a spill
No I mean it
All the signs are there
He’s been brown nosing with Carlingford
Since our last Cabinet do
And I noticed him in close talk
With Schultz last week
At the Corporate Affairs Conference
Now this is big trouble
If we don’t watch our step
He’ll link up with Condon
And we won’t have a snowflake’s chance in Hell
What are we going to do about it?
Here’s what we’re gunna do my friend
We’re gunna attack
All guns blazing
Do you remember the Venus Brothel incident
A few years ago?
Yes, that’s it
Coles was photographed in the street outside it
He sued the paper for damages
Now that’s the point
The aroma of doubt still exists
Unruly testosterone in the political sphere
I know with the aid of a couple of my Press mates
We can find some new evidence
Cook up a tale of secret vice for Coles
The truth doesn’t matter
As long as the story exists
We can really go to town with this
And the sparks will fly
In the meantime
We need to keep alert with the others
Promise Carlingford our support ad infinitum
Release the report on Condon’s study leave in Paris
And back Shultz for that post overseas
All right my friend
Now there’s work to do
Go to it
I’ll talk to you later
Who Has Seen The World Aflame?
On the 2019-20 bushfires in Australia
Where have you been in recent times?
Have you seen the fiery effects of CO𝟸?
Did you feel the heat?
Did you hear the trees alight cry out in pain
And see their leaves fly away from normality
As burning embers
Setting fire to other forests of disastrous worldly schemes?
In the midst of all this
Did you support the paranoia of climate doubt?
Yes? I cannot continue this discussion
Because the world is still aflame
In my mind
Cooked to a cinder like a Pudding Lane house in 66
Yet the need arises to tell the story
To strive to impose wisdom on a witless world
Even though the smoke of the inferno
No longer curses my eyes
Or maligns my breathing with a malevolence
That takes away my sanity
As I hear again
The sirens sound the death knell
Of my tomorrows
Instructions to Schools 2084
Children must be tested
Thoroughly and without deviation
To promote compliance with the norm
Difference brings intense remediation
Plead for funds if you wish
But do not be over demanding
For thrift must be the rule
With government revenue
Teach the arts
But sparingly, lest revolution show its risky face
Train the drones for work in the market place
Beware of satire and humour
For laughter is a threat to equanimity
Teach history synthesised as a harmless piece
This above all, observe approved practices
As you keep costs down if you can
And it shall follow as the night the day
Each child will grow according to the plan
What must our children learn today
In this arid testing time?
How to save water they need to know
As the rivers no longer flow
An attitude to lightning
Will clearly be the norm
As violence shakes the world each day
In the shape of a savage storm
History of science will be much taught
With links to all the great theses
Lots of pictures and ancient films
To remind us of lost species
Admen will sponsor our daily life
With a constant barrage of lies
So children must learn the crucial art
Of rejecting what truth denies
Above all else will be the need
To reach out for pure air
Since what was once a heavenly breath
Is now no longer there
Teachers will teach and pupils will reach
A stage of desired augmentation
Whatever the outcome our leaders will say
It’s all for the good of the nation
Time for sleeping Daddy?
Yes my love
Will you tell me things before I sleep?
Yes my love
What was a tree Daddy?
It was a tall post with arms and things called leaves my love
What was a bird Daddy?
It was a living spirit with wings that flew through the air my love
What is a flower Daddy?
A beautiful joy that one day you still might see my love
What was a butterfly Daddy?
A pretty thing that danced on the air my love
What was a tiger Daddy?
A brave and noble creature once roaming the earth my love
Why is the sea so angry Daddy?
Storms without end give it no peace my love
What is a split atom Daddy?
A nasty thing that blights the world my love
I am tired now Daddy I think I will go to sleep
Good night my love; rest well
A Word From The Sponsor
Thank you for providing such interesting films
For me to purloin for profit
I enjoy so much
Interrupting each plot at a crucial moment
As this sells so well
With the would be client’s attention at its peak
News bulletins also
Are a major source of funds
Murder and violence take interest for a ride
If you fit an ad in where the victims died
Give those soaps your approval too
Love affairs have a great sale capacity
They have what it takes to sell
And the actors play their parts so well
The actors in the ads I mean
Who catch our gaze with each scene
So there you have it
The arts whose verifiable function now is earning
Will keep the wheels of commerce smoothly turning
So let me assure you
As long as there are Academy Awards and Logies
I will be there to use a constant stream of your time
Raising interest in the adman’s bogeys
For my own ends
Yes. Thank you so much – so very much
Well now here I am – somewhere
What am I doing here?
According to many I am in my senility
Using the surplus time of my life
To fill pages with my lack of ability
That’s true enough I suppose
No work – little play
A recipe for a dull old man
And yet maybe
There are some extenuating circumstances
(Big words I learnt seventy five years ago)
Maybe, just maybe
Someone will read those pages of mine
And get an idea for me or against me
As a consequence
The world will be just a little different
As I wander towards my grave
Rugby: For The Good Of The Game
Thank you for your offer
In this land of milk and honey
But I’m afraid that at this stage
I don’t have any money
Now it’s not my aim to mention
My strife on the old age pension
For I’ve coached many yes many a boy
From out of the hoi polloi
And taught them how to love the game
Spent many hours at training them
Because I felt the same
Gave my time on days of the week
Just to promote the cause
Worked till I felt my old bones creak
With not a drop of applause
Gone to great Test matches too
As a loyal fan
Read many books on players
Knew them man to man
Even played a bit myself
In my younger days
Till age put me on the shelf
As only the fit man plays
So here we are at the end of my road
As I watch your fine commercials
Cloaked as they are in a highly glamorous code
How I long to accept your plan
With up to three months free
But after three wherever I scan
I can’t find a place for me
So thank you very much kind sir
For your exciting chapter and verse
But how in the Hell can I aim for that end
With a totally empty purse?
So good luck to you with your lucrative scheme
Even though your price is high
Sport for me now is no more than a dream
Till I fade away and die…Till I fade away and die……
I conjure you all that have had the evill luck to read this inck-wasting toy of mine, even in the name of the nine Muses, no more to scorne the sacred misteries of Poesie. Sir Phillip Sidney: The Defence of Poesie
Here we are my friend
Picking our way
Through the ruins of our future
And carefully avoiding
The little chunks of litter
That keep falling out of the past
As if to bar the way,
To point out what might have been
But always it is in vain
For that is the nature of things
Life as the moments fade
Painstakingly dismantles all that we are
Dismembering our dreams
As if they didn’t exist
Ending our schemes
With a force we cannot resist
So that eventually
Bits and pieces of us
Leaving only the faintest memory
Of what has been
Until we exist nowhere
But in the minds of others
Those minds in the end
Might be the only things that matter
God In Disguise
God In Disguise
Be warned all you pious people
Who frequent the well-worn paths
We have just discovered that God
Has decided to revisit the Earth
Be further advised
That with the foresight
He alone can manage
He has chosen to prevent commotion
By sightseeing in disguise
We hold here His media release
An agenda found on the window sill
Of a bankrupt press agency
By their last civic roundsman
Somewhere it tells us
He will masquerade as
A lonely desperate man
Pleading for support
So take care if you pass by
He will be watching what you do.
On another occasion
He will be that runaway child
In a twilight street with no name
Verging on the prostitute’s game
So take care if you pass by
He will be watching what you do
Another gig of His
Will be difficult to trace
As He will be a black man
Looking for his place
So take care if you pass by
He will be watching what you do
There’s another place you may see Him
So the message here says
At work in a vast stock market
Where deals are bought and sold
So take care if you pass by
He will be watching what you do
Finally in the twinkling of an afterthought
He may suddenly appear
In your Parliament of Fools
Where iniquity is bought
So if voting there beware
He will be watching what you do
Dearly beloved citizens
We cannot vouch for the authenticity
Of this uncovered information
In fact it may not be true
Even so fair friends take care
He will still be watching what you do
Have You Noticed?
Have you noticed
How warlike folk cook up
A recipe for their own self-righteousness?
They take a measure of enemies
Add a portion of land and earthly possessions
A generous quantity of patriotism
Assiduously mixed with racism and false rumour
Blended in a sauce of greed with a pinch of fear
And bring this to the boil
Stirring constantly until firm and consistent
Then they garnish it with hatred and serve it
In man-size quantities on lavish platters
Upon a snow-white cloth adorned
With glasses of gloom-altering wine
To credulous novices in soldiers’ clothing
Say grace with a serious but benevolent smile
And then in a final act of elation
They cry, “God bless our nation!”
Once I saw a broken man
Lying in the street
Abandoned in defeat
But I did nothing
For I was prosperous and free
Once I saw a foreigner
Punished for the crime
Of birth in another clime
But I did nothing
For I was a patriot and free
Once I saw a malefactor
Under fierce attack
For the sin of being black
But I did nothing
For I was fair-skinned and free
Once I saw a woman
Become a weeping wraith
For the garments of her faith
But I did nothing
For I was conformist and free
Once I saw an activist
Held without a trial
Because of a government file
But I did nothing
For I was lawful and free
Now I see an assassin
Of overwhelming might
Pounding on my door without respite
But I can do nothing
For there is no one to answer for me
(For The Children With Cystic Fibrosis}
Intangible things morphemes
Like imprudent dreams
Or furtive fears
Or flimsy formulae of faith in uncertain ideas.
When you are a child
The towering mountains of experience,
You try to find a pathway to understanding
By whatever means you can.
You reach out for things to say
And even though your words are but feathers
Floating in the wind,
You hope that they will help you fly
To find the place where words are not unknown codes
But holy meaningful things
Not clumsy tools that fall and hurt your toes
But noble powerful friends . . .
Once in a whimsy
A child of Fate’s morning
Sought to say what he did not understand.
The eyes of his soul
Saw the beauty of flowers in a garden of despair . . .
Instead of cystic fibrosis . . . he said, ‘Sixty-five roses.’
Then the smiling wind
As it has been known to do in the past,
Caught up his idea
Swirled it around with heavenly pity
And charged it with such power
That it put a girdle round the earth in milliseconds.
It was amazing to observe
That wind of that new morning
Whisk the words here there and anywhere
Until by chance
What was blowing in the wind
Fell upon the ears of one or two surprised
But accomplished ad-folk spinners of speech.
Suddenly the light of understanding
Led these men and women of the world
Laughingly beyond the place
Where half truths and controlled innuendoes live
To where days are pre-occupied with understanding.
There . . . as a gift transcending even love
These skilful contemporary bards
Turned the thoughts of roses into charity cards
And with the words of a fragile child
Suddenly converted you and me
Into a chorus line dancing with compassion
To the enchanted music of innocence
And the twinkling sounds of cash registers opening and closing
Look at you
Dancing around my awareness
On your prancing legs of steel
Like a ballerina preoccupied with everything but applause
Why do you make me feel so insignificant?
Me with my old bones aching
I could crush you in an instant between my fingers
Or worse still wither you with ease
By simply pushing the button on a can
To kill both the innocent and the guilty with its spray
There you stand however
Climbing my insurmountable wall
Just because it is there
Welcome little friend
You diminish me so
Even though I can barely make you out amidst my clutter
Climb on valiantly
And leave me here below forever trapped in my own fragility
Work in Progress
Having been taught
I go forth and teach
I do not define
The infinity in which I work
Or impose upon it
The constriction of words
But in the magic
Of each teaching day
As I fly on high with my fledglings
Through the strident storms of ignorance
And beyond the down draughts of despair
I feel on my face
That will buffet the dwellers in tomorrow
And I land on the steps
Of their houses
Which I cannot enter
Except in my dreams
And through my teaching
A school is not a lifeless thing …
I found this out today
When I visited a place
Where in my yesterdays
I used to teach
‘Hello Sir,’ came the voices
And their looks of recognition
Seemed to tap me
On the shoulder
As I walked across that playground
At recess time
And then into the hollow hallways
Where I heard again the footsteps
Of the past
While in its briefly empty classrooms
I met the echoes of my bygone lessons
And the reflected sounds of yesterday’s pupils
With their sighs of learning struggle
And their Ahas! of the once in a while
When insight set in
It was a weird experience this
A haunted house without ghosts
But thoughts and words
And struggles and despair and hope
And growth and disobedience
And little triumphs over learning curves
And breakthroughs to understanding
And punishment and distraction
And anger and hatred and inspiration
And penalty and injustice and impossible tasks
And when the last bell rings
Memories of transformations that never end …
A school is not a lifeless thing
Here I am,
Limping through what was once tomorrow,
Struggling, sighing, crying, prying,
Lying in the clutches of the quicksand known as status.
Why is this so? If you should wish to know
The reason for my life’s hiatus,
Visit my classroom of a dozen years ago,
The bleak place where I shall forever be
Confined, entwined, maligned, defined as E
For all the world to see.
Not people in that place
But ordered lists of merit and disgrace,
Probing and molesting after tests ad infinitum,
Whose validity moves only fools to cite ’em.
So from that space in my stark inferiority,
Degraded by implied superiority,
I’ve wandered aimlessly beyond my sanity,
Longing to meet unclassified humanity.
O why am I cursed, reviled and frowned upon
Because I am not an alpha but an epsilon?
What a special person!
A priceless spirit
That woman in the supermarket crush
Who gave her place
In the the check-out rush
Me with no right of passage, no space, no refuge a red hot sale 30% extra free compare our prices time to buy get it while stocks last fresh food folk make your dreams come true monster sale buy two get one free save save save with omega 3 fresh squeezed daily only six weeks to Christmas manager’s special don’t miss our best warehouse clearance win a trip to Hawaii save even more spring specials it’s new free gifts fuel discount offer out they go a free CD with every box guaranteed lowest prices nobody beats us one huge clearance bargain priced meat strong and bitey guaranteed no msg no preservatives from the garden to you end of year deals all are reduced now for quick sale please make all bags available for staff checking thank you.
I kissed that dear lady
For her gift of courtesy
Giving way to me in the depths of my old age
There should be more of her ilk
And the only things I needed
Were bread and butter and milk
The Right Honourable Mephistopheles
This is an emergency
It’s a time of stress
We must balance the budget
For the good of the nation
In terms of our mandate
And to counter privation
With our current program
No unnecessary hindrance
To implement best practice policies
Devised by several recognised experts
With the best possible intentions
As determined over and over again
Even in times of war
Or still more potently in peace time
As our nation’s history will clearly show
Unless of course the records are incomplete
Which even so will not deter us
Because we have the voice of experience
That echoes down the hallways of history
And in other places
Dedicated to the wellbeing of us all
Or even those who are not yet eligible to vote
Children or immigrants
Excluding of course the mentally ill
Who will in due course recover partially
Or fully, according to programs we have set in train
I began my MEd studies the year after I graduated with my BA, 1968. In the meantime I moved from my position at Granville Boys High School to History Master at Dover Heights Girls High School. Geographically my new teaching position was relatively close to the University of New South Wales, my place of study. This was a help.
If you are a teacher, the interesting thing about such part time study of eduction is how linked it is to your profession. Somehow it makes you think twice about teaching behaviour that previously had seemed natural and appropriate.
The course work I elected to do was Child Growth and Development and Educational Planning and Administration. The second choice turned out to be a wise one when I moved to the girls’ high school as there, for the first time, I was in charge of a school department with several staff members.
I still remember much of Child Growth and Development, probably because it was so relevant to my teaching in so many different ways. I remember Freud and his id, ego and super ego. Those unconscious urges were interesting then but as time passed, I realised there was much more to learn about human behaviour.
I remember, during that year of study, thinking how clever Shakespeare was to have Lady Macbeth constantly wash her hands to wash away her guilt. That novel Freudian idea fades away in the context of Coronavirus doesn’t it? Another memory is the struggle between life force Eros and Thanatos or death instinct. I remember feeling happy about Freud’s belief in the dominating strength of Eros.
In later life I have also learned that Edward Bernays, Freud’s nephew, possibly had more immediate and dramatic influence on society than his uncle. Bernays’ Public Relations are so much a part of modern life aren’t they?
Carl Jung is also there in my memory but I remember most clearly his notion of the collective unconscious. Somehow there still seems to be some justification for this idea. I found Jung’s opinions convincing, despite his critics. This is possibly because as a history teacher I have come to believe that we cannot escape the past.
Jean Piaget is the dominant part of my recollection regarding this course of study. I was quite swept away by the links I saw between his stages of learning and pupils I had taught, especially in my infants teaching stage. Piaget’s emphasis on the power of teaching as a part of cognitive development inspired me.
Piaget’s theory concerning the way a child constructs meaning at different stages, still rings true to me. Especially welcome is his view that intelligence is not an unchanging, predetermined statistic.
Erik Erikson is another memory of an important cognitive theorist. I learnt about how he too believed in stages of development, in his case eight, linked to psychosocial interaction. He reminded me, in a number of ways, of Freud. His notion of stages depended on a series of crises from birth to adulthood, with success linked to trust in the earliest stage. His notion of “basic trust” seems to knock on my memory door. I still find Erikson interesting but wonder if any theorist can tell the whole story – can control all the variables of any research.
Behaviourists had an important place in this course. I remember especially Edward Thorndike’s Law of Effect as a prelude to later behaviourism. Thorndike’s principle suggests that responses giving satisfaction will recur more often. Dissatisfaction will tend to reduce recurrence. I have not found any reason to criticise the Law of Effect. It seems so logical.
John Watson and B F Skinner were important in the course. They seemed to extend Thorndike’s work. Operant conditioning dominates my memories: learning through rewards and punishment in response to behaviour. At the time, this theory dominated much of my learning. In later life I have become less fond of these theorists because of the harshness of their techniques and the effects on the animals and children used for their research.
John Watson was a major early experience of behaviourism for me. Conditioning, as I said before, was the key to his influence – a dramatic extension of Pavlov. Behaviour was to be the source of prediction and control by the psychologist. The dangers of control are a warning I now feel in later life. When I was teaching in a university milieu, some of my colleagues used to speak of “behaviour mod.” as a useful tool to establish authority. These days it doesn’t have my absolute respect.
Then there was B F Skinner. What a champion he was for my lecturers! Not for me now. I remember the Skinner box, his invention for recording the behaviour of rats. For Skinner, learning was a series of conditioned responses always controlled by the environment. Mind was nothing but a myth.
I was asked to read his utopian novel Walden Two. This I did with some enjoyment. The title is an overt reference to Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: a tale of a simple existence close to a natural environment. In Walden Two, everyone is happy as life is controlled by a program of behavioural engineering begun at birth. I remember a funny incident where a man gives performances as the World’s Greatest Bore. His performances are banned and shut down because he draws such vast crowds.
I remember especially John Bowlby and his Child Care and the Growth of Love. This researcher has stayed with me ever since, probably because I believe so strongly in the power of parental love for children. Mental health, Bowlby claimed, was closely linked to maternal care and was also a function of support from fathers and family members. In later life I have come to believe this even more strongly.
One of the interesting aspects of this program of study was the way examination trauma was reduced. We were given the final examination question on the first day of the course. This is a brilliant way to get rid of examination fears. It’s still rigorous as you have to produce your answer under examination conditions, and the answer reflects your study during the year. I managed a credit in the exam. A rare achievement for me.
My studies of Educational Planning and Administration were exciting. At 4PM every Wednesday for much of a year we met in a university room, chaired by the Professor of Education of the University, Professor J J Pratt. He was a truly wonderful teacher.
We talked about current administration experience each of us, the students, had. We took turns at holding the floor while the others made judgements and discussed solutions. We were a diverse group, working in a wide range of teaching climates. The discussions were very stimulating, with the Professor leading us to wider awareness of possible solutions to problems.
One of my memories stands out: Andrew Halpin, The Organisational Climate Of Schools. A most inspiring influence during these studies was this man.
He was concerned intensely with what we still call school climate. I found his suggestion that every school can be distinguished by a unique administrative style or atmosphere very convincing.
To me then and now, this is like saying that each school has a personality similar to that of a particular person. As I have walked into so many schools during my lifetime, I have been struck by the range of different atmospheres (climates) unfolding. The children too, so often reflect the climate of the school – cheerful courtesy perhaps, or sometimes a cold, anxious stare.
In addition to Open and Closed climates, Halpin et al. referred to Paternal, Familiar, Controlled and Autonomous types. With the Paternal type the principal acts independently and does not use the leadership skills of his subordinates.
The Familiar Climate features much socialising but relatively little focus on task orientation. In contrast, the Controlled category is impersonal and features high concentration on task. The Autonomous Climate is characterised by leadership emerging from the group with little contact with the principal. The group is so focused on task achievement.
The two extremes I remember best. They have more support among academics than the other four categories. The Open Climate is characterised by what Halpin called “authenticity.” This involves both principal and staff working cooperatively and supportively. The Closed Climate is very different, featuring a more isolated principal, obsessed with trivia and matters irrelevant to the needs of the teaching staff. I have personally worked amidst both categories.
In all the years passing since my first study of Halpin, I have retained my respect for his approach. The terminology may change but the reality remains.
My own research program constituted the major task for this degree. I was interested in the effects of praise and blame on pupils’ classroom performance. The technique I used was interaction analysis after the Ned Flanders model (with no reference to the Simpsons), but as refined by Amidon, Edmund J and Hough, John J.
I used a control group, a praise group and a blame group. For performance data, I was testing (a) factual recall of specific lessons and (b) creativity, as defined by E Paul Torrance.
Torrance drew on contemporary research that related creativity to divergent thinking—the characteristic of coming up with more answers, or more original answers, rather than deriving a single best answer. That divergent-thinking trait might exhibit itself in different situations, so that, in Torrance’s view, the creativity shown by an artist was not different in type than the creativity shown by a scientist, a teacher, or a parent. The Torrance Tests of Creative Thinking were the work of Paul Torrance’s lifetime. They are still widely used to assess students and job applicants, and have been translated into more than 50 languages.
Source: Studio 360 December 14, 2017 · 4:00 PM EST Producer Kerrie Hillman.
So a unique answer was highly creative while the less creative answers were those repeated often. I was fascinated by the possibility of furthering creativity in the human spirit. A dream I still have.
In my study I worked with several classes from state schools, including some of my own from Granville Boys High School and Dover Heights girls. In those days you had to get permission to do research in state schools. This was given to me by Dr Ralph Rawlinson, Head of Research for the Department of Education. I was very grateful for the support.
At that time when there was no internet, research tools were, compared to today’s, decidedly primitive. The computer was in its infant stage. The university had one. It was a very big infant; so big it was used by the government to process exams for the whole state of New South Wales.
You had to find a good time to use it. There was nothing like today’s sophistication, so you had to punch your experimental results on cards and feed them into the computer. A day or days later, when you came to collect your results, you hoped there was a big bundle waiting for you on the shelf. If it was thin, you knew that it had failed to process and you had to do it all again.
What of the results for my research? Life is complex and so is research into it. I standardised my praise and blame so that all groups had the same words. I controlled for age, for gender, for past success, for parents’ profession and even for windy days, using analysis of covariance. I checked the scores with Kruskal–Wallis one-way analysis of variance and studied regression with my results.
I found no significant difference with either praise or blame. That was a long journey that lasted years without the result I was seeking. But that journey was worth making and had its benefits for other researchers.
There was one significant complication during my studies. An event that made things a little more challenging.
It was the loss of a brief case with all my research in it. I put it on the roof of my VW Beetle when getting in and then drove off. I noticed a bit of a bump when I rounded a corner but didn’t think twice about it. When I arrived to do some work at the Dover Heights school, I realised what I had done.
I had to repeat parts of the research, not all of it because I had some duplication. I learnt later that some of the senior girls had gone looking for my brief case along the route I took. Deeds like that plus the support of Jean Pocock, the principal, helped me keep on with the voyage to completion. Eventually the journey ended and I wrote my thesis.
The title on the cover is:
AN ANALYSIS OF TH EFFECTS OF CHANGING PATTERNS OF CLASSROOM INTERACTION ON PUPIL PERFORMANCE 1973
Three copies were made: one for the library, one for the faculty and one I still own. You can read the University’s copy in the archives. Its contents still have a place in my mind all these years later. I realise now I told only a small part of the story and I still have so much to learn.