If you're dropping by to say hello, maybe you've not heard the news. This is the news: former PM Malcolm Fraser has died. I'm old enough to remember the time when he was known as 'Kerr's Cur', but I did respect his humanitarian stance in the last few years of his life.
My association of Fraser is with my school days. I was in Year 4 That Day. You know what I mean by That Day. I've incorporated That Day into my current work in progress. Not because I'm a political junkie, but because it's a memory I have, and most Australians can identify with it. Most people know how and when and where they heard the news. For my part, I was a rather nerdy little kid, tall and skinny for my age, my hair styled in two long braids that hung over the front of my school uniform. Our school teacher was a young guy in his first year of teaching, and probably the first male teacher in the school. Anyway, this crazy, bad-tempered old skank of a nun
appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were glowing like the embers in a blacksmith's workshop with the gleeful malevolence of what she was about to say. She was so excited, so happy.
'They've sacked Whitlam!' she cried, with the unholy joy she usually reserved for humiliating and upsetting the children.
I remember the cheers around me. I remember mainly thinking what a nasty, spiteful old crone this nun was to be taking such obvious nasty delight in someone's downfall. I wonder if there is a chance Sister will read this. She probably was only in her thirties back then, although to me she seemed like an ancient cackling old witch. It's highly likely she's still alive, and hopefully she's not dribbling into her pureed meals, and has Internet access, so if you are keeping track on former students please be informed I really couldn't stand you. You were a horror. I will grant you one thing: you supervised our class one day and we had to put our spelling words into sentences, and you read mine, and said aloud, 'I wish the rest of the class would writing as interesting sentences as Simone does.' I appreciated that. But for the rest of the time, I thought you were a rosary-bead-rattling psychopath.
My husband is the same age as I, and attended a different school out west in NSW, and he remembers being terrified of his teacher that day. The class of 9 year olds were subjected to their teacher thumping the desk with his fists and shouting, 'How could they do this? How could they be so fucking stupid?' They all shrank back, trying to blend and meld into their chairs, wondering had Sir finally lost it.
My other main memory of Fraser was when I was fifteen. My class, along with some of the younger Year 9s, had a week long excursion around Canberra, Griffith and Adaminaby. Geez-Louise, there were some shenanigans on that trip. For a laugh, when we got home, I typed up a story about what we all got up to. It took three sheets of paper, and went around the classroom in instalments. Kids cracked up laughing as they remembered what had happened, and some of them actually said, 'Don't let Mr [INSERT NAME OF PRINCIPAL HERE] see this!' So potentially inflammatory was the report, when I had an argument with some kid in the class, she tried to strong arm me by threatening to take my story to the principal. I told her if she ferreted through my school bag to avail herself of the story, she would regret it sorely. Perhaps I will reserve some of those escapades for another posting, but what I remember in relation to Malcolm Fraser, was our first night in Canberra, driving around in the bus. It pulled up outside Parliament House. I was sitting up the back, as was my deigned right being in Year Ten. So of course were the other Year Tens. Year Nines had to sit down the front, no questions asked. Well, there we were, outside Parliament House. It was night time, as I said. There were guards out the front. One of the wags in my class wound down the window and called out, 'Tammy's got one; Malcolm IS one!' And we all laughed like lobotomised trolls, and the guard probably stood there thinking how hysterically funny adolescent school kids are - NOT!
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