Chalk Talk

Discussing school days and chalkboards with one of my blog readers (do chalkboards even exist anymore?) I recalled that it was once quite a privilege to be the ‘chalk eraser monitor.’  The more loaded with chalk dust it was, the more exciting the act of banging the life out of it, forming a massive cloud of colored dust.   

These days, that would have at least half the class reaching for their inhalers.  I think maybe 2% of the kids at my (large) school had asthma.  We wouldn’t have known an inhaler from a kazoo. Nebulisers?   Never heard of them; would have thought they were some kind of alien weapon from “Lost In Space.”

 Certainly one of the most common simple ‘punishments’ a teacher could mete, if he/she saw someone not paying attention in class, was to hurl the chalk duster across the room at them, hitting them either square on the head, or leaving an impressive branding on the back of their school jumper.  Again, if we transpose that to a modern-day school, I can’t even begin to speculate the cries of protest that would arise, the throng of parents complaining and possibly laying assault charges.

When I was 14, our temperamental English teacher (a very camp gent in ultra-high-waisted slacks) one day became increasingly annoyed as he listened to a group of rowdy girls in our class  mocking novels by Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters.  “Stop it!” he finally yelped. “ You’re just a bunch of sluts!”

Well, that certainly shut them up.  It wasn’t appropriate from a teacher, but at the same time, some of the huffy reactions were hypocritical to say the least.   And guess that?  The two parents who lodged complaints about him, were the very ones whose daughters were being dropped off after school, a block shy of their homes, by guys who drove panel vans.

All Bound For Morning Town

Do children enjoy lullabies anymore?  I remember Bye Baby Bunting, Hush Little Baby (Papa never did buy me that mockingbird) Moon of Silver-White, and a special 'local' one (link at end). 

However, many of us loved to catch the sleepy train to ‘Morning Town.’  Nobody did it better than The Seekers, led by Judith Durham’s amazing voice.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foC79VwRUZw&feature=player_embedded#at=35

Bed time was rarely negotiable when we were young.  Certainly nothing on television after 8.30pm was considered appropriate for children.  We had a bunch of fun shows to watch after school if we wanted (but funnily enough, many of us preferred to go play with our friends). 

The “big” night for family TV was probably Sunday.  Who doesn’t remember The Wonderful World Of Disney, and how Uncle Walt seemed so kind (but apparently wasn’t in real life) and wondering which ‘Land’ that week’s programme would visit.  “Please don’t let it be Frontierland” we’d wish, much preferring Fantasyland and Adventureland ... Tomorrowland at a pinch. 

Australians will certainly remember Young Talent Time on a Sunday night, and singing/swaying along to Johnny Young’s “All My Loving” at the end.

 And so to bed ... In the 60s, that meant beds with padded headboards and chenille bedspreads.  In the 70s, more likely turned pine or tubular-framed beds with bold geometric-patterned quilts.  Some children had a fluffy animal-cum-‘pyjama bag’ to put their PJs in.  If we were lucky, we'd get a  bedtime story, told by a real live parent, but amazingly, we were able to sleep without a fix of TV,  Facebook or texting our friends.   And probably had more and better-quality sleep because of it. 

PS  Somebody messaged me to include Puff The Magic Dragon.  Is it a lullaby as such?  Certainly is lovely though, with those words every parent understands too well:  "A dragon lives forever / but not so little boys."

Music in the Sky with Diamonds

Is it just my bias, or was I incredibly fortunate to be a “child of the 70s,” thus immersed in the best music era of all time?  I can’t even begin to blog on how much Glam Rock, Disco, 70s Pop and Rock brought pleasure to my life.

But I was born in the sixties, so, thanks to my parents, some of that music imprinted my psyche as well. 

Certainly, the 1960s was a decade that produced some amazing hits.  Unfortunately, my parents weren’t listening to those.  Their middle-of-the-road tastes leaned more towards Burt Bacharach, Henry Mancini, Herb Alpert, Percy Faith and *passes around anti-nausea tablets*  Max Bygraves.

I can still see Dad, sucking on a can of Tab Diet Cola, as he tapped his foot to Acker Bilk and James Galway.  His funk factor stopped at Herman’s Hermits.  If only someone had airlifted me ahead to the ‘70s, to those joyful days of saving up to buy a vinyl single (45rpm) in a paper sleeve. 

Every decade has its musical duds, but I’d argue the 1960s had more than most. My ‘most loathed’ instrumental was Swinging Safari and the worst schlagermuzak of all time was Days of Wine and Roses and The Shadow of Your Smile.

Best ‘60s instrumental was easily Mason Williams’ Classical Gas.

Not until adulthood was I exposed to the finest music of the ‘60s, from artists like The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Simon & Garfunkel, James Taylor, Mamas & The Papas, The Who, Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin.

Here's what happens next: I post this blog, and realize I’ve overlooked a seminal artist/band of the sixties.  Apart from The Stones (not a fan, though I respect their work), The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell … perhaps you can think of another that genuinely deserves a mention?

Wooden It Be Nice?

I spent countless happy hours playing in the Aladdin’s Cave that was Dad’s Garage.  The raw brick walls were lined with an incredible array of shelves and drawers, all meticulously labelled, to store ‘blokey stuff.’  He loved woodwork, and built a huge bench with every conceivable tool and gadget.  My brother and I were compelled to put our fingers into the vise to test our pain threshold.  Even more intriguing were Dad‘s rifles, on a not-so-high shelf next to the bench.  He did a better job of hiding his “Man” magazines though.  Almost.

The Garage was home to Dad’s succession of cars, his favourite being a Karmann Ghia.  One day, when I was four, I decided to hop in and ‘drive’ it.  I tried to force the column shift into second gear, but since I had no idea about using the clutch, the stick snapped.  It took a good wad of glue, a roll of masking tape, and a smack on my bum to brace the stick until it could be repaired.

But it wasn’t just the familiar hulk of a vehicle I missed in the Garage when Dad left us.  Lots of interesting stuff went with him.  Tools disappeared from the shadow board, save the odd wrench and spanner.  Left behind were old jam jars full of screws, nuts, bolts and washers, which I enjoyed sorting.  I used colored chalks to draw the outline of where his car had been. 

In the gloom of the Garage, without a car or a Dad – just me putting my bike away each day – rats and mice began throwing parties in the dark corners and the cellar.  The magic was abating.

 

To this day, I miss the smell of sawdust.  On the rare occasion I visit a hardware store, I’m irresistibly drawn to the fresh timber area, where I take in lungfuls of sawdust (hopefully just the scent).  For years after Dad left, I’d sweep and sweep the shed with a stiff broom, whipping up a musty cloud in which I savoured the very last remnants of his woodwork.

Ten-Year-Old Landlord Owns Two Hotels in Mayfair

I’m admiring the conkers on my neighbour’s magnificent acorn tree, and it occurs to me that the local kids probably wouldn’t even know how to have a conker fight.   Without a doubt, those of us who grew up before the 1980s were  more connected to nature.  

  

I realise technology and safety issues have changed life for the ‘modern child,’ but  I’d wager that a day spent riding around the neighbourhood on your bicycle (a Dragstar if you were lucky), exploring the local creek, climbing forbidden trees, etc.  gave us much more joy than a day spent playing Wii, or hanging at the mall.  Certainly it kept us fitter.

You could get a physical and social workout  by attending your local Youth Club.   And almost every boy dabbled in scouting at some stage ... sadly, that’s no longer the case.  Girls were Brownies, Guides, or in Girl's Brigade. 

With family and/or friends, board games were lots of fun too.   Apart from the age-old Monopoly and Scrabble, the most popular ones  I recall  were  Hands Down,  Mouse Trap,  Tip It,  Ker-plunk,  Operation, Battleship and Cluedo..

There are several youtubes of “Mouse Trap” ads.  This one was ‘before my time’ but gives the clearest demonstration of how it worked.  WHEN it worked!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMzbRkWGLv0&feature=related 

Variations on some of these games are now available online of course, and I guess the upside is that you can always find someone to play them with.   Does that make them more fun?  I’m not sure, but it certainly makes them easier to put away.  

I imagine many kids now would “LOL” if I challenged them to a game of knucklebones or marbles.  They were simple amusements, but I often wonder how quickly the new generations’ brains can evolve, to cope with the instant availability and rapid-fire action of online and video gaming ...  Perhaps we’ll have the last laugh.

Look what I found next to the Funk & Wagnalls

My brother and I weren't the only ones to mispronounce Funk & Wagnalls, right?   

Having already chatted about some of my favourite books, here’s a random smattering of other ‘early’ books that stay strong in my memory. 

Age 6:      Milly Molly Mandy     Joyce Lancaster Brisley

A sweet, very old-fashioneded account of English village life, with delightful line drawings.

Age 8:      Little Dream     Cynthia Leonetti 

Quite simply, the sweetest story I’ve ever read.  Yet you can’t find the book anywhere now   except in  national library holding collections.  I was captivated by oh-so-pretty Little Dream, the pompous Big Dreams and the wonderful finale.  Would love to meet somebody else who’s actually read it!

Age 9:          I Am David     Ann Holm

The epic and moving tale of a boy who “learned the meaning of beauty.”

Age 10:      Gobbolino the Witch’s Cat     Ursula Moray Williams

Easy to find with its glaring hot pink cover, this fantasy was a ripper read!

Age 11:       On The Beach    Nevil Shute 

My first grown-uppish ‘apolcalyptic’ book.  We're a long way from Enid Blyton now, baby.  Basic synopsis: nuclear bomb ends the world.   When the film of the book was later shot on location in Melbourne, Australia, the star Ava Gardner infamously said that it seemed like the end of the world, anyway ;p

Age 12:       Old Yeller   Fred Gipson

Came across this in my Dad’s “Readers Digest Condensed Book” collection, (which btw, looked awfully smart on the bookshelf next to the Funk &. Wagnalls).   The saddest story.

Age 13:    To Kill a Mockingbird     Harper Lee

What a powerful and moving story (and for once, the film was even better).  Atticus Finch rocks!

Age 14:    The Grapes of Wrath     John Steinbeck

A classic.  Fascinating in its alternating chapter style.  Loving Rose of Sharon.

Age 15:  My Darling, My Hamburger    Paul Zindel

If only for the title

Age 16:    Picnic at Hanging Rock     Joan Lindsay

Evocative and worth reading for the exquisite prose;  disturbingly frayed.

Age 17:   The Loved One     Evelyn Waugh

Only Waugh could make death funny.  Sharp and original, his command of satire is second   to none.  

Age 18:     Portnoy’s Complaint     Philip Roth

Even as a tiny child, I was aware of the outrage when this book was first published.  So when I came across it in a bookshop when I'd finally "come of age,"  I had to read it.  It wasn’t what I’d imagined, but so much better - possibly the funniest book I've ever read.   A masterpiece of Jewish humour.

The sincerest form of flattery ...

Successful TV shows will always have a copycat within the year ... These are the earliest I can remember.  Let me know if you agree or disagree:

Addams Family vs The Munsters

The Addams were indeed ‘creepy’ but not all that ‘kooky’ ...  so it’s Munsters all the way, baby.   Every member of the family was lovable (especially Hermann, or maybe I was reading too much into the size of his feet).  Nobody in the Addams house was remotely lovable.

The Waltons vs Little House on the Prairie

  

"Goodnight, John-Boy" ... 'cos when Pa Ingalls took his shirt off to chop the wood, there was no contest.  I’d be Michael Landon’s “Half-Pint” anyday.   Yes I know he was apparently a hypocrite and a control freak, but I don’t bloody care.

Remember the Oleson family - owners of the General Stores in Walnut Creek?   Thank goodness their bitchy exchanges cut through the saccharine of the rest of the script - example:

Willy Oleson to his mother: "You've got wrinkles around your eyes"

Mrs. Oleson: "I beg your pardon!  They're not 'wrinkles' -  they're laughter lines."

Willy Oleson: "Nothing's that funny."

Bewitched vs I Dream Of Jeannie

No need to call Dr Bombay – Bewitched wins easily.  Even as a little girl, I found Jeannie’s simpering “Master” act a bit hard to take. 

There's even a sub-contest to choose your favourite Darren: Dick York or Dick Sargent?  

(Just as an aside: how did Larry Hagmann go from SO handsome to SO not?)

Donny and Marie vs Sonny and Cher

Blergh, neither!  Although let’s give an honourable mention to Sonny for the night he cracked that very funny (if cruel) line to Cher: “Is that your nose, or are you eating a banana?”  

These days, it's hard to say who looks the most scary: Cher, Marie or Marie's line of dolls.  Have you seen those?  They'd even scare the crap out of Chuckie!