Robespierre

I loved Canley Vale primary school (far south western suburb of Sydney). The teachers; the atmosphere; everything. Well, that may not be quite true because as the saying goes, “nostalgia is a seductive liar”.  Nevertheless, there is no doubt they were halcyon days.

Never will I forget old Seedy, our headmaster of some generations. He was masterful (no pun) in organising the willing carpenters & electricians drawn from the local P&C to plan, construct and later dismantle the big outdoor wooden stage that was used year after year for Seedy’s initiated Xmas Eisteddfod. He both surprised and pleased everybody on one occasion, with his welcoming speech to a generous crowd of parents, by declaring that he knew his nickname was “Seedy” (C. D. King).

Aided and abetted by other fine teachers, he was credited for injecting some culture into generations of kids from our rather low socio-economic region. He wrote operettas in which he co-starred with his deep tenor voice, with one of the better girl student voices, and along with the offerings from the various other classes, were always appreciated and  enjoyed by everybody. Ahead of its time, the Eisteddfod was really looked forward to as an end-of-year event.

Jacky German and I were jostling to be head of the class queue one day and it got out of hand with promises to finish it after school in the bush on the way home. By then we both had cooled off and were a bit scared, but other kids egged us on so we had to go. The whole thing was pretty even and farcical with just a few hits, but I (accidentally I think) gave him a bloody nose which ended it. Sneaky Teddy Smart was a willing onlooker, but next day he dobbed Jacky & I into the Head. We thought we were going to cop it. Always a quiet and serious presence Seedy instilled respect (and a little fear). He said to us “Well what was it about?” Neither of us wanted to admit to the stupidity of the matter and said we didn’t know. He said “What! You’re funny men aren’t you? not knowing what you were fighting about? Go on then, and don’t come before me again”.

The following, and last year at primary school, he was my class teacher. One day he must have been having a wearying time, I don’t know, but a repeat year pupil sitting at the back of the class had played up. Seedy stood up and roared Lunn! come out here! – went to the back of the blackboard and drew out a fair sized cane and flayed poor old Lunny two of the best. I’ve never seen Seedy upset about anything, but he was more upset than Lunn, I think, because he apologised to the class for having to do it and told us that he loved us all.

Mr Johnson, a big, portly man who taught us 16th century English songs like Strawberry Fair –(“rifol rifol, tol de riddle rifol, rifol rifol, tol de riddle dee”). Bored stiff with these dirges we would sing, (not too loud), “eyeful, eyeful, come and get your eyeful” to break the monotony. And “Trees”! “Why do we have to have songs like that” we thought. I still find myself singing them to myself, today. (I love ‘em).  But old Johnno was a wonderful bloke. Girls and boys alike     considered him number one. He called his cane “Excalibur”. Felt sorry for him later when the kids were trying to press Johnno into being sports master (making life difficult for him, too, as he made clear to us).

Names still in the memory bank – Miss Hartman (kindergarten), Miss Sturgess, Mrs Bogg – (I was perpetually late – “Oh, come on Pike. Better late than never”). On the way home from school at the Xmas break, I saw her give her own copy of the class photo to a kid that missed out, exemplifying the entrenched teacher standard – the kids first, us last. They were family.

And even the sports master Harper, the unpopular disciplinarian, showed me another side to him. One day in the playground – “Pike, do you like hundreds & thousands”? – I faltered on answer (had never heard the term) – and he presented me with a cup cake. The stupid little things that stick?

They were all pleasant, inspirational people.

The years 1947 – ’49 at Liverpool Technical High School might have been viewed as some sought of penance. I hated the place. My eldest brother who did some of his prac. teaching there, said that it was common belief of fellow teachers that the morale of students and teachers, alike, was abysmal. But the place had metal & woodwork. I enjoyed learning to do stopped tenon and dovetail joints and some basics in metalwork. The librarian taught us the Dewy system and attracted us to the world of books. I forgive him becoming exasperated with me with my turn at reading to the class. Coming to “plateau” – I struggled with the french word, with ‘plat – eh – ay – you” and then “plat –ey – you” until the Librarian cut in with “plat-oh, boy!! Plat –oh” !! Well, it’s not my fault that the French muck around with bits of the old Gaul.  Ridiculous language, the French think it’s all poetry and flowers but it can be just as silly as English, ay!

To be continued… The saga of teacher/brother kidnapping me to get my Intermediate and the world that opened up for me without it.

Don Pike,  Four Mile Beach.

Badminton Blues

After reading the story of badminton recollections from Margaret Forsyth last issue, it also brought to mind a story,  about the time Bruce and I also played badminton.

Our team was called the Robins, and we were hosting an ‘end of season’ barbeque at our home.

We set up the back yard with tarpaulin windbreaks, seating, trestles, barbeques, eskys, etc., on the day, ready for the night time function, which was for 50 plus players and partners.

A new laundry and toilet in an out-building had been  under construction for the past month, and happened to be finished that day, just in time for the barbeque.

It was a lovely evening and the party went well with lots of lovely food and drinks, continuing into the night with much merriment.

At around 2am I needed to go to the toilet, and once there, realised that there was no toilet paper.

Horror of horrors!! I now knew that I had not placed any in the recently finished building!

How embarrassing! I don’t know why someone didn’t tell me, or more to the point—what did they use?? It must have been drip dry for 50 or more people that night!

I don’t recall what year it was, but it is probably more than 40 years ago and my face has been red ever since!

Have a laugh on me.

Judy Spilsbury.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor

Re: Article by Lynne Dawes ‘Inquest and Hearing of the Death of Mary Connolly continued’, Valley Voice Volume 46 No. 11 of 26/9/13, penultimate and last paragraphs, page 25, referring to a ‘Dr Story’.

I am the Story family historian of the Storys who settled at the ‘House of Chimneys’, ‘Henbury’, Lena Road via Avoca, and were prominent in the Fingal Valley from 1837-1952. They gave their name to Storys Creek (via Rossarden), Storys Creek Road (via Avoca), Story Street (St Marys), Storys Road (Lebrina), Storys Road (central Castra) and also Groom and Harefield Streets St Marys (through the related family the Grooms of Harefield, 1872).

The Dr Story referred to by Lynne Dawes is most likely Dr George Fordyce Storey (with an ‘e’) of ‘Dr Storyes’ Baby’ notoriety, from a foetus in a jar still at the Tasmanian University Medical Faculty. Dr Storey, according to a Peter Mercer, was a lifelong friend of  Francis and Anna Maria Cotton who lived with them, possibly at ‘Kelvedon’, and who is buried beside them at the Swansea cemetery, although I could not find their headstones and have not yet researched his information.

This Dr George Fordyce Storey is probably the same  doctor, a Quaker, who did some work with our aboriginal brothers and sisters at Wybalena in 1823, at age 23,  concerning infertility caused by venereal disease. He gave his name to Mount Storey on Schouten  Island and is  related to the probably Scottish and Catholic Storeys   related to a J.W. Storey from Colebrook and Oatlands, though initially from North-Eastern Tasmania, who gave their name to Storey Street of Oatlands.

This Dr G.F. Storey is also distinct from another Dr Story, also a ‘much loved pioneer doctor from the East Coast’ who leased ‘Highfield’ in the North-West c.1880s, i.e. Dr William Story.

In contrast, my mob of Storys from ‘Henbury’ are,  although well-connected Anglicans and Royalists, only descended from a long line of dairy farmers (re: John Storys’ famous Double Gloucester Best Cheese 13/4/1867 Launceston Show).

Whilst my Storys are probably related to Dr William Story through business and familial associates the Ford family, they are not directly related to the Dr G.F. Storeys and J.W. Storeys – even though one of us was, in fact, a J.W. Story (without the ‘e’, of course).

Confused? I certainly still am, and doubly so given the profusion of John and Thomas Storys thus far researched back consecutively to 1665 in Somerset.

Of course, if I were to complete the research further back I would find that all Storys, Storeys, Storrs and Stories are, in fact, related prior to 1200 in Northumberland and Yorkshire: the name Story being a Viking word meaning ‘big, strong man’.

I hope my historical account has been of some interest, particularly concerning the Cottons, and all the  coincidences concerning early gynaecological research.

N.B. Fungus Ergot of Rye is, of course, the base substance for making D-Lysergic acid Thalidomide -25 or L.S.D. and formerly known as ‘St Anthonys’ Fire’ (c.c.claviceps purpurea).

A full list of sources can be found at the Avoca Post Office and the Avoca History Museum in ‘The Story Family of “Henbury” in Avoca, St Pauls Plains’ © 23/4/2012 or by contacting me, the author.

© 2013 Tony Story

‘Lewis Hill’, Royal George.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor

I reply to Councillor Johns’  answer to Frank Giles in the Valley Voice 11/9/2013.

I find that your broad consensus of the community was of little value as you did not consult the farming community as seen at the Council meeting farmers attended.

You stated that you wanted the farming sector to pay the same as the commercial sector  (9¢ in the rateable dollar), too bad this is an  untruth as the commercial rate was dropped from 7.5¢ in the dollar to 6.8¢ in the dollar.

The commercial rateable value is less than the farming rateable value by about $605,535.00 (amounts quoted from freedom of information request). By dropping the commercial rate to 6.8¢ in the dollar the Council dropped its revenue by nearly $38,000.00; by raising the farming rate to 12.6¢ in the dollar Council would have gained $309,699.00 extra revenue.

You seem to think that the commercial and residential ratepayers pay 85% of the bill towards Council spending, why don’t you quote the amounts that  Council gets from grants and assistance throughout the year – people may like to know that.  There are farming sectors still paying 12.5¢ in the dollar today – why is this so?

You should also know that DIER is not responsible for lighting, Council pays the bill for street lighting.

You have been in Council long enough to know that very seldom or never does a rate increase ever get reduced in following years.

The last paragraph in your letter is nothing more than pie in the sky, nothing to do with the matter being referred to and a slur on people’s intelligence.

Remember one thing, there is a limit to what people of all walks in life can pay. I was under the impression that the Council was trying to get people to come to this Municipality not drive them away.

Robert Legge   St Marys