Marist Brothers Darlinghurst OBU More Memories of Darlo Dayze 1958-1967
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As this
year marks 50 years since the Class of ’67 left the sheltered
environment of Darlo and ventured into the real world clutching the
first ever HSC, vague memories of those long ago dayze between 1958 and
1967 come seeping back through the shattered remnants of those super
charged brain cells the Brothers equipped us so well with.
Darlo to me was a bit like
Disneyland combining Fantasyland, Adventureland, Frontierland and
Tomorrowland all set in Sydney’s “Golden Square Mile” home of the Texas
Tavern, the Bourbon and Beef Steak, the Stadium, Tabu, Les Girls, and
the Pink Pussy Cat with locals such as Perce Galea, Abe Saffron, Bea
Miles, Tilly Devine, Carlotta, Rosaline Norton, Bumper Farrell and
visitors to Kings Cross, including the Beatles and Frank Sinatra.
Cardinal “Bluey” Gilroy occasionally visited Darlo with his
beaming smile and welcome declaration of a half day off to mark the
occasion.
We all grew
up in Retro Sydney, a city of red rattler trains, toast rack trams and
double decker Albion buses, where Police raced around in Triumph
motorbikes with sidecars, Black Mariahs and later Mini Coopers. Most
intersections had no traffic lights and were manned by coppers with
white pith helmets and big white gloves, directing traffic like an
orchestra conductor. Taylor Square had an underground toilet where
occasionally strange men in overcoats offered you ten bob to go into a
cubicle with them. Shops around Taylor Square and Darlo included a bat
winged door wine bar, the Sip and Bite café with the big Neon sign,
affectionally known as the Sip and Spew, Sargent’s pie shop, the big
news stand outside the Flinders Hotel, Zink’s tailors, still there with
the same black glass and chrome Art Deco front, Kinsela’s Funerals, now
a hotel, Nicholas fish shop and Waltham Dan’s disposal shop which was an
Aladdin’s cave of ex Army bayonets, uniforms, radios, Spitfire dash
boards, helmets etc stacked to the ceiling. Also rumoured to be in the
nearby lanes and in Palmer Street were “knock” shops where presumably
you could buy door knockers which everyone needed in those days.
Other local
landmarks included the Supreme Court and opposite, the Court House Hotel
where, at 15 I had by first beer and a double rum chaser, nearly knocked
me unconscious. Fraser and Hughes menswear (still there) where as a
hopeful apprentice cutter, and fitter of Levi jeans for ladies, I was
made redundant at 15 by an electric knife. Technology strikes again.
Back to school I went to upgrade my Intermediate to an LC. Devastated by
the news we had to do an extra year at school as the LC was scrapped and
the HSC introduced by some fiend called Dr Wyndam, obviously a fellow
traveller of Dr Gobbells. An extra year at school…..like being given an
extra year in jail after a long sentence when parole was in sight.
Our mothers
and fathers had grown up during the Depression. They had lived through
and in many cases, served in World War 2, a midget Jap sub had torpedoed
HMAS Kuttabul at Garden Island, 15 minutes’ walk from Darlo and killed
22 Royal Australian Navy sailors. Some parents were survivors of war
torn Europe including Italy, Austria, Poland, Russia, Ireland, as well
as Hong Kong and other remote and distant lands who came to Australia
for a new life. Joe Pruscino was born on the boat on the way to
Australia from Italy. Maybe he is the original “boat person.”
We came
from Paddington, Kings Cross, Bondi, Maroubra, Turramurra, Botany,
Kirrawee and other suburbs all over Sydney.
In 1958 Sydney’s tallest building
was the AWA tower where the velvet voiced and debonair Howard Craven
wooed the housewives with Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and
Dean Martin songs. Any ladies not feeling well were advised to have “a
cup of tea, a BEX and a good lie down,” and Dr MacKenzie’s Menthoids
could fix anything. Radio serials
such as “When a Girl Marries” chapter 2,643, for all those in love and
all those who can remember were all the go before John Laws and Alan
Jones.
We used
Brylcream (a little dab’ll do ya) or Californian Poppy to keep our hair
looking good and you could bet “London to a brick” our Dads listened to
Ken Howard and Frank Hyde on
2KY on Saturday afternoons calling the races and the Rugby League while
smoking Craven “A” cigarettes and drinking Reschs DA also known as
“Dirty Annie”.
Starting at
Darlo in 1958 at the age of 8, I caught the tram from Botany, along
Botany Rd, past Mascot Airport where the Super Constellations flew in
and out, to Taylor Square. Walking past the old Darlo Jail, where life
drawing classes could be glimpsed through the large, top storey windows
facing the northern sun above the high stone walls. I decided I would
become an artist. Arriving at school I met Robert Woog, Dennis Coleman,
Dennis Casey, Peter Clark, Bernie Walford, Pat O’Carroll, Des Quinn,
David Hare, Ron Gojdycz, Laurie Portelli and many other third class
mates, all wearing our grey suits, long sox and Blue and Blue ties. Our
teacher was a kindly Brother Ronan who was also an excellent artist and
during the year, drew every boy in the class and gave him the drawing. I
still have mine. Not sure if Brother Ronan (as in Ronan Keating) did the
life drawing classes at the old jail. A few years later I met him when
visiting a mate’s place. He had become Ned Kelly (as in the bushranger).
He was still a nice man but no longer a Marist Brother.
After
school with not much homework, we listened to the radio serials, PK
O’Malley and Tarzan. If we were lucky enough to have a black and white
TV, we watched Popeye cartoons, Superman, the Cisco Kid, Robin Hood and
Zorro as well as the 77th Bengal Lancers, perhaps sewing the
seeds of my military career. For the first few years of TV we watched a
silent TV through the window of an electrical shop in Botany dressed in
our pyjamas and sitting on boxes from my Dad’s grocery store a few doors
away.
Every class
had a Marist Brother teacher in those days with the kindly Brother
Demetrius as Headmaster. He reminded me of Pat O’Brien (or maybe Spencer
Tracey), the priest in charge of Boys Town, with scoundrels like a young
James Cagney to look after. Perhaps this film was based on Darlo, with
the school, jail, court house, police station, hospital, numerous pubs,
knock shops and Kings Cross all in close proximity.
In 1959 our
4th Class teacher was Mr Steve ”Patience” Gould, an imposing
elderly lay teacher who said he could wait all day for an answer but
usually applied the cane to encourage our memories if we didn’t answer
within 3 seconds. Mr Gould was a World War One veteran with one arm and
one leg, both lost on the Western Front when he was full of rum during a
“hop over” attack against the German trenches. He was at one time NSW
Champion One Arm Golfer, who I occasionally saw hopping into the surf at
Bondi on his one leg. Steve had the quaint habit of getting us to recite
our tables with our hands clasped on top of our heads. He stood behind
us with the ever present cane which he carried under his arm like an
RSM’s swagger stick. Miss a table and the cane came crashing down on
your knuckles.
As a gesture of kindness, Steve
didn’t mind if you pulled your hands away when you heard the descending
swish of the cane which of course landed on top of your head and you saw
stars unless you moved your head to the side and then the cane nearly
too your ear off. Steve probably learned this technique when
interrogating German POWs.
We all became very good at our times tables. Steve was father of Bob
Gould of Gould’s Bookshop and one-time seller of Mao’s Little Red Book.
Speaking of
stars, Bernie Walford became our first class member to achieve fame when
pictured on the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald sitting on his
idol Danny Kaye’s knee. Danny was visiting Sydney for the first time.
Both Danny and Bernie had grins from ear to ear.
Our 5th
Class teacher was a kindly old white haired teacher named Brother
Cuthbert who occasionally was ran across the desk tops, cane flaying
like Errol Flynn’s sword in the movie Robin Hood, chasing down some
wrong doer to administer justice the Darlo way. Brother Cuthbert called
me aside at the end of the year and said I had done very well in the
exams. I asked how well and he said I had scored 499 out of 500. I asked
did I come first, he said no, second, Robert Woog scored 500 out of 500,
again. This result convinced me the academic world was not for me so I
decided on joining the Army when I finished school. I would join the
cadets in 1st Year and learn all the tricks so I had a flying start in
the Army. Unfortunately, when the time came to join the cadets in 1962
and each year thereafter, I, along with one other boy in the class, was
deemed unsuitable for the cadets.
Sixth Class
saw us under Brother Samuel, a very tall, broad and lean man who cast a
big shadow and was very capable with the cane when needed. First year
saw us ascend the hallowed spiral stair case to the first floor under, I
think, Brother Walter who in actual
fact was a recruiter for Bondi Surf Club. Many of our class
joined the club but unfortunately, by that time I had moved to Mount
Colah, just south of the Queensland border, so travelling to Bondi was a
bit of a marathon. Until recently I had an occasional beer with Brother
Walter at the Beach Road hotel where he lived in retirement nearby. He
had mellowed a little with age.
Brothers
Bonaventure, Damien, Peter, Patrick, Redmond, Ian, Cloman and Mr Wylie,
Mr Moyce, Mr Gawne and Mr
Hovanessian all feature in my hazy memories of secondary school. Maybe
it was the increasing levels of testosterone which affected my memory. I
remember Des Qiunn, perhaps in 2nd year, receiving 12 cuts of
the cane (a severe and rarely awarded punishment) for some major but
long forgotten offence. He didn’t flinch once during this administration
of summary justice. Whilst returning the cane to the classroom next door
the wind caught the door, slamming it and breaking some of the coloured
glass panels. Told to go back and get the cane again, Des walked out of
the classroom and never returned. I heard he later joined the Navy. I
hope he did well in life, he was a good Darlo friend.
Class
Retreats at Kensington Monastry were an occasional event at Darlo
designed to see if you had the “call” for the religious life. As I
regularly got 100% for my Religion exam, largely due to knowledge gained
in my long years as an Altar Boy at St Anne’s at Bondi, (before being
defrocked due to some discrepancy in the Poor Box takings which I was
responsible to collect and count), I was selected to attend a special
retreat at around 15 designed to confirm the “call” and possibly head
off to a noviciate at Springwood to complete my education there.
Memory of this Retreat is a little hazy and possibly I am
confused with my study of military retreats such as Napoleon’s and
Hitler’s retreats from Moscow. Perhaps Paul Chandler or Sam Vassallo
could assist my recall. However we were again teamed with the St
Vincent’s girls segregated on opposite sides of the chapel and received
instruction from an imposing Monsignor, who I understand was a very
senior priest, who looked not unlike a recruiting sergeant in the Army.
Having taken the vow of silence
for the week we were at the Monastry we were released into the lovely
gardens for solo prayer and contemplation and to listen for the “call.”
Selecting a quiet spot behind a large grotto with views over trackwork
at Randwick Racecourse I was just lighting up a Salem cigarette when a
St Vincent’s girl’s voice asked, “have you got a spare smoke?” There
goes the vow of silence. We were smoking and chatting about what makes
the world go around when the Monsignor discovered our secluded spot and
bellowed “the devils work here, begone ye disciples of Satan”. That was
the end of the Retreat for us and the end of my potential religious
career.
The
kaleidoscope of memories from those helter skelter school dayze include
the kindly ladies of the tuck shop who would give you a corned beef and
salad roll for lunch if you had no money because your Dad was out of
work during the “Credit Squeeze” of 1961. Col and the ladies also ran
the Neilson Park kiosk where we had our School Picnics.
Sport on
Thursday afternoons at Moore Park, Waverley Oval or Rushcutters Bay
Park. Rugby League, Cricket, Swimming and Athletics. Swimming Carnivals
at Coogee Aquarium where years before a captured shark had spewed up a
human arm. Our good sportsmen included Frank Jackson, Dennis Casey,
Dennis Coleman, Fred Spano and Frank Cahill. The Eastern Suburbs
Knockout Comp was on our calendar and one of our coaches was Jimmy
O’Brien, father of Jimmy and Terry, who I think was a Tail Gunner in
Bomber Command during World War 2. They lived in a terrace house at 166
Boundary Street Paddington. We had a memorable trip by overnight train
to Lismore to play the Marist School there. The ref called us City and
Country. We weren’t at our best as someone had a bottle of rum on the
train to fortify us against the cold of the train journey. Perhaps this
was Steve Gould’s influence when he told us of ANZACs having rum before
going into battle against the Hun had achieved glorious victories. The
rum didn’t work for us and we were beated in a close fought match by the
“Country” side who had the Ref on side.
I guess it was a bit like Gallipoli, where, despite the powers of
rum, victory eluded us and the most successful part of the campaign was
the evacuation and the train ride home sans rum.
I am told having detailed
memories from our childhood is a sign of Old Timers ’disease or a wet
brain contracted during the monsoon season in East Timor whilst stuck in
a bar for long periods waiting for the rain to stop.
Our
introduction to the mysterious female species was via combined school
dances with girls from Saint Vincent’s’ College, Potts Point. We had
dancing lessons at an upstairs studio in Oxford Street with a couple who
were friends of Carlu Carter and Bill McGrath, Australia’s answer to
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Our school dance partners were, I think,
picked by ballot conducted by the brothers and nuns. To minimise the
dangers of too much fraternisation with the female species, for most of
our dance lessons we had fellow Darlo boys as partners while we learned
how to waltz, do the Pride of Erin, quick step, foxtrot, salsa, rumba
and last Tango in Darlo. Marlon would have been proud. I think we were
introduced to our selected partners at the final lesson prior to the
school dance. Held at the St Vincent’s school hall, I met my selected
partner, escorted by her parents and little sister at the door of the
school hall and said good night to her in the same location. This was a little more formal than the meeting we had with girls at Surf City, Stomp City, John Henry’s Suzie Wong’s and Smugglers discos around the same time. I have vague memories of glimpses of Dennis, Ron, Steve Schmidt, Eddie K and other Darlo mates across darkened, crowded, noisy rooms filled with smoke with some featuring spinning mirrored balls like American Speakeasies of the Roaring Twenties. The music of Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs, the Rolling Stones, Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, the Beatles, Elvis, Chubby Checker, the Trogs and the Beach Boys at full volume compliments of the DJ who was always surrounded by girls. Most of the disco dance floors were bordered by large, old Deco style lounges, probably donated by the local St Vinnies shop so you could rest between Twisting and Stomping. Drinks were jugs of highly priced fruit punch which was probably fortified with vodka or barcardi to kill any germs in the glasses. |
The
years dragged on and eventually we sat the long awaited HSC to then go
our separate ways in life, me joining the Army six weeks after leaving
Darlo. Unfortunately due to many factors such as the diversity of our
chosen paths, pressures of modern living, the demise of the school in
1969, ill health and death, generally our class did not keep in touch
regularly or in large numbers. The Old Boys Union did a great job over
the years of trying to keep us connected by organising annual dinners at
the Catholic Club, Rugby Club and other venues. I attended a few over
the years but usually only a handful, if any, of the class of ’67 showed
up. The next few years were eventful and at times traumatic for
Australia.
The end of
1967 saw the Prime Minister, Harold Holt, disappear at Cheviot beach
while swimming with some young ladies after promising Australia would go
“All the way with LBJ,” something the St Vincent’s young ladies didn’t
do for us. January ’68 saw the Tet offensive in South Vietnam beamed
into our lounge rooms and the start of the anti-war protests including
pouring red paint on diggers marching past Sydney Town Hall in a welcome
home parade. No more welcome home parades after that until 1987. Gough
almost won the 1969 election and did so in 1972, finally ending our
involvement in Vietnam and National Service. I wonder if any of our
class was called up? Careful reading of the large poster at Mount Colah
railway station advised all 20 year olds had to register for the
National Service ballot. The only exemptions were those in jail, insane
or in the Army. I avoided the ballot by joining the Army at 18.
Irish logic. To my Army friends,
being a red head, I became Blue because there were already nine recruits
called John in our platoon. Australian logic.
For those
classmates of 1965 and 1967 who have made contact and are attending the
Reunion Lunch, wonderful to be in your company once again. For those we
have lost contact with, I hope life has been kind to you. For those
teachers who educated and guided us in our transformation from boys to
men, thank you. For those Old Boys who shared some of our years at Darlo
between 1958 and 1967, thank you for your company. For those Old Boys
who have passed on, your apology for non-attendance today is accepted.
May you rest in peace.
For Kym and
his Committee, thank you for keeping the Darlo Old Boys going during
times of adversity.
Thank you
gentlemen and fellow Old Boys of Darlo.
Servo Fidem
and Nil Desperandum. |