HOK:The Armidale Years - Part 1

Robert and I were holidaying in Brisbane in January 1959 when my Leaving Certificate results were published in the SMH. We were staying with Aunty Addie Aulbury in Wollongabba, earshots away from the Cricket Ground. (I have no idea what relationship she bore to me - John will know.)

We found a milk bar and opened the paper at leisure to discover that I had been awarded five Bs for the six subjects for which I had sat. (I deliberately failed Modern History, a subject that bored me to tears.) Later that day I got a telegram from Mum and Dad, "Congratulations on your five Bs". This was in case I hadn't seen the paper, not a put-down, as they subsequently explained.

I was quite happy with this result. My ambition was to attain a ticket out of town. First prize was a Commomwealth Scholarship (in which case I would have studied architecture - so glad I didn't) and second prize was a Teacher's Scholarship, which I won. (I later discovered that my Bs were all close to As, the only two options in that exam - hence the scholarship.)

I had no real desire to be a teacher, but as I said, it meant escape from the farm. Although I was eight days below the minimum age for entry to Teachers College, they accepted me (they were desperate in those days) and in March I was to report to Armidale Teachers College for enrolment.

This entailed a ricketty bus trip from Lismore to Tenterfield on a Saturday to catch the New England Flyer to Armidale, which got me and a few other neophytes there just after midnight. We were met, taken to the student houses, and in the wee small hours I was deposited in my room. As my new roommate was fast asleep, I silently slipped between the sheets and embraced the arms of Morpheus.

I awoke early next morning and introduced myself from my bed.

"Hello, I'm Hugh."

"Hi, I'm Rod."

"Do you know where the church is?"

"Which church?"

Oh my God, I immediately thought, they've put me in a room with a Protestant! What do I do?

At the tender age of sixteen-and-a-half I had had very little to do with Protestants. In Ryde they were simply a no-no (which probably eased my conscience when getting Jimmy Gordon to drink that piss - Scots Presbyterian that he no doubt was) and along West Nimbin Road there were only the McLennans, whom we RockChoppers graciously tolerated. Now I was sharing a room with a sinner.

And what a one! As Rod unwound the sheets and emerged in his Jockettes, my jaw dropped. Long before the days of gyms and buffed bodies, my new roomie was an Adonis. Like myself, he was a dairy farm boy, but there all resemblance ended. I was sharing a room with Peter Andre. He was from Denman in the Upper Hunter and had obviously worked a lot harder than me on the farm. Not surprisingly, he went on to play scrum half for the College's First XV.

Anyway, I found the church (a cathedral, as it turned out)and managed not to miss Mass.

Newling House was the men's residence, an aluminium and glass prefab building, designed for the tropics, which the Department of Public Works in its wisdom had plonked down in the middle of wintry Armidale. Brrr! And that's in summer. Nevertheless, with the help of a one bar radiator, Rod proceeded to do his assignments seated at his desk in the aforementioned Jockettes and I had no wish to complain.

I went on to meet great friends and have some fun times. I'll bore you with all that next time, as the library computer is in countdown mode.

Cheers

Hugh