We're playing those mind games together (John Lennon)

The power and the glory (You may say I'm a dreamer - Chapter 4, part 1)

Fringe days were numbered. T shirt by Wozza.

We're playing those mind games togetherPushing the barriers, planting seeds -                     John Lennon (Mind Games)

Every December, I enviously wave off the year's Year 13 students who are heading to university.  Little do they realise the super intense changes that are in store as their glory days beckon!

Leaving a dodgy school record behind was extremely liberating for me. I guess I should have been concerned about my ability to cope, instead, I felt eager, confident, and thirsty for university life.

Finally...finally I was going to get that long dreamed of Master of Arts degree. I became even more single minded in its pursuit. 

Ramelton Rd - Ross arriving, my mini already ensconsed.

Throughout these years (1977 to 1981) I continued to live at home - number 4 Ramelton Road, Mt Roskill South, with mum, dad, and Ross.

Woz and dad, Taupo holidays at Te Rangiita were full of fishing adventures

During these years we enjoyed our last holidays together as a family in Taupo, as I was on the cusp of a new life on my own.

But not yet!

Woz and mum, Taupo holidays were full of fun!

Stage One (1977)
In three years time, to achieve a master's degree in English the fine print said I needed two papers in another language. The long summer holiday of 1976 was spent poring over the University Calendar and figuring out what to do.

Help was required, so Greg (who was also going to Auckland University to do a science degree) and I went to see Warwick Gibbs in his Auckland central flat that he shared with his elderly mum for his advice. Even though I'd studied French since 1971, I knew I wouldn't cope with it at university. 

Explaining the situation to Warwick was easy. He understood my situation. His advice was to take two Spanish papers - one on literature, t'other on language. Being new to all Stage One students meant that I had more of a chance to pass. So that's what I did.

Again, to his eternal credit, even though he may have been thinking it, at no point did Warwick nay say my aim to get a master's degree.

As explained previously, I was turned down for a teaching studentship during seventh form, but I knew I was destined to be a teacher so I took two education papers anyway.

English and history, my best subjects at school, made up another four papers to make eight in total for that first year. 

At the end of 1977, another application for a teaching studentship was made and again it was denied, but I passed everything with good enough grades to pick up a B Bursary and ploughed ever onwards.

The self indulgent years - in double exposure. I love this shot taken at Ramelton Road.

Stage Two (1978)
Now I concentrated on history, Asian history and English. Early into this second year, the studentship people rang me - someone had dropped out and a place was now available - was I interested? You betcha baby!! After only two rejections (ha!) I was on my career path at last.

As expected, Ross breezed through
MAGS, and gained a BSc a year
after my graduation for BA.

In exchange for a bond agreement (teach as many years as the studentship lasted) came financial freedom. Great stuff - my record collection blossomed and I could afford my first car, an orange Mini. Result!

Even though Stage Two was an academically demanding year I again didn't fail anything and even picked up an A Bursary.

During these first few years, I was lucky to find an amazing group of friends. Many came via Greg (he's a popular lad), then some via Simmsy (also a popular lad), then some from other sources.

Among the supporting cast of The Wozza Show: Kevin Simms and his then girlfriend, Helen George, both were doing commerce; Phyllis Omand, finishing a BA; Lynley Wood, law (co-incidentally, sister of old school friend Brian Wood); and, of course, my school chum Greg. What a talented bunch!

We hung out, a lot! Our routines involved finding each other in the library (we had set possies), putting study on hold to grab a drink in the coffee bar on campus and meeting in the new recreation centre for lunch. Mum's afghan biscuits (a.k.a. camel dung cookies) were a regular treat with the troops!

Frequently in stitches, we bonded. Some of the bonds endured: Kevin, Greg and I laughed hysterically at the same things and loved music with a passion; Kevy was a Glenfield Rovers stalwart so we had football in common (Man U vs Arsenal); Phyllis and her new boyfriend, Anthony Harris; Lynley and I were platonic friends from day one; Brett Reid, a football mate of Kevy's, and I went to the three day Nambassa music festival in Waihi.

There were other friends as well: Jo Priddy - we all went to her 21st; Kevin Carter and Phil Coombs I knew from football; Kevin Prewitt; Wendy Knowles (Greg's wife, she typed up all my essays - in days before PCs so there were loads of drafts. Literally, she saved my bacon*! Big shout out to you Wendy - I still have them and they still look amazing - many thanks!!).

* The deliberately inappropriate use of 'literally' is an in joke that my students and Jacky will get. 

We all had a heap of things in common: young; achievers; talented; not one smoker among us; white New Zealanders; sporty: middle class backgrounds; well behaved and wanting to enjoy student life to the full.

BA grad - MAGS tie, my mini!

Stage Three (1979)
Six English papers flew past and I had my B.A. Understandably, mum and dad were thrilled but to me the job was only half done. For me, the bachelor degree was purely a necessary stepping stone.

Unfortunately, at the end of those three intense years, the crazy gang broke up as they left to start their careers, leaving me to do my two years of Masters' papers on my tod. 

It's a shame how important people come and go in life. Thankfully, Facebook was invented to allow Kevy, Greg and me to remain in contact. I value their on going love and support! Plus, they are still hilarious!!

Next up - a new supporting cast and the pinnacle of success.

Love and peace - Wozza

There's no success like failure, and failure's no success at all (Bob Dylan)

The footsteps of dawn (You may say I'm a dreamer - Chapter 3, part 5)

Okay - quick recap: 

• 1971 - Third form at Mt Albert Grammar School - relegated down a class, where I came 38th out of 38!
• 1972 - bottom of my 4th form class
• 1973 - failed School Certificate
• 1974 - second year fifth.

All the while I was telling friends,  parents of friends, my family, my teachers, everyone, that I was going to go to University, get a Masters of Arts degree and become a teacher. To their eternal credit, no one laughed, no one told me otherwise. 

Actually, maybe they did, but I never noticed!

I was focused. University. MA. Teacher. 

No longer the smallest guy on parade - third from left, third row.

Sixth form, and getting accredited for University Entrance was the focus for 1975. I guess my teachers weren't that surprised that I'd scrapped through. 

In some ways, in that I don't remember much about classroom activities, the year was a repeat of 1973. At the end, though, I was able to excel in English and get by in the other subjects and was accredited. 

Football remained one area of huge success. In my second year in the first XI we won the Auckland championship in cliffhanger fashion in the last game of the season at Takapuna Grammar. That game is tattooed into my consciousness. 

After a sliding tackle, I got the ball; I can still feel myself chipping the ball with my left foot to the far post for Peter Sarapu's goal. One nil.

A back headed equaliser - one one. 

The wind was strong as we attacked and scored - two one, the result we needed as we hung on for the famous victory!

Heroes! In the changing rooms we sang about being champions, in assembly we received our winning caps from the headmaster. Mine's tucked away with my precious stuff.
 

Next to Howard Atkinson with Warwick.
Howard's brother Geoff in back row.

In 1976 I returned for a largely lackadaisical go at University Bursary (now replaced by NCEA Level 3). Sporting wise I was captain of the first XI, won the badminton cup and was a demon fast bowler in Warwick Gibbs' cricket team.

Girls go crazy for a sharp dressed man - LOL. Far right, third row.

After a memorable interview (all the candidates had to be interviewed by the Headmaster in front of the whole staff!), I was made a prefect. My ability in English continued to improve even though I had disagreements with 'Daddy' Weir's geriatric teaching style. Although he was sympathetic to my complaint, Barry Gough couldn't help my cause much.

On the failure side of the ledger, the football team couldn't repeat 1975's success, and I failed to get any kind of bursary. 

After mum taught me to drive, I failed my first attempt at the driver's license. The oral bit did for me. On the second attempt I succeeded and drove myself to school when mum's car was available.

At school I heard the government gave teaching studentships to students to study at university in return for a bond to teach. Perfecto I thought. 

I applied, was interviewed and was unsuccessful. Oh well - I'd go to university and try again next year!

As MAGS said farewell, Senior Master Ron Hemus gave me a slip of paper headed 'Higher School Certificate'. That and my University Entrance meant that in 1977 I was heading to Auckland University.

After six years I was leaving a place which I'd come to love. My legacy at MAGS was my name on the hallowed walls of the school hall for being captain of the first XI and prefect. 

However, no matter how much I'd loved MAGS, I couldn't wait for a new start!

Love and peace - Wozza

Close to the edge, down by a river, not right away, not right away (Yes)

The footsteps of dawn (You may say I'm a dreamer - Chapter 3, part 4)

You can't always get what you want...but you might find you get what you need (Mick Jagger).

Great hairstyles of the seventies part 396 -
Wozza (top left) with the wonderfully coiffed
Greg Knowles, a.k.a. Grub, a.k.a. Gregarious
G-String (bottom right), in 1974

Clearly I needed to pause, settle my brain, grow as a person, and refocus.

So, in 1974, God sent me chicken pox, Warwick Gibbs, first XI football, Asquith Avenue, Greg Knowles, and a second year in the fifth form with Laurie Belsham. 

It became a watershed year. Without it? Who knows.

I was a failure. Nobody expected anything of me. And I wasn't alone. Looking at the 1973 and 74 Senior V photos is interesting - a few faces reoccur! Mates like Mike Budd, Vernon Kingstone, Stephen Sinclair and others kept me company.

I'm above the regal figure of Mr Herbert.

Back row - Stephen Sinclair and Peter Sarapu bookend the row
Third row - I'm next to Vernon Kingstone (4th from right)
Second row - Nicky Singh (4th from right), Greg Knowles (2nd from right)
Front row - Laurie (Lorry Driver) Belsham, Mike Budd (centre)

Yes, I was a failure, but I survived. Better than that - I came back from the brink of disaster after three solid years of failure.

Second time around I had a cruisy, much reduced programme - only having to do the three subjects I'd failed: French, maths and chemistry. Although I'd got the bare minimum in geography and English (both 50%) I didn't have to resit them. Wahoo!! 

During those classes I went to the art room: chilled out, listened to music, discussed music with friends (Beatles vs Stones was a hot topic still), screen printed T-shirts for the rowing teams and for myself. I had a ball in art class. Sheer bliss.

Asquith Avenue: We'd sold Korma Road, mainly because of a dickhead neighbour who had put oil in our swimming pool (we couldn't prove it but we knew he'd done it). We had also outgrown the place. That sounds weird because there was only the four of us. I think our parents wanted a bigger place for me and Ross, for dad's electronics, mum's floral display hobby and they wanted to get away from a really built up part of the suburbs. Korma Road was full of flats and they were looking dowdier and dowdier as time went on. 

I remember being at Brian Wood's house in Kerr Taylor Avenue (we'd bonded over music - Deep Purple In Rock to be specific that afternoon). When I phoned up mum to get me, she told me we'd bought a section in Ramelton Road, Mt Roskill South, at the end of the Dominion Road extension. Much further away from MAGS. I said, "Oh, okay".

My own children's awareness and need for information is light years beyond what mine was just then. They would have been part of the decision and interested in what was going on in terms of family decisions. I wasn't included in the decision making, ever. And I didn't mind.

I went with the flow.

While it was being built, dad rented an old house in Asquith Ave. Close to Peter Cahill's house, closer to Mike Budd's Grey Lynn place, really close to a railway crossing, really close to a dairy, and an easy walk to school. I loved it!

Before heading up to Whangarei, Mike was a constant friend during this time and a constant visitor to Asquith Avenue in his Morrie Thou. A very genuine, generous guy is Mike; I still have a copy of a Split Ends (sic) single that he scored for me while working at the Heard's sweet factory. He's a big guy and a big personality, and a talented goalkeeper. Not so hot in the outfield, though. He's too big! It was no surprise that he turned to rugby in North Auckland, playing at lock, and captaining the team. I was really proud of him.

At this temporary rental, I was given the small bedroom/porch by the back stairs and got on with it!

Cosy, warm, different, old, exciting: it was everything the new house couldn't be.

Chicken pox can be vicious if you're not a kid and I was 16 (turning 17 in October) when it hit early in 1974. I was laid up (pun intended) for weeks in that little porch area that was my bedroom. It was painful and embarrassing in extremis. I will spare you the details. 

While I read Lord of the Rings, mum nursed me through the illness. Every cloud has a silver lining. This one had quite a few. 

School work continued and I developed a new self-disciplined independent learning style in those weeks. Mr Gibbs set and marked French material for me and guided my learning. I loved the work I was doing for him and was amazed to find that it got easier to concentrate. Once I'd recuperated (pun intended - coups - work with me) I was a different person (but still in teenage boy fog).

Sports like tennis, softball, football (a.k.a. soccer in NZ), and badminton were the only things I was consistently really good at while I was growing up. Football especially.

I'd been an Auckland representative through the grades while playing for Eden. Adept with both feet, my position was at left back in the defence. Eventually, at MAGS, I made it through three years of age group teams to make the First XI team for the first time in 1974. Next year we would win the Auckland championship for what would be many years - until Kevin Fallon took over coaching the First XI in the late nineties, but we were pretty crap in 1974.

Warwick Gibbs was my French teacher again in 1974 and we bonded. He's an amazing teacher with an extraordinary gift. It must be a gift because somehow I won the Fifth form French prize that year. Many years later I framed the certificate and gave it to him - he deserved it more than I did!

W.O.H. Gibbs 

A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops (Henry Adams). This is the title to the most popular post on this blog. It celebrates mentors, and Warwick Gibbs takes a starring role.


He has a great knack for making lasting connections with his students. His Facebook page bares testament to his continuing popularity at MAGS and influence. He was and is an amazing person.

While he was teaching me I wrote him a note saying that I would be back to MAGS some time in the future as Head of English. He showed it to me again when I left the teaching staff at MAGS to take up a position as Deputy Principal at Cambridge High School.

Inspirational people have been around me all my life, I am truly blessed.

Two young codgers - Buster and Gregarious

And then there was Greg Knowles, a.k.a. 'Grub'. Soon to become Gregarious G-String to my Buster Bloodvessel (we made tapes which cracked us up!). 

We were in the same class in 1974 because I'd failed and he'd caught up to me. Thank goodness! I can't imagine my life without Greg in it somehow. A third amigo, Kevin Simms, would join the party when we got to varsity.

All MAGS classrooms had tandem wooden desks with a seat that flipped back and an angled surface for writing. No plastic in sight in the seventies (or nineties - they were still there when I joined the staff!). Greg sat next to me during a chemistry exam at the end of 1974. I was struggling with stuff as usual and he was doing a paper in something else. Subsequently, he told me that he had looked at my answers, aghast at my stupidity! We became close friends.

Turns out we liked the same music, and had the same warped sense of humour. We have remained friends, mates for life, and our friendship hasn't changed!

When my second set of School certificate results came out, they showed that I'd passed maths and French but failed chemistry again. Dad must have been horrified but he never let on (Greg wasn't surprised). I was just not interested in sciences/ maths/ chemistry. At all!

I had experienced the humbling three years that I needed to experience. My maturity had caught up a tiny bit and I felt I was more or less back on track to fulfill my teaching ambition into my last years at MAGS.

The sixth form would be a challenge, but what the hell. I was finally done with School C.

Love and peace - Wozza

Do you remember how it was, we had the moon and tide behind us (Dragon)

The footsteps of dawn (You may say I'm a dreamer - Chapter 3, part 2)

Welcome to teenage boy fog
(1971, third form at MAGS)

Again, my first day at a new school is a vivid memory. I was physically sick that morning - terrified at what might happen; the fear of the unknown.

All the new third formers (turds) met first in the car park outside the huge school hall. Being out of zone meant that, apart from a couple of my team members from Eden Football Club (Ian Johnson and Grant King), I didn't recognise anybody that morning.

We were herded past the photos of distinguished old boys and school teams into the gigantic assembly hall. The names of old boys dating back to 1922 were all over the walls: prefects; sport's captains; academic scholars. Little did I imagine that my own name would join them in time.

Our names were read out and we walked endless imposing corridors to get to that first class.

I was placed in 3A - the top third form academic class. The school drafted boys into classes studying two language, Latin and French (the A and B stream), one language or science (the C stream), commercial (3 Com), or lowest of the low - agriculture (the 3 Ag boys were nutters!!).

This was cause for celebration in the Purdy household...until three weeks later when the school realised its mistake. There had been a mix up over names, or so I was told. It was obviously a sop to let me down easy. 

There were two Purdys and one Purdie in the year group. Denis Purdy, a cousin, was brilliant and deserved to be in 3A - he'd later go on to be dux, and Ian Purdie from Dargaville, a houseboy, and a thug who was already in 3B. Meanwhile I was struggling with the demands and lost beyond lost with the work given the geniuses in 3A.

So - I was politely advised of the situation and immediately placed in 3B, where I also came bottom of the class!!

From 3B to 4B I became an academic casualty, consistently struggling and coming bottom. My report comments indicate:

An unsatisfactory result - greater effort required. Place in class 38 out of 38.

The teachers got it slightly wrong - I WAS trying! Statistics didn't lie though - I was failing, big time.

Second row, second left behind rubberguts, in front of David Wadhams

Teenage boy mist had well and truly descended and much of the third form remains a blur. Fourth form (now called Year 10) was notable for a few things.

First up, I had to toughen up to survive in 4B's more bullying atmosphere. Don't get me wrong - I loved going to MAGS but 3rd and 4th form were tricky to negotiate. 

Although there were some really good guys in the form like Peter Yandell, Ian Johnson, Ricky Hellreigel (who died tragically of a brain tumour after surviving the Rose-Noelle capsize), Stephen Sinclair, David Freeman and David Wadhams, there were also guys like Ian Purdie, Butterworth, David Solomona and others who were not taking prisoners!

If you were sporty and quiet (like me) you skated on by most of the time. If you were slightly different (Enoch or David Freeman) you were targeted. I was friends with David who had to put up with being called 'hoe'. It wasn't a fun time.

The teaching staff were special prey for the pranksters. Our Latin teacher, the eccentric Bill 'tooth' Mitchell, put up with sheer hell.

Of our teachers Graham 'Rubberguts' Bean was having us working on the cricket pitch most periods, 'Mouse' King was caning everyone who stepped out of line (so that was someone every period really), and the pommie PE teacher was trying to interest us in gymnastics (ar...no thanks) but...hang on... two young guys were making an impression.

Barry Gough for English and WOH (Warwick) Gibbs for French saved my life! No exaggeration!

For both, it was their first year teaching, ever! I bet they cursed their luck getting 4B - it was a rough ride. Particularly for Warwick, who was soon tagged 'Penguin' for his choice of clothing (black suit, white shirt, black tie). Both came across as serious kinds of guys but they made class fun and stretched my imagination, and they could still cane with the best of them!

As my junior schooling came to an end, a different window on my future was beginning to prise itself open an inch or two at a time.

Love and peace - Wozza

A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops (Henry Adams) *

*An awesome quote by Henry Adams (the handsome dude pictured left when he was at Harvard) used in a book I've just finished reading - another of Mitch Albom's efforts called Tuesdays with Morrie.

I've been thinking about teachers a bit lately as you know from an earlier post (come on - pay attention in the back). 

I am a teacher. Lately I have been teaching the teachers - doing professional development work in Al Ain and before that, Doha.

It occurs to me that I'd like to get back to teaching students after this contract ends in July next year. Maybe not the full-time stuff of 5 or 6 classes, but definitely teaching students again.

The Morrie in the title was one of Mitch Albom's favourite teachers/mentors. The book's a celebration of Morrie's life and life itself. It's good. Emotional; it had me going a couple of times. Words hold great power when used skillfully.

Got me thinking about the mentors I've had in my life outside of my parents, who are an automatic inclusion.

Mentors? Who or what are they?

The burb on the back of the book says:

Maybe it was a grandparent, a teacher or a colleague. Someone older, patient and wise, who understood you when you were young and impassioned, helped you to see the world as a more profound place, and gave you sound advice to guide your way through it.

I have been lucky enough to have had one in each category.

My mother's mother (Lucy Constance Adsett), called Ma by me and Ross, was my first mentor. Luckily I have some of her calm, common sense DNA about me. She was tough too - having to bring up her sons and daughter on her own, and she was independent. She lived on her own, in her own home until her death in 1974.

The second was a teacher at Mt Albert Grammar (Warwick Gibbs). I'm not sure what Warwick has as a teacher but whatever it is, it should be bottled and sold online. He has become a mentor to countless generations of boys.

And the third was a colleague - the Principal at my second school as a teacher (Colin Prentice). He is simply the most (maybe only) charismatic leader I've had the good fortune to work for/with. An inspiration in both his professional and private life.

The best influence they've had on me is the recurring thought, "What would (insert name) do in this situation?"

For the most part I've kept in touch with them (they are in the whanau list down the margin).


Wozza, Ma, her son Jack, Ross, her daughter Dulcie (our mum).



Colin taking a leaf out of his own book!

Warwick (right) at a MAGS sports award dinner.

 I'm lucky in that I've thanked them many times for their guidance and inspiration. What about you? Have you thanked those special mentors in your life?

Love and peace - Wozza

Maybe it was a grandparent, a teacher or a colleague. Someone older, patient and wise, who understood you when you were young and impassioned, helped you to see the world as a more profound place, and gave you sound advice to guide your way through it.