Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown; waiting for someone or something to show you the way (Pink Floyd)

 

 

Wie geht's?

It's been 50 years since I was in the graduating class of '76 at Mt Albert Grammar. That was a recent shock discovery. Fifty years. Holy fulele!!

All of the guys in that picture (one of two 7th form classes in 1976) have Gold Cards and none of us look the same anymore. I'm in the far right of the third row and I don't look like that youthful 18 year-old now. Another shock.

As I look at that photo I can't help wonder what happened to them all. I'm still in touch with a few via Facebook and I know about Nicky Singh's passing. I wish I didn't know about Nicky, so maybe it's better to be ignorant about their whereabouts.

On one hand, fifty years ago seems like a long time, but in the scheme of things it's a brief moment in time.

Love and peace - Wozza

The long chain of gold that binds me.

Wie geht's in your lockdown bubble?

These are memorable days! Or are they?

I'm going to riff on this for a few posts (probably, or it could just be this one - that's the way I roll).

This idea was prompted by a great passage in, erm, Great Expectations. Here's Pip:

That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.

Pause.

Iron or gold, thorns or flowers: I have so many memorable day examples to draw upon it's not funny, but I'm going to narrow it down to three major gold links in the chain, without which my life would have been much different:

1 The day I watched the Ed Sullivan Show and a group called The Beatles came on and blew my socks off (not literally but they rocked my world for evermore). 

Place and time - our lounge at 18 Korma Ave., Royal Oak, NZ. Although the show happened originally in February 1964, it didn't reach NZBC until many months later.

Picture me - age 7, alone in front of our black and white set. Mesmerised by John Lennon.

Without that seminal experience my obsession with music in general, and The Beatles in particular wouldn't have happened.

2 The day I attended an interview at Mt Albert Grammar in late 1970, and answered Mr Hall's question, "Do you have a career in mind for when you leave school?" by saying, "Yes, I want to become a teacher'. 

Picture me, as an out-of-zone applicant from Manukau Intermediate - age 12.

Without that response, and if I'd failed at that interview - no teaching career, and consequently no number 3 below. 

Luckily, my dad was a MAGS old boy so I got an out-of-zone place and no one there ever tried to dissuade me from my goal - even though I failed everything!

3 The day in December 1982 when the Headmaster at New Plymouth Boys' High School, Tom Ryder, rang me at home (4 Ramelton Rd., Mt Roskill South) and asked me a few questions and then said a telegram was coming offering me a job!

Picture me - age 25, off and running in my first teaching job.

Without this day I would never have met Jacky, our four children and one grandchild wouldn't exist and the world wouldn't be spinning correctly on its axis.

Love and peace - Wozza

It's time that makes us tall (John Hanlon)

Neil Young again from Waging Heavy Peace:

Old memories are wonderful things and should be held on to as long as possible, shared with others, and embellished if need be.

Here's a memory that just popped into my head the other day:

Back in 1975 I was in the sixth form at school: Mt Albert Grammar in Auckland, NZ. 

In those days we had a bizarre system of getting University Entrance (U.E. fer short). Schools could accredit students who they thought would pass the formal written examination. Those who they thought wouldn't pass had to actually sit the exam.

That sounds simple huh!

Of course schools were sneaky about who they accredited so that they got a good pass rate. It was common knowledge that they would often make a few students sit who they knew would pass. These students were just above the cut off line for accreditation. 

Waiting to see who had or had not been accredited was a tense period in the school. It was especially stressful for me because I'd failed the fifth form exam (called School Certificate or School C fer short) - and had to have two years in the fifth form (1973 and 1974).

I'd had a good year in English but I was in the very average category in my other subjects. I knew by my marks that I was in the dodgy middle section of the sixth form boys. It could go either way. 

Accreditation was done at the end of the year, almost. Accredited boys always had a few weeks left at school and they had a great time. Boys who had to sit their U.E. were miserable by comparison.

The sixth formers were herded into the gallery area of the school hall. If you've ever been to M.A.G.S. you'll know what an impressive beast the hall area is. The gallery was where the sixth and seventh formers sat during assembly.

Ron Hemus, the senior master, came in and read through the names.

And you know what? My name was in the accredited list. I was in a daze. I'd finally passed something first time. Amazing.

I drove back to our Mt Roskill home after school in such a happy mood. I remember feeling so great.

When I got home I parked the car in the under house garage and went to walk upstairs when my mum appeared. I just remember hugging her and feeling such joy. She was mighty proud of me and that made that moment for me. 

The memory will live in my head and heart forever.

There you go Neil - I've shared it with you (without any embellishment needed).

Love and peace - Wozza

Theme from Mr Lucky (Donald Byrd)

I did a presentation to my classes recently on me (entitled 'Who are you? WHO? WHO?).

The idea was to give them some of my teaching history and some family context. 

I did some research and came up with some old photos, including some of me with former students (a wonderfully talented bunch) which I placed on the Baggy Trousers blog. I had tons, though, so here's a few more for Wozza's Place.

Before taboor at AbAT

Waimea College, early nineties

With my translator, Hisham at Ali bin Abi
Taleb School in Al Foah, UAE.

M.A.G.S. Dining room is named after
 Kel White BTW.

Touring classrooms with the principal at
Ali bin Abi Taleb School

Leading PD at AbAT - great staff!

I love this photo with my
sixth form class at Macleans
circa 1987 in Te Kanawa House

Samantha with Jeanette

The eighties were great for thin ties,
colourful shirts and mullets

Lance, Jeanette and the rest of my
media studies class being wacky

I love this photo too -
me and Mohammed
at Ali bin Abi Taleb

Still from Jeanette Galina and Kylie's
take off of Yello's The Race
for media studies.

  

Love and peace - Wozza

I could read your mind (Alan Parsons' Project)

Welcome to Follyfoot...um...actually - Red Phoenix Farm

I can't be doing with sports that require loads of gear, or take all day, or have to happen at certain times of the day.

I could never get into skiing for instance. It requires so much equipment, you need to travel to a mountain and pay loads for ski passes; you have to wear special clothes and stay there all day because you have put so much effort into it you can't leave after a couple of hours. And all for a pointless activity - going down a slope.

Swimming as a competitive sport is the same - requires a swimming pool of a certain standard, and early morning practices. I don't know why they have to train at dawn, but they do. Silly.

And cricket. I coached cricket once upon a time (and, amazingly, I was master in charge of cricket at Mt. Albert Grammar School briefly). All that gear and all that time - the whole of Saturday was a right off.

From my observations, horse riding is...ahem...another one. 

A horse requires a certain amount of land to live on, tack rooms, stables, a multitude of equipment - saddles and yadda yadda.

A soggy Habibi Stables - outside...and inside (below)

SWMBO spent all of last Saturday getting her horse ready for a show on Sunday. She and Sallie groomed it, plaited it and did a plethora of other activities to it that I could tell you about if I had a clue what they were.

At the end of the day, after all of this preparation, the horse leaped out of a stall in the stable complex at Red Phoenix Farm and injured itself, damaged Sallie's shoulder, and broke one of SWMBO's fingers.

Result? No Sunday show. 

A week later and she and Sallie got Max tarted up for another Sunday show. Except the heavens opened over the North Island of New Zealand during the night and Max is no fun in the rain (does he LOOK like he's having fun?) so...no Sunday show for the second week in a row.

Poor SWMBO. 

Give me a ball and a road or a wall or an empty swimming pool or a paddock of some description and I can have fun. Add a couple of people and we have a game of football (any old rubbish lying around can act as goals). 

Six years of lunch times at M.A.G.S. were taken up by impromptu football games involving any kind of ball we could find (a tennis ball on the tennis courts with or without the nets up was no problem for us - added some spice).

Good fun, but horses? Not on your nelly, or should that be neddy?!

Love and peace - Wozza