THE PLAY’S THE THING

                                                          
                                          a satire for Tom Wiedenman


St Jeremiah’s had never before welcomed with open wings a pedagogue from the U.S. of A., least of all a token innovator, so when the Headmaster, P.R. Mann, enunciated his credentials at the initial assembly, the flock were gratified: B.Sc. (University of Wisconsin), M.A. (University of Iowa), Ed.Adm. (Iowa State).

Gene Pillinger was quickly pigeon-holed as an eccentric. Instead of a suit whose style smacked of the cloister or grave or opportunity shop, he sported a mustard (Dijon) waistcoat, a bow-tie of white polka dots on corn relish and hound-tooth trousers that to the Anglophiles he disconcertingly named ‘pants’. Then he refused to ‘dress up in drag’ for assembly, preferring to utilise his gown for fumigating a classroom with chalk dust or as magisterial prop for spontaneous drama. Nor would he kowtow to the Common Room ritual of morning tea/coffee served on a silver salver since times irretrievable. Pillinger swigged coca cola – in the yard, in confab with students!

It took the boys several months to swallow ‘The Pill’: the cross-legged guru squat on the master’s desk; the pop of chewing gum to emphasize a contention; the request for homework to be submitted on tape instead of in exercise books; and his reluctance to afflict any boy with a three-hour detention. Instead, he instigated forfeits, whereby recalcitrant students were requested to deliver talks after last period. Such an innovation revealed to Pillinger that his charges were not as ‘gutless’ as he had assumed. One lad demonstrated how to break through the chapel’s double-barred doors simply by using a ruler, two furry blobs of thoroughly masticated bubble gum and a thin piece of lead piping; another disclosed the combination of the coca cola machine and concomitant knee knocks to conjure a free supply of Pillinger’s elixir as well as secure brownie points; a third acted out a monologue, How to Give a Romantic Dinner for One, replete with plate, tucked-in serviette, napery and a bottle of champagne smuggled in; next Blodwin Jr brought along a heavily awkward and highly mysterious sack, which was constantly rucking and bleating. To gales of laughter, Blodders curled back the sack that he’d carefully set up on the teacher’s desk to reveal a very much alive and frisky sheep. ‘Baa . . . aah!’ the boys imitated. After all too clearly describing the hazards of ovine rear-end maintenance and cleaning the daggy bits, he pointed to the best cuts of lamb, before taking out from inside his vest a Turkish scimitar.

‘And now, Mr Pill and gentlemen,’ he said, matter-of-fact and poker-faced, I would like to demonstrate how to slaughter a sheep in the humanest possible way.’

‘O god, no!’/ ‘What!’/ ‘You goose, Bloddy!’/ ‘You’ve got the sack now, Gene!’/ ’You dag, Blod!’/ ’Aw, don’t spoil the show now, Pills!’/ ’Bloody Boddy!’/ ‘Hygiene!’

Who, though in an utter state of shock, was instinctively scanning the corridor for the inevitable strong-arm swagger and V-valleyed frown of Hector Sterne.

A fifth speech-maker was instructing him how to pitch with a number five iron on the Cripps Oval, but when the ball bulleted through the Common Room window, even Pillinger betrayed signs of apprehension.

‘Mr Pillinger,’ waxed the Head, rocking back on his chair and arching his hands as if deep in prayer at St Michael’s, ‘we offered you a position here because we have too many merely competent teachers. When you showed some flair sending your police record along with your curriculum vitae, I judged you to be the ideas man we sorely needed. We Jeremiahs can be very efficient but grossly ineffective. Or vice versa. But the enjoyment question’s a sticky one. When I walk around the School I’m aware that I don’t hear much laughter. Occasionally, you get uncontrolled laughter. We’ve certainly got to watch that.’

Pillinger’s jaw revolved more slowly round his gum, an idiosyncrasy that amused the boys but unnerved the Head.

‘This is not to say that I’m against permiscuous education. On the other hand, we are beholden to parental aspirations. We have a School of potential problem parents. We must instil those commodities of character that they think their sons need, namely how to pass matriculation. Techniques lie at the soul of our educational philosophy. Do you realize how reasonable our fees are in this day and age?’

‘No. Err, Mr Headmaster, sir.’

‘Three thousand dollars per annum.’ A report of chewing gum, albeit inadvertent.

‘Sure is a mighty lot to dough over, Mr Mann.’ Pillinger’s owlish eyes seemed to pop through his spectacles. ‘Gee, whiz!’

‘It’s no mean sum, even for our clientele, who, let’s face it, come predominantly from the nouveaux riches. They may be lacking in cultural sensibility, but they do pay our salaries. Good, well that’s that settled. Now there’s something else. I think it’s about time you got to know our boys on a more informal basis outside the classroom. As you are aware, each master is expected to assist with the compulsory sports programme.’

‘You mean it’s compulsory for the staff? I wonder what the Teamsters Union would say about that,’ he joshed.

‘Good heavens, no, of course not! We’re all team players here, so it goes without saying that our dedicated members of staff volunteer to take the sport of their own choosing: Victorian Rules football, hockey or cross-country.’

‘Let me get this straight. I understood that I was going to produce the School play.’

‘So you are, my dear chap, so you are, but your attendance at coaching clinics would be an inviolable . . . err . . . invaluable gesture to the Sports Tribunal. And the boys would appreciate it so.’

- What’s that supposed to mean? Guess that’s a Jerry mandate from the alpha male. Shoot!

Back at his pigeon-hole, Gene found a flier for the School fete, a green wad of uniform det. cards and two notices. - Hey, I’ve got so much missive masturbation, it must be my birthday!

The first was headed NIL MEMORANDUM:
  
I am becoming increasingly concerned about the amount of memorandums being circularised. Staff better get their act together. If redundant or  trivial, you should desist from same. Not only is the mounting mountains of paperwork adding to our workloads, but we will be forced to convert classrooms to storidge space if this keeps up. Staff will need to improve heaps.

                                                                                      Hector Sterne, Senior Master

The second was scrawled on the back of an invitation to a Human Relations seminar:

Mr Pillinger, I’m very dissappointed that you missed the staff meeting yesterday.

                                                                                       Hector Sterne, Senior Master

To which Gene replied:

Words cannot express how disappointed I was, Mr Senior Master, to miss such an important staff meeting,  but I was running tryouts for the School play.

                                                                                        Gene P., Initiate

To which the S.M. replied:

See me!

At the far corner of the second floor of the Senior Study Centre, an enamel plaque on the outer door commemorated the upgrading and re-numbering of the Commerce Department’s office into Hector’s personal command module. His mandate included a black-leather, bucket-shaped chair from whose comfy revolutions he could monitor the yard, the oval beyond and even that corner booth of the common room on a 45 degree angle, which housed the telephone. Not to mention a tall, mousey-haired, chimney-smoking secretary who doubled as his minder next to the inner door.

Ushered into the inner sanctum, Gene was astonished. The recently promoted Senior Master was winching himself up from his brogues for optimum height, before throwing out his well stacked pecs and scowling into the closed-circuit TV screen.

‘Admittedly, it’s what I consider one of the dirtiest jobs of the year, second only to Muck-up Day, but we’ve got to spread the load. If I don’t get enough volunteers to police the grounds, then this caper’s off. So just ask yerselves if you’re honestly pulling your weight. A free supper, baton and torch will be provided.’

‘What the heck’s going on, Heck, err Hector? Warding off a student sit-in in the Augean stables? Or Jeremiahgate? And no, I didn’t vote for Nixon.’

‘Eh? Oh, it’s you, Gene,’ he groaned, realigning his shoulders into his second-best grey pin-striped suit and imperceptibly retracting his chin. ‘No, it’s got nothing to do with the bloody Aegean,’ he said irritated and confused. ‘No, I’m rehearsing my pep-talk to the staff about the School dance. I’m also cracking down on our slovenly professionalism. You’re looking very sheepish all of a sudden. Yes, I do mean you. If you were to read Standing Orders – you haven’t lost the folder on Standing Orders already, have you? – in particular page 56, section C, you’d know that staff meetings are not optional.’ His voice had steadily risen to a screaming crescendo, as if he were giving a rollicking half-time address to the first XVIII.

‘Yeah, that’s certainly caused some shemozzle, S. M. Neither are tryouts for the School play.’

‘But it doesn’t bloody say so in The Book! Staff meetings must and do take precedence!’

- He’s off the hizzie. ‘I can’t guarantee there won’t be any more clashes, but if there are, I’ll inform you sooner than later.’

‘I’m warning you, Mr Pillinger. What’s more, I’ve got no amount of complaints from your colleagues about drama students arriving retarded for class or asking to leave early or going AWOL and you MIA.’

‘RU12?’

‘Eh? Don’t talk drivelish, man. Look, Rob McCrumb says he’ll cut your balls off personally if any more of his eighth form skip class.’

‘You just tell that MacRobbbie Crumble that I’m coaching his boys to be anarchic savages, so he’d better watch out for his own balls!’

‘Hey, cool it; otherwise I’ll send you packing.’ In an ambulance, he might’ve added, but suddenly his eyes lit up. ‘You weren’t a draft-dodger, were you?’

‘Nice try, Heck. I could’ve been, if necessary. All right, one or two boys may be using the play as an excuse, but staff too. I’ll look into it.’

‘See you do, Gene. My blood pressure is rising. Another thing: you don’t have to embellish the absentee forms.’

‘You don’t dig the Paul Klee touch? Okay. Gee, this is a humdinger of an office. All you’re lacking is a microwave oven with a pop-up donut attachment.’

‘And another thing. Progress Reports were due in yesterday. Standing Orders, page 18.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten, but you slipped me a couple of unscheduled extras. It’s a bit tough when two members of staff took sickies to do their reports, whereas I’m read the Riot Act for fronting up.’

‘You’ll have to wear that one, my son. The plain fact is that Rowdy Mates was too busy organising his excursion that he failed to turn up for it. So it fell to me to go to the film instead.’

‘Oh, that’s tough.’

- I’ll screw his balls off before McCrumb gets a chance, so help me god!

When he caught the hubbub from his own Leaving Economics set, Sterne parted the curtain, rapped on the window and roared, ‘Get stuck into it or I’ll crack some faces!’ with the panache of an ex-Fitzroy centre half-back, though regrettably his reputation was no longer enshrined in the race-memory of the current generation.

- Just think what you could master-mind in that office. It’s a wonder he hasn’t claimed for a system analyst to programme the timetable and keep tabs on the staff: the extras league ladder, number of sickies, punctuality, chapel attendance, abuse of felt-tipped pens, donations to the Old Boys Appeal Fund. How about a staff computer-dating service with Methodist Ladies’ College and Melbourne Girls Grammar?

Distantly, the strains of the School Song were infiltrating from the Middle School choir.
                                       We may not always win the day
                                       But we love the rules, the game to play
                                       Behind our captain we stand as one
                                       Honest and loyal, teams afeared of none
                                       From our hoary halls we shall carry the fight
                                       With happy hearts we’ll sing of the light
                                                  Carry on, Jeremiahs
                                                  Carry on and play the game
                                                  Carry on, Jeremiahs
                                                  Your true sons will bring you fame

Pillinger flopped down onto a posturally curved iron seat coated in welfare green overlooking the Cripps Oval, which was growing more like an oblong with the sprawl of the staff car park.

‘Well, how’s it all going? Pushing back the barriers?’ The droll bonhomie droned from Percy Wheeler, the longest-surviving member of the English Department, hence its Head as well as Director of Sport.

Gene jumped to his feet. ‘The greatest, Percy! My tenth form’s so enthusiastic they go bananas whenever it rains.’

‘No, please don’t get up. Just remember the three commandments,’ he assured, relocating his strand of hair.

‘Such as?’

‘Get into ‘em, take it up to ‘em and put it on ‘em!’ And jutting his head forward, pursed his lips with obstinacy as if to say, You can like it or lump it, so there!

‘Hey, nice'n' groovy. I sure value your creed. Say, are you joking or are you crazy about that clause analysis guff for pre-adolescents? It’s all gobbledegook to me too.’

‘It’s all laid out in the Bible.’ Wheeler flourished a copy of ‘Let’s Enjoy Grammar’ with fleering relish.

‘I’d want to be laid out after dipping into that misnomer.’

‘You can’t afford to soft-shuffle through the thickets of syntax, Pillers. Tell you what, I’ll bet you ten dollars you can’t give me two personal pronouns.’

‘Hmm, personal, eh? Is ‘it’ impersonal?

‘Make that fifty. Come on, then. You can do it, surely.’

‘Who me?’

‘Blast and damnation, there goes my bottle of red tonight! Listen, were you acting or did you fluke it? Anyhow, just pork it into ‘em. They’ll soon get the message.’

‘Okay, if that’s your departmental brief. Now, Percy, about the play.’

‘I’m very concerned about raising the quality of drama in the School. Very concerned. And so is the Head, I might add.’

‘Do you have five minutes to run over one or two hassles?’

‘There’s nothing I’d rather do, Pillers, but something’s just come up. I’ve really got to perse myself this arvo and get stuck into the first VIII. If you take the struggle out of a kid’s life, you’re doing him a disservice.’

Percy had been so engrossed in catching the eye of anyone worth lobbying that during their conversation he had shuffled a full three sixty-degree revolution, obliging Gene to mince right the way round his portly waistband.

In fact, the rowing fraternity were already awaiting their cue, warming up with quadriceps stretches. ‘Come over here, Algie!’ Percy laced an arm round the shoulder of his Captain of Boats, then all of a sudden slapped the boy’s thigh and squeezed the muscle. ‘There’s a rower’s leg for you, lads! All right, gather round. Right, now some of you blokes are bright blokes, and you really have to produce. It’s up to you. Now you know if you want to improve your forward defensive shot or your backhand, you’ve got to get down in the nets, or get down on the courts and put in the work. It’s the same with your English, it’s the same with your rowing. Now we’re going to do a circuit, but not too demanding first up.’

‘Excuse me, sir, my dad says I can’t do any stressful exercise because of my sore Achilles heel.’

‘In that case, you can do half a dozen laps and just run it out. Mark my words, boy, you’ll be right as rain tomorrow morning. Just think of the honour.’

‘Listen carefully, the rest of you. C’mon, listen up. Here’s what I want you to do: twenty sit-ups, twenty push-ups, thirty hop drops, thirty spring squats, twenty high knees, ten hop drops, ten springing squats. I’m sure you can all do that quite comfortably for starters. Right, off you go!’

- Holy jumping jimbo, I feel utterly knackered trying to remember that whole bloomin’ sequence.

Over the far side of the oval, vying with the rowers, were the spring-in-heel, blue and gold-striped footballers.

‘Get stuck into it, Jerries!’ broadcast a commandment from on high.

Pillinger’s peepers soared from the two fluked boulders and sprouting ferns dominating a riot of pansies up the pyramidal walls to the surging spire of the Chapel. On its apex rode Fuller Perks, footy overlord, gown flapping in the hot air, pontificating through a megaphone: ‘You’re just a fuzzy flight of fairies! Get moving, really moving, like a devil possessed, sock it to ‘em, up an’ at ‘em, one for all and all for one, working each for the other and the Jerry, Jerry Miahs! Let’s see if you’ve got it in you to cross the threshold of pain! You must learn to live with your suffering!’

- Wow, if they’re pulling stunts like that, who needs a drama production? I still reckon you must learn to crawl like Morphus before you can walk on water.

‘Ah, Pillinger, just the man.’ Wyndham Lowe had waddled up, the balding, pot-bellied Sports Tribune, an eminence grise behind the Head’s throne, who speared members of staff for coaching laurels. ‘The Head has just spoken.’

‘Oh yeah and what’s the deal?’

Wyndham Lowe’s crooked smile betrayed his one good tooth, his pickle-chaser. ‘The Head in his wisdom has invited you to coach the under 13E basketball team. May I be the first to congratulate you?’

‘Hey now, hold your mustangss! Whoa! Steady now. Doesn’t this myopic beanpole swaying before you have a say? Basketball happens to be my greatest hate, my severest phobia, my weakest area of expertise? I physically shrink when I get into a huddle.’

‘There’s no need to get uppity, Pillo. First-year tenderfoots always do it tough. That’s part of the game. We like to know if they’re up to the mark, can take the heat in the oven. But you can rest assured that the matronly chauffeuses always scream the game-plan from the sidelines. Now, come to the party, there’s a reasonable fellow. Remember the School motto.’

‘Pork it into ‘em?’

‘Oh nothing so crude. Vincit qui patitur. He conquers who suffers. Besides, consider the alternative. If you don’t accept the privilege of coaching a School team, you will be expected to supervise Saturday detention.’

‘Fine, I’ll take that.’

‘Oh, but you can’t do that, Pillo,’ he chuckled with sympathetic understanding. ‘Just between ourselves, you might develop a reputation.’

‘A reputation?’

Lowe moved a step closer and inclined before whispering, ‘Saturday det. is looked upon as the poofters’ soft option.’ He winked. ‘It’s like teaching poetry or jazz ballet. You must prove yourself first. Take the Chaplain. Perko puts the Senior Choir through their paces, but also doubles as footy squad motivator. Anyhow, think it over, my good man. Practice commences this afternoon at four o’ clock sharp.’

Gene germinated: Maybe if I‘d been a tug-o’-war international instead of a ping-pong pinger . . . no. I’m slipping into their mentality. I’ll have to watch that. Just stick to what I believe in . . . create a few meaningful experiences for the kids . . . perhaps set up a film unit or radio station . . .

‘I’d take my feet off of that railing, if I was you, Mr Dillinger, sir.’

Gene was galvanised. ‘Don’t tell me it’s electrified.’

‘’Ere, that’s not a bad idea.’

‘And just for the record, it’s Pill not Dill.’

‘What’s that?

‘P for prohibition, punishment, proscription, penalty, P for penal –‘

‘Language, sir, language, if you don’t mind. Remember the School’s foundations.’

‘The rock of ages? Yeah, we all need to come down to earth.’

Seidler, the School Officer, was doing his rounds, his creased old neck poking forward like a bloodhound sniffing for clues, with a blinkered expression just as hangdog beneath his olive trilby.

‘Look ‘ere, ‘ow can I explain to bloody kids they’re not to put their feet up if members of staff disobey them same rules?’

‘Yeah, fair deal, Sarge, but by the holy smokes there are a couple of cowboys who turn the staff room into a smokehouse.’

‘It’s an article of me personal faith not to argue the pros and cons of the rule book; otherwise there’d be absolute chaos. You’ve got no idea what sort of stuff-ups we’ve had today.’

‘The tea-lady misplace the Iced Vo Vos?’

‘Even worse. The tens are plotting somethin’ mischievous behind the bike racks. I can smell it a mile orf. Between you and me just quietly, the Head’s too soft. As is some of you lot. They can’t always see if a boy’s shirt is hanging out of his trousers. Or they fall for the whopper that it’s the shirt’s fault, there’s no tail. Because of you people’s laxadaisicalities, it’s not an easy life, Mr Dillinger, believe you me. Not many realize how sizeable the sums of cash are that I deposit in the bank every arvo. It’s a wonder I ain’t bin done over. Know what I mean?’

‘Wowee, beats taking 10F on Friday afternoons! Do you ever get any dirty phone calls?’

‘Funny thing, I‘ve ‘ad a spate of ‘em just recently, ‘an heavy breathin’. ‘Bout three in the mornin’. ‘Ere, it’s not you, is it? Anyways, I’ve got the malingerer’s voice on tape an’ I’ve narrowed the suspects down to ten. What you do is isolate each one, in my office, for an hour, persuade them with a thick ear, so it leaves no marks, then put the fear of God up ‘em by glarin’, insinuatin’, snarlin’, until one of ‘em breaks. The worst thing you could imagine ‘appened yesterday evenin’. A truckload of sand was dumped on my driveway.’

‘I wonder why. Guess it’s the occupational hazards of being, what, Sarge? Sergeant-at-Arms, Master of the Rolls, Troubleshooter of theYard, Inquisitor-General? Aha, the Enforcer, right?  What are you exactly?’

‘’Ere, you!’ The Officer/Sergeant-at-Arms etc. blasted his whistle. ‘Git orf that bike or I’ll give you a Saturday! Jeez, Dillinger, there’s a criminal element in this School that’s got no idea about self-rule.’

Pillinger’s low-tensile ears were still singing. ‘Sarge, what are the odds of staging a play this year?’

‘’Undreds against. Unless it’s a nude Omlet on ice with a free programme and a bottle of Perrier Water thrown in for the Kew set. But the Chaplain won’t allow any waters that smack of foreign bodies because of his christenings in the Chapel. Anyways, these bloody parents don’t want to know about the yarts. They’ll barrack like blazes for the footy team gone cactus orright, though. No worries.’

‘Holy Moses! Sarge, what about that sand of yours? I could use it for my set. The Drama Council will foot the bill.’

‘Done!’ And shook hands. ‘Thanks, chum. Listen, you won’t believe this. So keep it under your hat.’ Seidler licked his lips and gave a rare chuckle. ‘Once upon a time there was this ninth-form customer, a nasty piece o’ work, lurking behind the lockers. A toughie and a right fruitcake. Just him an’ me, see? Well, this ‘ere bully’s ‘ead just ‘appened to come up real quick like and bruised me knuckles somethin’ terrible. But funny thing, Mr Dillinger, he’s bin as nice as quail pie ever since.’

‘Jiminy Crickets! The staff will be toting firearms before you can utter the fourth commandment – sock it to ‘em!’

‘Well, if I had my way . . . Now let me give you a piece of advice.’

‘Apply for a teaching post in the Bronx, it’s safer?’

‘Never wear a ring when altercations like that ‘appen.’

‘I was advised to wear one to avoid speculation.’

‘Cripes, bad as that, is it? Anyways, your play actin’. ‘Ope it’s not sinking kitch.’

‘Hardly. They’d pull the plug on that, for sure. Nah, Lord of the Flies. I’ve milched it from Golding’s novel.’

‘What a damn fool title! Doesn’t sound very appetising, but I wish you joy of it. Lord of the Mozzies would be more apt for Aussies. Keep your weather-eye open for any loiterers by the plexipave tennis courts. We’ll blitz them smokers with everythin’ we’ve got. I’ve chewed the Head’s ear.’

‘Ten-four.’

As Gene watched the Chaplain backslide down the spire to his Administry, he pondered over whom to lobby about his drama production. Is there a Culture Vulture group to skittle the Sports Tribe? How can I rehearse if the kids are obligated to play sport three afternoons a week? What are we doing to kids who loathe sport anyhow? Or prefer to play with their local youth group?

‘Hi, Gene!’ It was Dobbin, an affable General Studies resource person with a gleaming, toothsome grin. ‘Those smart young fellows are enjoying a pretty good work-out, aren’t they?’

‘I could understand this outlet for aggression if you had to defend Australia’s beaches to the death, but all this war-whooping when they charge into the tackle makes me puke. It’s not Bull Run, for god’s sake!’

‘Don’t let the Director of School Sport hear you drop such a clanger. If you want to make your mark in life, such as building your career in these hallowed halls, the Dosser wields plenty of influence actually.’

‘The old imperial theme, eh? I assume he holds the reins of patronage more comfortably than the torches of enlightenment. How did you break into the big league, Morphus? Actually.’

‘Easy, actually. Looked for windows of opportunity. In my first year I made myself indispensable, didn’t I. Offered to pack cricket bags for Saturday’s matches and volunteered to assist the Timetabling Committee during the Christmas hols. When the position of Staff Fruit Juice Co-ordinator came up for grabs, I said to myself, Morph, I said, Go for it!’ I was soon running on the inside lane, taking bulk orders from the tuckshop.’

‘This team must be the most abstemious, if not healthiest pride of pedagogues in Victoria.’

‘Don’t you believe it! Try the Southern Common Room on Fridays after school.’

‘Ever thought of cracking the milk bar business?’

‘Wherever you are, donkey-work is the name of the game,’ he teethed. ‘Then some light dawned on the horizon in my second year. The Head made me the Deputy Chairman of the Hair Committee. I was the only one of us three on the committee with a regulation haircut: Wyndham’s bald as a coot and your Drama predecessor was as hirsute as a Hyrcanian skunk, yet he enjoyed taking the scissors to hippie look-alikes! Next term the Head appointed me Deputy Co-ordinator of Extra-Curricular Activities. Bridesmaid again! Nobody could possibly know how much that hurt me.’

‘A couple of hundred bucks a year?'

‘Come on now, it’s not just the big bikkies. It’s the honour, the personal recognition, the sense of mission, the err . . . Oh, I guess the money helps and I’m on the short list for a staff car and they’ve reduced my allotment by three periods a week, the Lord be praised, but really!’

‘The trick is universal,’ Pillinger mused. ‘Why let your senior teachers loose in the classroom? Let them escape into admin and delegate like crazy, then pay them twice as much dough. Heaven knows there are enough titles bestowed here to keep everyone locked in till they die from ennui or amnesia.’

‘Fortunately, the counselling side of the role is growing. The housemasters have spent three months compiling a report on staff stress.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Well, they’re growing ulcers trying to figure out which members of the hierarchy they can afford to distribute it to.’

‘So the tree died in vain.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they’ll get round to student stress next year. Nothing’s ever wasted. Remember, after your thirty years of dedicated service the powers-that-be might name an oval after you.’

‘So you’d sell your soul for a few blades of grass?’ Gene’s voice trembled and deepened: ‘I have a vision: the Gene Pillinger Coca Cola Machine, the Morphus Dobbin Cricket Bag, the P.R. Mann Memorial Decision. No, I doubt whether I’d ever possess the kudos to satisfy this sacred club of fence-sitters and on-the-other-handers.’

‘Cave! There’s the Head! Oh, by gosh, coming this way too.’

‘It certainly was a wild party, Morphus,’ said Gene, raising his voice for the Head’s benefit. ‘I’ve never seen you let your hair down like that. And you on the Hair Committee too.’

‘What?’ said Morphus. ‘Ssh!’

‘Then doing a strip-tease on the dining-room table.’

‘Be quiet, Gene, there’s a good fellow.’

‘Fancy trying to incite an orgy.’

‘Oh, blast! Now you’ve landed me right in it. This’ll mean lateral advancement only from now on.’

‘Anything to report, Dobbin?’

‘All’s quiet on the western front, sir,’ he grimaced mopishly

‘Oh dear, that sounds like something reprehensible in the offing. Pillinger, I was wondering. Your play. It would certainly be good for promoting the School. Perhaps Shakespeare. Then I could invite the Headmaster’s Conference. What do you say to Hamlet?’

‘Not on ice, Headmaster, surely?’

‘Don’t be absurd! Or can you? No, straight. And with only two female roles that shouldn’t be difficult.’

‘I’ll come clean, Mr Headmaster. I’m all fired up to stage Lord of the Flies. I’ve just knocked up the adaptation.’

‘Written it yourself, eh? Hmm. Full marks for initiative. On the other hand, it’s been our policy to give an airing to the classics.’

‘With due respect, I get tired of listening to Shakespeare garbled by adolescents who, with the best will in the world, oops, excuse the pun, Mr Headmaster, seldom have the experience to know what they’re declaiming.’

‘I see. On the one hand, I’m pleased that the radical voice can be heard at St Jeremiah’s. By the same token, I’d urge you to reconsider. Then I’d like you to cost your project with the Arch-Administrator and see if we can’t get this thing off the ground today.’

‘Okay,’ replied Gene, disturbed by the vagaries of window-dressing, yet relieved to be engaged on something meaningful.

‘May I suggest, sir, that I assist Mr Pillinger with front of house. I think we ought to improve the level of acting in the School. By the students, I mean.’

‘Highly commendable of you, Dobbin. A most selfless offer.’

A sixteen year old footy martyr hobbled up on crutches.

‘Do you want to see me?’ asked the Head.

‘Yes, sir. Mr Huntingdale told me to report to you.’

‘What about?’

‘Because I’m not wearing regulation shoes.’

‘Hmm, so I see. What’s your excuse?’

‘I’ve broken my leg, sir, for the School. Hockey. But we thumped them, sir!’

‘Did we? What was the score?’

‘Five-four, our way. But after my operation I can’t get a shoe, a school shoe, on this injured foot because the cast reaches down to the Achilles tendon, and the ankle’s still swollen anyhow.’

‘Yes, I can see that. Mind you, Mr Huntingdale did the correct thing in reporting you to report to me. After all, you can’t wear carpet slippers with your school uniform. If you do, you’re not wearing school uniform, are you?’

‘No, sir. I would if I could.

‘At least you can do your tie up properly.’

‘I can’t while I’m like this, sir, on crutches, limping pretty bad.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll let it go this once. You’d better check with your Housemaster about a special dispensation for casual clothes.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘Oh dear me, casual clothes. That’s a tricky can of worms. We mustn’t pussyfoot around on that one, Dobbin.’

‘Indeed not, sir, actually. No, indeed.’

- Three bags full, sir. Morphus would have followed Hitler, given the chance.

Pillinger eagerly loped over to the Bursarial Complex, chomping fistfuls of crisps. - Talk of the devil, there is Huntingdale.

The greying Phys.Ed. jack-in-a-box was running on the spot, short-sleeved red top, blue shorts, clipboard at the ready, exercising his ego while seeking an audience with Mr Mann.

‘Hunters, may I borrow a trampoline?’

‘What for?’ the Supremo puffed suspiciously

‘The School play.’

‘Hmm. It’s vital, is it? Fair dinkum?’

‘Matter of life and death. Unless you know how to repair a broken spine.’

‘All right, then,’ he waned reluctantly, but you’ll have to sign for it and guarantee it’s returned by six-thirty sharp the following morning.’

‘Thanks, amigo. I really enjoy getting up in the middle of the night.’

‘Here, Cruddock-Browne! On the double! Excuse me, Mr . . . err . . . Pilger. Now Cruddock-Brown, what’s this nonsense about you not being able to play on Saturday?’

‘Sir, my church team is in the grand final. It’s just this once, sir. It’s a historical occasion.’

‘You know the rules, lad. School teams come before any local outfits. Is that a legal skivvy you’re wearing?’

‘Er . . . er, well, sir, it is at St Kevin’s. I loaned it from a mate there.’

‘Well, do your top buttons up. Now if you fail to turn out for us on Saturday, I’ll do my darndest to prevent you from ever representing the School again.’

‘Will you, sir? Oh, grouse!’

‘Now stop crawling to me, boy. You are not going to play for this second-string team and that’s final. Stand up straight when I’m talking to you and take that smirk off your face. St Jeremiah’s must come first. That’s the contract your parents made when we deigned to admit you in the first place.’

‘Oh, sir, it’s unreal.’

‘Rules are there to be obeyed. Now get back to class. Sorry about that, Mr Pilger.’

‘That’s okay. I had a couple of hours to kill.’

‘By all means make use of the trampoline, then you could do me a good turn too.’

‘Spring into action and lickety split in the first chopper back to California? No, I couldn’t do that. My mother would die of heartburn.’

‘Ha ha, not at all. You’re fast becoming an invaluable member of staff. Are you doing anything this Saturday afternoon?’

‘That depends,’ Gene said suspiciously.

‘I’ve organised an additional practice match with St Aloysius before the cricket season begins proper. Unfortunately, I’ve got another commitment. Pennant Tennis, semi-finals. Can’t afford to let the fellers at the club down and all that.’

‘Well, of course not. Not for a bit of bunting. Bully for you, old-timer.’

‘Thank you. The point is, can you help me out? The School would be in your debt forever.’

‘Gee, I’m sorry, Hunters. The rules of cricket are a foreign language. Except that an innings can last an eternity and the game still end all square. Now if it had been baseball, gridiron or ice hockey –‘

‘Damn! Oh I knew there was something else. The lighting crew boys are still required for P.E., otherwise they get double-time, two hours on Saturday.’

‘Don’t worry, Hunters, that won’t faze them. We’ve got a forty-eight hour drama camp Friday through Sunday on Brighton beach so they can practise trudging through sand barefoot. Why don’t you join us for the pig-hunt after tennis?’

‘If it’s off-off-campus, you’ll need an iron-on transfer of St Jeremiah’s.’

‘Whoopty-do! Where do I stick it? On my forehead?’

‘On your tracksuit, of course. Er, you don’t smoke, do you?’

‘I didn’t till I started here. When I quit campus, I sure need something to desensitize me.’

- Shoot, where do I find some sanity round here?

It was then that he tripped over Enoch Potter, who was darting like a wading bird to pick up litter.

‘Oh, Enoch, can you spare me Seamus O’ Reilly? I’ve auditioned him for Jack, the ring-leader in Lord of the Flies.’

‘Oh, really? Shrewd type-casting, Pillock. There’s a bush lawyer, if ever there was. We were foolish enough to give him a conditional pass last year,’ reported the Head of Art, whose backbiting was worse than his bark.

‘Oh, yeah, what’s a conditional pass?’

‘Conditional on him not doing Art this year. He’s more interested in an artist’s inside leg measurement than his chef d’oeuvres. In fact, I moved to have him kicked out of School completely, but the Head saw him as an integral cog in this year’s tennis team. Anyhow, check with Wyndham Lowe on Wednesday, the guy who received his degree posthumously.’

‘That old marsupial with brown pouches under his eyes?’

‘That’s the one. Mondays and Tuesday, the staff are word-bashing the previous Saturday’s game of the round, then on Thursdays and Fridays they’re chundering on about the following Saturday’s battle of the meatheads. Wednesdays, you might get some sense out of him.’

‘Okay, will do.’

As Gene approached the glass doors of the Bursarial Complex with an outstretched, salt-greased hand, they eased apart, revealing a blue and gold plush-pile carpet that skirted a mosaic patio, wherein a miniature fountain gurgled over basking goldfish. Through the wisteria he discerned the crook-backed shape of Bill Juggles treading warily between potted cacti, three battered ledger tomes brooding atop his cranium mottled mauve.

‘Gee, I’ve always wanted to drop in on the Alhambra. Say, what are you playing at, Mr Arch?’

‘Arch-Administrator to you, young man. And who might you be?’

‘I’m a Yankee freshman asking for trouble.'

‘Ah, Mr Pilgrim. Yes, I’ve done my back. I had this capital idea for holding myself upright, but the pressure’s too heavy.’ He dismantled the headgear with circumspection.

‘Now don’t you go unbalancing yourself.’

‘That’s better, what a relief! Now what can I do you for?’

‘I’m putting on this play at the end of next term and –‘

‘How much are you after?’

‘I could budget it for two thousand dollars.’

‘Phew –ee! Big bucks, Pilgrim. Let’s be reasonable and say seven, fifty. I credit you with some fiscal know-how. Who wrote this play?’

‘I did. Stayed up every night drinking black coffee. Just like Balzac.’

‘I’ve never had balls ache, Pilge, and never wish to have. You should have chosen a classic, then we could have done business.’

‘The Head is right behind me. And that’s something else I’m worried about. Look, there’s no way I could do it for less than fifteen hundred. And that’s my minimum offer.’

‘I’ll be quite frank and candid with you, Bilge. Because of the economic climate and cuts in government funding, I’m re-evaluating all School programmes and expenditure. You cannot guarantee recouping our outlay from ticket sales, so your quotation is just not viable, feasible or manageable.’

‘Yeah, we may make a slight loss, but what an experience for the kids, eh! Surely the razor gang acknowledges that cultural pursuits may need to be subsidised.’

‘Subsidised? I don’t like that word one whit, Bill. Admittedly, we do have some wealthy benefactors of the School, but they don’t yet know it. Take a squiz out that window.’

‘My oh my, breathtaking! You’ve gotten yourself the best view of the ocean! Fan-tastic!’

‘Why, thank you,’ Juggles said with gracious charm, smoothing back his silver hair and putting on his giltedged smile. ‘Now witness that machine sucking up the litter and leaves?’

‘You mean Enoch Potter?’

‘No, no, my lovely red and green Super Duper Scooper. It cost me a cool five thou. Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. That reminds me. Just wait a moment.’ Juggles scuttled to his phonery console and finger-scanned some numbers. ‘He can pick this up on his beeper. Hello, Domenico? Go take a ride on the motor mower for a few minutes. Demonstration for the new man. Remember, we’re still running it in. No, no. Il scupo. Ciao. Sorry to interrupt the flow, Will, but it does get hectic. Now if you can rationalise your costs we may be able to do our part and organize a feasibility study for monetising non-pecuniary factors. Business after all is business.’ A calculated smile pursed his lips.

‘Seems like you’re cooking dough in here. But from an educational viewpoint . . .’

‘Quite so. Now good day to you, sir. Got an important meeting with the Head, you know. By the by, it is possible to order a few things of a rather personal nature under the School’s aegis. Organising ninth form camps could mint you a tidy profit, if you elect yourself quartermaster. If you coach basketball, we can rig you out with a two-man tent or a pair if cricket flannels. I’ll see you’re covered . . . for services rendered. Think about it, Willo, old chap. Now mustn’t keep his Headship waiting.’

‘Okie dokie. And about that minor matter of the School play, I’ll table my costs and present them to his Mannhood.’

Exorcised from the Complex, Gene felt dispirited. In his first weeks Down Under, he truly was suffering some kind of culture shock, but just as he was shouldering up to the alien ways of his new school he perceived that he would have to take a stand if he were to make headway.

So it was time to put the hard word on his Head of Department. Which he did the next day. According to the master timetable, Percy was teaching in N.W. 52, an area with which Gene was not familiar, since he was based in the east wing. Following the corridor to its westward extremity, he reached the end room, N.W. 50.

‘Jumping Jehoshaphat! Where are they hiding N.W. 52, Chips?’

‘That’s the old 26 that was. It’s now the portable behind the Scout Hall. The only thing that Archie has done to justify his existence is to change all the room numbers. Now no-one knows where the hell he is, least of all which way north lies. ‘Scuse me, I’m just popping into the lats for a quickie.’

‘Yeah, I need a john too.’

‘Well, you can count me out,’ he said, his shaggy black beard bristling. ‘I’m no sucker of any persuasion.’

‘Eh? I didn’t mean . . . See here, Chips, can you knock up a couple of rude shelters for the School play?’

‘I don’t know, mate. I’m no graffiti buff. Besides, I’ve taken a fair bit on already. Hector’s getting ants in his pants about his cocktail cabinet due at the end of next week, then there’s Percy Wheeler’s rosewood secretaire, not to mention my catamaran.’

‘Gee, you’ve sure got a heavy load.’

‘By the way, three shakes and you’re playing with yourself,’ he said, zipping up. ‘Yeah, you’re so right, mate, but I’m working overtime on these staffers -’ he tapped his brainpan twice - 'to nominate me for M.A.C.E. after my name. You can’t let teaching interfere with your creativity.’

‘I can see it gives you heaps of satisfaction.’

‘Tons. I order whatever materials I require and the School coughs up for it. I don’t see why I shouldn’t tackle all my jobs during lesson time. After all, the salary I draw from teaching is piss poor, just pin money.’

‘Surely you can’t mean the School exists for the staff’s benefit!’

‘Nah, course not!  Admin’s,’ he winked. ‘At recess, they get Iced Vo Vo and Tim Tams, we get
measlyMorning Tea.’

‘And the kids?’

‘I give them a kick up the arse and a right bollocking in week one. Enough to make them stand on their own two feet.’

‘You’ve certainly carved your niche at St Jerry’s. In my off-moments I study desk tops to see what kids think of staff.’

‘I make no bones about it. All those activities you enjoy, do as thoroughly as possible and leave a note in the Boss’s pigeon-hole, filling him in. All those dog’s body chores the Gang of Four dump on you, do as shittily as you can, so they never insult you again. You don’t want to be pissing in the Headmaster’s pocket for the term of your natural life.’

‘I’ll store that in my memory bank. But what about the set?’

‘Call a meeting for those kids interested in Theatre Workshop. There must be at least a dozen who’d commit hari-kari to get off the footy lists.’

‘Shrewd thinking, pardner.’

Gene traipsed through the rear parking lot that had caused such factionalism in the Common Room Association and led to the marking of individual parks, the largest of which was the Arch-Administrator’s, a full six inches longer than that ceded to his own Head of Department, Percy Wheeler.

- Your Erroneous Zones. Now there’s an apt title for the C.R.A minutes.

Gene could hear Percy’s slightly nasal drone: ‘Now, come on, I want some answers. No, from the rest of you. Now, come on. This is something I don’t like to see, especially in you bright blokes. You look down on anyone who tries, don’t you. And so you don’t want to try. What happens when you’re on the footy field? Do you laugh at any bloke who drops a mark? Do you? Now, come on! This is just like a team. If you don’t support one another, help one another, the whole class is going to lose. Now you blokes should do better than this. Oh, do you want me, Mr Pillinger? All right, take out your Mastering Words and do number 39.’

‘Been there, done that,’ piped up Carruthers major.

‘Well, it won’t hurt to do it again. And I don’t want to hear any talking.’

‘Sorry to disturb your class, Percy, but the Head wants me to trip the light fantastic on the play.’

‘Does he? Well, I’m right behind you, Pillers, the whole hog.’

‘That’s swell, Percy, I really appreciate that.’

‘Not at all. It’s a golden rule of mine: we have a duty to support our kith and colleagues. Just quietly, I give my sister a couple of class sets of homework to mark now and again.’

‘Right, so I can make the boar-hunt as starkly realistic and scary as possible.’

‘What’s that, you say?’

‘Briefly, what I have in mind is to turn the hall inside out or upside down –‘

‘What? But Big School was financed by the Chairman of the Board of Governors and opened by Sir Robert Himself!’

‘That ugly, old barn was? Don’t worry, I’ll have the audience sitting up on stage and the actors will perform in the auditorium. A lorry load of sand is on its way, together with a couple of angora goats and a pet duck and enough shrubs, branches and creepers to create a real jungle. I’m borrowing a trampoline from the gym, so Piggy can fall from Castle Rock.’

‘They’ll never let you get within a bull’s roar, Pillers.’

‘I’m going to give it everything, Percy, the full works, now that I’ve enlisted your wholehearted backing. After all, I was hired for my expertise in Drama.’

‘Drama for the kids, maybe, but not for the staff. Listen, why don’t we invest your energy in selling the Leaving Lit course to the present tens?

‘Jeepers, Percy. And how long before creative writing becomes unviable, unsportsmanlike and unmarketable?’

- Jesus, would you buy a second-hand copy of Mastering Words from this man?


Pillinger stirred from his slumbers at the C.R.A. meeting when he heard that Chips had been called upon to speak.

‘I’d like to remind the staff of the Stress Committee’s Report on Stress, which recommends that staff should be permitted a billiard table in the Quiet Room to counter the increasing incidence of high blood pressure.’

‘And I’d like to recommend,’ cut in Hector Sterne, ’that if staff are serious about high blood pressure, then they should stay off the bloody bottle.’

‘You can’t do that!’ cried Pillinger, roused to wrath.

‘Oh and why not?’ stormed Sterne.

‘The staff absentee rate would go through the roof!’

‘I’d like to remind all members of staff,’ Hector was muttering through mashing molars, ‘that there’s no barbed wire round this School.’

‘And I’d like to add,’ said a trembling Gene, seizing the floor,’ one constantly repeated cliché doth not make an agenda.’

In a soberly reflective state of mind, Gene decided there was nothing for it but solicit a few kind words from the Counsellor.

He extracted a map of the campus, recollecting that the Counsellor’s office was the most elusive of all. He marched past the Concentration Campus for Attention Deficit Syndromers, then descended into an ancient warren, climbing over slagheaps of rotting books, broken-backed chairs, crippled tables, sheaves of personal record cards now urine yellow, until the tortuous passage mushroomed onto a no-man’s land and the backside of a compactus. Amazed, Pillinger was about to pop between the cheeks of the cabinets when the orifice closed. He cautiously tiptoed to the newly created gap and was on the point of ferreting through, when once again the cabinets snapped fast. ‘Is anyone home?’ he pleaded.

‘Just a second,’ cooed a mesh-nylon voice. ‘Oh, you’re one of us. Mr Pilbara, I presume. There you are, you can step through here.’

‘I never thought I’d make it,’ wheezed Pillinger, brushing off the dust and cobwebs. ‘This place is the pits without the pendulum. Listen, I need the Psycho urgently.’

‘I’m afraid Rusty is engaged this morning,’ purred the secretary. ‘Can I give you a handout?’

‘A hand up, maybe. All I wanted was a few crumbs of comfort – how to cope with these crazy Jerry galoots.’

‘Rusty is in conflab with his solicitor. Strictly confidential, of course. Our clients must never get to hear.’

‘The kids?’

‘Come off it, the parents!’ she giggled, incredulous. 'Imago contacta and all that.’

‘I’m way behind the eight ball. Sorry, I’m not the pulse of the School.’

‘His wife’s seeking a divorce. On the grounds of mental cruelty. She claims that not only is he married to the School, but he’s driven crazy by a siren that calls upon him all hours of the day. At my old school we only had a bell.’

‘I wonder who that could be,’ said Gene carelessly, looking at the long, blonde tresses that disappeared over the young lady’s shoulders.

‘Anyhow I’m Ginny Deedes. Can I give you any comfort?’

Pillinger’s stomach keeled over, his bow-tie jiggled. Was she insinuating? Could he infer? He ogled her pouty, ripe lips, her witches’ hats, her legs of n to the power of heaven.

‘Don’t you find the whole question of sex in a boy’s school un . . . err . . . natural?’ he dared.

‘Yes, it’s funny,’ she giggled. ‘The old fogeys are always the worst bum-pinchers, especially round the Gestetner machine.’

‘No, I mean . . . do you find adolescent male behaviour awkward to deal with?’

‘It can be embarrassing. Common or garden members of staff always rush to be so protective, often in a smarmy way, occasionally macho, while the students wolf-whistle across the quad as if they’ve never clapped eyes on a human being in skirts before.’

‘That’s what I’m getting at. Over a thousand male egos clamouring for attention from two or three women. Such an imbalance must bewilder them.’

‘You know, when I was pushing for a Skills Exchange club, the Gang of Four refused to let me wear my SEx logo.’

‘That figures. You are very . . . how can I put it? . . . alluring.’

‘Why, thank you,’ she replied, chewing her Pentel top. ‘But the way they zoo at me, I sometimes feel the urge to rip all my clothes off and do a sufi dance in the nude. That would shock them shitless.’

‘I can see . . .’ Pillinger’s voice choked, ‘why some of them can’t handle . . . ‘

Zonk! His legs buckled him into a swoon.


When Gene’s faculties had breast-stroked back to consciousness, he was confronted by the omnivorous eyes of the Head. ‘Where am I?’

‘In my study. You were transported by Miss Deedes with the aid of Maw and Swallow, two of our best processed prefects. We’ve just gone into Lock-down and Damage Control. I should have warned you, my dear chap, before you even commenced your period of service, that every member of the School community except the Firsts in the major sports is advised to take a course of televalium administered by the Mediprak. Caine and co. will calm your nerves with an appropriate dosage. This institution offers no easy retreat from the state sector, although, as you must have discovered already, this is one big happy family, one jolly team. On the other hand, you’re not the only member of staff to drop today. The A.V. Plant has been psyching itself for weeks to screen If and I’ve just heard that Miss Fitt has blown a fuse.’

Pillinger rubbed his eyes. A fish tank circumnavigated the bay windows and its inmates were threshing furiously. ‘Feeding time,’ declared Mr Mann. ‘Breeding piranhas is the singular hobby I allow myself.’ The Head collected a batch of mildewy papers and slotted them into a shredder. ‘Funny thing, they’re reputed to be meat-eaters but at St J’s their favourite food is paper pellets, so I throw them titbits of past HSC exam papers. If you think they’re agitated today, you should observe them in November, their gestation period. Are you feeling yourself, Pillinger?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Well remember to take the televalium, there’s a good chap. It’s a time-honoured purgative at St Jeremiah’s and it restores the mind wonderfully. Then, make an appointment to see me about Hamlet. There’s a sporting chance we can present it to the Friends of St Jeremiah’s next term. I was thinking of expunging Ophelia for propriety’s sake. You never know, one of the Board might accept the invitation. It all depends on the health of the Stock Exchange. But we can discuss Drama after this matter of your methodology for coaching basketball. Now can you manage by yourself or shall I summon Swallow? He’s doubtless flitting around somewhere.’

‘No, I’ll manage,’ gasped Pillinger, dubiously. From the armorial landing festooned with founders’ relics – the reinforced plastic protector worn by the first wicketkeeper to snare five victims in an innings in the ASS; an engraved, gold-plated beeper in a hip-holster bequeathed by the first bursar millionaire; the gallstones of Ernest Hope, B.A., B.Ed., M.A.C.E., who fell in service on the tenth-form battlefield; the History of Canes display, 1898-1977; plaques inscribed with citations for Conspicuous Gallantry medals awarded to staff who put their hand up to teach R.E. – Pillinger peered through the vortex of spiralling staircase, tracing the whirling flights of polished oaken steps to the solid concrete quadrangle below.

And lost balance completely.


                                                                                                                                            Michael Small

published The Educational Magazine, 1976 (a shortened version)