March day 2 in ‘72, how could I ever forget?
The extracurricular activity for my outback students didn’t even rate as an excursion—no letters to parents or permission notes—just a verbal invitation.
Did I inform the Principal of my plans? I don’t recall. Besides, preparing for this practical application of classroom theory seemed no more difficult than a walk in the park or rather, a stroll on the school oval. Anyway, that’s what I reckoned. Perhaps I should have heeded the homespun philosophy from our Year 10 army cadet corporal. Whenever I quipped, ‘Well, that’s what I reckon, Jacko,’ he’d reply, ‘Sir, my dad says, Only fools reckon.”
Even though many pupils lived within frisbee distance of the school, I insisted that they bring a parent. I was, however, unprepared for the family members, neighbours, and sundry blow-ins who turned out. The assembled throng, plus my naïve reckoning, heralded the beginning of an unforgettable night.
A week before my oval outing, the science department had invested in a telescope. For the 70s, this was a sophisticated gadget, and I was jumping out of my walk socks to get this tech gizmo up and running. Meeting at dusk, the First Form Science-B students would gaze skyward to view the wonders of craters, double suns, and perhaps Pluto’s moons or Saturn’s rings—the expectation was palpable. Those who have witnessed bush skies will agree with A. B. Patterson, who penned, ‘Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze…’
As darkness dropped its curtain of chaos, evidence of my short-sighted organisation emerged. Within minutes, students, tagged by sundry siblings, saturated the school playfield. Torch beams crisscrossed the sparkling dome, accompanied by excited screams.
The line of stargazers—many of whom had never seen a telescope—lengthened amid the sports ground mayhem. My anxiety and frustration grew as I fumbled with the azimuthal settings designed to track the paths of heavenly bodies, followed by constant claims of ‘I can’t see anything.’
Shades of Shakespeare’s Ophelia, who, also overcome with despair, moaned, ‘O, woe is me… to see what I see!’ My evening get-together had become a post-dusk debacle.
Furthermore, I had left home confidently announcing, ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’ Well… that didn’t happen!
On my return, my distraught wife was already waiting at the door. ‘We need to get to the hospital.’ I bundled her into the VW Beetle, and within 5 minutes, she was in the care of the nursing staff. Soon after midnight, number-one son made his early, safe, and much-welcomed debut.
Now that’s a night to remember!
‘It is well for the heart to be naïve and for the mind not to be.’ Anatole France (1844-1924): French poet, journalist, and novelist.
‘My Blue Heaven’ is the title of a song released by Gene Austin in 1927.