School – In the Early years.

The first school I attended was Western Heights Primary, in Rotorua. I have the impression that early childhood education at any school was about discipline.  I say that because the most prominent memory was being smacked or strapped. My first teacher was a bitch of a thing. She was really really old, like 150 years old, and cranky.  She had a unique way of smacking.  She would pull the leg of your shorts above the soft area where your leg joins the butt cheek and, slap it. It stung lots and she was so proficient at it that by time you realised you had mucked up, WHACK!  Job done. It would be funny if it didn’t smart so much.

Strapping was also prominent but less common. It seemed to be the domain of the male teachers, whether that was a rule of sorts wasn’t apparent. “Six of the best” was the term used, and I thought that to be a little unfair.  Many teachers couldn’t string six good straps together if their life depended on it, but they kept trying. There were also a few who’s heart definitely wasn’t in it.  At the time I thought them a bit soft but they seemed to be the teachers that actually cared.

Then there was the adhoc flick of the ruler across the knuckles, exposed skin of the arm or leg.  Even across the back of the head with the ruler which wasn’t too bad unless the dumb-heads inadvertently smacked you with edge.  Over time you knew who to be weary of, what you could get away with and when to duck.

If someone asked me which was the most effective method, I’d pick the female teachers. They seemed more meaningful in both the application and intent.  For some reason when I was punished by a female teacher, I often felt remorse, (a bit like marriage).  The male teachers would inevitably try too hard to hurt you, but instead would wrap the strap around your fingers or wrist and of course that one didn’t count, especially when I give him the “useless prick” look.  These were the teachers that pissed me off because it always evolved into a battle of wills which often lasted the school year. In general the process was quick. You did something wrong you were punished. No stress. No drawn out investigation which usually confused everyone and achieved nothing but a progressively more complicated system – which to date, has only managed to turn our kids into stressed out disrespectful, ill mannered little darlings.

Despite all that, I enjoyed those early years of school. The rough and tumble of the play grounds, the mystery of knowledge, the satisfaction of learning and a longtime favorite (not), square dancing.  I admit to being excited to go to school. I remember an eagerness to learn and play.  I enjoyed the social aspect which produced lifetime friendships.

Tokaanu Geothermal walk, worth a visit.

All the alleged “dangerous” games were played in the schoolyards yet, I don’t recall any serious injury other than pride. Bullrush, rugby, tag, and marbles to name but a few. There was plenty of energy burnt in those playgrounds back then.  Bumps and bruises were common but often displayed as a badge of honor.  Bullying wasn’t evident until high school. There were no gang influences and our innocence shielded us from any bigotry-  I’m not saying it wasn’t  a “thing”, only that we didn’t know what it was.

We flicked between Turangi and Rotorua from 1965 to 1977. As a result we attended Turangi Primary, Pihanga Primary (both now decommissioned and removed). Tongariro High School, Kaitao Intermediate and Western Heights High School.

We went to Turangi Primary for a short period before transferring to the brand new Pihanga Primary school. The most interesting aspect of Turangi Primary was the presence of the Italian children.  An Italian Company had been commissioned to work on the Tongariro Power Development Scheme. They brought with them their experience,  workers and families. As one who had not associated with any other culture outside of the family and local community; I was kind of expecting to see little antennas coming out of their heads. As it turns out they were real people, they integrated well into the community and some fifteen years later, I married one of those little Italian girls.

Tokaanu Township late 90’s (I think)

Pihanga primary doesn’t prompt any memories of note except the square dancing was introduced here. I think the most significant event at Pihanga was my introduction to cigarettes. We traveled from Tokaanu on a school bus. There were seating rules on the bus and one of those rules was only the cool kids sat at the back ’cause only the cool kids smoked. I figured that was a shortcut to being a cool kid and so, I was a cool kid for forty years.

Tokaanu Wharf Looking back toward Tokaanu and Mt Pihanga in the background.

We had a number of pickup points where we could catch the bus. One being an old Superette across the road from the Tokaanu Post Office. Another spot was outside the Pataka Bar – the item of interest was an old paper stand they had in one of the doorways. I sat  on it one day and it fell.  This caused it to jingle and I realised then that there were coins in the little box on the side, so I investigated. Sure enough the coins could be liberated with minimal fuss. So my younger brother and I would ditch our jam sandwiches on the way to the bus stop and shake enough coins out of the box for lunch. We weren’t greedy, only forty cents each. We lived like kings for a couple of months. Eventually our next youngest brother started school he came with us. We filled him in on our scam and give him a share of the loot.  Unbeknown to us, he didn’t buy his lunch (I think he didn’t know how to), so when we returned home Mum was calling out to Dad for milk money (these were the days when milk was delivered to the house).

The little bro steps up and say’s to Mum ” Its OK Mum, I got some money here”, as he pulled some change from his pocket.

(I suddenly felt sick). “Where did you get that from son?”, Mum asked with a raised eyebrow – beware the raised eyebrow!

The little bro replied with an air of innocence “William and us got it out of the box at the pub”,

I started to  move but too late, Mum got me with her signature ham hock hand, round house slap across the back of the head followed by a three step, left-right-left-left-shuffle-right foot kick up the backside.  I don’t know what the other bros’ suffered and didn’t care to be honest. We had reached the point of every man for himself, besides that, we still had to face the wrath of Dad.  Naturally from that day forward, we were forbidden to catch the bus from the pub.

Tokaanu Township early 80’s

I had heaps of fun when we lived out at Tokaanu. It was a special place with everything a young boy could need. We had the lake , streams and creeks. Fruit was growing wild where houses used to be. The Tokaanu wharf where we swam or commandeered one of the many Dingy’s kept in a little alcove and, the Tokaanu Thermal Pools, our daily bath, a place to shelter from the winter cold.

I think I will devote the next blog to that period.  There was some mischief, but all’n’all it was good clean living, no stress and no drama.

Note; Sorry for the scabby photo’s. This time period is beyond my camera toting days. I promise to do better next time.

So what are you thinking. If you have any questions please put them out there. I know I am a little old school and that won’t change much. I find old school less chaotic, peaceful, which suits my thoughtful nature.

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What we think, we become. – Buddha