18

The children loved music and singing, and most could carry a tune. By the second half of that first year we had developed a repertoire.

Each evening, Tom and Debbie would sit with their large family on the veranda at home in the dusk or starlight, all singing along together. They enjoyed creating harmonies and tonal effects.

The Teegan family, with Lindie and Susie, spent most Sundays attending church, where their lay preacher dad, Vic, would conduct the singing. These two girls knew lots of songs and were happy to sing them for their classmates.

But all the children had favourite songs and suggested tunes for our school to learn. Many were of the country-and-western genre and didn’t particularly appeal to me, but I was happy for the kids to be singing with enjoyment—if the songs were about faithful old dogs and unrideable horses, then so be it.

I loved music. Tunes ran along in my head as an accompaniment to my thoughts. But I couldn’t play an instrument, not even the wooden recorder to which I’d been introduced at teachers’ college. I could carry a tune in the right key, though, and I had a trusty tuning fork to give us all a middle C starter. I could read enough music to nut out the starting note of a song and, generally, work out the tune. And the wonderful ABC School Broadcasts ran several music programs, including choral singing, each week. So, I thought, our tiny school could have a music curriculum of reasonable sorts.

Early on I decided the school needed both a radio and a record-player. The former was easy to obtain: I’d brought back a battery radio from that first Easter break in Sydney. But the record-player had to wait until a request to the parents was answered. The Parents and Citizens Group arranged a little raffle, and with the funds raised we purchased a good-quality, battery-operated LP player.

Each morning the two Grade Ones listened to the ‘Kindergarten of the Air’ broadcast, hearing much that I couldn’t bring them otherwise, and they both found it great fun. Once a week the ABC introduced new songs to learn. The radio presenters would break a song into phrases, send a model performance of each phrase from the studio musicians, and then encourage the remote children to repeat these with the help of their teacher. Gradually each song would be built up phrase by phrase, and by the broadcast’s end the kids could generally perform it. Not all these songs became favourites, but they were easily remembered and would be sung with the minimum of encouragement.

A child would sometimes request that a favourite song be taught to the whole group and, if all agreed, we would add such tunes to the repertoire. By July the younger and older children each had a set they preferred. But they all sang, with delight, about fifteen songs in common.

With limited music in most of their homes, school was the children’s main chance to hear something different and to extend their insights into the many forms that music might take. The ABC Schools Broadcast also had a weekly program encouraging upper-primary children to appreciate many kinds of music; the older kids listened avidly to these sessions and followed up by discussing what had struck them about the pieces presented. Once we had our record-player I built a small collection of material, with LPs often suggested by the children to which they would return time after time. Music was a vital component of the school curriculum, as I didn’t want these isolated children to miss out.

The record-player enabled us to try an exciting activity: dancing! By clearing the desks to the edges of the room, we could create ample space. Winter had brought on some bleak days, and dancing warmed body and spirit. And my observation of the kids swinging in time and tapping their feet when they were singing strengthened my impression that moving to music is a natural behaviour for children.

The kids embraced folk dancing wholeheartedly and with much enthusiasm. We commenced with simple dances such as ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, which the youngest could easily follow. We did ‘Strip the Willow’ together; all could dance the required steps and remember the easy progressions. The older children began to want more intricate routines and steps but remained open to dancing frequently with the young ones.

We all danced at least once a week, and even more if the lesson schedule for basic skills permitted. Dancing was never held up as a reward for the completion of set tasks in English or maths, but the children soon worked out that it might follow if all completed their written work. Standards weren’t allowed to drop, but dancing began to figure more often as the kids were motivated and keen.

They also loved to perform plays. Activities to extend the English syllabus included drama production, and each School Magazine carried a short play written especially for children. We would enjoy choosing a play, auditioning for parts and selecting performers while ensuring that all the students had a frequent and fair chance to participate. Then we’d practise and perform the play for the entertainment of the other students.

Drawing on the children’s singing, dancing and drama performances, we often entertained ourselves with impromptu concerts. The kids had more than enough content for a full program.

The children’s love of dancing brought back memories of bright times when Patricia and I had danced and felt close. Together we had often accepted invitations to balls.

The routine associated with these events was very enjoyable to both of us. Patricia would dress up in a gown, while I’d wear a tuxedo or dress suit, and I’d give her a corsage that matched her dress.

We would attend a decorated ballroom, usually in special locations such as the Hotel Australia in Martin Place. We’d revel in the semi-formality of the evening and enjoy the supper provided with proper waiter service. Then we’d dance through the night to a classy orchestra while mixing with a happy crowd. The night usually ended around 1 a.m.

We especially enjoyed the Clan Mcleod events, with their mix of modern dance music and traditional Scottish melodies and tunes, where we joined in Highland eightsome reels and Scottish country dancing mixed in with the usual ballroom fare of foxtrots, quicksteps and jazz waltzes.

Just occasionally, if encouraged, an orchestra might break into a very staid, timorous rendition of a standard rock number. We would still manage to jitterbug—quite a feat, given Patricia’s voluminous gowns. I loved to rock, and she joined in to ensure my happiness. Being active together brought happiness to both of us.

One thing about me that had first attracted Patricia’s attention had been my singing voice. When my mates and I had parties, each performed a special song that had become identified with the individual. A party night wasn’t complete until we had, once again, heard the entire repertoire. Pat, who’d been a choirboy at St Mary’s Cathedral until his voice broke, sang at every party, no matter the time of year, the carol ‘Silent Night’. His twist was to sing it in German. From Don we heard ‘Too Young’, a Nat King Cole number, but Don lacked Nat’s smoothness—we didn’t mind. Leo gave us a rocking version of ‘Tutti Frutti’. Peter and Ronny varied their numbers but always came good. All joined in each song after the first verse or so, and everyone sang the choruses. A barbershop quartet we never were, and, as Kenso boys, we never got close to the Four Seasons.

My own speciality was the songs of Johnny O’Keefe, Australia’s first real rock icon—and Patricia liked these songs. A slim basis for a long-term relationship, perhaps, but it was serving us well. Every Saturday morning call included a rendition of at least one song; generally, because of the geographical separation, it was ‘Over the Mountain’. That song allowed me to display the full range of my abilities, and I belted it out into the phone with gusto and bravura. Perhaps if I’d known then what was later revealed, that my friend invited both her Melbourne flatmates to listen in when my singing commenced, I might have been less forthright and expressive.