Aged 10 3/4
Sydney, March 12th 1976
I looked around my classmates with disbelief. Where was their passion, their strength of character, their desire to be the best Year Five Australian History Class we could possibly be?
Their happy faces were like a knife to my heart punching me in the gut.
The teacher had told us we could vote on the end-of-term school trip and, showing an incredible lack of focus and determination, they had all voted for Uncle Bongo’s Kangaroo Korner.
Sydney’s leading petting zoo. Unbelievable.
We have a massive year of under-11s cricket coming up and we were going to work on the mental side of our game by cuddling orphan kangaroos? Say we were six down for spit in a big game, would we draw strength from knowing that we knew how to rub a furry tummy? Or the role of the kangaroo’s pouch in the birth of our great nation? It made my blood boil.
A year ago, I had lead the class on an orienteering expedition around the Waugh back garden. It was a fantastic bonding exercise. And so what if some crybabies were locked in the shed for a night or two or a couple of people were bitten by snakes? It made us the under-10 cricket outfit we were last year. Even Mark enjoyed it: he won two weeks’ pocket money betting on which of the girls would cry first. If you’re reading, Sally Ferguson, why don’t you grow a pair, eh?
Kangaroo Korner. Even the name made me angry. Kangaroo Korner. I had always hated the letter “K”, a sneaky, lazy letter that would be a “C” if it had a bit more strength of character. A Pommie of a letter.
I had argued we should go to the Anzac Wall of Brave Heroes and Bloody Good Mates. It’s the best visitor attraction in Sydney bar none, a superb day out for any family. It commemorates great Australians who came out fighting when their backs were to the wall. Simple. Powerful. You spend a day standing with your back up against the wall and feeling proud of our country.
Believe it or not, some of my classmates said they found “just standing up straight against a wall” for six hours “boring”. I told them there was loads more to it than that: you also got to listen to stories of great Australians doing things like scrapping when the chips were down, never giving up and showing intensity no matter what the situation. They wouldn’t listen.
I knew I had to take action. As soon as I got on the coach I started to mentally disintegrate the driver. “Mate, there’s no way you’re fit to drive this bus,” I said. The teacher was furious and I had to sit at the front next to her for the whole journey to Kangaroo Korner. And as a punishment, they never even let me pet the furry tummies of the little baby roos. One day, I am going to shove that down their throats.