By Christopher Lane. Cairns, Queensland, Australia
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It was a hot summer morning on 6 February 1956 when my mother dragged me up a driveway that led into St. Therese’s School, Essendon. It was one of several Catholic primary schools in Melbourne managed by the Sisters of Charity. The school was opposite our house in Florence Street and has since been demolished. Construction then began on a new school on the Edward Street side of the property. The more I resisted and yelled that morning, the more determined my mother became in making sure I started school. It was high drama and no doubt attracted attention. For me, it meant separation from my mother, and I was not ready to face that prospect, even though the school was directly opposite our house.
That year, I was one of the youngest children in Victoria to commence their primary school education. State government regulations stipulated that a child must reach the age of five by 30 June in the year of their enrolment. I met the cut-off date by two days. Of greater concern, as I reflect on it, was that I had not attended kindergarten, and my mental and emotional development were below the levels expected of a five-year-old child. In short, I was not ready to start school and should have attended kindergarten that year. Failing that, another year learning and playing in the garden at my grandparents’ house would have helped prepare me for school. That option, however, was not available, and my fate was sealed.
In time, I am sure that with careful nurturing and tutoring, I could have reached the academic standard and personal development expected of a child by the end of their first year at school. But that was not the case. Instead, I encountered the formidable Miss Ryan, who taught the preparatory class. Everyone at the school called this year-level Preps. Miss Ryan ended up teaching Preps at St. Therese’s School for more than 25 years. It was a remarkable achievement that reflected her dedication to early childhood education. So why did she look and behave like someone who disliked little children and taught under sufferance? She was not unlike a Walt Disney villain in that regard, except we were not on location making a movie about school kids.
It did not take long for Miss Ryan to realise that I was an underachiever, which meant I was placed in what was called the dunce’s row. The row was located along a classroom wall, at the end of which was the door. In effect, I was segregated from the other students. I was not alone — five other students joined me that year. While the rest of the class was busy copying the alphabet and learning to count to one hundred, students in the dunce’s row were given simple tasks such as writing the numbers from one to ten. I struggled to write the number 2, which I always reversed. I did not have dyslexia, and I do not know the reason why I had this learning difficulty. Fortunately, assistance came in the form of a teacher’s helper, usually a girl from Grade 6, who suggested I substitute the letter Z for the number 2. I could do this without difficulty. With practice, I was able to put a curve in the Z at its top and bottom corners, and my troubles were behind me.
That was just one of several learning difficulties I encountered in my early education. Regretfully, there were no special education classes at St. Therese’s School in the 1950s. Referral to special education teachers would come later in Catholic education in Victoria. The approach Miss Ryan adopted in managing the class usually involved reprimands. Most students came to fear her voice and her use of corporal punishment, of which she was an aficionado. Her instruments of choice were a wooden ruler and the handle of the classroom feather duster. I would frequently go home at lunchtime with red welts on the back of my hands and knees.
In my view, Miss Ryan became the terror of little children and stifled my capacity to learn. I quietly rejoiced when I heard she retired from teaching in 1974. In 1975, the students in Preps did not know how lucky they were to escape the formidable Miss Ryan.
The approach Miss Ryan adopted in managing the class usually involved reprimands … I would frequently go home at lunchtime with red welts on the back of my hands and knees.
After primary school, my parents wanted me to continue my education at St. Bernard’s College in Moonee Ponds. Despite my efforts, I was not one of the successful applicants to pass the college’s entrance examination. As a result, I was not offered a place at the college. I was heartbroken, and I could see that my family was disappointed. In view of my failed attempt at the entrance examination, I had little choice but to repeat Grade 6. While this was difficult at first, I came to accept this new reality and focused on my studies. The decision to repeat Grade 6 enabled me to consolidate my learning. It also ended the ripple effect of being an underachiever that had stymied my academic progress since the start of primary school.
In October 1963, I sat the St. Bernard’s College entrance examination once more. I subsequently received a letter informing me that I had passed the entrance examination and was invited to enrol at the college. As I read that letter, I no longer felt like an underachiever. Instead, I felt the sudden exhilaration of soaring like an eagle. I had finally passed a competitive examination.
Years later, in May 1978, I attended a graduation ceremony at La Trobe University, Melbourne, and received a Bachelor of Arts degree. Conferral of this degree was a milestone in my life. Furthermore, I was the first Lane in the family to graduate from university, and in the years to come, I would have higher degrees conferred on me. Not bad for a scared little boy in the dunce’s row. Thankfully, dunces’ rows have been assigned to the ash heap of history where they belong.
