Scotch College

You didn’t have to wear a straw boater

This is the text of a toast to the School provided by Bob Wade OAM (’49) at the OSCA 60+ Year Reunion Lunch in the Cardinal Pavilion on 31 July.

There are special times in our lives when decisions, once made, will influence and shape our futures forever.

One of the most profound decisions in my whole life was that day in 1944 when I arrived home from Auburn Central School, and announced to my parents that I had decided that I really wanted to attend Scotch College. They were surprised and delighted at this news, as they had always wanted me to go to Scotch, but I hadn’t been overly keen on the idea. I thought that it was compulsory for all boys to wear a straw boater, and, to me, that seemed a pretty sissy sort of a thing to do.

Two things influenced my change of mind. First, I had learned that boaters were optional, as well as being unprocurable at the end of Word War II; second, I discovered that cricket at Scotch was played on real turf wickets. When that decision was made my life would be changed forever!

Today, 65 years later, it’s my honour and privilege to propose the toast to this school which we all hold so dear. I’m certain that all Old Boys present today would acknowledge that Scotch has influenced each of us enormously throughout our formative years, our working years and even now in our twilight years.

These days, we find that when seniors get together the conversation usually seems to revolve around three subjects: politics, health matters and nostalgia. I think that it would be wise to skip the first two, but today I hope that you will forgive me for indulging in a fair bit of reminiscing, as I look back into my long association with the school.

And so, in 1946, both of us having been interviewed and accepted, my brother and I became Scotch Collegians. My school number was 2034, and I’m quite sure that it is deeply engraved on my heart.

That same year Mr ‘Chesty’ Bond, Mr ‘Ocker’ Ferres, and Mr ‘Shorty’ Elliott all came to Scotch and commenced their long associations with the school. Mr Ron Bond also married that year, and being his first Latin class, Remove A felt obliged to turn that into an occasion for celebration. So we decorated the old temporary Wesley classroom with festoons of Bond’s athletics and some clever odes in Latin composed by the three swots, ‘Hagglehead’ Howden, Ian Macaulay and Stan Johnston. From that day on, Mr Bond’s nickname would be ‘Chesty’!

You know, I never did get to wear that boater, but I did wear my cap and I wore it with great pride. On leaving school I kept that cap and kept it well. When my first grandson came to Scotch in 2004, I had the cap framed and I presented it to Tom with the wish that someday he might also have the joy of passing it on to his grandson.

Personally, I think that it was a sad day when the cap disappeared from the school uniform.

I began in Remove A, form master Mr Keith Elliott, with the form composed entirely of NEW BOYS. We had to wear our new caps without badges for most of Term 1 and the whole school could see that we were NEW BOYS. We could hardly wait for the day when our new badges arrived at the Bursar’s Office and we could wear them at last. I wanted so badly to be seen as long belonging to Scotch that I rubbed my shiny new badge in the dirt to make it look older!

The school felt to me very much as I imagined an English public school would be. Even some of the boys’ names heightened that impression: names like Eggleston, Cuthbertson, Catchpole, Barnard-Brown, Dunwoody, Wrigglesworth and Winterbottom seemed to have jumped right out of the pages of a boys’ own annual!

The headmaster wearing a mortar board, masters in gowns, prefects, probationers (and detentions!) completed the picture … and I loved it!

My first cadet camp, Watsonia, 1946, clouded the ideal somewhat. We slept in tents, eight boys sleeping four to each side and toe to toe: not much room to swing a pair of gaiters!

On the first night at about 2am, ‘Dickie’ Grey, who was sleeping in the middle, awoke with the urgent need to vomit. He did manage to stagger to his feet but that was as far as he got before he cast his innards in all directions. Joe Allison, John Donges, Euan McBain, Bert Macfarlane, Max Mounsey, Bruce Cowling and myself were the ungrateful recipients. As Toyota says: ‘UGH. What a feeling!’

G W G Sinclair was our platoon commander and F I R ‘Hefty’ Martin our sergeant. All these years later I’m delighted to see Geoffrey is here with us today. After that camp I was transferred to another platoon commanded by A J M Eggleston. Our sergeant was R G A Williams, and Ron is here today, I haven’t seen him since 1947!

On our second night, on a pretty chilly evening, clad in pyjamas and greatcoats, we were ordered onto the parade ground to be addressed by Captain Charles Boyes. ‘Chaps!’ he yelled at us. ‘Some dirty bugger has been using the supply tent as a public dunny!’ In school life Mr C B Boyes was the Scotch College senior classics master, but on this occasion he didn’t quite suit the image that I had conjured up for that lofty title!

However, in later years I found dear old Noso to be a good bloke and a real character. In my leaving and matric years I had him as my master for Classical Greek. It was an unusual class with just one student – me!

First period of each day I would turn up at room 19, a huge empty room, and occupy a front desk. Every day Noso would come in late, sit down in the desk beside me, and being a very heavy smoker, he’d be reeking of nicotine which he breathed all over me. ‘Wade,’ he’d say, ‘begin by translating page 10 of the Anabasis of Xenophon, then promptly he’d doze off to sleep for anything up to half an hour!

The pattern was only broken on Thursdays during footy season. As he was coach of the 1st XVIII, the Captain and Vice-Captain of Football also came to Room 19 and the three of them selected the team for the next match, which did keep Noso awake, while I dutifully read another page of Xenophon or Socrates, albeit with one ear on the team selection discussions!

I was also a member of another small class – in matric Latin with Chesty Bond. There were only 10 students, sitting in a very confined area. Early in Term 1, Mr. Bond went down with chicken pox. Boys being boys, we all cheered on hearing this good news. Two days later I discovered that I also had the pox, and then somehow it wasn’t feeling nearly as funny to me anymore! Brian Bayston was in that class and he, too, is here today.

Twenty-six years later, Chesty, then Vice-Principal, phoned to give me the great news that my son, Peter, would be appointed the 1975 School Captain, if I gave my permission. Would I? The decision took me at least .1 of a second to make! It was one of my proudest moments.

There seemed to be so many characters on the staff in those days. Mr E M Davidson, ‘Ginner’ to boys and staff alike, was an unforgettable bloke. An Old Boy himself and holder of the APS high jump record of 6’1 ½” for 32 years, he knew all the tricks that boys employ. His booming voice and ample frame made him a great friend to all, and his office was a great hanging out spot for lots of the school’s sporting stars.

After only being at Scotch for a few short weeks, one afternoon after school I walked down to the Meares Oval to watch the annual school v masters cricket match. I don’t remember how it happened, but I was suddenly shoved forward to umpire. The masters batted and lost a couple of early wickets, both out clean bowled so that was good stuff. What a relief: no decision necessary from me.

Then out walked Ginner. I gave him block and he settled majestically at the crease. The school’s tricky spin bowler Eddie ‘Quag’ Harzemeyer lumbered in and spun one down about a foot outside the leg stump and turning away. Somehow Ginner managed to get a leg across and the ball whacked him on the pad. ‘OWZAT????’ shouted Mick Eggleston, Jimmy Robison, ‘Cheeky’ Bedford and ‘Skeeter’ McDonald (later to have a distinguished Test career for Australia). Here were four of the school’s heroes demanding me to raise the finger… so I did! Well, wouldn’t you?

On his way back, Ginner stopped as he came up to me. ‘What’s YOUR name, boy?’ ‘Wade, sir,’ I meekly replied. ‘I’ll remember you!’ he glared. With mock anger he reminded me of that incident at least once every term after that.

How well served by the staff we were: what a wonderful body of teachers, what a caring, devoted and interesting group of people. I would like to mention some of them on this special day of remembering our time at Scotch.

The Principal was Dr Colin Gilray, the Blue, of whom we all went in fear and trembling. You know, I can’t recall ever seeing him smile. He was a very aloof gentleman and I think that the staff felt that too. He ran a tight ship and a fine school. In my box of treasures, I still have the kind letter that he wrote to me on the passing of my father in 1949.

Mr H H ‘Bosh’ Bowden, Vice-Principal, was an Old Boy who in 1907 had kicked 21 goals in an APS match against Xavier. After I wrote a French essay on ‘The joys of golf’, he warned me that all boys who played golf inevitably finished up at the 19th hole. For once I proved him wrong!

English with dear old Mr W A ‘Hoppy’ Waller was quite an experience. In 1770, Oliver Goldsmith penned The Village Schoolmaster and in that poem wrote:

‘Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he.’

He must have known Hoppy, who had a repertoire of the corniest jokes of all time which would always finish with the class singing out: ‘Oh, good one, sir!’ or ‘What a beauty, sir!’ – indeed with counterfeited glee. I’m sure that this sort of response still occurs even in today’s classes at Scotch! I can still hear his walking stick tapping on his desk as he called in his squeaky voice: ‘Pay attention, laddy!’

We had Mr H C ‘Billy’ Blenkiron, an incredible character who walked at top speed while casting seemingly furtive glances over his shoulder. One afternoon there was a robbery at Kooyong, and as the thief had been seen making off over Gardiner’s Creek in the direction of the school, the police turned up at Scotch.

As it was about four o’clock in the afternoon, and Mr Blenkiron was rushing up the drive towards Glenferrie Road to catch his tram home, looking back over his shoulder in his usual fashion. ‘There he goes!’ the boys shouted to the police, and the suspicious-looking character, with his brown felt hat pulled low over his forehead, was soon being quizzed. Poor old Billy, another victim of our notorious boarders!

Not many will remember Mr John Pottage, a junior master with a very impressive record in state athletics. Tom Crow and I will always remember him well. We took a day off from school to play golf at Croydon Golf Club, where I was a junior member. We were to take an early morning train at Camberwell, and as we walked onto the platform with our golf bags over our shoulders we walked straight into Mr Pottage. ‘Wow!’ we thought, ‘now we’re for it!’ Looking us straight in the eye, without a blink, he said: ‘Morning Crow, morning Wade. Hit ‘em well!’ That was it. We never heard another word.

There was the ageless Mr R H ‘45’ Clayton, who sat in the front row at morning assembly, without fail unfolding his white handkerchief, blowing his nose vigorously, very carefully refolding the soiled handkerchief and inserting it back into his jacket’s top pocket.

Mr Ken Luke was an excellent cricketer, the backbone of the masters’ XI, to whom I’ll be ever grateful for giving me such a sound knowledge of English grammar and composition, and then the encouragement to use it. I have never written an article without a thought and a thank you for Mr Luke.

Professor Johnny Bishop, the flamboyant Director of Music, filled us all with enthusiasm for every type of music. His impressive conducting and his exuberant personality turned Foundation Day Concerts into something very special. I’m certain that he would be delighted if he could just hear what superb music is being produced at Scotch today.

There was our Chaplain, the Rev Alec Fraser, with his florid complexion, his shock of white wavy hair, his dignified appearance, and his mellifluous Scottish brogue. Was there ever a better presenter of Robbie Burns’ ‘Ode to the Haggis?’

The ladies of the tuckshop, too, were characters. There were Topsy Kniebusch and the diminutive Miss Baird, sister of that great little bloke, Jimmy Baird, who was school caretaker and keeper of the Chapel. Jimmy entertained so many of us on our wedding days while we waited nervously for his call to announce the arrival of the bride, and that our presence was now required.

All of these wonderful people exerted an enormous influence on us and our lives. I’m sure that they still do and will ever do so.

Sixty years on, I believe that in our senior years we now know even more about the ‘spirit of the school’, this unique quality that stands Scotch head and shoulders above all others.

For me, my years at Scotch were all too short, but they were some of the most memorable, influential and precious of my life.

“Hail thou best of schools and dearest, proudly now my glass I raise.” Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the toast: to the grandest school of all … SCOTCH. GS