Pop built units
on the Bickleigh Street land
and moved us away
to Frankston on Port Phillip Bay.

Our new home
on top of Olivers Hill
had a lookout over a cliff
to the sea below.

My basement flat
opened onto a sloping lawn
near a swimming pool
beside a goldfish pond.

I travelled by train each day
from Frankston to Malvern
then by tram down Glenferrie Road
to the Technical Teacher’s College.

One morning I noticed
my lost love Mary
like a miraculous mirage
near Malvern station.

But as I approached
she vanished
or was hiding
to avoid a meeting.

I adored her
but what could I do
since it appeared
she didn’t wish to see me.

Feeling wretched
I recalled her last words
I loved you, I love you
and I’ll always love you.

I continued searching
until finally she vanished
into the penumbra
of my disillusioned mind.

Darkness loomed
amidst the shame
at the mercy of a perversity
that refused to go away.

We read and discussed
On the Road
and Education through Art
omens of our changing times.

Pop allowed me to
drive his Bentley
before trading it in
for a Mercedes sports.

I seemed to be groping
for something out of my reach
because the aesthetics of creativity
seemed alien to me.

Change was under way
but lesson preparation
was still the same
when being assessed at Frankston Tech.

Freedom was espoused
but nonconformists
were barely tolerated
and creativity lived alone.

The masses embraced loud sounds
sex, and tribal sporting contests
not works of art
or the harmonies of Bach.

There seemed little need
for creativity
within the essence of our lives
as expressed by the corporate mind.

After graduation
I remained at Frankston Tech
a member of the art department
aiming for promotion.

I suscceeded
three years later
but only after appealing
against a poor assessment.

Pop bought Banyanda
the house next door
spacious with a tennis court
for Pete, his wife and children.

I moved to Carrum
not far away
into an upstairs unit
overlooking Port Phillip Bay.

Before breakfast
most mornings
I’d jog along the water’s edge
before swimming out to sea.

After breakfast
I’d drive my VW beetle
to Dandenong Tech
in Cleeland Street.

As deputy department head
my prospects seemed brighter
until the system changed
just one year later.

My classification became redundant
my promotion meaningless
and I was back at the beginning
navigating around a carousel.

Pop retired and bought
Gracehill
with a large expanse of land
to develop as a nursery.

With Pete as manager
he began importing
azaleas, camellias, rhododendrons
tree peonies and magnolias.

Meanwhile
my youngest brother John
had graduated
with an art’s degree from ANU.

Teaching the modern way
was all about free expression
and experimentation
with a variety of materials.

I was supposed to be innovative
and adapt
to inspire with an enthusiasm
I didn’t possess.

My keenness was artificial
as I tried to be something I wasn’t
and never succeeded
although I tried.

Abstract shapes, textures
papier mache monstrosities
with mobiles tinkling, floating
wafting in the stagnant air.

Memories of a ridiculous fate
as an uninspired teacher
feeling and being inadequate
soldiering on.

I was in a time warp
without a future
unable to change or catch up
just going through the motions.

Dave was a strict disciplinarian
an old school type
young and recently married
and as taut as a bowstring.

We often played table tennis
in the staffroom after school
then something snapped
and Dave admitted himself to hospital.

Untreated for several days
and depressed
he made up his mind and jumped
from the top floor and died.

My good mate Bob
taught clay modelling
disinterestedly from his annexe
producing ceramic ash trays.

Vietnam divided the country
with our government
going all the way
with Nixon, Kennedy, Kissinger and LBJ.

I proudly marched
with Dr Jim Cairns
amidst crowds of protesting thousands
extending for several city blocks.

Teaching was like a TV commercial
with cloned classes and the same sets
tediously appearing every day
in the same environment year by year.

Apathetic and empty
I struggled to finish my fifteenth year
an automaton devoid of ambition
at the end of my teaching career.

I explained
to the Education Department
as best I could
why I couldn’t continue.

After an interview
it was agreed
I would be superannuated
without delay.

For a time I enjoyed a carefree life
painting water-colours
and trying to write
leaving behind an aborted career.

But it wasn’t to last
because the past and the present
collided within my mind
to form a dark oppressive cloud.