Chapter 1

Andrew Hollister was really excited. He was twelve years old and going to a “real school” -- not merely over 500 miles away, but one where he’d be away from his mum and dad! Not that they were bad folks. Not at all! But mum, especially, was sure he never ever misbehaved. That he always said ‘please,’ and washed his hands, and didn’t spend too much time playing with the wrong kids. The nuns at school were bad enough!

School was St. Mary’s, just a few minutes walk from home. And it was an OK place. But he’d been there for six years. Sure the sisters would hit you if you did wrong. But if you learned your times tables and wrote neatly and remembered to look serious when someone else got hit, you wouldn’t get hit yourself. The girls hardly ever got hit.

[St Mary’s School, Charleville was opened in 1913 by the sisters of Mercy on the request of local Catholic families. The Sisters of Mercy chose to set up not only a school but their home here. These families wanted a Catholic education for their children so, at the invitation of the Bishop and their local priest, they set about providing the facilities which would be needed. Non-Catholic families could send their children, too, but they had to attend Bible study, though not Mass.]

Andy had learned all he should and more. He enjoyed much of what was taught – about history and geography and the “literature” they were exposed to: Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, The Jungle Book, and some poems by Banjo Peterson. But he really liked what was called geometry and trigonometry. Last year, when he was just eleven, he’d shown Mick, who worked for his dad, why the tracks for the siding needed to curve the way they did.

Then on Monday, the third of January, they’d all bundled onto the train and gone to Brisbane. Tuesday was spent getting him a real suit of clothes and on Wednesday, they’d gone to Brisbane Boy’s College, where they were given a tour and he met a youngish man called a “master.” He was asked what he liked, what he’d read, and what he’d like to be. “Not a railroader!” he’d exclaimed.

Thursday they took a different train to Southport, where they visited The Southport School. Here they received a different tour and another “master” spoke with Andy. The questions were much the same, though this time he was asked whether he thought it would be hard to not be at home and to be with a number of boys. He didn’t think so, he replied.

Andy returned to the Hotel Cecil with his parents. At dinner his dad, Henry, opened the conversation by telling Andy that they – he – would be making a big decision, as well as an expensive one. Six years at either BBC or TSS would run over a thousand pounds plus clothing and travel. But it would be a worthwhile investment. With that said, Andy was asked about his preference.

His response was rapid. “I’d like to go here, sir,” he said.

“Do you have a reason?” Alice asked.

“Yes’m. I want to row. I saw the dock and the boathouse and one of the boys said that each of the three houses had a crew. The river here [the Nerang] is nothing like the Warrego! And TSS won the rowing last year!”

[The Southport School has the oldest school boat club in Queensland, having founded its boat shed in 1907. TSS has been a member of the Great Public Schools’ Association (GPS) since 1920. Duncan Free, an Olympic gold (2008) and bronze (1996) rowing medalist, attended TSS.]

“Well, that’s a reason. I doubt whether I’d have had as good an answer at your age. What do you think, Alice?”

“It’s a lot of dosh. And I’ll miss him...”

“I’ll miss you, too, mum. But I’ll visit on the hols. I can take the train to Brisbane and then the Westerner to Charleville. It’s only a day’s trip!”

“Well, it’s under 24 hours, but I doubt whether it can be done the same day. Schedules don’t mesh that easily,” Henry said.

Friday morning father and son returned to TSS where they met Reverend Dixon, the head master, Henry wrote a cheque to the school and Andy received instructions concerning uniforms, athletic equipment, and both personal items and pocket money (strictly limited so that the well-off didn’t “swan” those who had less). Andy was “placed” in Thorold, one of the three houses. He said “yes, sir” whenever he was asked something. He also memorized the school motto: Palmam Qui Meruit Ferat (Let him who deserves the palm of victory bear it). He was sure that was important.

They returned to Charleville over the weekend, knowing that Henry and Andrew would be leaving in a few weeks to be back on Sunday the 23^rd, for “orientation” on Monday the 24^th.

Andy really enjoyed himself at TSS. He would never be first-rate at rugby nor cricket; and he was quite dreadful at trying to write poetry. But he enjoyed history and geography and he excelled at maths. And he really bulked up when he began single sculls. That resulted in his fellows dropping “Choo-choo” in favor of “Stroke.” Andy certainly didn’t mind that. Scooting miles up and down river by himself was absolute bliss. After a few years, he suffered through several social afternoons and an evening with the girls from St. Hilda’s, also in Southport. But when he was 15 he won a rowing medal. And one of the girls introduced him to her body – fully clothed, of course – behind one of the buildings.

Andy wasn’t interested in singling out a particular “playmate,” but he realized that being polite and not spreading names among his housemates meant that the girls – actually young ladies – saw him as a good person to practise upon. For the ensuing two years, that meant a good deal of fumbling and kissing which he found quite gratifying as well as amusing.