FROM (circa) 1968 to 1976 the months of March to May severely traumatised this correspondent.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
A birthday in early May did offer some respite but it was only momentary. All these years later we can vividly recall the angst we went through in those horror months. For March to May were the Taree Eisteddfod months. Three months of torment for many of us who attended St Joseph’s Primary School and later Taree Catholic High School (now St Clare’s).
The eisteddfod was in its formative years back then but even so our educators, the Sisters of St Joseph were enthusiastic supporters. In fact their enthusiasm bordered on manic zealotry. So-much-so that students were forced (actually battered) into performing at the Taree High School hall in those pre-Manning Entertainment Centre (MEC) days.
“Mulga Bill’s Bicycle, by Andrew Barton Patterson.’’
That’s how it all started – being in a school group that had to recite one of Banjo Patterson’s lesser bush ballads was our eisteddfod debut during our primary school years. We grew to despise poetry and poets. Fast forward to high school and the situation further deteriorated when singing in choirs was added to the torture of reciting poetry. We would argue with our oppressors that we had no problem with those who enjoyed competing in the eisteddfod. More power to them. But the eisteddfod wasn’t our go, so leave us out. We thought that was both reasonable and fair.
Unfortunately that just steeled their resolve. We were force fed the lyrics of ‘Shenandoah’; lamentable ballads from Godspell; something we can’t recall sung by The New Seekers. Training (okay, rehearsing) for the eisteddfod did improve our physical fitness because about two or three times a week we’d be in a group frog marched down to the principal’s office for eisteddfod-related disturbances. The end result was usually painful as the principal’s henchmen happily dispensed what was termed ‘discipline.’
Remarkably, they aren’t our worst eisteddfod recollections. The nadir was in second form (now year eight) when we had to play the wood block in an instrumental group. We destroyed the ‘Blue Danube’. However, at the conclusion of what could loosely be described as a performance our teacher excitedly informed us that we’d won. It wasn’t such a big shock, for we were the only entrant.
“No we go to the Grand Concert,’’ she announced. It was on a Saturday night. At Taree High’s hall. We didn’t turn up. The consequences were painful the following Monday. But we didn’t care.
We remember the exhilaration we felt when we finally left Taree Catholic High School in 1976 knowing we’d never be tormented by the eisteddfod again. But we’ve been scarred for life.