Has the Bell Gone Yet?

All of these gentlemen combined to provide one of the most unforgettable experiences of my career. Jim was an art teacher at the school , but had spent a lot of time in France in his youth. Accordingly, he decided one year that we should celebrate Bastille Day , which fell at the weekend. We had been assured that we need not bring anything ; we were greeted by trestle tables laden with food of all types French and four or five eighteen- gallon kegs of beer. In short , an excellent night was had by all. After another week of bliss with our students , Jim announced that we should adjourn again to his back garden, where a substantial amount of leftover beer awaited us. What a sight also awaited us! A week later , the trestle tables remained in place , still laden with the remnants of the sumptuous feast we had enjoyed. Jim seemed totally oblivious to our incredulity , which heightened when one of us was sent to the kitchen to obtain drinking glasses and reported back that the sink was still full of dirty dishes. The glasses were warm because they had just been washed !! Not long after , quite coincidentally , Jim moved back to Europe and was replaced by Ron Swenson , an eccentric even for an art teacher.... Perhaps the most daunting aspect of our commission as young teachers at South Armadale was to attend the school dances , which were held about once a term on a Friday night. There was no professional security employed---- we were it !! The dance was located in the school hall , in close proximity to the main gate but also to a fence marking the adjoining boundary with the highway. Additionally , there was the carpark , several trees in unlit areas and a demountable classroom behind which it was possible to hide. ( Sadly , this room was destroyed by fire after I left--- a troubled student broke in one night and decided he was cold ). Part of our brief was to arm ourselves with baseball bats and prowl the area in what we hoped seemed like a menacing manner , supposedly to ensure that no-one from outside the school community was attempting to enter. Thankfully , my bat remained untested. It was even worse inside. This was the mid-1980s , with Madonna and Rod Stewart arguably at their peak of popularity and high play rotation. Their songs were a regular feature of the dances . Unfortunately , the original lyrics were bastardised often by the young revellers singing along , so that Rod's ' you're in my heart / you're in my soul ' took on phonically similar but much cruder lyrics , and Madonna's ' like a virgin / touched for the very first time ' took on a predictably new dimension. Of course , our other mission inside the hall was to encourage less groping and more dancing , which was usually “ mission impossible “. I think there was a collective sigh of relief when Philippa turned up on one occasion , gasped audibly at what she was witnessing and decided to put an end to the dances after a year or so. “ That would be a good place to stop for now . I need sleep and I'm sure you have things to do. Why don't we meet again on Thursday ? Good night. “ I mumbled a farewell and made for the carpark. Even from there , I could see that Mr Smithers' light was off already. I decided it was way past ' beer o'clock ' , and made a beeline for my favorite pub in the area , the ' Golden Dragon '. On a Tuesday night it would be empty , but after listening intently to the old man's raspy voice for several hours , that would be fine . After my fourth beer on an empty stomach and mindlessly watching highlights of a Sheffield Shield cricket match on the widescreen television , my mind moved back reluctantly to Smithers. For some reason , his stories were becoming interesting. I hoped I could do them justice. When I got home , my dog Boris was staring morosely at his dinner bowl.