MARIAGER

(OB 1943) WALKED THE HALLS OF BRIGHTON GRAMMAR SCHOOL.

It's always a delight to hear from Old Boys about their time at BGS, especially when it dates back so far. Don has gone above and beyond in sharing his memories by writing his life story! Here's a fascinating excerpt from the Life Story of Don Mariager:

In 1943 my father had a relatively good harvest and prices were good, so after due enquiry it was decided to enrol me at the Brighton Grammar School in Melbourne, where I would be attending as a boarder.

At 7.00 am we arrived at Spencer Street, 18 hours after leaving the small Murrayville station.

We caught the electric suburban train, which took us to Brighton. Mum escorted me with my case to the School, an imposing structure with its clock tower, to meet the Headmaster. His name was Canon Wilson. He reassured my mother that I would be well looked after, and after seeing me to my dormitory, she left for the long return journey to the farm.

I had never been so lonely and deserted in all my life. During the night when things had quietened down I could hear the electric trains rattling along the track and many was the time when I had the urge to escape from my confined quarters and ‘jump the rattler’ for the freedom of the outside world. In spite of this, I persevered, and in retrospect I had quite a successful year at the boarding school, and am now very grateful for the opportunity they gave me.

On the sporting arenas, even though I had no specialist coaching up to this stage, I excelled on the athletic field and became the school-jumping champion and took part in the School’s First XVIII in Football, and in the Senior Cricket XI. I had the honour to represent the school at the Associated Grammar Schools’ Sports at Olympic Park in 1943 in both high and long jump. As a consequence, I received my School Colours at a presentation at the end of the year.

I enjoyed my lectures, which were delivered by gowned masters, except for French. After learning this language by phonetics I could not understand the old master as he prattled on endlessly.

Meals at the boarding school were very repetitious, especially the tripe which was served up to us by the table head each Sunday evening. I have never eaten the stuff since.

At the end of each school term the time could not come quickly enough when I would catch the 7.00p.m. Mildura Express from No. 1 platform for my return home for the holidays. Next day Dad would be waiting for me at the Murrayville station, and in about half an hour we would be driving up the lane to once again enjoy the comforts of home. Although we did not have the comforts of city life such as electricity and fast transport and had to put up with shortages because of the war, we were happy with our lot.

When the term holiday was over I would set out on the return journey to my boarding school, usually with one of Mum’s fruit cakes hidden among my belongings. You can imagine how long this lasted when my boarding mates discovered my possession!