Free Primary School Confidential by Woog Page A

before I change my mind.

    Another popular school trip back then, and one that is still popular now, was the Canberra/Snowy Mountains haul. Accompanied by the Year 5 and 6 teachers, we travelled by bus from the outskirts of Sydney and down the Hume Highway to Goulburn. Here we stopped so the bus driver could have a smoke and we could run madly around the park in the middle of town. In this we were encouraged by the teachers, who hoped that this burst of physical exertion would tire us out sufficiently that we would shut the fuck up for the rest of the trip.
    I recall being very excited as we crossed the border into the Australian Capital Territory. What a novel idea! One second you were in New South Wales, the next you were in a whole new world. A world of wide, clean streets and signs pointing out the many attractions that Canberra has to offer.
    We took in the sights of Cockington Green, a miniature village created in 1979 by a gentleman named Doug. Its purpose? Well, I am not really sure of its educational merit, but it did have a free barbeque area, if you felt like cooking a steak.
    Next we visited Parliament House, which was about as interesting to a group of eleven-year-olds as you would assume. We learnt why our capital ended up smack bang in the middle ofnowhere. (Because Sydney and Melbourne could not get their shit together and agree which should be the capital city, so they created a new city between the two.) Meanwhile, construction was underway on the real Parliament House. The government-appointed tour guide could not get us enthused about any of it.
    Bob Hawke was the prime minister at the time. ‘Advance Australia Fair’ had just been voted the country’s national anthem and, despite the hues on our flag, our national colours had just been announced as green and gold. These were years of great change. Medicare was established. The Australian dollar was floated. We had won the America’s Cup. Sir Ninian Stephen formally handed the title deeds to Uluru back to the traditional landowners. But none of these significant milestones in our nation’s history could compare to the excitement of discovering that there was a vending machine at Parliament House.
    Then we were herded back onto the bus. Next stop: Cooma, a bitterly cold town where we would spend the night in large dormitories run by a local religious cult that was keen to cash in on the passing school-excursion trade. The number-one tourist attraction at the time was a shop that sold traditional Dutch clogs. While we hadn’t been able to muster any enthusiasm during our tour of Parliament House, this little shop of clogs was a huge hit. We learnt the history of clogs and were treated to an excellent demonstration of how they were carved from a single block of wood. Finally, we were let loose in the gift shop. I recall the glee with which I bought a key ring for my mother that had a miniature clog hanging from it.
    That evening at the cult hotel, we were given dinner along with jugs of green cordial. Of course, no one slept that nightafter the heady mix of clogs and cordial and the anticipation of seeing snow the next day.
    As we drove out of Cooma, the bus driver made a lame attempt to interest us in the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, but we weren’t having a bar of it; we were too busy competing to be the first person to spy a snow-covered peak.
    ‘I see it!’ someone squawked and the bus erupted into cheers.
    As we drew closer to our destination, snow began to appear in little clumps by the side of the road. We arrived at a place called Dead Horse Gap, which was a nod to all the brumbies that had frozen to death over the years. The doors of the bus were opened and a group of tired and cranky teachers basically told us to go and knock ourselves out.
    Now, we were a group of Western Sydney kids, most of whom had never seen snow before. For some reason—most likely an excess of high spirits, exhaustion and green cordial, the snow ignited