The Beacon 1960
Inter-House Competition for 1960
White: Captains, Richard Waples, Mary Samio; Vice-Captain, James Smith; Secretaries, Peter Wilson, Mary Small.
Green: Captains, Ian Irvine, Marilyn Haworth; Vice-Captain, Joseph Gabauer; Secretaries, Rodney Kratz, Margaret Gabauer.
Blue: Captains, Alan Dornan, Marlene Drummond; Vice-Captain, Michael Elliott; Secretaries, Don Donovan, Helen Corben.
Red: Captains, Colin Nicholson, Valerie Lickiss; Secretaries, Graham Miller, Carmen Nicholson.
Sport Awards for 1960
Boys – Award of Merits
This award is made to those who have just failed to reach the very high standard of Blue Award.
Cricket: Don Lyall, Keith Sparks.
Football: Wallace Faichney, James Smith, Colin Nicholson, Richard Hancock.
Swimming: Richard Waples.
Basketball: Ian Irvine, Denis Mulville.
This award is made to those who have shown outstanding ability, sportsmanship and co-operation in a particular sport.
Cricket: Rodney Kratz.
Football: Graham Miller, Frank Gill.
Athletics: Ian Irvine, David Kemp, Graham Miller.
Tennis: Geoff Brewis, Dennis Lee.
Basketball: David Kemp, Graham Miller, Richard Waples.
Sportsman of the Year: Graham Miller.
Girls – Awards of Merits
Tennis: M Dean, A Toms.
Hockey: K Terke, P Skinner.
Basketball: M Samio.
Softball: D Murray, D Welsh.
Tennis: R Lill.
Hockey: W Platts.
Basketball: C Turnbull, C Nicholson.
Softball: C Turnbull.
Athletics: S Mitchell.
Sportswoman of the Year: Wendy Platts.
Recently I went to camp,
Up at Lennox Heads,
We hardly slept a wink each night
In our double-decker beds.
We’d have our breakfast first each morn,
Then run in all directions,
First make our beds, then tidy up
All ready for inspection.
In my opinion the bivouac
Was the highlight of the camp.
We slept beneath the stars all night.
But it was rather damp.
One day we went to the whaling station
Along at Byron Bay.
It was awful to see the whales cut up.
And I was sick all day.
We often went canoeing
Or swimming to a raft.
We went on nature treks sometimes,
And we did handicrafts.
We had so very much fun up there,
You really wouldn’t believe,
And I know that when the tenth day came,
We were very sad to leave.
Ann Young, 1A
Cadets To The Rescue
About 1942, during the last World War, a fisherman reported having seen a light flashing on and
off somewhere inland from Bundagen. As there was a shortage of men, the Coffs Harbour Cades
were called up and posted some 400 yards apart along the beaches in order to watch for the light
and take bearings on the compasses they carried. They knew the distance between themselves and
if two cadets that sighted the light measured the angle to the point where the lights
flashed, by use of trigonometry, they could find the actual point where the lights was.
This was done, and the culprit discovered. He turned out to be an old wood-cutter! Every night
when it became dark, the old man would light his lamp, thus causing a strong beam to shine out of
the window. Before turning in, he would take his lamp, open the door, put the cat out and shut the
door thus causing the light to flash on and off. Then he walked with his lantern through the kitchen,
past a window, into his bedroom, past another window, got into bed and turned the lantern off.
Karl McPhee, 2A
When the night is bright with the pale starlight
And the air is cool and still,
People stare about, till they hear that shout,
She is moving above the hill!
With the stars agleam and the moon abeaming,
A light moves through the sky;
People stare in wonder as a light goes under
A haze up very high.
But the haze is long, and the light is gone,
Has vanished from the night;
Now she’s gone we must go home
For we’ve seen the satellite.
Brian Holland, 1A.
The Beacon 1961
Prize List for 1960
JW Gerard Prize for 1st in 1G and BGF Prize for Theoretical Agriculture: Garry Rose.
Pacific Plywood Prize for 2nd in 1G and BGF Prize for Practical Agriculture: Brian Sisson.
S Haworth Prize for 3rd in 1G: Brian Burnett.
SE Nelson Prize for 1st in 1F: Jennifer McLean.
J Wheaton Prize for 2nd in 1F: Sandra Waples.
R Seccombe Prize for 3rd in 1F and BGF Prize for Theoretical Agriculture: Gary Crook.
A Brewis Prize for 1st in 1E: Anita Spagnola.
Cox Bros Prize for 2nd in 1E: Pamela McCarthy.
Cox Bros Prize for 3rd in 1E: Erica Lauritzen.
AF Lepherd Prize for 1st in 1D: John Avard.
AF Lepherd Prize for 2nd in 1D: Pamela Astill.
Pacific Plywood Prize for 3rd in 1D: Patricial Turk.
ARW Forsythe Prize for 1st in 1C: Christine Wheaton.
McGregor Bros Prize for 2nd in 1C: Delma Walters.
ARW Forsyth Prize for 3rd in 1C: Lynette Walters.
Lemmon’s Coffs Motel Prize for 1st in 1B: Bernard Griffin.
Lemmon’s Coffs Motel Prize for 2nd in 1B: Ian Shepherd.
Lemmon’s Coffs Motel Prize for 3rd in 1B: Larry Griffin.
Dr B Dolman Prize for Dux of First Year: James Holmes.
AC Hogbin Prize for 2nd in 1A: John Samio.
Rex Motel Prize for 3rd in 1A: Ivell Radford.
House Officials, 1961
Red House: Wendy Platts (captain); Judy McNaughton (secretary).
Blue House: Margaret Arthurson (captain); Helen Bailey (secretary).
Green House: Kerry Herdegen (captain); Annette Johnson (secretary).
White House: Mary Small (captain); Lyn Robinson (secretary).
Red House: Terry O’Toole (captain); Tim Normoyle (vice-captain).
Blue House: Roland Avard (captain); Bruno Bagnara (vice-captain).
Green House: David Featherstone (captain); Richard Hancock (vice-captain).
White House: James Smith (captain); William Small (vice-captain).
Sports Awards, 1961
Sportswoman of the Year: Wendy Platts.
Sportsman of the Year: Graham Miller.
Awarded for outstanding ability, fine sportsmanship, leadership and co-operation.
Basketball: C Nicholson, C Turnbull.
Hockey: W Platts.
Softball: C Turnbull, M Small.
Tennis: A Toms, R Lill.
Swimming: W Platts.
Cricket: K Sparks, D Lyall.
Football: R Hancock, G Miller, J Smith.
Tennis: G Brewis, D Lee.
Athletics: G Miller, B Foster.
Basketball: G Miller.
Swimming: J Smith.
Sports Award of Merit
This award is presented to those just failing to reach the very high standard demanded of a Blue winner.
Swimming: Heater Watt.
Tennis: K Herdegen, M Small, J Oxford, A Aldrige.
Tennis: J Flanagan.
Cricket: J Williams, D Lamberth, J Muldoon.
Football: B Foster, D Featherstone.
Basketball: T O’Toole, G Williams, G Brewis.
Athletics: G Taylor, R Mackay, G Williams.
Senior: W Platts, J Smith
Intermediate: H Watt, W Summerhill
Junior: A Young, D Turner
Juvenile: B Summerhill, W Browning
Senior: K Herdegen, G Miller
Intermediate: R Schumacher, K Sparks
Junior: L Dobson, J Peterson
Juvenile: J Morrow, R Mackay
Literary Section - 1961
To mark Coffs Harbour Centenary Year we asked some pupils from long established families to write for us short accounts of the pioneering days of their grandparents and great grandparents. These were duly compiled and checked for accuracy by Mr G England, President of the Coffs Harbour Historical Society.
Great-grandfather Walters came to the Nana Glen area near the end of the century and opened a bakehouse for the many miners who were scattered throughtout the area at that time. His bakehouse was built of wattle and daub and the oven itself was constructed of ant bed clay. He later selected land and settle down as a farmer at Nana Glen.
Grandfather married a local girl, the daughter of John Lever who came to Lower Bucca and selected land in 1890 at the of nineteen. Besides his farming activities he worked in the main mines of Orara goldfield.
Delma Walters, 2C.
After leaving England in 1882 grandfather Robert Hunter came to Queensland, but on hearing of the fine lands available for selection on Orara River he selected there in 1889. At this time the only roads were the rough bush tracks cut by the cedar getters. The trip from South Grafton to his new selection was partly by bullock team and on foot as the roads were too rough for lighter vehicles.
Having cleared a number of acres of land and erected a slab hut, he planted a crop or corn and while it grew he moved on to the Bellinger where he obtained work to earn ready money while the crop grew. Each year more land was cleared and cropped with maize. One year he sold 2,800 bushels of shelled corn at Grafton at 6/- per bag. When the mines were working he found a profitable market for vegetables and onions and carried them by pack horse to Bucca Creek mines.
Work was hard and the most tedious was the shelling of corn, which was either removed by hand or beaten with a big stick when packed loosely in a bag.
When paspalum grass became available grandfather bought dairy cows and produced butter and pigs.
Beth Hunter, 2D.
Great-grandfather Hoschke came to the Orara Valley and was one of the first selectors, when the Upper Orara land was made available in 1886. He came for Orange, where he was working on the railway. From Sydney he came to Grafton by boat and, with his family, travelled by bullock team to Mr Rudder’ farm, near Coramba, where they stayed until a hut was built on the selection. They moved in but later the swelling was flooded. A new hut was erected later on higher ground.
Great-grandfather had very little money, only 36 pounds in fact, but by living from his garden crops, and fish, wallabies, bandicoots, bush turkeys, and pigeons, he managed to build up a fine farm and raise thirteen children.
His first crop for sale was corn, which was taken by bullock team to Coffs Harbour and shipped to Sydney. Some was sold locally to cedar getters to feed their bullocks. Some corn was fed to pigs and hens, which provided food for his family. He also sent eggs and crates of fowls to Sydney. After paspalum grass was introduced, cows were kept and the first cream was sold to the Bucca Creek miners, who made their own butter. Later cream was sent to Sydney by boat. About 1903 a butter factory was built at Coramba and great-grandfather became one of its firs directors.
Jill Hoshke, 2C.
There was a young man from Calcutta
Who had a terrible stutter.
He said, “If you please,
Would you pass me the cheese.
And also the b-b-b-butter?”
Christopher King, 2A.
“What is all this washing about?”
Every day, week in, week out.
From getting up till going to bed,
I’m tired of hearing the same thing said:
“Have you washed your hands and face?”
I seem to live in the washing place.
Whenever I go for a walk or a ride,
As soon as I put my nose inside,
Even if I’ve something better to do,
It’s “Go wash your face and fingers, too.”
Before a meal is even begun,
And even after a meal is done,
It’s time to turn on the waterspout.
“Please, what is all this washing about?”
Errol Cornish, 2A
“The Woolgoolga Cat”
A ruffling of leaves, a padding of paws,
A banana stool stripped by some monstrous claws.
A leap to a log and there it sat,
The deadly; the silent; the “Woolgoolga Cat”.
A crouch of its legs; a flash of its eyes;
A flick of its tail; a scatter of flies;
A leap through the air; a landing flat,
So quickly it moved – the “Woolgoolga Cat”.
A padding of paws: the bleat of a lamb;
The jaws to the throat which clung like a clam.
A sucking of blood like some hungry gnat,
The stealthy, mysterious “Woolgoolga Cat”.
Geoff McMillan, 2A.
“The female of the species is the more deadly”
“George, what do you think you’re doing in that easy chair? Come and do the spuds! And don’t forget the lawn needs mowing and the car needs washing! And the floors can be scrubbed when you’ve washed the dishes!” Is this the way to treat your superior? But how many times have we heard a wife yelling like this at her husband, who, by the way, has gone sheepishly over and “done the spuds”? If all wives were to act like this to their devoted (?) husbands, imagine what the world would be like!
The Chinese have the right idea, father being boss, completely, and ordering everyone and everything about without question.
Many an army serviceman in Palestine during the war studies, with interest (and remembered for future purposes) the wise ways of the Arab – comfortably seated on his donkey while his wife plodded wearily in the rear, a child on each hip, a pitcher on her head and a basket over her shoulder.
In New Guinea, too, the wife still does all the work and even the garden plot is her responsibility. A common sight is that of a family coming back from working in the garden – dad in front, loaded down with one light-weight spear, while mum staggers behind with babies, nets, bags, sticks and a heavy load of yams or tar. Evidently there the female of the species is somewhat slow-witted, because it is fifty years since dad had a real job to do with his spear in defending his family.
But the female spider, like many other insects (not mentioning some humans) seems to be boss. The female trapdoor spider often keeps out an unwanted mate or visitor by simply shutting the door in his face! – Rather like the woman keeping out a drunken husband by locking the door. Female spiders often literally devour their mates when there is no further use for them. Would not women do the same if it were possible and there was no such thing as suppression of cannibalism?
The known and accepted fact that the female is the stronger sex has given her the impression that she should be and is boss. This has probably been the cause of much of the female domination in today’s homes.
Yet imagine the very mixed position we’d have if men and women’s places in life were reversed. Could the “stronger sex” manage the men’s positions, with their family, social and business responsibilities? I doubt it very much.
So I think women had better stick to the “male domination” idea and stop trying to sieze hold of the male part in the world or else we’ll end up with a predominance of overpoweringly bossy women and few disheartened, trodden-down men.
Heather-Jane Macfarlane, 2A.
The Joys of Our Country
Now the joys of our country are chiefly these,
The morning dew on the leaves of the trees.
A rainbow after a storm is over,
Paddocks rich-laden with flowering clover.
Waterfalls falling down wooded valleys,
Forests of staghorn and orchid lilies,
Brown soils covered with flourishing grasses,
Rivers and valleys and mountain passes.
Cattle and sheep and a lonely drover,
Roaming again when the shearing’s over.
Towns and cities and cattle stations,
Villages, farms and banana plantations.
Steamy rain forests decked with flowers,
Deserts with haunts of hot, dusty hours.
Gunyahs of birch bark and houses of stucco,
Legends re-told at a camp fire “smoko”.
Call of the dingo beneath the moon,
The setting sun in the afternoon.
Tropical climate, drought and showers,
Hillsides covered with blossoming flowers.
These things do I prize in our country fair,
And if friendship is beauty, it’s everywhere.
But the thing I like best is the country’s banner,
And her people’s mind, and her peoples manner.
Christine Teale, 2A
Several years ago a city cricket team was on a tour of the countryside, looking for cricketers who showed promise of Test team quality. On this occasion the team was playing the local Hamilton X1, which was captained by the ex-Sheffield Shield batsman, Johnny MacGillagrin. Johnny had won the toss sent the town policeman and the blacksmith who was taking first strike, in to bat.
The city X1 spaced themselves around the field as their demon bowler, nicknamed “Tiger”, walked back his customary fifty yards from the wicket, to prepare for his long run in.
The crowd on the hill was tense, and the wicket-keeper, fielding at the boundary fence, moved into position to take the ball, if it should come through to him.
The umpire signalled start of play, and the “Tiger”, gripping the ball tightly in his hand, began his long run in. As he thundered up to the stumps, the ball flashed from his hand and sped like lightning down the pitch. The blacksmith jumped out to meet it on the “full”, and with a tremendous hit, sent it out of the grounds and into a railway yard a few blocks away. Everyone gasped in astonishment and the local supporters cheered wildly.
This mighty hit caused the two slips fieldsmen, who were deeply engrossed in a game of poker behind the wickets, to look up.
A new ball was brought on and, after recovering from the shock of having his bowling put to shame by this country lad, the “Tiger” proceeded to bowl the next ball with even greater vigour. It was at that precise moment that the blacksmith decided he hadn’t ties his pads on securely, and he bent down to fasten them up. Luckily for him the ball landed short, and whizzed over his head at a tremendous pace, where it was magnificently caught on the boundary by the wicket-keeper, who returned it to the bowler.
The “Tiger” swung his arm round like a propeller before starting his run up to the wicket for his third bowl. This was to generate more power for his extra special delivery. It worked. The ball, pitched at the popping crease on the off side, shot forward, and shattered the stumps. The two slips had to cease their game of poker abruptly, and dive for cover from the flying splinters of the shattered wickets.
The spirits of the local eleven’s supporters fell to rock-bottom, as the blacksmith was their best batsman.
“Zat?” yelled the “Tiger”, jumping halfway down the pitch.
“No ball!” replied the umpire.
Wayne Buckman, 2A
The Night The Bed Fell On Father
The clock struck eleven, as the cat jumped in the window dragging a rat. Mother, who was a light sleeper, awoke immediately as the cat dragged the rat beneath the bed.
Horror stricken, she listened. She knew the whole routine by heart, as this happened every night, except the nights when the cat brought in a lizard. Gently shaking father, she whispered “Father, the cat’s got a rat under the bed.”
“What’s that?” murmured father, still half asleep. Then light dawned and he became more wide-awake.
“Drat?” he exclaimed, also uttering an oath. “I suppose I’ll have to chase him out.”
“Well, it would be best,” mother murmured sympathetically.
Father heaved his huge form out of the bed and peered under at the cat, while mother, from her side, viewed the cat which was placidly crunching the dead rat’s bones.
Trying to be quiet, which was quite impossible, father worked his way under the bed, while the cat eyed him warily. Crawling along on the newly polished floor and gently cooing to the cat, which was now openly hostile, father wondered what on earth had moved him from his bed at this hour.
Meditating on this odd circumstance, father lapsed temporarily from his patiently false cooing role. He was recalled from his trance-like state by the sight of the cat slyly retreating to the other side of the bed, dragging his much chewed prize with him.
“It’s now or never,” thought father. He made a wild lunge at the cat, which safely evaded him and ran out the other side.
Mother screamed and jumped back onto the bed. Father swore loudly.
Then all was chaos. Father shouted at the so-and-so cat; mother yelled; and the bed gave way and landed, with an awful crack, on father’s back.
Merita Quin, 2A.
Teachers give homework all the day,
“Twill only take half an hour,” they say.
But these half hours add up, all right,
I do homework half the night.
A half hour for English, an hour for maths,
And I try to work out silly graphs.
Then I start my French and history,
To me these subjects remain a mystery.
My neighbours yell and scream at their game,
I tell them to quieten, but mostly in vain.
My brother rocks out some jazzy song;
At five he switches the radio on.
By now I’m mad and let out a shout,
And to finish it off, my pen runs out.
So you see my homework brings no fun,
But this poem gets another piece of homework done.
Ann Young, 2A.