Читать книгу The Five Walking Sticks - Henry R Lew - Страница 16

The Sussex continued to make news for several weeks. The first few days saw extensive salvage operations at the scene of the wreck. These proved quite successful and many passengers had luggage retrieved. I was not one of them. My belongings, a heavy trunk and six cases, were lost. Contained within them were the residual funds that constituted the remainder of my inheritance, my wardrobe of clothes and a library of books. My plans for farming the land went down with the Sussex. I no longer possessed sufficient money for the venture. But I fared better than Captain Collard did. A subsequent enquiry into the cause of the shipwreck found him negligent of his duties and he was sentenced to twelve months imprisonment.

Lewis Abrahams discussed the aspects of my life with me - family history and upbringing - education - past experiences - and future aspirations. He then suggested that I look for work teaching languages. “They are always wanting such teachers in Melbourne. Why don’t you start by going down to the synagogue and asking for a job as a Hebrew teacher? It will introduce you to the Jewish community if nothing else. What have you got to lose?”

The Jewish School, or as it was more correctly known Common School 180, was under the direct supervision of the Synagogue. Founded in 1859 as the West Melbourne Grammar School, it received a grant from the government sponsored Denominational School Board, provided it teach secular subjects as well as Hebrew and religion. With the introduction, in 1865, of the Common School Act, Government funding could be withdrawn unless certain new criteria were met. To still qualify for a subsidy the West Melbourne Grammar School was required to place itself under the Victorian Education Department, and in accordance with this move its name was changed to Common School 180. It rapidly developed a reputation for academic excellence. I was appointed to the staff as an assistant Hebrew teacher soon after my arrival in Melbourne. If you access the records of the school you may note that I resigned at the end of my second year only to be virtually immediately re-appointed. The education system was undergoing great change at this time and the apparent fluctuating course of my employment was interwoven with this. On January 1^st 1873, a year to the day after my arrival, a new Government Education Bill was passed. State funded education was made free and compulsory but wholly secular. Schools that remained private would now lose their Government subsidy. In the case of denominational schools a special clause was introduced. The school and the religious community, which it represented were permitted one years grace, during which to decide, whether to hand the school over to the Education Department on a purely secular basis, or to retain it as a religious institution. The Jewish School favoured the latter course. It now opened on Sunday mornings to teach Hebrew exclusively. This was good for me as it provided extra work and more income. The Jewish School at this time boasted an enrolment of 164 students: - 137 boys, 27 girls and, interestingly enough, 8 Christians among them.

As a result of the new Government regulations the teaching staff of Common School 180 were given notice for December 31^st 1873 and from that day onwards the school ceased to exist. Its successor the Melbourne Hebrew School was founded three days earlier but did not open for business until January 12^th 1874. I was now given a new one-year contract to teach Hebrew. My appointment was for two and a half hours each day, Mondays to Fridays, and an additional two hours on a Sunday morning. It was also a prerequisite of my employment that I attend Synagogue on Saturdays and Festivals as an example to my students. But this was not my only job. I also taught at three other schools, the Turret House Commercial College, the Fitzroy Secondary Academy, and the All Saints Church of England Grammar School. At the Fitzroy Secondary Academy I had a stint as Head Teacher as well as teaching French and German. By having several part-time teaching positions I was able to extend my horizons into the general community and make the acquaintance of a large number of non-Jews as well. This in no way represented a flight away from Judaism. I always believed that man has a common humanity that is every bit as important as his personal ethnicity and that he should use it to transcend fears of cultural differences that may exist between him and his neighbours. This was my legacy from having been educated in the midst of differing cultures.

Let’s digress a bit and talk about “The Haunted Castle.” The haunted castle was a pseudonym for the Turret House Commercial College. Turret House was a two storey palatial mansion built at the corner of George Street and Victoria Parade in Fitzroy by pioneers who had struck it rich. No expense had been spared in its construction. The bricks were even imported from England. It was built at a time when the wealthy elite began to establish aristocratic private homes away from their places of business in the city. Fitzroy and East Melbourne, in the nearby bush, were favourite locations. The original inhabitants lived merry lives full of extempore dinner parties and fancy dress balls. The city’s leading butchers, grocers and wine merchants catered for these functions. Their carts were seen, daily, unloading wares at the front gates. A domestic tragedy then put an end to all this frolicking. The exact details are not known. The Coroner, Dr. Richard Youl, is said to have taken the dark secret to his grave. The house became deserted and from that day onwards was known in the neighbourhood as “The Haunted Castle”.

In 1872 a schoolteacher named Martin from Ballarat who wanted to establish a Commercial High School finally rented the property for a lowly sum. Martin suggested that I partner him in the project and invited me to dine there one evening, with his family, and discuss the matter further. I found Martin to be a kind and caring man and when I expressed a wish not to tie myself down financially, he offered to employ me instead. He also hired a third teacher, Professor Carr, an acquaintance of his from Ballarat, who specialised in elocution and public speaking. They were a motley pair, Martin was black-haired and lame and Carr had silver hair and a paralysed right arm.

The building, gargantuan in proportions, lent itself well to the desired purpose. It contained ample residential quarters for the staff and still there were plenty of classrooms and dormitories left over for the students. The large garden was more than adequate as a playground. After we moved in neighbours told us that the place was haunted. The renting agent had omitted to mention this. Needless to say numerous discussions about ghosts now took place. Martin and Carr called themselves spiritualists and believed in the possible existence of ghosts. I was a rationalist and did not.

One dark night I was awoken by a commotion in the adjoining quarters. I dressed quickly and immediately went to enquire of my companions as to the problem. Martin informed me that someone was in the basement. We held a council of war and decided to go down and investigate. One of Martin’s sons had a pair of fencing foils. He removed the button shaped guards from off the tips. He then handed me one and kept the second for himself. Martin grabbed a hatchet, Carr a cricket bat, and the ladies formed a rear guard with lighted candles in one hand and fire pokers or tongs in the other. We opened the back door to enter the yard and encountered a loud repetitive rapping noise, highly suggestive of an intruder, either in the cellars or the kitchen. I led the charge. We finally localised the sounds to the kitchen but on entering and exploring it nothing was found, no enemy, not even a sign of forced entry. Martin and Carr then reverted to their spiritualism. “You don’t believe in spirits revisiting this world?” Martin asked me. Carr taunted me quoting Hamlet. “There is more between heaven and earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy.” I refused to accept this explanation and suggested we explore the cellars as well but once again we found nothing. I called it a night, returned to my room, read a little and fell asleep. Then in the early hours of the morning I awoke again, this time to a flapping noise on my own ceiling. I looked up and what I saw was beyond belief. Two flaming, fiery eyes were glaring down at me, threateningly, menacingly! Shakespeare’s words, “There is more between heaven and earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy” were still ringing in my ears and my first impression was that I must have been dreaming. I lay still, determined to ascertain whether I was awake or not. It is most ludicrous to think you’re dreaming when in fact you’re wide-awake. I pinched my legs. I was awake all right, and the two flaming eyes were still there looking at me. I pulled myself together, put a check on my own imagination, and reinforced to myself that there were no such things as ghosts. There were no lights in my room. Gas had not been fitted, my candle had burnt out, and my matches had been borrowed for the earlier reconnoitering and not returned. But I still had young Martin’s fencing foil. I moved a table into the centre of the room and placed a chair on it to overcome any disadvantage that I might have in relation to the extreme height of the ceiling. I then positioned myself, took aim for the eyes and thrust with my sabre. A living creature squeaked and fluttered as I bored into its body.

By now the entire household had once more awoken. They clattered down the passage into my room, their candles suddenly illuminating it. I had killed a large vampire bat that had presumably come down the kitchen chimney and then made its way into my room. The next morning at breakfast we all managed a laugh over the previous night’s adventure. It had certainly been a victory for rationalism over spiritualism.

Martin and Carr fostered an atmosphere of culture at Turret House. An example is how they encouraged the members of the Nonthetic Literary and Debating Society to use it as the venue for their fortnightly evening meetings. In this manner Society members gained access to our little intellectual coterie and what’s more they helped to expand it. The Nonthetic was the new brainchild of two highly intelligent sixteen-year-olds, the tall and beardless Alfred Deakin and his best friend, the fair yet brown-eyed, and highly vivacious Theodore Fink. These two lads were inseparable. They had sat next to each other at Melbourne Grammar School, the year before, where Fink had convinced Deakin that matriculation was essential for entry into a suitable profession. Now in 1872 they were both studying law. Deakin had been a shy and quiet boy until he met Fink, who so impressed him, with his self-confidence, impudence and resource, that Deakin decided to follow suit. Both rose to positions of great prominence and power. Deakin, became Australia’s second, fifth and seventh Prime Minister and Fink went on to become Chairman of Directors of the Herald newspaper, for more than a quarter of a century.

These two teenagers were born leaders and very stimulating to talk to. It was a pleasure to engage them in social intercourse. They had already gained a reputation throughout the city as keen debaters. They had brilliant delivery. Deakin was a fluent speaker who excelled in polemics, the art of controversial argument, and Fink had the knack of manipulating sarcasm to a level of genuine humour. They were also members of the well-known Eclectic Debating Society where they had already competed against such notables as Henry Gyles Turner, the manager of the Commercial Bank of Australia, and Marcus Clarke, the writer. The Eclectic met only once a month, and this young pair, desirable of more frequent practice at public speaking, formed the Nonthetic to overcome this deficiency.

Deakin financed his evening Law classes by working at a number of jobs during the day and one of these was teaching. He joined me on the staff of the All Saint’s Church of England Grammar School where we further cemented our friendship. After graduating from Law School he accepted a job writing for David Syme of the “Age” who was influential in converting him from a free trader to a protectionist and then supported him in his quest for a seat in the Victorian Parliament.

Young Fink had a great love of poetry. In his matriculation year he had won the school’s poetry prize for a verse entitled “The War around Paris” which he had based on the siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War. When he found out that I had served in that war he engaged me in some lively discussions concerning his poem and the conflict in general. Theodore became an active member of Melbourne’s bohemian artistic and literary circles. For many years he contributed poems and prose, both light and serious, to various newspapers and journals.

I lived at Turret House for a year. When I was appointed Head Teacher of the Fitzroy Secondary Academy at the corner of Nicholson and Gertrude Streets, I took a room, close by, in Princes Street, Fitzroy. I shared these new lodgings for nearly six years with the indomitable Richard Birnie, who I see as having had some role in directing me away from teaching and into a career of writing and journalism.