Things Fell Apart

What do we do when things fall apart?

I was 18 when things fell apart. I failed 5th form. Every subject. Even English.

I had been relatively good at school before then. I remember two years previous my form teacher read the list of pupils graded from first to fifth and I was third. He only read out the first five places. I felt I was in my proper place. Not at the top but above average.

Somehow in year 11 halfway through the year things fell apart.

I lost the ability to understand what I was being taught. Also, I lost whatever talent I had in being able to write down what I was supposed to write down. I didn’t seem to be able to put a sentence together. Let alone an essay.

Of course I did not realise this was happening. I did not see it coming. In my first few years of high school, I was good at Maths. It wasn’t exactly easy, but I got consistently good marks. So, I concentrated on Maths subjects. But by halfway through year 11 I seemed to understand nothing. I lost the ability to understand any type of mathematical equation.  Let alone describe any mathematical concept.

I tried to make it acceptable by saying it was not the end of the world. I did not see it as things falling apart. I thought of it as a temporary setback. I would try something else.

I had many relatives who had served in the Police Force. I had listened to their tales and thought I could succeed where they had succeeded. The Police had a scheme called The Police Cadets which allowed early school leavers to join the Police Force and live in barracks while they continued their education. Within 2 weeks of getting my exam results I had applied to take part in the scheme. But unfortunately, I was not selected. I had a cousin who also applied and he was selected.

I was disappointed and felt at a loss of what to do. I resolved to repeat year 11.

At this point my father stepped in. He did not tell me he was stepping in or what his plans were, but he must have decided that I had failed academically and was never going to get back into the education system. Or get a job by myself.

He did not tell me what we were doing but one day we both went to Melbourne on the train. We walked to a large building and went up a lift to the 5th floor. We were taken into an office and waited until two men came in and sat down behind a desk. He spoke to them and they spoke back to him. In time they spoke in a limited way to me. I think the only word I spoke to them was ‘Yes’ after they had asked me some questions.

They then said congratulations you can start work in a week’s time.

I became an employee of a major bank.

I did not have a stellar career in the Bank. I had a cousin who was slightly older than me who also worked in the bank and it was obvious he was going to have a stellar career. I had him to compare myself to. I knew I could never succeed like he did.

I knew I had been sent a message that could not be ignored. Was I smart enough to go on with school? Well maybe no if I was honest. Things had fallen apart and there was no denying it. I had to accept that I was now more or less locked into a certain way of life.

To make it more disappointing I missed school. I longed to return to school. It was a big surprise to me when I failed all subjects, and I was confident that if I did them all again, I would be fine.  I even dreamed of returning to school. I had tried my best and had always thought I would continue at school. I sometimes secretly looked at the curriculums of university courses and read some of the books mentioned. I had always thought I would be at home in the education system.  It was unfortunately obvious that I was now out of the education system for good.

In my case things had fallen apart.

But this was only the first in a series where things fell apart.

Watch for the continuing story...


Neville Gibb

My best friend Helen and I were animal crazy vet nurses on morning shift in a local clinic. Through the vet we also scored jobs at a local racing stable in the afternoons. It was fun but hard work but fun.
 
Our role at the stables was grooming, feeding horses plus mucking out stalls then polishing the harness and sulky’s. We also learnt to harness the horses, which included adding hobbles to the pacers. We learnt that some horses race using the natural gait with legs on opposite corners moving together, cross gaiting. Others moved the two left legs together then the two right legs together, pacing.
 
After our first 12 months we were given the chance to drive a horse around the home track. Just trying to sit in the sulky was hard enough. A most unladylike pose, terribly insecure and uncomfortable, frequently falling off.
 
As a special treat, whenever possible, our racing boss would allow us to attend race meetings. He listed us as grooms and attendants to allow us free access to the track. On the downside we usually travelled in the float. Not the two horse domestic float, the 6 – 8 horse truck style. We were thrown in with the feed.
 
One day we got to accompany the boss to a horse auction. Neither of us had seen one so we were curious. We chatted on the way up and hatched a plan to buy our own horse and train it.  We had been working at Big Jim’s stables long enough now, so we thought we knew enough. We ran it by the boss of course, and he told us we could use the old stable to house our horse and the track to exercise after his racing horses were finished. We agree on fees etc.
 
As the first few horses came out, we tried bidding, then realized when the auctioneer called, any opening bid, 40? He didn’t mean $40 or $400 there were some extra zeros.  Yikes, these things were expensive. We quickly checked our funds and stopped bidding. Some horses sold for over $50,000.00.
 
We became disillusioned. Jim said, wait till the last lot. In came Saucy Sam, a beautiful bay gelding. He was an older horse and was being sold as a companion mount. All others were prancing around, this one steadily walked along. Well-trained, we thought. We bought him.
 
At the stables the purchased horses arrived. Jim’s was dancing around, ours steadily walked. We spent a few weeks getting to know him, riding him and then put him in the sulky. We had been allowed to borrow equipment till we could afford our own.
 
Once we got our gear we were permitted to run him with the other horses on the practice track. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.  Sam was very polite. He trotted patiently beside the other horses, occasionally neighing to them. No matter how hard we tried we could not get him to run to the front. He just liked to trot n chat. Perhaps we are not doing it right, we thought.
 
We persuaded the experienced jockeys to try him. They tried and laughed and suggested we give up. He was a saucy character, well suited to his role as companion mount but totally useless for racing. Too old and too slow. Apparently, a companion mount is an old horse used ride beside younger ones to settle them down. Bugga.
​
So much for our money-making scheme. We said goodbye to our $10,000 outlay and our hopes of winning races and earning heaps. Now we had an overpriced money eating machine, not a money-earning racehorse. We still loved him though.
 
Heather Hartland
May 2026

​Failure
"It's not easy being Green"
 
The second time I left school my options from Dad were to get a job or join the army. I was pretty safe in the fact the army wouldn’t need me, although they couldn't get enough of me later in life. Only job available was a court reporter which meant I had to learn touch typing and Pitman's shorthand! Fortunately, another job came up which I grabbed in great haste.
 
Overnight I became the author and publisher of hundreds of books, which were staple diet for all homes and businesses in the Canberra/Goulburn area. I worked for the PMG and wrote the Telephone directory for the area. Thus, Green Ink stained my fingertips.
 
Writing the directories involved sitting on a high stool against a high wooden bureau topped with a large Dickensian style folio. The pages opened to expose five columns. First the telephone number, second numerous bureaucratic gobble-de-gook, then the final three. First in Black ink What the PMG wanted the listing to be, second in Red ink … and I mean INK …. What the client wanted the listing to be. Finally in Green Ink, the agreed listing.
 
In August September each year, once the columns were full, the folio would be sent to the Typesetter and published. Back then, junior staff were told when to take their annual holidays and mine were in August that year. I told my boss a couple of the entries were not completed and off I went. Old Archie had been in the PMG seemingly since he was born and decided to pack the folio off without checking. I came back to a hell of a storm. A storm that involved a visit by the then Prime Minister and a security check on all our personal bank accounts and assets.
 
There were five Taxi companies in Bowral … a very prestigious and influential area … and only one had been listed in the Bowral Telephone Directory!!
 
That wasn't the only Green Ink scenario, though green Ball Point pens existed at this time.
 
A few years later I was working in an office associated with Naval Intelligence. My job was to read all reports and underline swearwords in … Green Ink … so a WRAN officer knew she didn't have to read them verbatim.  
 
This was at the time the aircraft carrier Melbourne collided with the destroyer, HMAS Voyager. There were a number of reports at the time I remember. One rather blue one about two WRANs caught in a Motel room wearing only yellow plastic raincoats … Well… Yellow and Blue do make Green.
 
 
Merv Beamish
March 2026

Not long before my first marriage in 1973, my mother said to me that it wouldn’t last.  At the time, I didn’t ask her what she meant by that and now it’s much too late.  I wish I had asked her when I had the chance.  Perhaps she saw something in my future husband that I couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, see.
 
He was a controlling sort of guy, wanting to know who I was spending time with and who I was talking to when he wasn’t around.  He also demanded that his dinner be on the table when he got home from work saying that I knew precisely when that was going to be.  Problem with that was that he didn’t keep regular hours and would come home, it seemed, when he felt like it.
 
We both worked for his father’s wholesale grocery business.  He trained as a computer programmer and, as my previous employment involved typing, I was designated as the computer operator issuing invoices for the drivers when doing their deliveries, among other things in the office. 
 
Little did I know at that time that he had a girlfriend on the side.  His family and friends all lied for him and nobody told me the truth about his shenanigans.  This included the night our son was born.  I was told that he went to the pub, but he was with the girlfriend, who he married 3 months after our divorce became final.  I found out later that that marriage didn’t work out either.  Perhaps he was up to his old tricks.
 
In the end, I had enough of his bullying tactics and mental stress so I packed up my son and some things and walked out on him.  I did not regret this decision one little bit.
 
After another couple of failed relationships, I finally found success.
 
I was working as a volunteer on HMAS Castlemaine at Williamstown when one day, while on the gangway, a fellow came on board and said that he wanted to offer his services as a volunteer.  When he was walking away from me, my first thought was “hmmm, cute bum”, but I think I said it aloud.
 
It took quite a few months before we started going out together.  The main thing I remember about this is the fact that we went on a holiday to America together.  We both said that it would “make or break” the relationship.  Fortunately, it definitely “made” the relationship and it was a further few years before he proposed.  He did this while I was driving and nearly ran off the road, it was so unexpected.  We both said that we didn’t want to go through marriage again.  Famous last words.
 
We married in 1999 in Caulfield Park and had nearly 15 years together, until his untimely death in 2014.  He was too young, only 64.


Joan Brown
March 2025

​My earliest failure of note was an academic failure.
 
My secondary education was available due to a scholarship which entitled me to four years schooling at St. Patrick’s College in Ballarat. This was to cover the classes of Sub-Intermediate, Intermediate, Leaving and Matriculation.
 
Over the time I was a little more than an average student, ranking in the top 5 of a class of approximately 50 students each year.
 
My failure came in the Leaving Certificate year of 1948. In an external examination I unexpectedly failed dismally. Being an external examination, held at the Ballarat Town Hall, I put the failure down to nerves, or stage fright, and set my mind to a second year in the Leaving Certificate class.
 
The results were published in early January 1949.
 
Uncle Ned Caine, my carer, was losing the fight against cancer (he died later that month), so my failure was not a significant issue with my carers. I remained at their place for the balance of the holidays, but that was the end of my tenure there.
 
The real issue, of course, was back at St. Pat’s, where I had let the school down and suffered the indignity of being a ‘second term Leaving Certificate student’.
 
I took it in my stride and, with no fanfare, spent 1949 redoing Leaving, passing as I should have in 1948.
 
The problem? This had taken up the fourth year of my scholarship.  To Matriculate would require another year’s study, for which there were no funds. And so, I had to forego Matriculation. Shame!!
 
Much later in my life, in 1973 as a mature aged accountancy student, I experienced another academic failure. I failed my final accounting subject and examinations had terminated. There was, however, a reprieve. The Australian Society of Accountants gained me entry to the Bendigo Institute of Technology (now La Trobe University), where I had to study the Auditing class. This was to take three trips per week for 12 months before qualification.
 
On qualifying, I approached my boss with a request for partnership. He heard me out but stipulated that I must be a Chartered Accountant!  I was only a C.P.A.!  Curses!
 
Undaunted, however, I pursued this idea and registered for the Chartered Institute’s ‘Professional Year’. This was successful and I then purchased a 1/3rd share in the business (on monthly instalments. I had no money). Having paid this off, I increased this purchase to a 50% share, again in instalments.
 
The firm then became Smith O’Shannessy and guaranteed my security. My failures were behind me.
 
 
Ray O’Shannessy
March 2025

Tony arrived at my home with his food van.  A friend who delivered cold food to supermarkets, he pulled up outside our gates and called, “June, do you want a duck?” I assumed he was offering me a frozen duck from the truck that was not ordered.
 
Tony opened the back doors of his food van.  The shelves were full of cold food, yum. On the floor was a live duck waddling up and down, not happy being confined. I thought, thank goodness all the cold foods were wrapped up and projected from any germs. You can imagine the mess on the floor. Anyway, this poor duck was being kicked out of her home as the family dog was frightened of her. Seemingly the duck (unnamed) chased the dog around the back yard and pecked at it whenever it could. I laughed as I could just see their city dog carrying on like a pork chop.
 
So, Elizabeth, as I named her, became part of our family. We took her to the paddock and introduced her to my 25 chickens and 3 dogs.
 
Elizabeth settled in almost straight away and enjoyed chasing the chickens and dogs around. They seemed to like it.  When they got sick of it, the dogs came into the house and the chickens went into their pens. Elizabeth took over the vegetable patch and took a fancy to eating snails and slugs along with most of the corn we grew. Which was fine as the corn was to feed the chooks.
 
The daily routine was to call all the chooks into their house. They had ¼ acre fenced in so Mr Fox could not harm them. Elizabeth took it upon herself to stay in the fenced area under a tree to sleep at night.
 
This night, I was late in closing the chooks’ gate, so I quickly rounded them up with the help of Jack, our fox terrier.  Gate closed safely, I took it for granted that Elizabeth was also in the fenced area, but lo and behold, she was not. I woke up at daybreak, hearing the chooks going berserk. Sadly, Mr Fox had attacked Elizabeth and bitten off her head.
 
The spade in my hands, I just couldn’t dig a hole to put poor Elizabeth into without her whole body. We looked around the paddock and found her head.  Very cross with Mr. Fox, I yelled out to him “If you’re going to kill something have the decency to eat it!”  We buried all we had of Elizabeth, said a couple of prayers and put a cross on her grave. The kids insisted on this. The paddock had numerous little graves in it from our animals as they grew old and died.
 
Well, that night we discussed in length the matter of the closing of the gate and that it should not be left to one person only.

“The family needs to share the responsibility and ensure our animals are safe. Don’t forget to check that all the animals are safely locked up at night and protected from predators.”

​
 
June Howard
March 2023

​I’m writing this as a failure of my parents, due to the circumstances at the time, to not see that I received an education…. because, I would never say I was a failure.  However, I could say my education very much was.
 
I attended a small school in the country along with my siblings.  The one teacher school taught prep to grade six.  For some reason, my father decided I was to stay on at this school to do Grade 7 and Grade 8 as I was needed to milk cows while my brothers carted hay.  Out of a family of three boys and three girls, I was the only girl who would go to the dairy and milk cows. 
 
Who was I to argue with my father?
 
As you can imagine, the teacher then had to give, or try to give, me harder work than was possible from a small state school.  I don’t remember my schoolwork from that time, but I’m sure it wasn’t as hard as what was taught at high school, or the convent.
 
On completion of those two years spent at the state school I was sent on to complete my education at the convent in town, fifteen miles away.  I was placed in class to repeat Grade 8, or Form Two as it was known.
 
What a shock to discover subjects that I had never heard of.  Just some that I recall – Geometry, Algebra, Latin and French.  How was I to deal with these dreadful subjects after missing the first year of them?  By the end of the year, after a dreadful fail, I was placed up to Form Three to be humiliated yet again, with more of the same dreadful subjects.  At the end of the year I was glad to walk out the gates, and not look back.
 
I would never say I was a failure, but I strongly believe my education was.  I went on to hold down many jobs over many years in the work force.  I was the bookkeeper in one of my first jobs, a job I thoroughly enjoyed.  I’ve worked in supermarkets on checkouts.  I’ve worked in a nursing home in the kitchen, laundry and as a cleaner.
 
And… I married and raised four children.
 
I believe, had I been given the education I should have been given, I may have been a nurse. 
 
My other passion was hairdressing.  I have been known to cut hair when someone needs their hair cut.  My niece wanted to give me job in her business, as she thought that I was a hairdresser.
 
I’m also very proud to have taught myself to play a keyboard, to have a group which helps me to entertain the lovely residents in nursing homes around Benalla.
 
So, I’ve turned my failed education into the will to achieve.  To develop myself.  To be self-determining.   To put behind me those awful years I call my horrible school years and just get on with life.
 
I’m left wondering, however, what I could have achieved had I had a better education.
 
 
Trish Rogash,
March 2023

​I mentioned this title to my son, who wisely commented, “Well it all depends where you set the bar.’

By most people’s bar, my athletic career would be a complete failure – in the seconds for the school hockey team, playing in D Grade in the church tennis team, last by a third of the pool in the year 9 swimming sports.

But I once won a race at the Sunday School picnic. I was about 18 and we were running on the sand at Torquay and somehow I managed to beat Joycie Ford, well-known as the best runner in the race. My athletic husband-to-be couldn’t have been prouder!

But if the bar was low in that field of endeavour, it was right up there in the academic arena – second wasn’t good enough. I did once get PL, pass at a lower standard, in Year 9 Art but any other subject was grist to the mill.

I was fortunate enough to live in the era of Commonwealth Scholarships. They weren’t too hard to get and the associated living allowance was dependant on your family income so I did well in this regard.

However university was in Melbourne and we lived in Geelong so money had to be stretched to cover living expenses. I enrolled at University Women’s College and sat for a College Scholarship and was successful. With both scholarships I had just enough to live on. Students working at paid jobs during the term was not even considered in that era as learning was a full time task, especially for science students who had 3 hours of practical work each week for each subject as well as lectures.

First year science – and a pretty raw recruit. Notes were taken during lectures and, in Physics, a weekly problem sheet was handed out. The first one was headed with a Bible quotation:

‘But be ye doers of the word and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves’

I diligently did the problems but didn’t think to further check over or rewrite each lecture.

A Science degree required two terms learning Science French or Science German. I decided to do this in my first year and, while no oral work was required but simply the ability to translate  scientific articles from these languages into English, my love of languages inveigled me into spending too much  time on this subject.

By exam time I had a large amount of material to revise and ,yes, my results were an utter disappointment – one third class honour and three passes. I lost my college scholarship and felt utterly miserable.

I spent the three month Christmas holidays as a pseudo-nurse at the Geelong Hospital. I saved every penny and made it financially to the end of my second year when my results were good enough to have my scholarship restored. By the end of my third year I was offered a position as Physics tutor at the college.

Sometimes we have to fail first time round to learn about what life asks of us.

​Carmyl Winkler
March 2023