MANY people saw the red glow but few saw it as nonchalantly as I did. My wife and I watched from a verandah, eight miles away.
I thought it must have been Hester’s Shell depot at Wesburn, for it was a big fire. We did not have our sights aimed correctly.
It was at Warburton, and the thing on fire was the old HES (Higher Elementary School) building. We didn’t know.
True, the building had been abandoned by the primary school; it was past its first youth.
It was too small even for the HES, and its berserk position, high on a spur of Mount Donna Buang, accessible only by a steep flight of concrete steps, had been the cause of comment for thirty years or more past.
The night it burst into flames was perfect for such a fire: light rain, low cloud cover, no wind. From the hills of Gladysdale, it was a beautiful sight.
The red glow spread out over the underbelly of low cloud and reddened the sky over the whole valley.
“Lovely sight, isn’t it?” I remarked. We both hoped nobody was being hurt or dispossessed.
“You never know.” I added, “maybe somebody’s house or place of employment is being burned down and they don’t even know it.” We laughed, and went to bed.
She told me the following morning when I was under the shower. It’s a bad place to receive news of any sort, because you cannot look affected or distressed.
We all turned up at school just the same, only there was no school left. The old place had gone up like a penny packet of crackers.
Nobody was distressed. “Now they’ll have to give us a new school” was the popular gloat. We had to wait, however. There was to be no new school for some time yet.
Once before the school had caught alight. At least, a lively little fire had started, but, unfortunately, several members of staff and students put it out. A pity, but then you cannot think of everything.
Bearing in mind the secret objections held by some obscure arsonist to new schools, the new U.Y.H.S. has been practically girdled with fire hydrants.
Warburton will miss the school. An uncanny quiet has descended on Fox’s garage, and it is possible now to hear the panel beater at work.
Fox’s ducks are gaining a new confidence.
At lunchtime, the Main Street reminded one – in an offbeat sort of way – of a university town – students strolling up and down. The fish and chips prevented the illusion of going too far.
Having a deep fast flowing river handy was a boon at the temporary school. Students often fell in.
The sociable cup of tea in a jam-packed staffroom – it had to be sociable in that kitchen – was sometimes interrupted by the arrival of one student sodden and sad, accompanied by a mob of helpers, raucous and unsympathetic.
Usually the half-drowned one was sent home. Marilyn Shalders has, I think, the honour of being the last high school pupil to fall in the river.
It is not clear yet whether 1961 was an inaugural year or a transitional year.
Probably a bit of both.
The vast edifice of masonry veneer and fluorescent lighting which has sprung from the applejack scrub of Yarra Junction looks new, and everything about it is – except, the pupils, the staff, their traditions, plots and plans.
It remains to be seen how far the theory that “it’ll be all right in the new school” will be carried into practice.
