(U) Kilmore (3)

24th September 1991  Birth of my daughter.

 The blowfly had a young sidekick called Rasputin who was an interesting and influential character in this drama.

T
On a very special day–the day of my daughter  birth to be precise - when the new Principal "Billy Bunter'  was away on business in Melbourne, a most peculiar sequence of events took place: The twenty-fourth of September was a memorable day on all fronts.

At two in the morning Maria  felt her labour pains and off we went to the hospital in which happened to be just beside the school where I was acting as Principal in the absence of Billy Bunter who as in some far off place in Melbourne. It was a very long delivery and my wife  claims that I spent much of it reading a book of short stories by Thomas Hardy!

Anyway, at about eight o'clock in the morning I staggered out of the hospital and went directly to work. I was in fact early and I was the first person at school - or so I thought. In fact, when I got there I met Mr. Coldfish , who had been a  former Deputy Principal-my predecessor no less-and who had resigned some time before my arrival. as time progressed I might other Zombies like Coldfish, in the community, who had worked in the school and fallen out of favour with the blowfly, and been demoted or fired.

I couldn't think what Coldfish would be doing there so early in the morning. He hated the place. I knew he had had several confrontations with the blowfly, eventually resigned in disgust before my arrival - that is one reason I was appointed-to replace him.

Anyway, on my arrival, coldfish came in to my office and said

" I'm sorry to have to do this to you, it's got nothing to do with you, but I'm resigning as a teacher as from this moment "

He promptly handed over his keys and walked off the premises! I had precisely 20 minutes to cover all his classes etc .


This alarming situation was made much worse when the boarding master, the one and only Rasputin___ decided to assist things by going into the boarding house and announcing to all of the students that Coldfish had resigned and that Rasputin, too was also resigning.

Rasputin  was the Senior Boarding Master in a small school of about thirty students!


 A few minutes later, I remember Rasputin  meeting me at the photocopier , presenting me with his resignation,  and saying he had given a copy to the blowfly. 

The blowfly  and Rasputin were very good friends. There is honor and friendship among thieves. I didn't like Rasputin. he disliked me because I threatened his influence over the blowfly. He wanted to discredit me and so made things worse by resigning in order to show the blowfly that he needed Rasputin more than he needed me. There was worse to come.

On hearing of Rasputin's resignation form Rasputin himself the boarding students, not altogether surprisingly, decided to exit the building and sit down on the public road outside the school on strike, just in a place conspicuus enough for the public to see.

At this point I confess I retreated to the science lab at the back of the complex , well outside the battle zone in order to gather my thoughts.

I was wondering what the hell to do!.

There were only about six permanent members of staff at this school. Two of them had just resigned and the third, and most effective - my assistant ,  was in Adelaide for the weekend at a marriage. The blowfly swung into action. He persuaded Rasputin,  little lapdog that he was, to retract his resignation.

Slowly the students started returning to the building.

The reader may be wondering (like I was at the time ) just why Rasputin  had resigned. Well, the truth was I think it was because he felt  threatened by my arrival. He certainly felt he should have been given my job. I think this was his way of not only getting rid of Coldfish, whom he hated, but also me, whom he did not quite hate yet. (But only because he hadn't quite known me long enough for his contempt to change into hatred)

The ‘strike’ was important in another way because Billy Bunter (who was relaxing in Melbourne ____ realized now that he had a real job on his hands – not just a sinecure.

Worse still for me, it became clear to me in the next few weeks that the blowfly  had no time for billy Bunter, and for once I think the blowfly was probably right).
Billy bunter  was lazy. He thought he had a cushy number but he was dead wrong! Soon the Blowfly and his wife were sharpening their knives for the final coup de grace. I knew what was going to happen but I didn't want it to happen- so desperately I didn't want it to happen. But I knew it just had to. I was nervous – no, neurotic - with anxiety.

Soon after this strike , ( but only about three months after our arrival in Australia) Billy Bunter came to me and said

"Look, the blowfly  is mad, completely mad!"

I told him that I had already had known this for some weeks. I confided to Billy Bunter  H that I did not want to have to take over should he decide to leave. Billy Bunter  reassured me by saying "Don, If I decide to leave , you'll be the first to know!"

Famous last words!

However, like many things at this school the manner of his leaving came as a complete surprise not just to me but to everyone. Billy  invited all the teachers to a Christmas party, which, as nowhere else was available was actually held , at my house.

It was the 24nd of December 1991. I remember it well. A couple of other teachers were leaving and it rained very heavily. I remember Billy  leaving early in the pours of rain. It was Christmas Eve.

It was the last time I ever saw him. A few days later I discovered that he had come back to the school the next day and resigned-on Christmas day. I was stunned, to say the very least. Shattered would be a more accurate description –I had backed the wrong horse again –and confided in Billy Bunter  too much –just like the Yorkshireman, his predecessor,  and the  Chairman.

This time there was nothing to be done. I had to take over as Principal, or go home. The latter was not on option because we had no money at all. we could not have paid for the flight.

I began to have panic attacks around this time . I was very nervous indeed about the future. The only person who could possibly have taken over was my assistant. But, not surprisingly, she was not interested. She could see that the chances of survival in such a job were not very high. She had been there almost since the beginning.

The first Principal of this school in the late eighties was " Zombie 1", a local teacher from a local  catholic school . This man, by all accounts was a good man , a good teacher and a good manager.

Unfortunately , he turned out to have no teaching qualifications.

When the Registered Schools Board of Victoria got wind of this he was given his marching orders.

He was followed by another Zombie (2) an  from Scotland who had wide experience of the IB but was an academic in the true sense of the word and soon fell out with the blowfly  as they were not on the same page.

Zombie 2  eventually resigned in disgust and spent six months sitting in the bush working out what to do - something I was later do myself. This was all before I arrived

Then came the Yorkshireman, and then yours truly.

I forgot yo mention the original business manager, who was also a Zombie . He was actually still alive in the community and I  later got to know him. Lets call him 'Bombie' as his name began with a B.

Back to Christmas 1991....

There was nothing to do about Billy Bunter_ - he was gone and had not said a word to me as he had promised!.

Once again I articulated my misgivings to the Chairman , who was by now becoming a bit weary of the blowfly and myself. In the end I knew I had no choice. The one thing I had to my advantage was that the blowfly seemed to like me or was pretending to like me, I'm not sure which it was. He thought he needed me for the time being.

My assistant and her husband very kindly invited us to stay in their house in Adelaide for Christmas, I had come to respect and admire both of them. We had the use of a house in Adelaide and we thoroughly enjoyed the break. I liked Adelaide - it seemed small, clean and civilized.

My assistants husband (also a teacher) suggested the  idea  of solving  the problem of the school management by forming  a management committee.

This turned out to be a great success at first because the blowfly, who was of course on the committee, was in some measure held accountable for what he said and did! I don’t think he was used to this! It worked very well for about six months but in the end it was it was it’s very success which caused it to fail.

 The blowfly decided he  didn’t like being accountable and realized what was happening. He started to ignore the committee and later to actively sabotage it.

But at first it all went well. I had only been appointed to act as Principal temporarily.

I then made a big mistake. Things were going so well that I decided to apply for the job of Principal. I suppose I deluded myself that I could keep the blowfly sweet. 

This turned out to be a major miscalculation

In February 1992 interviews took place for the position. People came from all over the world and in the end no one was appointed. When I took over as ‘Acting Principal in January, I had no intention of of applying for the job. But it went so well for a few months mainly due to the efforts of my assistant  and the general support of the teachers that I was tempted to apply for it. The blowfly  seemed to think I was wonderful (and probably a lot cheaper than an import). I was the blue-eyed boy for a few months.In the end I did apply but was not successful.

The job was given to mr smoothoperator, an Australian, who was at the time Head of an  International school in Germany. Smoothoperator wanted to come back to Australia. But he still had 18 months to run on his contract. This arrangement suited the blowfly down to the ground. He got the kudos for the school of a big fish like smoothtalker  , who was a big name in the council for international schools and  the IB. Meanwhile, on the cheap, I was to be Acting Principal for the eighteen months. It suited me fine. no extra money of course, but i would have the use of the car.

As has been the case throughout my entire career, I was pleased to have any job at all.

(T) Australia, Kilmore

Meanwhile I had started to meet a few academics in the International Baccalaureate community of Australia –which was very small at that time. I remember meeting the IB Australasia representative Chris B who was introduced to me at a conference in Sydney. He obviously knew a fair bit about the history of the school. His almost immediate reaction to me was ‘Why couldn’t they get an Australian to do the job?’ What amazed me was that he said to himself as if he were talking out loud to , and deliberately within my earshot. This was my first experience of Australian bluntness and rudeness in the professional environment!

He had said it without even asking one question about my experience or qualifications! I thought it a quite extraordinarily rude thing to say to my face! The implication being what could I possibly offer that an Australian could not-or to put more succinctly ‘We Australians can do anything as well , if not better than, any foreigner can’. I was to meet this type of reaction time and time again in Australia. The reality was that my job had been advertised in Australia and, for some reason, I know not why, they had not been able to fill the post. That was hardly my fault was it? The job had then advertised in the British press. But B was typical of so many ‘educated’ Australians who did not give you the time to tell them the truth –they could not even conceive of the idea that an Australian institution would have to advertise overseas-it offended their sense of national pride! Although it is beside the point , my own guess is that W did not want an Aussie to do the job because he knew no Aussie would put up with him, and he knew he could ‘control’ an unsuspecting foreigner with a family through the temporary work visa I had.

Australians assumed they we had , like all foreigners, wanted to migrate to Australia to get a job at the expense of the ‘Real’ Dinky Di (Australian born) Aussies.

Actually the truth was we never had any intention of settling in Australia. I regarded it as another few years in another country. We did obtain Australian citizenship in ther end but it was not our initial intention, I had no wish to remain there. I fervently hoped (in vain, as it turned out) that I would not have to return to Australia in order to be near to my children! The reality is that Australia , just like England, Ireland, the rest of Europe and the USA only permit migration becausethey t need workers to pay taxes to support their elderly , and to do the dirty jobs they are not prepared to do themselves. It is high time they were more honest about it. The Australian economy would collapse without it’s legal migrants in the same way the California would collapse without the Mexican ‘Illegals’.

I admire a lot about Australia – especially it’s economic and governmental infrastructure and of course it’s physical beauty. There is a preparedness to innovate and experiment which is refreshing after the ‘Old world’. In a very short time Australia has achieved an enormous amount from inauspicious beginnings. They are right to be proud of these achievements. But in some quarters this pride has been overdone to the point of complacency and arrogance. Many Australians value their independence to a fault. And that leaves me cold. The easiest way to offend some Australians I met seemed to be to offer them something, anything-even a beer or a cup of tea! They would perhaps forgive you an injury you caused them, but not an invitation, a gift, or worst of all an offer of assistance !

The underlying attitude seemed to be ‘What could I possibly need from you that I haven’t already got?”. Many other cultures have developed a spirit of cooperation and interdependence between individuals in order for the group or community to survive. – I can think of many other places I have lived where this is the case in Africa, South America or Mexico. In these places through cooperation individuals seem experience the joy and exhilaration of a communal sense of identity and security. This is what sustains their life. This is what makes them get up in the morning.. But it is precisely this that seems to be lacking in Australia –and in many north European type cultures and their derivatives including the USA. . The joy for an Australian, European or American seems to be obtained in the grim and relentless pursuit of independence from his human companions. His ‘Nirvana’ is to live alone and be completely self sufficient-‘I am an island –I need no-one’ To me this was typified in the quite common but nonetheless staggering quote which I encountered time and time again. “We have a wonderful house ..etc. etc. .. and best of all - NO neighbours!” The last thing wanted was a neighbour. How very, very sad. Of course this trait is also present in England, Northern Europe and the USA, and I’m sure lots of other places too. It is also present in modern Ireland. It is perhaps the hallmark of the “Developed” country. But it seemed to me to be more marked in Australia than anywhere else I had been.

It did not suit me at all. I like the ‘drop-in’ cultures such as in Africa or Mexico, where people feel honoured by your visit and do not look at you quizzically when you arrive on their doorstep as if to say ‘What do you want?’ or even worse, look at you with suspicion! I like cultures where socializing and friendship is valued for it’s own sake – and not as a means to an end. I like cultures where people honour my visit. With some exceptions , sadly, I did not find Australia to be like that. The social life didn’t suit me at all. The exceptions of course –the Foleys and Anne L and the Wares - only served to prove the rule. There were not nearly enough exceptions of them to satisfy my Irish thirst for chat and exchanging experiences. The social life was all in fact very similar to the ‘modern’ Northern Ireland we had just left!

The most absurd thing of all was to find that Australians considered themselves to be a friendly people.

Australians were rarely, if ever hostile –certainly not to us. No-one ever said ‘Piss off back to Ireland’ Even if they had it wouldn’t have upset me. In fact it would have been a relief if they had! No it was something else which did upset me. In many, there seemed to be a strong passive aggression-a smouldering resentment of foreigners about which the Aussies were in denial.

We felt this on a daily basis. A sense that you were excluded – almost as though we were invisible in fact. Many ‘Back door Aussies’ as we were humourrously referred to by our hosts - people in similar circumstances as ourselves, confessed to having the same feeling of being ignored and cold - shouldered by ‘Dinky Di’ Australians. Later on, it was also been interesting for me to see the same phenomenon manifest itself in Brunei. The Australians all socialised together like a group of gabbling geese clucking and screeching at each other and creating a bogus false sense of ‘Bonhomie’ which fooled no-one other than themselves. When a foreigner approached the group he/she was invariably ignored and left with an immense sense of frustration. There was an almost physical sense of being invisible to these people. I often felt like screaming at them at the top of my voice “Go back to Australia and live on your own”


Their lack of interest in anything about one’s background or personal history is obvious to any foreigner arriving the country to settle. (to tourist Aussies can be very friendly).

Most Aussies seemed not to brook even the slightest criticism of their country or culture. The Irish have coped with the English thru humour in the same way as the Mexicans have coped with the invading Americans. The French cope with the English with humpur and vice-versa. But many Aussies just seemed to me to be unable to cope with criticism from foreigners because they had not really developed a real sense of humour about themselves. (At least not by 1991)

(S) Australia, Kilmore (1)

I was over the moon with relief- the money wasn't great but the position was good and the prospects seemed positive. Now, in retrospect,  I am astounded at my naivity at the time. 

 

 The climate would be good-and the children would have an English speaking environment. I had hopes that the professional environment would be more stable than in the international schools I had had experienced in developing countries in Africa, Central America and the Middle –East. All of this sounded great to me. 

I don't think Marie was so keen - but she wasn't strongly against the idea . As has sometimes been   the case in in my career perhaps I made the decision too quickly! Anyway, we were going to Australia! What a relief to have a plan after almost a year of uncertainty! I remember my big brother Roger was not impressed.

But my feeling was-what other option do we have? Did we have any other practical option? We had spent ten months in Belfast looking for work. I had had several interviews. Nothing, absolutely nothing. I knew that I was not going to get a job in Northern Ireland and that I had to look for something overseas. All our savings from Dubai had been used up.

So, we had no choice. It was all very well for my brothers to say " Don't take it "

 What was the alternative? They believed that I would get a job in Northern Ireland. I could see that I wasn't going to get one-the job hunting season was, in fact, over for that year.

ARRIVAL IN AUSTRALIA

In Ireland, May to June was spent in correspondence with the school. The surprising thing was that most of it was in correspondence with the Blowfly, not with the Yorkshireman the Principal. I was the deputy Principal Principal. The blowfly  kept referring to himself as the Business manager. I remember thinking this very curious at the time. Of course he was not the business manager but the ‘Owner’ of the school.

Well, we said our goodbyes and arrived in Melbourne on July 24, 1991. 

The first of many shocks was the weather.

It was bloody freezing! It must have been about eight degrees at the airport. We were given a frosty reception by officious immigration officials who shouted at us and generally ordered us about like prisoners in cattle-truck of a concentration camp.

Some welcome!

Then we were met by the Chairman who appeared to be in his dressing gown again, and the Yorkshireman, who, I subsequently discovered, had just been released from hospital. I don’t know what was wrong with him but I soon came to suspect that he was suffering from the pressure of conflict with the blowfly. The blowfly was there in his jumper and builders boots. We all piled into a van for the 40 minute ride to the school where, noting our surprise at the inclement weather, the yorkshireman proceeded to tell us how how awful the climate was in the area –it was, according to him colder, windier, wetter, and hotter at certain times of the year than any other part of Australia!.

I thought he was joking –but he wasn’t – it tured out to be  indeed one of the coldest places in Australia.

However, things improved  when we arrived at the school as we we were actually quite favorably impressed by the building. The building was an old convent which had been renovated by the owner and converted into a school.

However, the intial favourable impressions were not to last long.

It was feeling like November in Belfast (indescribably cold) and the Nixon family could not hide our disappointment-from each other at least. I remember that Maria was expecting our daughter in about six weeks time. The next disappointment was to discover that there was no rental property available for us as promised by the blowfly and the Chairman our correspondence.  They had said there would be a fully furnished house available for rent and that this would be included as a ‘benefit’ in my contract.

Of course, I was so desperate for the job I had not insisted on even seeing a contract from the Chairman in London. This turned out to be a very costly mistake indeed. The blowfly  had in fact done nothing with regard to accommodation –nor, it seemed, had they ever any intention of providing a furnished rent free house as a benefit! They put us in a freezing cold bungalow across the road from the school which he owned, and and merely pointed us towards the three estate agents in town and told us to go and look for something suitable. He made it quite clear he wanted us out of this fridge–like bungalow within ten days! We were quite shocked by the lack of hospitality.

But still, young,relatively inexperienced, resilient, we were undaunted ( we couldn't afford to be daunted by it as I had not the money to return to Ireland even if I had wanted to) we determined to make the most of it.

 The Yorkshireman  as as helpful as he could be under the circumstances, and I could see he was going to be easy to get along with. But, he was a bachelor and was not really aware of our needs as a family at the time.

After a few days we were introduced to my assistant from Adelaide.  She was a quite exceptional  assistant,  and turned out to be a great friend as well.   Right from the very beginning she and her husband  were by far the friendliest of the people we met - they even loaned us their car in the first few days. I don't know what we would have done without them.


As in Ireland, we did not find it easy to make friends in Australia, but this couple were the exception

They were a remarkable couple in many ways and a credit  to Australia.

 
On the professional level, I would never have survived for as long as I did without the  unwavering loyalty of my assistant–even as I floundered  near the end . after almost two years, I was finally stretchered to relative safety at this school by three remarkable females in those awful times-Marie (my wife) my assistant, and another experienced  female member of staff. They both gave me strong supportive advice on how to deal with the blowfly!

 they all had a calming influence on me and  saved me in the end from a total breakdown. I have lost touch with many acquaintances from this period. Marie has also friends, some of whom she still remains in touch with,  but, in spite of making many good acquaintances in our short time – I have gradually lost touch with them all.

Back to the school…


The school itself was nearer 25 students rather than the 60 indicated by the chairman and the blowfly in his correspondence. I immediately noticed that there appeared to be serious tension between the blowfly and the Yorkshireman, the Principal.

I made the early mistake of thinking that yorkshireman was my boss,  and concentrating on my relationship with him- when i should have been developing my relationship with the Blowfly and his wife , who he had appointed as the Bursar. 

I was to regret this later. Bob was friendly and I liked working with him. But the reality was his relationship with the the blowfly  was in the dying  stages. the blowfly had the Principal 'on the  ropes and halfway to the floor'

 The Yorkshireman  had just come out of hospital. I was told he had been suffering from stress. My short acquaintance with the blowfly explained  why. The Principal was only to last for about six more weeks in a crisis.

As each week went by I realized, with alarm and a sinking feeling, that the Yorkshireman  was losing heart for the fight, and that he was planning his own exit! I could see now that my arrival had actually assisted him-because he now had someone to replace him.! The inevitable end came after a huge argument which took place in the blowfly's  office, and ,  and as always with the blowfly, the end was violent (at least verbally, if not physically). during my two years there I witnessed many ugly and verbally violent dismissals of staff, both clerical and academic.

I never actually saw the Principal leave, but if the gossip were to be believed. he disappeared, if not in a puff of smoke, a cloud of dust, last seen heading north out of area - leaving his belongings in my house of all places! I had offered to 'store' some of his belongings, not realising that he was planning to leave them with me after his exit.  It was a mistake on my part to help him,  as I was now 'tainted'  in the eyes of the blowfly, his mortal enemy. It was guilt by association.

How naive  I was in those days.

I could now see what sort of a man the blowfly  was – he was ignorant in educational matters, but more importantly he had a vicious side to his personality which made him very dangerous indeed to work with –especially if confronted. Ultimately, I myself was to fall victim to him by making the mistake eventually of confronting him.

After about 6 weeks, I wasted no time in telling the Chairman that I was very disappointed by these developments, that my wife was expecting a baby at any time , and I had no intention whatsoever of taking over the reins of the school.

In retrospect, I definitely put far too much faith in the chairman this time. I could tell the chairman   didn’t like my reaction.

When under pressure this has been a costly trait in my personality – I put too much faith in some people and not enough in others. This has led me to overeact and make misjudgements  in critical situations when under pressure.

I was so naive. To use an expression I found myself  ‘in the Mushroom club’ – i.e in the dark and being fed shit! At this time I reflected hard again about my interview in London: I then remembered that the chairman had asked me in London if I would be prepared some day to run the school. I didn’t realize at that time that the blowfly  and he were plotting to get rid of Yorkshireman,  and put me in his place!

How could I not have realized it? Someone less naive than myself might have realized this much earlier! 

I later came across some school Board documents that showed that the Board (the chairman and the blowfly and a couple of other lightweight stooges) had planned it all so that I would take over and step into Yorkshireman's shoes .  The blowfly had even arranged for me to have a temporary work visa so that I was dependent upon the school for employment in order to induce me to comply with this arrangement.

According to the minutes of one meeting which I later unearthed, The blowfly  gloated at a Board meeting that Don ‘would not be able to move from the school without his consent and that was a good thing’!' That is how the mind of a bully works.

But they had not reckoned on me not wanting the job! I had made up my mind about the blowfly intuitively and very quickly-I did not like him , or his wife,  and did not want to work for them. My view of them contrasted drastically with the Chairman's s assessment in London at interview that they were “an uncommonly decent couple” The chairman  was to later change his mind - but too late for me!

I was temporarily ‘saved’ from catastrophe by the opportunistic appearance on the scene of an ambitious and lazy   board member  who mistakenly thought the job would be a cushy number. Like many people he completely underestimated the blowfly. He took the job and I continued as Deputy. For a few weeks things went well.

But then this new Principal  started to take time off on the pretext of business in a far -off part of Melbourne, and it wasn't long before the blowfly  started to get fed up with him.

It was still only September.

We had been in Australia about ten weeks.

1990 Belfast

Belfast 1990

Life as the invisible men

My thoughts were as follows: "Must settle down and stop wandering and find a job in Northern Ireland where I can put my experience to good use – for the benefit of the Northern Irish community” (and my family of course!) Yes, so that is what we would do – re-enter the educational system of Northern Ireland after many years of travelling in Africa, South America, Mexico and the Middle East. It had all been interesting, but  I would now do the thing which everyone was urging and expecting me to do. re-enter the system. The party was over!

Perhaps I wasn’t right about much of this, but I was certainly right about the 'party'.

We had a small amount of  savings from Dubai and a tiny little Town house in Belmont, Belfast where Roger spent his second year in school.(His first was in Dubai). It was great to hear him develop a Belfast accent after the awful English one in Dubai.

There were many changes and surprises to cope with – the weather, the indoor life, the lack of friends. It was surprisingly difficult to take up where we had left off with my old friends of my youth – they were all married and struggling like us to bring up their families. They were surprisingly disinterested in our comings and goings. After a few months I gave up even talking about our past. I eventually began to feel that I had never really left Northern Ireland. It was like waking up with amnesia-having forgotten about ten years of our life. We didn’t see much of my family or friends - my brothers and their wives were often  'too busy' to see us.  Mum and Dad who of course loved seeing the children and Maria. Everybody else seemed so busy. Nobody called, and when I called on them - my brothers, their wives and my old friends, they all  looked at me with a “Whadduwant” expression on their faces? After a while I felt as though I were imposing and stopped calling.

But by far the biggest shock of all was something I had never expected – my inability to get a job. I had never in my wildest dreams thought that at 38 I would not be able to re-enter the system. Surely, potential employers would be dropping their jaws in admiration at the boldness of my exploits around the world and I would have to take the phone off the hook to give my self a break from headmasters headhunting me in my little fortress in Belmont?

“ Mr. Nixon. ‘We admire your sense of adventure, your courage, your pioneering spirit and above all your dedication to voluntary service. This is just what we need at Belfast Royal Academy/ Methodist College/ Lagan College etc. Can you start on Monday….?”

Alas, no. I visited many schools and Headmasters but could not raise a flicker of interest. (There was no internet in those days, you had to write or phone and try and get a Headmaster to meet you) I did get a term’s replacement teaching at my old school Methodist College in the Biology Department.T hat was because my old colleague Donal had been ill and I was in the right place at the right time. But after Christmas there was almost nothing. I applied to all the local Grammar schools and even to some Government schools. I got  4 weeks at a catholic grammar school. money was running out. Maria was preganat with a third child. My old friend, David,  got me an interview at Dromore High School. The interview was another farce (All my interviews seem to have been farces-why is that??).

There were four or five guys – rural stalwarts of the county Armagh Protestant community. Their questions mostly involved finding out how many workshops I had attended on the latest curriculum developments in the UK. Naturally I knew nothing about those having ben in mexico, colombia, dublin and Malawi for most of the time.

I didn’t get the job. At no stage did they show the slightest interest in my dashing exploits in tropical climes. I think they had read my Curriculum.Vitae and decided that it concealed suspicious contacts with Rome. By now, my savings were almost depleted and we were living on the dole. Even the relief work was drying up. i consdiered giving up teaching and working in a travel agaent. Surely, with all my expereince, they would be interested?  I made a few enquiries, nobody was interested. I went for an interview at Randox chemicals (obtained through a friend of Mum's). They weren't interested but they didn't say why. Desperate situations require desperate remedies. in desperation,  I headed for Gardners on Botanic Avenue for the Times Educational supplement! 

And there were several jobs I was interested in –one in a special school in the south of England in Romford, one in Papua New Guinea, and one in Australia. I applied for them all.

Meanwhile I had decided to do a post Grad Diploma in Teaching English as a Foreign Language. This was the Trinity London Diploma course taught under license by Grafton Tuition Centre from Dublin. The lecturers came to Belfast on two nights a week for three hours for six months. The Director was a friendly Irishman who had been in Zambia. He was very keen on me doing the course. Some of the lecturers were a little sus but others were excellent. It was a slightly looser, less professional world than mainstream teaching but I found the course very interesting and I knew it would give me the opportunity to teach foreigners some day. teaching English as an 'insurance policy' in case things went wrong in the mainstream world, which I knew was a distinct possibility.....

I was rapidly becoming fed up with white Anglo Saxon culture. In Methody I had been quite shocked to return for a term  to cheeky students who wouldn’t listen to me. When I had taught full-time in Methody between 1978-1980 there had been none of that. It used to be a great place to teach in. But by 1990 it was different. Some of the relief classes I had taught had been appalling. 

Getting back to the Teaching English course some of the students were interesting but I remember one awful female who kept coming late, not doing her homework, and then slowing down our progress by asking the teacher to go over what she had missed. It all came to a head one night when yours truly grabbed the nettle and asked her not to keep interrupting as we needed to get on to pass the exam which was approaching fast. It was by no means a cakewalk–the course or the exam. Of course I made a mortal enemy of her and in the final class she had her revenge by showering me in a torrent of abuse, much to everyone’s embarrassment She didn’t turn up for the exam and I scraped through in the end - very proud of myself!

I had another farsiccal interview in Romford Essex for a special school. I don’t understand it but they seemed uninterested in me from the moment I arrived! Maybe they had contacted my former emplyers or refereees? I dunno. I was glad I didn’t get the job in the end –it would not have suited at all –it was dealing with rich kids with behavioural problems.I don’t know why they even wanted to interview me-or maybe they had phoned my boss in Colombia or Dubai!

I remember walking along the streets of Belfast thinking I would do anything just to have a job. I considered doing a travel agents course. But it was catch 22 I was underqualifed to teach the local Irish, in their eyes anyway, and overqualified for just about everything else. There was nothing for it - I had to go back to Gardners to get the Times Educational supplement!

And then one day at about seven in the morning the phone rang in our little house in Belmont. It was a Yorkshire accent – my first contact from a Yorkshireman, RS at The Kilmore International school in Australia. He seemed very affable and keen to interview me as soon as possible.

“ Fine” , I said, “where?”

“In London”

“When” ? I said.

“Day after tomorrow”, he said.

But I wondered how he was going to get to London from Melbourne so soon?

“ The Chairman of the Board will call you today and set up the interview in London”

I was so delighted I didn’t ask any more questions. I didn’t want to ask too many questions. As usual I was desperate to get the job. Two days later I winged my way to London for the interview with l C..

The first thing that struck me as curious in London was the casual way in which the Chairman of the Board was dressed. He  greeted me in his very modest London apartment in his dressing gown. I mention this specifically because it was not the only time he did it. A few months later he did exactly the same thing again when we arrived in Melbourne from Ireland.

The next thing that was curious was that there was no sign in the apartment of the Principal from Melbourne.– the yorkshireman I had talked to on the phone.

As usual, the interview was a farce! I took him thru my C.V. in the normal way. Significantly, he chattered about my background at Campbell College in Belfast. He had taught at Rugby school and had received Campbell on some Rugby tour – he therefore knew Bob Mitchell –my old housemaster at Campbell.  That seemed to be the end of the interview as far as Nigel was concerned anyway.

After about half an hour I casually remarked upon the Principal’s absence .

‘Oh him!’ said NC ‘He’s in hospital’

‘Nothing serious I hope’, I said, and then venturing a little humour ‘not having a nervous breakdown or anything - Ha! Ha!’

‘No, no’ he said, ‘he should be out soon’.

I always suspected that was the first little porky pie the chairman  told me. I believe that the Principal, the Yorkshireman,  was in hospital.suffering from mental exhaustion.


The Chairman  seemed to want to talk more about the owner of the school - who was fondly referred to by his employees as the ‘Blowfly’ (in honour of his management style. the blowfly is famous in australia form arriving unecetdyly and uninvited quite sudden;y and abruptly on your an unwanted palce such as the lips)).

I never could work out how much the chairman  really knew about what the blowfly was really like at this stage. I remember asking him the question at the interview towards the end. As the blowfly  was the owner of the school and had just moved on to the school premises with his wife, ,alarm bells were ringing so I asked the chairman,   what were the  blowfly and his wife  like? 

I knew this was the crucial question.

’ Well, I don’t really know’ said the chairman, ‘but the blowfly  and his wife seem to me to me to be an uncommonly decent couple’

Fatally reassured by this assessment I was hooked. I took the job and the bait, hook, line and sinker. After all, how could a chap from Rugby School be wrong? The Campbell Rugger team had after all toured the school with my housemaster!

Before I had arrived back in Belfast, the chairman had phoned Maria , my wife,  to offer me the job.

the chairman  had obviously been impressed with me!

Could I say no? Of course not! The die was well and truly cast for the next chapter in the Nixon Saga. 

Deputy Principal and I.B. Coordinator for the Kilmore International School.

Big brother Roger had his Australian contacts investigate the school and the assessment was not good. ‘Financially unstable’ was the verdict.

‘Thanks Roger, but so am I’ I thought– I’ve been on the dole for six months and my savings have gone!

What else could we do ?. I’d been trying to get a job for ten months in Ireland with no success. No-one was interested. We were off to Australia. It was the first of July 1990

Eureka! The Aussie Character

I have tumbled to it.

Aussies are more reserved than the English. The difference is the English admit it, and even acknowlege it as a weakness, but the Aussies pretend they are not reserved. They are in denial.

Now that I understand this, the Australian character is  more understandable to me.

I just realised it yesterday after thinking about something my son said to me at the weekend.

It's taken me twenty years to realise it.

Friendship and Expectations

I have always had too high an expectation of friendship.

Friendship is often sidelined by self-interest and family.

In western culture friendship has been devalued and is often based on your entertainment value.

If you don't entertain-you lose your value.

The 'Holywood Factor'

In the west, friends seem rarely to be 'open' with each other. It is taboo.

Friends are expected to speak in code which avoids intimacy.

I think I have probably overrated the importance of friendship.

I have often been open with friends and disappointed in the lack of reciprocation.

Responsibility and Happiness

There is a lot of politically correct psychobabble about not being responsible for other people's happiness and being responsible for one's own happiness.

I don't agree.

This is just part of the modern 'Nanny' state we have created where psychology and science have replaced Ministers of Religion, Gurus and Witchdoctors to cater to our spiritual needs. It's a 'cop out' -an easy way to avoid taking reponsibility for each other.

No room for love then?

Love is 'out'. Out of the Orwellian world which we have created for ourselves?

Other people are responsible for my happiness and I am responsible for other people's.

So, if my family is not happy I feel responsible. If my family is happy I also feel responsible for that.

Don't tell me I'm not responsible!

What Father or Mother doesn't feel responsible for the happiness, successes and failures of their children?

Conversely, a major cause of the individual's unhappiness and consequent dysfunctionality (no matter what the age) in modern developed societies is because he or she feels unsupported by a group of some sort.

Of course we are responsible for each other's happiness.

Racism

Do Australians work hard?

I think they do!

Everything is go, go ,go!

My local "Chickens to Go " place has the hardest, most enthusiastic and hard working crew of three I've ever seen deliver fast food .

And with the most polite manners and sense of humour.

They are the real thing.

But at work I teach two little Japanese graduates who say that Australians are "Rude and lazy"

Who do you believe?

Achievements

Last night I made it back from work at Flinders University  late - it was almost dark but there was still time for the tree and the parrots.

Tonight, it was raining, but I still enjoyed the tree and the parrots.

There remain some achievements:

At work, I keep smiling to keep my job.

I still answer pleas for assistance. Not that many ask.

I still look most people in the eye.

I respond to texts and e-mails.

Small achievements perhaps.

Maybe I will lose those too.

But I will always have the parrots and my tree.

Jesus was an Irishman

Jesus must have been an Irishman.

I can't understand what he was on about!

Most people are so self-serving they don't deserve redemption.

Why would the son of God want to be sacrificin' himself to redeem such a shower of feckers?

They're the ones who should be sacrificin' themselves for him.

He must  definitely have been Irish in my opinion.

Mood swings

Wild mood swings.

Is it age?

Or something more?

Pleasure only from the tree and the parrots in the evening.

(Q) Dubai 1987-1990 Second and Third year

The Second Year

Pakistan 1988

This was an amazing interlude!

A friend of mine from Pakistan–Muzaffer K. who had been a student in Belfast while I was teaching at Methodist College invited us to go to Islamabad.

Actually, to be more accurate, we invited ourselves.

Muzaffer had been a good friend while doing his PhD in Belfast and had visited our house many times. I had also taken him on a trip to Dublin.

I was excited at the prospect of going to Pakistan.

We arrived in Islamabad and were taken to his house to meet his wife. It became clear there was some sort of political crisis going on concerning Kashmir and Afghanistan which were not far away and and there was also a security problem.

One afternoon, early in the visit, I was awakened from my siesta by a loud noise... it sounded like a shell exploding - there was the sound of metal on stone. I thought for a moment that the Russians were coming! (this was still in the days of the cold war!) In fact,it turned out to be the explosion of an ammunition dump which was two kilometers away. The shells continued to explode for about 30 minutes. We were at the University campus. I looked out of the window and I could see fires everywhere - caused by the grass catching fire from contact with hot exploding shells. It was quite scary, and at one point as the shells rained down on us we had to hide under the kitchen table and even under of the stairs. We have a photograph of Maria and Roger under the stairs with cotton wool in his ears.

Muzaffer, who had been tense from the time of our arrival was made even more nervous by this explosion . In retospect I realise now that Muzaffer was wirried about our visit and he probably felt that we might be in danger. We had no idea of course. I am also sure his association with us could easily have been misinterpreted by certain Pakistani elements as being too friendly with westerners. I think he felt obliged to receive us. He was clearly tense after this incident and we were somewhat relieved to go back to Dubai after ten days. We lost touch with Muzaffer after our return. I am sad about this.




But socially, the second year was very good again and of course Sergie was born..
at the end of the second year we went home with a gain to Belfast up to this time we rented a House close to Mom and Dad and it was much more satisfactory. Everyone got on well with each other . I borrowed a red card from Archie one of Dad's friends.

Third Year

This was a good year again socially and Mom and Dad came to visit us again. There were plenty of barbecues in the desert and sunny days on the beach.

Weewee was looking for an opportunity to get rid of me. I had a hopeless lower sixth A level biology class of 4 biology students. They were useless-mostly thick and idle and there was no way they were going to pass their 'A' levels and I knew it. I knew I would be blamed in the end for the results so I was almost relieved when Weewee one day to said that that he had noticed that one of my students had injured himself in a practical experiment calculating the heat of combustion of peanuts. What safety procedures and precautions had I followed etc? I knew what was coming next: Can I see you're teaching notes and schemes of work and all that crap which nobody ever did in those days. I thought about it and decided to negotiate with Weewee my exit. There was no future in the scholl for me with Weewee at the helm. I knew he had money to give away so I was going to get some of that in return for my resignation. It was a major shock for the family again. So in June 1998, 24 hours before Saddam Hussain invaded Kuwait we all headed home to Belfast to an uncertain future . With us we took Ken H from Kuwait-who who happened to be on holiday with us for the last few days and we and went home with us to Ireland. Ken was head of a school in Kuwait a school which eventually was destroyed by Saddam's soldiers. Ken never went back to that school. So abruptly ended our relatively luxurious life in the Dubai Hilton Apartments!

Mum and Dad had visited us twice and my frind David C once but I had been unable to interest my brothers in a visit.

A few weeks later we had packed up and left Dubai for good leaving our good friends Len, Harry and Margaret behind. The day after our departure Saddam Hussein invaded Iraq. It was June 1990

class in Belfast and Adelaide

I have recently come to reflect upon the similarities between the city of my birth and Adelaide.

In spite of the obvious substantial differences in history and climate there are some cultural similarities.

One of the things I disliked about Belfast was the lack of curiosity about the outside world. It is the same in Adelaide. To be fair, this was the same in Melbourne and Brisbane. I suspect it is the same in any major western city.

Outside of Belfast though the rural peole were indeed curious and hospitable.

The religious divide in the city is well-known. This amounted to a voluntary form of 'apartheid' where people were more or less obliged to live in different areas and go to different schools, played different sports, and often even go to different workplaces.

But Belfast had another form of social apartheid which it seems to share with Adelaide. Belfast was a class society where the working class lived a separate life from the middle class. The two rarely mixed. They interacted differently with each other, had different social mores, and even spoke with different accents.

In middle class Belfast you did not just 'drop-in' on people-you made an appointment-or at the very least you phoned beforehand. In rural Ireland this would have been unheard of. People dropped in all the time on each other. I don't know whether this is still true of rural Ireland or not. One of the things I enjoy most about cultures in developing countries is that, as in rural Ireland in my youth, they are more informal and encourage impromptu visits. It is always the right time to call in Africa or Mexico.(I never felt I was intruding.) In Middle-class Belfast this was not acceptable. I am not sure that it is in middle class Adelaide either but I haven't been here long enough to be sure.

I was brought up believing firmly that I belonged to the middle class and was not expected to have much contact with the working class (catholic or protestant) during my childhood. I was actually afraid of the working class.

To be fair to Adelaide I think it was the same in Melbourne when we were there twenty years ago. I did not feel this in Brisbane. Perhaps this is because we regarded ourselves as belonging to the working class in Brisbane. Maybe there was a middle class but we couldn't find it-and we were there for eight years!

P.C. my friend.

Hello again, P.C.... my much maligned old friend!

Did you know some people think that you are responsible for many of the world's maladies?

There are serious charges being made against you my friend: corrupting the morals of youth and adults; fomenting revolution and subversion  in China, Burma and Iran. Collusion with terrorists.

Other more indirect,but nonetheless grave charges include being a conduit for depressing news. I think some people (including myself) even might blame you for passing on dangerous diseases like depression and social dysfunctionality.

I know you are being demonised and boycotted by your detractors.

But have no fear my friend. Stand firm! I will not desert you. To me you have been a most loyal and dependable friend in my hour of need. You are always there when I need you.

Let your detractors do their worst.

Sticks and stones may break your bones..

Dubai 1987 (first year)

 After resigning  from the Rashid school for Boys, many years later I met the same I.W. in London when he was recruiting as Principal of the very same Colombo Britanico in Cali of  which I, myself, had been Vice Rector!  This was the one and the same  school he had disparagingly referred to as "Mickey mouse" in my interview in London in 1987! What a coincidence that he should end up where I had been! some years later, as I had dinner with him, I pointed out the irony of his comment with glee!  He was now the Principal of the very same ‘Mickey Mouse’ Colombo Britanicol. (he only lasted one year at  the Colombo Britanio ) Again, what a coincidence! In as much as I think almost all schools in which I have worked (bar one perhaps) are 'Mickey Mouse' , I suppose he was right, it was a mickey mouse school. Anyway, he didn’t seem to see the humour of the situation and said he couldn’t remember the comment. (He had  a poorly developed sense of humour!)

From the interview in London I went to Belfast to visit home for a couple of days and I phoned my friend J. F. who wanted me to go to Dublin to meet him to discuss a mapping project for which he hoped to get U.S.funding. . J.F. suggested I forget about Dubai. I was really interested in the project but as J.F. said there might be a delay in getting the money I told him that if I were offered the job Dubai I would have to take it. .I’m glad I didn’t forget bout Dubai because that was the last time I ever really heard form J.F.  Twenty years later (2010)  I still haven’t managed to meet up with him in spite of several attempts on my part. Sometimes, you can just try too hard with some people.Sometimes, I am a bit slow to get the message.



Arrival in Dubai 1987

W On the plane were several new teachers - about a dozen. The first surprise was when we arrived at Dubai and were met off the plane not by the pleasant Mr. Watson(I.w.)  who had interviewed us in March, but by a loud and overbearing female who turned out to be the Headmistress of the  girl's school - Catherine M. She announced  to us that "Mr.I.W. had not yet returned from U.K. " which was true not the whole truth by a long chalk. Over the next few days the truth finally came out in dribs and drabs from Catherine M. According to her, I.W. had got his brief 'seriously wrong' from the Board of Governors. I.W. thought they had wanted an international school with an international curriculum. But what they really wanted was a British school with a British curriculum.. just like the one she was running for the girls! (Surprise! Surprise!)

 Catherine M ran both schools for the first year and not surprisingly was a disaster. She fell out with all of the Heads of Department and Heads rolled throughout the year one by one. She hadn’t picked them so she got rid of them.

Unfortunately for me this included my Head of Science Jerry McV who was an excellent head of Department. He could not stand her and unfortunately  I think his Glaswegian temper may have got the better of him with M.

There was one famous public incident when Jerry refused to go to the back of the queue of the students at lunch . Understandably, Jerry insisted upon going to the front and not wasting his time chatting with a lot of spoiled little Arab boys. M came into the queue and told Jerry to go to the back of the queue (in front of the. Boys). This was a typical clumsy intervention from M., imposing her own “Britishness” on an Arab culture which reviled this type of disrespect to a teacher. I am sure the boys were confused by the  intervention. Jerry walked off and ate nothing! This type of petty incident is for me quite typical of working in schools. The year was a very great disappointment for many of us new arrivals compared to what we had been expecting. M was a disaster  and at the end of the year she appointed a weedy drip of individual called John H as her ‘Poodle’ and did who did what  he was told by M. The poodle was even worse than her. He was a quiet, devious and  and self-serving individual who had sold his soul to the devil for the money and the status. In short he was the typical 'careerist' teacher you mightfind in the Middle East. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was now retired in Adelaide–because Adelaide also  seems to be full of such ‘Poodles’.

The first year at school.

We all had to adapt to the disappointment of I.W.s departure.

The teaching was also a disappointment.We had everybody in school from the Crown Prince to the camel riders’ sons. Many of the children were distant relatives of the royal family and were spoiled brats. The classes were small and so we were expected to teach people of all abilities together. They didn't need anybody, certainly not us –the teachers- and most certainly could not see the point of doing any work. Some of them were pleasant but they were all imbued with an exaggerated sense of their own power as Arabs of high social position. I remember teaching one form two class about the weather. I was talking about how the weather in the UAE was so dry. I was explaining that part of the problem was the lack of mountains, which meant there was no relief rainfall . A smiling but mild mannered boy called Ahmed said

" Sir, we will build them".

This gives some idea of the deep-seated arrogance in the mind of this otherwise inoffensive young man. He believed it.

The teaching was generally dull and uninspiring.

I.W. had appointed me as Head of Careers as well as Head of Biology, but M had other ideas. She was a great one for hunches. Take this one for example: not having met me or seen me in action she had a hunch that I would not be any good at this job. (Maybe she too also phoned my friend Jack in Colombia). But her style was impressive. It consisted of three stages: 1. Make a decision based on a hunch 2. Change something and 3.Don’t tell anybody about the changes. Result? maximum confusion and alienation of affected parties. The first I knew I had been demoted was when a very friendly chap called Martin invited me to help him with 'His' careers department. He was so charming it was impossible to refuse.

But perhaps M didn’t like me for other reasons…. Maybe she was suspicious of my loyalties. Perhaps she had good cause. I admit I did talk to and sit beside my Head of Department – Gerry McV.in the staff room even when it was clear that  Gerrry McV was in the sights of M! I also 'dared; to sit beside him in the canteen at Lunch when everyone else avoided him like the plague! (Aussies take note!) Gerry was a Glaswegian and most people could not understand a word he said. M hated Gerry. She was knicknamed 'The Elephant' because she never forgot.

Although she had a great memory, she got tired of running two schools after one year and appointed John H to replace I.W.- who was now at the "Mickey Mouse" school in Colombia of which I used to be Vice-Principal). I’m pretty sure Catherine M wasted no time in passing on her suspicions about my loyalties to Gerry to John H. This might explain why he didn’t speak to me to me for the first year -a major achievement in our flashy but tiny school in which there were more staff than students. Perhaps he didn't speak to me because, being English,  he thought he wouldn’t be able to understand my Irish accent if I spoke. Nobody could understand Gerry–and I sat beside him at lunch-perhaps John H  thought being unintelligible was contagious? I will never know as he never spoke to me.

First a bit more about John H. We are not sure why his knickname was  'the drip' –perhaps it was something to do with his thin and gangling appearance. He was a tall man but his posture was curved and he almost never seemed to stand up straight. No matter what you said to him there was nearly always a lengthy wait before a half-hearted, insipid  and unconvincing response was delivered with a watery look in his eye. He was definitely not the sort of chap about which a girl might say to herself – what a spunky fellow!

On the last day of the first term of my second year 'the drip' called Gerry in and sacked him. The latter was escorted off the premises by the police and the guards at the gate were given a photograph of Gerry with orders not to admit him to the school. Eight days later, on christmas Eve,  Gerry, his wife and three children were sent went home to Glasgow  eve and  never seen again.

I had a foreboding and I knew my days were numbered.

But not before some more fun with Tariq. I'd forgotten his name– but he is now the Sheikof  Sharjah. He he was at that time the crown prince and  nephew of the Sheikh of Sharjah. No, actually, he was an eminently forgettable pimply 15 year old boy with puppy fat in all the wrong places. Anyway, because he was the nephew of the Sheikh we, in the careers department had to find him a University to go to. Now, when I say ‘we’ I mean as in the Careers department. One day a very strange thing happened – I suddenly found myself re-instated by 'The drip' as the 'main man' in the careers department–but only for one day as it turned out. It transpired that the Sheikh himself was coming to the Flashy Rashid School for boys to enquire about a University for his son. 'The drip'  quite sensibly needed someone to talk to the Sheikh and take the fall if the latter wasn’t satisfied. My first reaction was to reach for my old friend, the Times Educational Supplement, as I believed I was being set up by 'The drip' for a fall. However, my newly appointed and charming Etonian 'boss' in the careers department assured me this was only my Irish paranoia. Unfortunately, he said, he would not be able to attend the meeting as he would be in Timbuctu for the duration of the interview on special leave. The plot thickened even further. I knew I was being set up by the Etonian, who had quickly established himself as 'the drip's stooge.

Anyway, I was required to represent the careers department with all the other Senior administration present along with 'The drip' himself of course. When I arrived-last of course-they were all seated in the 'The drip's  Office including the sheik himself. I was asked to sit down and then 'The drip' made one of his long rambling speeches which really amounted to asking me which University I thought Tariq should go to.

I took a deep breath and in a measured , lowered tone assured his majesty that there were several places calling themselves Universities in London which would be only too happy to take his money and give his nephew a degree. I also suggested that he might consider going to an Arab University. I reeled off a few names among them Cairo University. At this his Highness seemed perplexed as he stopped fingering his beeds and muttered something to his interpreter/bodyguard or whatever, who then said to me.

“His highness does not want Tariq to go to Cairo University because the car park is not big enough.”.

There was an atmosphere of the utmost gravity. No-one in the room looked at anyone else. Everyone, including myself I think, stared directly at the floor and said nothing. I think 'The drip' finally did something he was really good at - saying nothing and taking a very long time to say it - so that by the time he had finished everybody had forgotten what we were all talking about including his Highness. The bodyguards were dozing. An embarrassing moment had been succesfully negotiated by 'the drip'.

Turning to our personal life, without doubt, the most memorable day in Dubai was the 16th December 1987. I was a moderately heavy smoker in those days and one day young Roger, who was about thirty-three months, asked me one of his first, but by no means his last, very direct questions. Now, of course all children of this age ask questions. But my child wasn’t just any child - he was my firstborn, and I was going to be the perfect Dad and was determined I would be the first man in the history of the human race to answer all questions from my children, honestly, openly, and comprehensively. In this way my son would grow up to be a genius and earn lots of money and have a trouble–free life, unlike his Dad. So, I had been answering all questions heretofore with long detailed and multifaceted answers - being very careful to present all sides of the argument to the inquiring mind of my young son. He was going to learn and maybe even come to know everything- very much like his Dad.

So his question was -as he pointed to a cigarette in my lips…

“ Daddy, why are you doing that?”

Simple question, but devastating of course because I could not give him an honest answer that made any sense. I thought of ‘It helps me relax' which was honest, but not comprehensive - because it omitted to inform him that I was killing myself rapidly and would probably be dead by the time he reached University.
So I took the box of Dunhills and went down to the beach and threw them in the sea and never smoked a cigarette again. I will always be very grateful to Roger for asking this most sensible of questions. If he had said ‘What’ instead of ‘Why’ I might have been able to say ‘I’m smoking’. And I would no doubt be dead by now.


Friendship in Dubai

The first year socially was an outstanding success. Maria was very happy. Roger was three and there was a comfortable apartment to live in. The weather was fine and we made friends easily. The most notable of these friends was Len Drory. I remember meeting Len for the first time at School. He was the lab assistant who dealt with the physics side of things. Strange as it may seem now Len, on the very first day we met looked very serious and I thought that he was not the sort of person that would become my friend. My usually reliable intuition was wrong on this occasion. How wrong I was !

Len and I soon became firm friends and I really don't think the experience of Dubai would have been memorable at all if it hadn't been for him. I used to take him to work everyday and home from work most days. He didn't like to drive. Len had been head of a technical team in the Science department at Essex University for many years.

Len could fix anything anywhere and would do it at any time. I miss him now terribly.

At the age of fifty –seven, quite suddenly, I am lead to believe, he decided he wanted to see a bit more of the world before he retired . He went to Crown Agents in London and they offered him a position in Libya. On arrival, they confiscated his passport and he found himself trapped in Libya for a year against his will!

Undaunted, Len applied again through Crown agents and was appointed to the Rashid school in Dubai. Len was paid less than all of us ‘lofty’ teachers but in my opinion was worth fifty of them rolled together. He wore the white coat of the technician and so the British teachers tended to ignore him on the basis of his inferior status.

None of this worried Len as he was/is a humble man and so easy going and easy. to please. He was also extremely competent at his job. I don't know what he saw in me that made him think I would be worthy to be his friend. I don't know and I don't care. I am just so grateful for the friendship!

After getting accustomed the novelty of Arab culture we enjoyed ourselves in the desert-dune bashing in our jeep. We also explored many of the Wadis in the Emirates. The beaches were wonderful and we joined the nature society and went on trips. We camped many times both in the desert and on the beaches.

We made good friends with Terry (from Bolivia) and Eric Weinkotz from Germany . Maria got to know many good friends including Jessmay from Seychelles and Tawkir from Pakistan. However, the year was soured a little for me by the unsatisfactory situation at the school which just seemed to go from bad to worse as  Catherine M ruthlessly fought with and tried to get rid of all her heads of Department..

We went home for the summer to Ireland. I don't remember much except that it was quite tense at times with all of us in ‘Robin Hill’ and we determined that the following year we would rent a house close to Mum and Dad.

Mum and Dad also came to visit us in Dubai.. They enjoyed Dubai very much. We took them dune-bashing in the desert and many times to the beach. They loved being with the children.

Women

It was 1979, and a cold and wet summers evening in Belfast. I was playing tennis with my colleague.

We were talking in general about friendship.

The colleague, who was married brought up a topic about which I confessed to him at the time I knew absolutely nothing. I had never had a girlfriend.

I had not brought up the topic but there he was talking to me about women.

I realise now in retrospect that he must have just had an argument with his wife.

For some reason, I can't think why, I remember exactly what he said to me.

I should explain that although I had the normal sexual instincts of a young male, I had until that point found Irish women to be unattractive, even cold and almost incapable of conversation.

Of course I believed that somehow this was my fault. I seemed to lack whatever it was they were looking for in a man.

My colleague said....

"Don, women are nest-builders. Don't forget it. They are interested in nobody else except their own nest!"

I was perplexed and I remember I did not really know how to respond. I think I grunted something to indicate vague agreement out of politeness.

I was twenty eight and had an almost desperate confidence in my future prospects for romance-even though something had always told me that I would never be really successful in my personal relationships with women.

By way of clarification he went on to explain that by 'nest' he meant children.

"The husband is not part of the nest." he went on. "as for outsiders they don't count at all.."

Out of fear of offending my colleague I said nothing, but I thought to myself..

"My God, what a strange thing to say. I'm sure there must be more to women than that"

"What about friendship?" I said

"Yes" he said "at first , but in the end it is the nest"

He went on "They'll do anything to anybody to protect the nest"

Now..I think I agree with my friend.

I have observed that in general women are indeed nest-builders and seem to have little interest in anything or anyone else around them apart from their own offspring.

There are exceptions of course.

Some women will espouse and even sacrifice themselves for noble causes-like Mother Theresa.

But I suppose I might do that too-if I got my board and keep

Other than that-well it just seems to be the nest.

It seems Darwin got this right.

Learning to be lonely

The penny has finally dropped for me. I am paying a high price for having an inquisitive nature.

I have seen the 'Phantom of the Opera' many times as a film, twice live, and listened to it dozens of times. I was listening to it on my IPOD the other day on my way to work when, for the very fist time, I caught the lyrics of the final song as the credits rolled.

The song is called 'Learn to be lonely'

My life is and has been about learning to be lonely.

I must be a slow learner. Why haven't I realised this before?

It would be another good epitaph. Perhaps it is a preparation for death.

My life has been mostly a farcical saga, much of it of my own making, punctuated by some few pain-free and exhilarating interludes, mainly in Africa and Mexico.

Everywhere I look here I am reminded of my own shortcomings. Everything irritates me: not just ugly things like noisy traffic, grass cutting machines or rude people on the telephone-but even on my favourite bicycle ride through in Campelltown by the river I am irritated by beautiful gardens and homes. Even happy people irritate me. .

The price of fifty-seven years of inquisitiveness is the humiliation of being patronised and feeling like a nuisance to everyone.

Everywhere I go I am patronised by the contented and the powerful, and ignored by everyone else. I'm so tired of it.

Everywhere I go I have to patronise the successful and the powerful. I'm so tired of it.

Stepping on eggshells to make sure I don't upset the sensitivities of those around me by being a nuisance is so enervating.

Best not to see them at all, because if the truth were to be known, they don't really want to see me anyway. When they say they do it is because they feel they 'should'. It is not because they want to.

They think they have what they need. So, they don't need me.

Maybe they are right.

I don't want any more quarrels. I'm exhausted.

I'll just have to learn to be lonely. That is what the songwriter said. It is so obvious!

I'm a slow learner - I can't quite get used to it.


Happiness surrounds us like sand on a beach -it is everywhere. It is within everyone's grasp.

All people need do is stretch out their hand and grab a handful.

But when I try to grasp the sand I cannot hold it. It slips through my fingers after a few hours or days.

We are all part of each others happiness. We are all sitting on the same beach.

But we ignore each other.

It is easier that way.

We listen to the lies of others who tell us we are responsible for our own happiness.

We lie to ourselves that we are 'independent' and can make our own happiness.

But it is not that way. I am part of your happiness and you are part of mine.

We lie to ourselves.

We lie all the time.

And we we keep on lieing.

That's one thing I can still do.

The Modern Volunteer and corporatism

I got an E-mail from the Australian Refugee Association (A.R.A.) today advertising for two part time positions in Adelaide.

People are being required to fill in forms and 'address criteria' and all the other corporate crap such as role play interviews (with teenagers as judges no doubt) that come from the failed corporate business model.

How totally ridiculous!

The A.R.A. should be begging people on their hands and knees to do these jobs-not requiring them to complete some competitive obstacle race in a  neo-Darwininan struggle for the job

Haven't A.R.A got the message yet?

Corporates and the Corporate business model are redundant?

Kaput!

We don't want the corporate model any more.

Education is not a business: health is not a business: Neither are art nor drama. Leisure is not a business. Recreation is not a business. The environment is not a bussiness. Unemployment is not a business.

Life is not a business.

Get it?

Harassment by receptionists in Adelaide

Harrassment by officious petty bureaucrats.

What is it with receptionists at the Medical Centre?.

Is it that when they hear my accent -they think -'Oh, he's a foreigner I can patronize him!" (paranoia setting in?)

Or is it that they speak to everyone in the same way?

I call the doctor to make an appointment and I get the usual 'bossy' tone of the Aussie receptionists.

They speak to me like they are talking to  a dog.

Eventually, as if she were doing me a favour, she gives me an appointment -but it has to be a week in advance because there are no doctors left in government service: they have all become private doctors creaming it in fixing adolescent girl's teeth..

Then the vampire says this......"There is a note here that you owe us 5 dollars for the re-issue of a prescription."

What sort of bullshit is this?

Is there anywhere in the world where receptionists are so petty?

I certainly haven't seen them them for sure.

This is the third time I have had to explain that my doctor (not myself) made a mistake with my dosage necessitating a re-issue of a prescription.

Don't these vampires speak to each other in between phone calls?

Why can't we have some migrant male receptionists in Adelaide?

They might just be more efficient and certainly more polite.

Vanity

Vanity.

Writing is vain.

Why do I write then?

Vanity.

Who reads my blog?

Look at the number of hits!

Why did I include a statcounter?

Vanity.

There will be no retrospective chapter for Adelaide in my autobiography.

Why?

Because this is it.

Literature

Salvation used to be through the "Lord" in church or in the Mosque.

But the Lord failed to solve the problem of loneliness.

Maybe the Lord shows himself through literature.

Salvation can now come through literature.

Literature teaches us how to be lonely.

how to come to terms with it.

Literature tells us how to come to terms with our vanity.

Literature is good.

The Telephone

Yes, it is useful for emergency situations.

Yes, it is useful to make arrangements.

But apart from that it is a complete disaster.

I loathe the telephone.

The telephone is the place where I can deceive, and be deceived most easily.

I feel under an obligation to play some role when I answer the phone. Maybe it is to be 'hearty' or to be 'sad' when I don't feel like it.

I deceive my interlocutor.

Perhaps, it is because petty officials can be so rude on the telephone.

Perhaps it is because I am rude myself on the phone.

Perhaps it is because people phone me almost always to get something from me. They 'want' something.

It's so easy to deceive on the telephone.

No thanks!

I prefer writing, E-mail or face-to-face.

Phoning is bogus and the refuge of the coward and the sluggard.

I try not use it.

Epitaph

My Epitaph

"Have You Read my Blog?"

Maybe I will still be able to write it from the grave.

I can 'haunt' people and frighten them into reading it.

Haunting them when alive doesn't seem to work.

Don't scoff!

The Northern Irish can do many unusual things.

No more TV for me

I have always been a friendship-builder.

One of my more recent achievements has been to wean myself off reading newspapers and watching Television news.

Now, I get my news from my most recent friend-my P.C.

I am in control. I choose what I want to read and when I read it.

I don't have to listen to 'infotainment' any more!

What freedom!

No more sensational jingles, maniacal ranting in jarring advertisements, exaggeration, lies, hype, inane jingles, manipulative commentary or bogus boring 'look at me' speeches from self-important anchors and reporters and the non-entities they choose to interview in order to exploit my baser instincts for commercial benefit.

No more feeling patronised.

Hah!

And my P.C. does not disappoint me -it does what I expect.

It is truly my best friend

I love my P.C.

The trees and the birds snd Homo Sapiens in Adelaide

It's the trees and the birds which make Adelaide so beautiful.

It is a magical land of wonder and fairytale.

The birds chatter, squeak and squawk with life, but the trees are a calming influence.

They respect each other: the birds thrill themselves in the trees, and the trees indulge the birds like unruly children.

Without the trees and the birds Adelaide would be without a soul-like any other Australian city.

'Homo Sapiens' hasn't quite won here.

Yet.

Rome is burning and the people of Adelaide are fiddling.

We can't see our own weaknesses.

That is why we need other people-so we can see our weaknesses.

When we know what they are we can do something about them.

Not much maybe, but something.

This is what worries me about being here in Adelaide.

People won't let me close enough to see their weaknesses.

So I can't reach them. They don't want to be reached.

They are in denial,and fiddle while Rome burns.

So much fire and smoke everywhere.

Amiable on the outside, but cold and brutal as they sizzle.

Adelaide, 2009 You're on your own mate!

My American colleague told me this story the other day.

"I was in this reputable lounge in Adelaide on Saturday night listening to music and and this guy got very drunk. He was shouting and roaring, standing up and stumbling around making a nuisance of himself to everyone. Eventually, He fell over and groped several females. Not just one female-he did it several times. No-one did a thing to defend them"

"Really?" I said

'Yeah, and the thing was he kept doing it and nobody said a thing to him. In the US people would have come to the defence of the females and thrown the guy out of the bar, or the barman would have called the police. When I complained to the barman and asked him to call the police the barman said

"Look mate, we don't want any trouble here mate! Don't give us any trouble."

So,according to the barowner, I was the one causing the trouble!!

"Yes" I said, That's how it is here-they shoot the messenger. When you're in trouble you're on your own in Australia.

Exile in the suburbs of Adelaide

I refer to Australia.

When they are not throwing bricks at each other, the Northern Irish throw bricks at Romanian gypsies in Belfast.

The English treat their immigrants with disgruntled resignation. They need them to do the jobs they won't do themselves.

The Arabs treat their Indian and Pakistani workers workers like slaves.

In Malaysia, Philipino and Indonesian workers are treated like dirt.

They say the Japanese are hostile to foreign workers.

and the French treat everyone with contempt.

The Germans hate the Turkish workers but will allow them to wipe their babies' bums while they make a million.

Ethnic groups in Africa will slaughter each other with relish when given the opportunity.

All this is perfectly understandable really. Humans are programmed to be racists-it's in the reptilian brain stem.

I can understand that.

But what I can't understand is why native born Aussies feel it beneath them to build friendships with more recent migrants. After all, ALL Australians are migrants (apart from indigenous Australians)

Can anyone please offer me an explanation?

Perhaps they just don't know how to do it?

Please E-mail your thoughts to outsider1952@gmail.com or dnixon10@hotmail.com

Addictions and the Elixir of life

The elixir of life is everywhere around us. But we all find some excuse not to drink it.

We anaesthetise ourselves through our addictions to our own comfort, to our own pride, to work, to routine,to greed or to to alcohol and drugs, or just plain self-delusion, a powerful and useful narcotic.

The elexir of life can end our loneliness but we are too stubborn to reach out and drink it.

We are all in denial and so we get what we deserve in the end. We don't deserve the pity of others.

Those in love drink the elixir of life.But even that may not last forever.

We usually find a way to destroy that too.

(S) Mexico City, Greengates 1987

Greengates School, Mexico City

We made a hasty and undignified return from Colombia to base in Belfast to lick our wounds and consult with my friend DHC as to what the hell to do. I thought of setting up my own school in Ireland but I had to give up that idea when I realized I had not the slightest idea how to go about it. In panic, I went off to Gardner’s again in Belfast to buy my trusted friend “The Times Educational Supplement” I was not disappointed.

“Wanted Urgently! science teacher, Greengates School, Mexico city”

Phoned J.H, recently appointed Deputy Principal of Greengates school.

This was one of my more rigorous phone interviews.

“ Mr. Nixon, can you teach junior science?”

“Yes”

Two weeks later we arrived in Mexico city with Roger (two) and six suitcases.

I should have been suspicious of the short notice. In retrospect, invariably, if a school wants someone at short notice it is a bad sign. It means someone has been sacked suddenly, or they have resigned suddenly or there has been poor planning by the school. In this case I was in an unusual situation. I was  just desperate for a job.

It has always amused me when people comment enviously on my career at all  the interesting places I've lived in as if they were holiday destinations. They imply that I've been selfish. They think I've chosen to go these places as if choosing somewhere to vacation . The fact is that since my marriage, I have nearly always been obliged to work in some far off place for practical reasons such as money, as in Dubai, or suitability for my family, as in the case of Colombia or Australia, or both, as in the case of Brunei. After my marriage, the only time when I have been the primary consideration in a change  has been when I have been forced  to leave a job unexpectedly. We all have our limits as to the amount of stress we can tolerate in a job .Maybe my tolerance for stress is lower than others, but that is my personality and is not something I can change easily, although I  have tried hard to do that with the help of counselors since Brunei. But when people hear my stories they become jealous and think I  have been  on a continuous  holiday for 35 years.

Getting back to Greengates, I was shocked at the unruliness of the rich kids at first. After four weeks the proverbial shit hit the fan when a recalcitrant fourth year girl with a name sounding like ‘Moron’ took a serious dislike to me. I kept telling her to stop talking, take the chewing gum out of her mouth, sit in her seat , do her homework etc. She paid me scant attention so I put her in ‘detention”. Of course she happened to be the Lab assistant’s daughter, and the Lab assistant just happened to have a doctorate and was well connected. She came from a wealthy Mexican family. The upshot of all this was that the mother (the lab assistant in my department) refused to allow Moron to be put in detention! . Enter J.H. ‘mediator’ or ‘mediocre’ depending on your point of view. J.H.’s solution was for Moron not to do the detention.

Not surprisingly, I wasn’t so thrilled with this idea and I mentioned my thoughts to J. H. the (the mediocre). He promptly referred the case to the Principal S, the moral midget.

To my astonishment the Principal announced that she supported her Deputy and the Moron. They then announced that they had taken the trouble to phone my former boss in Colombia,who had now moved to Madrid after being shot at,(see blog entry 'R,Colombia') and that they knew ‘all about’ why I had left Colombia. My former boss in Colombia had for some reason not given me a flattering reference. I was curious -and asked the mediocrity and the moral midget if they knew why I had left Colombia because I was damned if I knew mysef. So, I asked them to tell me what had happened. To my disappointment they weren't able to, or wouldn’t tell me. So, I never did find out. To this day I still don’t really know what happened in Colombia myself. Unfortunately, Jack is dead now so I’ll probably never know. ‘Confusao’ as they say in Portugal.

It was only then that I realized in Mexico city how mean my friend Jack from Colombia really was. I consulted with M as to what to do and we considered a ‘moonlight flight" to UK. The heavy weight of responsibility weighed heavily(not surprisingly) on me and, against my better judgement (please don’t laugh-it was a very serious situation) we decided to stay.

Moron’s mother, the Lab assistant, was eventually sacked many years later by Greengates after causing my friends J.H. and the moral midget (the Principal)a lot of headaches and sleepless nights.

At the end of the year Moron eventually apologized to me but I had already decided to leave Greengates as my reputation had been tarnished by the incident.

Ably supported by my chum NJVR, an eccentric Maths teacher, I survived until Christmas. At the age of thirty six, it was gradually dawning on me that money was important in life and so I applied for a job in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. . Taking NJVR’s advice I followed up the application with a phone call (no fax or E-mail in those days) and I got an interview in London– all paid for!

The interview lasted fifteen minutes with I.W. the Principal of a new school “the Rashid school for Boys” set up by Sheik Maktoum the crown Prince of the Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. . After another of the most perfunctory of interviews I knew I’d got the position as Head of Biology and Careers, even though he said he had to ‘consult’ his colleagues beforehand. In the interview I.W. didn’t waste the opportunity to ridicule my previous position in Colombia.

“I see you’ve been a Deputy Principal at some 'Mickey Mouse' school in Colombia” said I. W.

"Yes - ha! ha!," said I self-deprecatingly because I desperately wanted the job in Dubai. ('Anything you say I.W.') He was really thinking that being Deputy Sheriff in Colombia was was nothing compared to what he was offering me in Dubai.

Little did either of us know that within one year of the interview I.W. himself would be sacked from Dubai, run out of town with a handsome sum in a brown envelope to keep him quiet, and in an astonishing coincidence, be appointed to take up the position of Principal at the same ‘Mickey Mouse’ school in Cali, Colombia! . I.W. only lasted eighteen months as Sheriff before he was devoured by the gentle coffee morning ladies of the school’s ‘Junta Directiva’.

But I am getting ahead of myself, I still haven’t finished with Greengates yet. I have to mention the G Phurphy affair. One day I was walking across the across quadrangle when I heard a sonic boom. It turned out to be a sonic belch from G Phurphy a slobbish Yanky teenager. We happened to be passing some new parents who were being shown around the school at the time. The parents heard the whole thing and looked embarrassed at me. I dashed over to remonstrate with Gerry and reported the incident to J.H. (the mediocre).The latter didn’t think it was serious and wouldn’t give Gerry a detention. He made him write an essay on manners which he did ‘tongue in cheek’ and hence deriding yours truly for taking it seriously. J.H., mediocrity that he was, thought it was all very funny. I don’t know whether the parents put their children in the school or not.

And then there was Patricia who sulked all year in my form class because I wouldn’t flirt with her. One day, she claimed the dog had eaten her biology homework and vomited it up. In her report I said that she didn’t always do her homework.The Principal, S, the moral midget and J.H. joined forces to ask me to change the report saying I was victimizing Patricia. I refused of course. In the end they gave me a good reference to get rid of me.

They didn’t mention the ‘Prick of the week’ club’s meetings which I attended. We would sit around and tell stories of the most outrageous things that had happened in school during the week. I am convinced there was an informer which explains why I was hounded out of the place for making unreasonable demands upon the Moron, Patricia and the slob, Gerry Phurphy.

Socially, we had a very good time in Mexico of course. We met Maria's friends of ther family "Los vargas many times as they lived in Mexico City. We also went to visit Maria's Mum at Christmas. I met amd made made good friends with NJVR who was very supportive during my struggles in the school. There were also parties and drives and tours around the picturesque parts of Mexico. we particularly enjoyed going to a place about three hours from Mexico City in Michoacan called Jungapeo. There was a spa -a beautiful place. We also had a visit from D.H.C.at the end of the year. On one particular day we went to the pyramid of Teotihuacan and as we were travelling there I did a 'U' turn in an illegal place. Having been in Mexico for the year but I didn't think much of it. As luck would have it a policeman caught me me and pulled us over. He insisted we would have to go to the station to pay the fine but I knew he wanted a bribe. I had no money but David obliged by showing the policeman all his foreign currency in his wallet and the policeman price kept going up! We eventually got rid of him. I don't think David was terribly impressed by this incident or of Mexico in general.

I flew to back to school in Mexico (February 1987)) a little nervous, but pretty confident that I had done well in this interview . Sure enough, about one week later in the middle of a science class, a telegram arrived offering me a position in Dubai starting in August 1987.

Arrival in Dubai 1987

We left Greengates in Mexico  with some misgivings. We spent the summer of 1987 at home and I remember playing golf with my brother Roger and saying to him that I was hopeful we would stay for five years in Dubai and make plenty of money. He hoped so too and he advised me to take out life insurance and other such things. I was very upbeat about Dubai. It was to be a brand new school, international students, boarding, International Baccalaureate, great money and living conditions. A wonderful climate too. It was almost too good to be true. And indeed that turned out to be the case 

Interlude (43) The Irish Club

I have to admit if not defeat, a very serious blow to my morale.

I intend to take a very grave step indeed.

After two years in Melbourne, seven in Brisbane and six months in Adelaide I have finally given in.

These Aussies seem so disinterested in anybody who doesn't speak with a 'Dinky Di' accent that I am forced to do what i once thought was unthinkable.

Bear with me please...

I left Ireland to go to England to get away from the Irish.

I then left England to get away from the English

I don't have the means to get away from the Aussies, or I would have gone by now.

So...

I'm going to throw in the towel and go to the Irish club in town!

So much for a life dedicated to multiculturalism.

I will let you know what happened.