(R) Colombia 1984-1986

Colombia

I accepted the job in Colombia and we were very excited at the time.

I remember arriving in Cali and being met by Jack Cushnan, my boss, at the airport. We were put up in a hotel with the other 17 new teachers. We were the very last to arrive. It was a very long journey and Maria was pregnant with Roger. The next day Jack took me to the school and started to tell me about the job he wanted me to do. So many times it has happened to me in my career – being offered a job the details of which are not disclosed until AFTER  arrival in the host country! Who is to blame for this?  Me, of course! I was very naive...


I remember Jack saying to me at this meeting. " Boy, you're going to be very busy ". I chuckled amiably (but rather naively, in retrospect) at the time!

This turned out to be a serious understatement!  It was an absurd job description both from the point of view of quantity and quality. However, Jack was shrewd enough to know that I was naive enough not to know!  In addition to a 50 percent teaching load I had the huge area of responsibility for discipline in school. I was also the International Baccalaureate Coordinator. More importantly, it was only after I had been in Cali for several weeks that I learned the truth about what had happened in the year before my appointment....

What Jack hadn't told me in the interview was that there had been a scandal at the school involving the final year students-six of them I believe. Apparently these six students had tried to bribe the guy who worked the photo copier to give them some exam papers before school tests. These exams were important because the marks counted towards admission to universities. The scam was discovered and Jack was horrified!  It was difficult for him to know what to do with the students because some of them were well connected to board members!  the Chairman of the board was effectively Jack's boss! I was told that the son of the Chairman was involved. Eventually, Jack decided to expel  the students - a very courageous (or maybe foolish) move!

However, the consequences of the expulsions went far beyond what anyone could have expected in their wildest dreams (or nightmares). There were divisions among parents, and I understand the school was almost closed as a result of this scandal. Jack survived somehow, but only just . He had a lot of ‘Palancas’ (friends in high places) after 14 years but he had to call all their favours in to win this one. People said  that in his  latter years Jack had become quite distant from the day-to-day running of the school. He had left this in the hands of his senior teacher Jeremy Stendall, who was an exceptionally kind man, but not a strong man with respect to discipline. The school discipline had therefore become slack under Jeremy. Jack blamed Jeremy for the scandal. Enter stage left Don Nixon as Vice Rector and head of Discipline!

I was so naive in those days. I was so very excited at the prospect of such a responsible position. I was newly married and on cloud 19. I knew the the job was going to be ‘full-on’ as they say in Australia but that was not going to daunt me! I was invincible!

I set about my task of cleaning up the discipline with relish . I monitored what was going on with the Jefe de Bachillerato, Carlos Castrillon . He had been running the discipline in the secondary section anyway. After a month I was staggered at what I  found. Carlos was using a a Friday detention system. The number of students referred for detention was often listed between 30 and 40 each week, sometimes more. Each detention had to be approved by Carlos. I then visited the Friday afternoon detentions to find that there were often less than ten students actually attending the detention! In some cases I found out that Carlos had overruled the teacher, or in other cases, the student had simply not turned up for the detention! To my young and inexperienced mind the situation seemed perfectly ridiculous. How could 40 students on a list be reduced to ten? The situation was made even more ludicrous by the fact that when I visited the detentions students appeared to be playing cards - thus defeating the whole purpose of the detention!

I made a full report to Jack who was delighted and asked me to produce a plan to improve the system .

Easy! I proposed that any student who did not attend the Friday detention would have a Saturday detention which I personally would supervise. Any student who failed to turn up for a Saturday morning would be suspended for three days. Jack thought this was a great idea and it was immediately put into practice.

The effects were far - reaching. First of all, students got worked up about the idea-especially the final year 11. They had a meeting in the science lab to discuss these initiatives. They resolved to press for the removal of the new Vice Principal (me) ! Carlos was also furious at what he saw as the erosion of his power and did his best to show solidarity with the year 11 students in an attempt to undermine my position. The most positive effect was that the discipline improved and students were no longer found wandering around in the corridor during class time etc. I was pleased, and Jack was delighted!

However, I was just beginning to feel quite satisfied with myself when Jack announced to me casually one day that he had had a very stormy board meeting the previous evening in which it was suggested that I be sacked and asked to return home!!!

It took me a while to figure out just what my boss Jack meant when when he had said. ‘Good news, you’re not going to be sent home. I had our first Board meeting last night and there was a move to have you sent home-it was defeated - but it was a close thing!’

‘Oh Good’, said I with a grimace masking terror and a total lack of comprehension!  “They wouldn’t have dared” thought I ‘Would they?’ A mere youth of but three and thirty, I didn’t know any better....my first experience of the vagaries of life in the corridors of power.

Another incident concerned the Mr.and Mrs Wright. Maria  and I were sitting down at the sports club relaxing on a Sunday. Newcomers too, Mr. and Mrs. Wright sidled up to us and started rubbishing the school and my boss, Jack. They very unhappy with everything. I was offended, I dutifully reported such disaffection to the appropriate authority (Jack). Jack thanked me profusely and commended me for loyalty. I experienced, for the first time, the exhilaration of knowing I had pleased my boss.

‘By the way’ he said, ‘Do you think you could write a report of the incident?’ I had a fleeting moment of disquiet-but it quickly passed. Jack put the letter in the ‘Wright’ file, if you follow me, and two years later when he didn’t want to renew their contracts he waived the letter in front of them. That made me really popular with the Wrights . As luck would have it – the Wrights  went to Greengates in Mexico city the next year - and guess who followed there at the same time? -Yup-yours truly.(me!)

We had a nice cosy relationship with the Wrights  at Greengates! Before this I was unsure about the existence of God, but when the Wrights turned up at Greengates I knew there was no God! Englishman!

I now began to realize that I been very naive! I have always had this perfectionist and idealistic streak which made me believe things were black and white. Clearly, they were sometimes gray! I was unnerved by Jack’s comments and began to realize for the first time the reality: that the fortune of my family was in the hands of these people on the Board, and of Jack himself. My belief in natural justice began to erode.

Nevertheless, I pursued my policy with (in retrospect) some success during the following eighteen months. Without a doubt any objective observer would have agreed that the discipline at the end of my two years in the Colombo Britanico had vastly improved.

But from that time on I was going to be much more careful.

Socially, we were very happy in Colombia indeed. Marie was pregnant with Roger and we had the "Muchacha" to help in the house. The Colombians were so friendly. Our neighbors welcomed us to the regular middle class "Barrio" of Mayapan, bringing us presents and inviting us to visit them. We loved this type of hospitality.

Roger was born in February and Gloria, Maria's mother,  was able to come and visit us. We didn't really care about money. In fact, looking back, it was in 1984, and at thirty-two , I was still so naive and didn't consider money as an important issue in life!! Poor Maria! Who had she married ? The reality was that after two years in Colombia we had saved only about one thousand dollars! - and that with the salary of a Vice-Principal of one of the largest bilingual schools in South America.

Our ‘muchachas’ were a problem: we had so many and most of them are best forgotten! But some of them were good - and we were probably a little bit 'exigente' in retrospect. ‘Rosa’ was one of the the good ones recommended by Estelle C (Jacks wife ). Rosa was a plain Jane - but very reliable. When she did something she shouldn't have done she would say "Tienes toda la razon Senor" "which means ‘you are perfectly right sir!”. We let Rosa go after a series of minor misdemeanours. And yet she was one of the best maids we had. In retrospect it was probably a mistake to let her go!

Gustavo and Terry

They were a lovely couple from across the road with the little boy called Armando. Gustavo often invited me to play tennis. We had such great games and such a great fun! They also invited us to come and have dinner. They also invited us to their cottage on a mountain outside Cali –also to their ‘finca’ in and I remember swimming in the freezing water of their pool. Gustavo was a dentist. Amparo and Caesar were close neighbors and very friendly to us also.

Mum and Dad's visit December 1985

At Christmas Mom and Dad came to visit. They had very unlucky outward. trip . They came via Paris, Madrid, Caracas and Bogota!! What a nightmare! It was really too much for  Mum and Dad, and I’ll never forget the sight of Dad at Cali airport. His face was blotched with circulation problems. I'd never seen him like that before and Mom was unwell with a ‘Meuniers’ balance problem . Mom never really recovered throughout the five week trip. But Dad did, and he enjoyed it all.

We went to Cartagena on the coast and stayed in a very modest hotel. Unfortunately, they were robbed in the middle of the night. Some thief put his hand in through the window and stole their credit cards and travellers cheques etc. Fortunately it was all insured. But it was a bit unnerving for all of us.



But the second year was a disaster ! The main problem was a slide on the Colombian peso and the 18 teachers who had come from UK a year earlier found themselves in a very difficult financial position especially if they had financial commitments in UK.

One by one they started to fight with the school -with Jack in particular. They blamed him of course and I don't know really how well jack handled it. Not very well as I think he tended to take the attitude that it was just tough luck! Well, for people with children this clearly was not good enough ! Soon there were resignations. People either resigned or were pushed after an argument. The atmosphere became grimmer and grimmer as the term wore on.

Then, something really dramatic happened ! Rumors began circulating that something very serious involving the police had  happened to Jack.

After a few days he called me in and told me about what had happened. He said that a few days previously he had been driving into his garden from the street when he had heard a ‘Phut’ sound coming from the rear of the car. He got out and noticed that the rear tyre was flat.

He was then astounded to find that beside the car was a woman crying hysterically.A child had been hurt and was lying on the pavement. screaming. Jack could not understand what was wrong but immediately offered assistance to the woman and child before offering to take them to hospital.

He quickly changed his tyre and a arrived with the child in his arms at a hospital. After waiting for some time you he was accosted by the father of the injured child who asked Jack

"Where is the gun?"

Jack was dumbfounded! He was detained all night at the police station and questioned. according to Jack he believed that a gunman had taken a shot at him when he was driving the car into his driveway. He believed this was a revenge attack for the expulsion of the students before my appointment!!

Within the few days of this incident Jack had sent all students home and called a staff- meeting of the whole school in the auditorium. There, in public, he announced his intention of leaving Colombia and going to work in Madrid at the end of the year. It was clearly a message to his ‘enemies’ (the people who had taken a shot at him). They had been successful in getting him to leave.I was his deputy!!

Such melodrama made the atmosphere in school even worse. All sorts of rumors began to circulate. Jack also decided to retire within himself and stopped communicating with many people including myself.

A new Rector was appointed from El Salvador, Michael Cross. During his visit before taking up his appointment, he made it clear that he was not happy with the curriculum documentation. This awoke Jack from his reverie and spurred him back into action in an area in which he had been clearly negligent. The result was a frantic burst of activity which stressed people out even further! It was a rushed and botched job of curriculum documentation. Now, everybody was upset!

I tried to remain as loyal to Jack as possible, but because of my position in daily contact with teachers it was difficult for me to do that without distancing myself from the teachers.

Very few people were intending to extend their contracts.

One day the art teacher, Marila Rudas, the eccentric but very charming Art teacher
came to my office and very diplomatically showed me some documents she had picked up “by mistake” from the desk of Jack’s secretary Florencia. The document was an advertisement in the ‘Times Educational Supplement’ for MY job!

I could not believe it. Jack had advertised my job.  I was flabberghasted, and immediately lost all faith in Jack and my future of the school at this time. This was in April 1986.

It was around about this time that Michael Cross made his visit to the school and it was made clear to me I could stay on as Deputy Principal if I wanted. I said nothing about the advertisement to anyone.

As the final weeks of the year approached things went from bad to worse. There was a bloodbath with people trying to settle scores with Jack . In one very bizarre incident after a goodbye ceremony for Jack, the flowers were scattered all over the gymnasium. I imagine some students had done this as some sort of prank. Jack took it very personally indeed as I was to find out later.

June 16th 1986

On June 16 Jack invited me into the office and told me he was NOT going to renew my contract and that he was going to see to it that I did not get any holiday pay for the summer.. He was in a rage. I could not believe what was happening!

But I was also so angry that I refused to listen to him read a prepared speech to me. I interrupted him furiously with "For what reason? etc etc " as he did not complete the speech I never got the full story but he managed to say that I had been disloyal.

He said his secretary, Florencia had said that when he was in London I had been seen going into his office ! This was of course true, and I did not deny it. It was naive of me in retrospect. I used to go into his office to read the  Times Educational supplement which he, and only he, had access to in those days. (No internet). This was a British newspaper which advertised jobs

He also accused me of being involved in the ' flowers' incident.!! I was so outraged at his behavior that I did something which I later regretted. I overreacted, and ended up giving him what he wanted- which was my resignation!


In my heart I knew I did not want to be part of the whole set up any longer – and I also believed indeed probably (probably wrongly) that Jack was so powerful that I could not fight him. Now, years later I'm sure I was wrong. If I had stayed I'm sure I could have kept my job.

I almost immediately regretted my resignation. But there was no changing it and I realized I had been fooled and manipulated by a very much more experienced man. Maria was of course indignant and and very supportive of me . After getting over her initial shock she actually at one stage took it upon herself to walk several miles to the school where she confronted Jack and asked him for an explanation.

We had to pack up and leave with baby Roger very quickly and had to sell everything. I remember trying to get tax clearance from the Tax office with no help from the school or anybody else. In retrospect it was a truly dreadful, ignominious and shocking departure. My humiliation was total, and my self esteem plummeted. My confidence was severely shaken and I still bear the scars of this departure twenty three years later as I write –although the scars have been covered up by more scars from subsequent battles!

I still occasionally dream about Jack and his unjust behavior, and am as much mystified by it today as I was then. I now know of course that Jack was probably suffering from the initial stages of cancer which was to kill him four years later in Madrid.
.
Strangely enough I met his wife Estelle in London at a recruitment conference in 1993 - seven years later. Jack had died of cancer. She passed me in the corridor but would not look at me. A sad end to this chapter. But I must say some of the teachers were very nice to both of us on learning of our precipitate departure. I will always be thankful to Tim Baker and Charles Duckworth in particular for their support in those difficult weeks and months following our departure. Many other teachers were also very kind to us in those final days. This attitude contrasts strongly with the problems after my resignation in Australia a few years later where we felt very isolated, and abandoned by former friends and colleagues .

1983 Belfast

Belfast 1983

Marie was introduced and was an immediate hit with all the Nixons and my friends. Nobody could really understand how I had managed to catch such a gem!

We were fortunate to have very good spring weather that year although Marie kept complaining that it was s ‘frio’. Mum set to work trying to teach herself Spanish and also teach Maria English. ‘Post-its’ were placed all over the house with the names of things in English for Maria’s benefit and Spanish for the benefit of Mum.

We had a big party at Robin Hill and invited all my friends –not many –but many of Mum and Dad’s friends. Every body was captivated by Maria. I basked in her adulation.

We travelled all over Ulster and showed Maria around.  She even met Auntie Marjorie-Dad’sister. I had a very small family which included two spinster Aunts. The Nixons are not prolific. "Thank God" I can hear some of my friends say.

Even though she was well-looked after Maria was very tired soon coping with the language and the culture. She almost immediately became  pregnant.

I worked briefly for a neighbour erecting glass conservatories while I applied for teaching jobs. tHis was another favour Dad did  for me which I failed to acknowledge at the time. Marie started to learn English and made good progress.

Thanks to the Times educational supplement, by June I had two interviews lined up: one in London for Brunei- with a superb financial package as a science officer. I didn't even know where Brunei was, so I got out the Atlas. It seemed a bit far away for me. The other was in Belfast with Jack C, an Irishman, the Rector of the Colegio Colombo Britanico in Cali Colombia. The job was as a biology a teacher and the interview went very well. At the end of it Jack asked if I would be interested in becoming his Vice-Rector? This greatly appealed to my vanity and I immediately said that I would. The money was not good but in those days I was still an idealist, and I was happier with the idea of Maria having her first baby in Colombia-a Spanish speaking environment that would be familiar to her culturally rather than Borneo about which I knew nothing at all. The offer of Vice-Rector clinched it for me…seduced by ambition for the first, probably not the last time!

I realised that it was easier to get a British marriage certificate than to go through the bureaucracy of getting originals from Mexico of our Mexican marriage! Such was, and still is,  the  the power of the white colonial culture.

So, Maria and I were married for a third  time in Belfast, if you  include the real marriage in our swimming trunks!   David Crawford as my best man. It was such fun. Life was a breeze in those days

In site of her popularity Maria would sometimes cry at night out of homesickness. Mostly for her Mum, I think. I was determined she would be happy in spite of her homesickness.


And so to Colombia we went in August 1983…my first encounter with real power!

(P) Mexico 1983

Mexico

I arrived at about 10 pm in Mexico city  at the address of the sister of Luis Rodriguez (called Myrna). I remember looking up and her looking down at me shouting something in Spanish. This was the first real test of my Spanish skills I had been dreading it -she and her boyfriend Fernando spoke so rapidly I couldn’t keep up!

Anyway, the next few days were spent being shown around the sights of Mexico City and then we made our way to Yucatan on a 24 hour bus ride.

We arrived in Merida and were picked up by Myrna and her friend Maria Acevedo who drove us both to the house in Valladolid –a two hour drive. Maria had a Volkswagen Beetle. I was in the back and was alarmed by the speed at which Maria drove! Her head seemed to be turned at almost ninety degrees for most of the journey in order to carry on her  conversation with Myrna.It was bloody hot and both windows were down and the two of them shouted away at each other.! I hadn’t a clue what they were saying. Later on, Maria was to tell me that they referred to me rather unflatteringly as ‘Cara de changla’ which means “Face like a flip-flop” in Spanish!

I was pretty much ignored for the journey as the girls caught up on their gossip.

We arrived at Valladolid and Dona Zoila (Luis’ mother ) greeted me and treated me royally..  I was constantly supplied with food of every possible type. Luis was still in England –finishing his Masters Degree.

I passed a very pleasant week or so practising my Spanish and settling in. My daily routine was as follows:

A long lingering breakfast –practising speaking my Spanish with the family Rodriguez. This was followed by a short nap in the hammock to recover from the mental effort. It was boiling hot!

Then I would read the newspaper for an hour or so. This necessitated another nap!

Then lunch, which was followed by watching television for an hour or so. This necessitated another nap!

In the second week in the evenings Myrna’s sister, Zoila, and Myrna’s friend, Maria started to arrive to take me out to the Plaza for a coffee or soft drink. I think they felt sorry for me –as I was struggling with the language. Other nights we would stay in at Dona Zoila’s and play cards. I found these evenings increasingly enjoyable and I soon began to realise that I found Myrna's friend Maria particularly attractive . Physically, she was very pretty, but I liked her quick and easy smile. She also had a great sense of humour and we all spent a lot of the time laughing together – even though  I couldn’t follow the conversation most of the time!

After about a month my Spanish was beginning to improve and I was feeling pretty good about things. There was no sign of Luis yet. Although I thought I was getting on well  with the girls unbeknownst to me, I was not so popular with Don Luis-Luis’s Father. Don Luis was a fairly gruff character who was friendly enough but more distant than the others. In the afternoon he would lie down on the lounge floor spreadeagled like a cross and go to sleep.

He drank a lot and one day after I had been there for about a month, he got drunk and had a go at me. Of course I couldn’t understand a word he was saying –but I got the gist of it –that I was overstaying my welcome in the house. At this, the girls sprang into action and found a place for me to stay with a friend of theirs – the Dentist Ernesto!

Ernesto was a debonair young dentist who seemed to be very popular with the girls-except for Maria –for some reason. Anyway, he was very decent to me allowing me to stay in his little bungalow and sleep in his hammock.

Cuba

I am getting a little ahead of myself. Before the incident with Don Luis, I received a surprise invitation from Myrna, Zoila, Maria and another friend of theirs called Rosaura. They asked me to go to Cuba on holiday with them!

I think they didn’t expect me to agree! At least that is what Maria says now. I loved the idea and arranged to have my savings sent out to Mexico to pay for the trip!

For me Cuba will always have a special place in my heart-because that is where I fell in love with Maria. I can remember the exact place–it was at the Tropicana theatre!

The rest of the holiday in Cuba passed like a dream. On the island we met one of Myrna’s friends who invited us to his father’s home for dinner. Because I was Irish– potatoes had been cooked in my honour. He claimed to have rolled into Havana with Fidel Castro in 1959.

The beaches were white and pristine and the water turquoise. We swam and ate and courted till our hearts were content.

We returned to Mexico and events proceeded at a fast pace. Exactly five weeks after my arrival in Mexico I asked Maria if she would Maria me.

The rest is history!

I sent a letter to Mum and Dad with a photo of Maria. They later told me they were stunned by the news.  But I know they were pleased and excited because they had begun to think I was never going to get married!

Returning to Mexico I moved into Ernesto’s house and my Spanish improved rapidly. I would write letters in Spanish  to Maria while she was at work and she would read them when she came home. My writing was better than my speaking at this time.

Thinking through things with Maria we decided to go to Veracruz for Christmas to meet Maria’s Mum-Gloria. Before that we both fell ill with typhoid fever and had to have a dozen painful injections in our bum to get rid of it. Apart from this time passed for me  in a blur of excitement. The evenings when Maria came home from work were passed very pleasurably in the plaza drinking coffee and fruit juice.

Doesn’t sound like much fun –does it?

Well it was–it was the happiest time of my life. Like a fairytale.

I remember the trip to Veracruz took 24 hours by bus. I had eaten something that was ‘Off” and I had to stop the bus, get off and throw up. I actually fainted and passed out momentarily beside the bus. Maria was there to nurse me. By the time we reached Veracruz I looked and felt awful! I was introduced to Maria’s mother and it seemed to go well.she was so welcoming and I was very relieved. The next day I revealed to my future mother-in-law my plans for her daughter:  that I was going to take Maria away with me to Ireland and from there apply for jobs in Africa. Gloria must have been very surprised and saddened by this news, but said nothing at the time. What she must have thought I cannot imagine-but she was very gracious indeed. I only hope one of my own children doesn’t do the same to me someday!

We had a good time meeting Maria’s friends and relatives, and going to the ‘Malecon’ to look at the ships and going to the beach and to the cinema

We went back to Valladolid in Yucatan and started to make plans for the wedding which was to be in a registry office in Veracruz.

The Wedding in Veracruz

We spent a lot of time in Veracruz going to the movies and getting the paperwork in order for the wedding. The day before the wedding Maria and I had to go to the registry office for a rehearsal. I had to bring the ring and the witnesses. When the rehearsal was over and just as we were leaving the official who was conducting the rehearsal said to me

“ Senor, quizas manana estaremos en huelga”

Which, roughly translated, means “ Sir, we may be on strike tomorrow”

“ But” I gasped, we have booked our flight to Chihuahua after the reception tomorrow, Senor, what do you advise us to do?

“Mejor se casan ahorita!”

Which means “ You’d better get married now!” He said.

So we did! – we were both in our shorts and flip-flops and we did not even have a camera!

The next day of course there was no strike. We hadn’t told the guests that we had been married the day before, and all the guests came and watched us ‘pretend’ to sign the register. (If we had told them we were married on the previous day we were afraid they wouldn’t turn up!)

We had a small reception at Gloria’s house and then we went on our honeymoon to Chihuahua. From Chihuahua we took the train through the copper canyon to the coast at Puerto Vallarta and Mazatlan. It was a beautiful part of Mexico.

Returning to Veracruz we booked our ticket to Belfast and sent our belongings by ship to Belfast. We had decided that I could only get a job with any money based in Belfast.

The box for our things was constructed by Maria’s cousin in the upstairs room of Gloria’s apartment. This was fine except that the box was so big we couldn’t get it out of the door down the stairs! In the end we had to lift the box over the balcony and lower it down onto the busy street with a rope. The passers by were curious and I took photos which I think I have now mislaid.

In April 1983 we flew to Belfast.

We were greeted at the door in Dundonald by my Dad in his dressing gown at the door around midnight!!

(O) Manchester and North America 1982-1983

Manchester 1982 -1983

Matt Flynn was an Irishman working in Zomba, Malawi, who had the worst golf swing I have ever seen. It was so flawed it was embarrassing to watch. Apparently he had been a good golfer at some point. He was the nicest bloke and it was Matt who suggested I do a Masters Degree in Education at Manchester where he had done his. In early 1982 I was getting bored and beginning to wonder what I was going to do after I left Malawi. It was vintage ‘grass is greener’ Nixon stuff. I was in a good school in a perfect climate with friendly people on all sides and I wanted to leave!

I even got the Government of the Republic of Ireland to give me a grant to go to Manchester University!

In April 1982, I went to the travel agent in Blantyre and something happened which changed my live for ever: instead of finishing my journey form Malawi in London, the travel agent offered me a one way ticket to Calgary in Canada via London! It was some Indian travel agent scam-but I took advantage of it to get a free ride to Calgary from London.  The ticket was valid to September 1983. Over a year later I  travelled to Calgary and made a trip to Mexico via Canada and the United States.

Anyway, in August I left Malawi and went back to Belfast via London. Soon, on a rainy day, I was on my way to Manchester in Mum’s little red mini car. I drove there via the Larne Stranraer ferry. I stayed in Moberly tower-a residence for post-graduate students from overseas.

The lectures and seminars were very variable. Some were top class and others disappointing. One seminar contained a bunch of Nigerian oil bureaucrats who had obviously been sent by the Government on the program. Although pleasant enough outside of class they were mostly loud and arrogant and didn’t allow other people to speak in class discussions.

Some of my fellow students were interesting. The English ones from the North were Malcolm and Terry knicknamed “The Seal” and “The Badger” respectively because they looked like these animals. I used to eat regularly with this group in the canteen. I never found out my own nickname, but I’m sure they had an appropriate knickname –something to take me down a peg or two.... the opinionated little Irish nerd that they undoubtedly thought I was at the time!  Terry was a socialist of the left wing type-a great supporter of Tony Benn. It was the "Margaret Thatcher” era and during my stay there she was re-elected defeating Michael Foot –the intellectual, but not very pragmatic, nor effective,  socialist leader.

I was friendly with an Irish priest called John Lavin who had been a Deputy Principal in Hong-Kong. I also became friendly with a little Mexican Guy called Luis Rodriguez who was studying statistics. I met him in the TV room one night while he was watching the news. I think he invited me back to his room for coffee. He was friendly and this was my first introduction to Mexican charm. Through this friendship,  I soon became interested in learning to speak Spanish. I bought myself a little book of Spanish grammar and exercises and did them religiously on a daily basis. Luis marked them in the evening and then gave me some conversation practice. At Christmas I invited him to come to Belfast and he had Christmas with my family. We I then took him to Dublin and Wicklow in the car to meet my friends.

About half way through the year I began to wonder about what I was going to do next. I applied for several jobs with the United World Colleges and came close –but I just fell short of getting an interview at any of them. It was very frustrating. I really wanted to work in those international colleges because they had students form all over the word. Luis came up with a solution: he invited me to stay with his family in Mexico so that I could learn Spanish! Together with my one way ticket to Calgary –I had the perfect plan. I would fly to Calgary and take the bus through the United States to Mexico and stay with his family. That way,  I could become fluent in Spanish.

It was a fairly uneventful year by 'Nixon' standards. In the second term I thought I would try my hand at living on my own again. So, I rented a room in a house of a guy called Ian who I had met at the University bar. He seemed a nice guy at first,  but on closer acquaintance he turned out to be bit fussy. One day he had a go at me about a greasy chip pan. No doubt it was greasy, but not that greasy-by my standards! Anyway, in the third term I moved back into Moberly tower again!

Meanwhile, towards the end of the year Luis started to behave a little oddly. He was mixed up with some strong catholic sect (Opus Dei) and I soon formed the impression that he had a ‘past’ and some issues which he hadn’t really entirely dealt with. He seemed tense at times and started to make rather personal, sarcastic and hurtful remarks. I became alarmed,  and for a time considered calling off my trip to Mexico.

North America

In spite of Luis’s odd behaviour I went ahead with my trip to Calgary in September. I stayed with friends of my parents–Archie and Rita Thompson at Peachland. This was a revelation. Rita didn’t seem at all pleased to see me! Her son, who drove me around the place, told me his mother was annoyed with me because she thought  that I was behaving as if I wanted to be treated like a king! I didn’t think so, but then maybe I was –it might just have been me at that age. I dunno. Certainly, I didn’t think a lot of the north American idea of hospitality which as far as I could see amounted to not much more than “There’s the fridge –help yourself!” In Ireland, the host feels responsible for the guest's comfort and is very attentive to the guest's every need. In Canada, it seemed not to be the same.

Anyway, I stayed only a few days with the son who showed me a few things –including a hedge under which on occasion he claimed he had slept at night! He tried to bring the conversation around to his conquests of women –which I found awkward, as I hadn’t conquered any at that stage! I was thirty,  and still a virgin. I found his boasting very embarrassing!

I took the bus to Vancouver, and from there I caught a bus to San Francisco. It was a long journey. We crossed the border at Seattle and I had a very difficult time. The Greyhound bus was held up for half an hour while I was interrogated by immigration who were suspicious of my story. I suppose it was a little odd. I explained I was on a ‘one way’ trip to a friend in Mexico in order to stay with him and learn Spanish. It was at the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland. To the immigration officer, I was an Irishman from Belfast with a one way ticket into the US and an 'unlikely' story about going to Mexico. The fact that I had a visa in Belfast was of no consequence to this officer. In the end he reluctantly stamped my passport and let me in. The bus was held up for twenty minutes while I talked my way out of it. In the end he almost spat out the words

“I do this with great reluctance” and he stamped my passport with a dramatic flourish.

In San Francisco I stayed at the YMCA and I went on a helicopter ride around San Francisco bay. Then I went to Los Angeles and stayed with Roger Craig-an old friend from my school  days. He put me up in his Malibu home. Roger was a very successful musician on the L.A. scene. He was doing back-up music for various groups. I remember asking him if I could accompany him to work and I was disappointed when he declined to let me join him. In retrospect, I was very naive to ask him.

Like Rita T in Peachland,  I was again being presumptious and expecting far too much of people. This is a personality trait of mine which has got me into a lot of trouble.

From L.A, I headed east to Las Vegas and saw the Grand Canyon passing through Flagstaff.

I hated Las Vegas . I arrived at three in the morning , walked up the strip-just to say I had done it (How vain!) and took the bus out of town again!

From L.A, I headed to Albuquerque to visit the United world college of the American West. ( An I.B. school). I was expecting the 'Royal treatment' again from the Principal. I thought he would be impressed by my dedication to the cause –travelling all this way to visit his school. He barely glanced at me!  I shuffled off disconsolately muttering to myself about the slings and arrows of misfortune.

From Albuquerque,  I travelled to a friend of Luis, who lived on the US side of the border. Then I travelled to  El Paso and took a bus to Mexico city. 

When I arrived in Mexico City I stayed with Luis's sister, and my adventures really started!

Great Country Australia

My son just started a job in a restaurant washing dishes last Friday.

Today, the Joblink agency called my 20 year old to ask if 'if he would mind' working for nothing for 25 hours in another restaurant?

According to my son the restaurant is a 'high class' place in the eastern suburbs of Adelaide.

My son is over the moon! (until the twenty five hours are up at least)

The job agency colludes with employers to bend the law and exploit youth for cheap labour.

As my new Aussie  neighbour in Borneo said to me twelve seconds after I introduced myself.

"Great country, Australia!"

Yeah!

1980-1982 Malawi

1980-1982 Zomba, Malawi

I arrived in Zomba Malawi in August 1980. I was met by the Headmistress, and Head Nun –Sister O. She was generous at a personal level but the archetypically bossy micromanager - a pain in the neck- but with the redeeming characteristic of not being very bright. This made her easier to cope with. However, she was not a fool and got the better of me in the workplace on more than one occasion.

I was shown to my new bungalow-which I thought was very nice. Of course it wasn’t as nice as the houses of all the other expats in Zomba had –but I didn’t mind that at all. For me it was excellent. There was a  even a servants quarters where I soon installed my tall Muslim houseboy-Austin.

I had a couple of weeks before school so I offered to help with the timetable. In those days I was naive and of course I didn’t realize that the timetable was a poisoned chalice! As soon as school started the complaining about the timetable started and of course I got the blame! I was outraged because I was not directing the timetable-only implementing it. The decisions about who taught what when and where were not mine, a fact which O kept skillfully concealed from the staff.  (I remember Mrs P being enraged with me that Maths was in the afternoon)  The staff turned out to be mainly female –not surprising in a girl’s school. Early on, I remember being surprised by the queue of girls on their knees outside the Principal’s office to see her at breaktime.

The Girls were lovely. It was like paradise. They all said ‘Good morning, Sir’ when I came into the classroom. I adapted quickly to the school.

Socially, most of my time was spent in and around the Zomba Gymkhana Club – the old colonial establishment in town where I could play tennis and golf and have a beer. I quickly met up with an Englishman Rob R, who was one of the first I.B. students from Atlantic College in Wales. The International Baccalaureate became the central plank of my next twenty years. I was IB coordinator in a school in Colombia and in Melbourne. The children all did their IB in Brunei. I have Rob to thank for introducing me to it. Rob was lecturing at the University and he had arrived with nowhere to stay . So, I suggested  he could stay with me until his house was ready. This arrangement worked very well as it gave me some company. Rob was a very pleasant, easygoing chap. He quickly fell in love with a lovely Malawian girl called Agnes who was a student at the University. He bought himself a motor bike and carried Agnes around everywhere on it. I was eventually Rob's best man at their wedding!

In the first year I was mad on tennis. I practiced every day after school and I became quite good-especially in doubles. In fact, I became the doubles partner of the Malawi number one, Mike W – and we played and won many doubles club matches together against other clubs. I don’t think we ever lost! This was of course because Mike was brilliant – not because of me!  He was an outstanding player. But we were the Malawi Number one doubles pair. The ballboys were great –Nelson, I remember in particular. I have just been told by a friend, George M-Roger's ’s Spanish teacher in Brunei who visited Zomba last month, (January 2004) that Nelson is now the head barman and remembers me from that time twenty years ago!

There was were many other Expats in Zomba -man yof who  were pleasant company but not partuclarly inyeresting. Chris C was a more colorful friendly chap but he spent his time cavorting with the girls in the bars-something I probably wanted to do but was too scared and had no idea how to go about it. Some of the white women were scary too-Marjorie B worked with me for 2 years at school but hardly spoke a word to me.  I'm sure it didn't help that I was painfully shy and didn't know how to flirt.

In the second year I tried to do a research project at school with the help of Brother Dostie at Box2 (The boys school) , but in the end O couldn't understand it and wasn't helpful-so I concentrated on my Golf. I started practicing every day and eventually became hooked. It was so cheap –and you had someone to carry the bag! The ‘greens’ were made of sand and you had a wooden implement that looked like a rake which you used to scrape your track to the hole for your Putt. It was quite an art. In the end I became one of the best golfers in the club and played in competitions in Blantyre and Mulanje. By the time I left I had the lowest handicap in the club – it was 9.

Jim W, my friend at the University here in Brunei, was in Malawi with me and he says that I was one of the most bad-tempered golfers he had ever met! So, there you go –I’ve always had a short temper! Apparently he remembers me as foul-mouthed too. But Jim was bit of a tease –come to think of it.

At Christmas of the first year Gibson . F, a friend form my Bristol days and Karen,  his wife came to visit. It was unfortunately raining very hard and Gibson had trouble with the car. We went to the lake and it was very wet and the roads were flooded. On return G contracted an ear infection which laid him very low indeed. This rather spoiled their holiday. Nevertheless, it was good to see them and Austin kept us well fed. I was a bit annoyed with K when she remarked at the weather and when Gibson was sick

“This is the worst holiday we have ever had” Not something to say to one’s host!

Mine was one of two new bungalows: a month or so after my arrival the other ‘Christian Abroad’ arrived in the form of Frank  McC. He came ahead of his wife and three small kids. F was from the north of England and thought he was pretty cool. He was one of those   catholic English with Irish roots who consider themselves to be more Irish than the Irish themselves –and certainly more Irish than me- a protestant from Northern Ireland! He was a pompous little prick and e kept having a go at me about the Northern Irish question.

In retrospect, I think what really annoyed him was that Austin was occupying the servants quarters. He expected , probably with good reason, that Austin should vacate these premises and so that his houseboy could use them. In those days, as a single man who knew everything,  I could not see the importance of such a thing to a newly arrived family. The gnorance of youth. Anyway Frank McC was beside himself with rage and seethed away at me. I think he  took it out on me by baiting me over the Irish question.

It all came to a head one famous afternoon when I went to visit him after school. We ended up having an argument over something – I can’t remember what. But he was sarcastic and supercilious. So, I retaliated and it ended up in a shouting match in which he told me to ‘Get out of the house!’ in front of his wife, who was very embarrassed by the whole thing.

He had two gorgeous little girls and a toddler, Kieran. I can honestly say that he is the only person I can think of in my entire life who has been antagonistic to towards me due to my protestant ethnic roots - that is quite a statement from someone who has lived in Northern Ireland for eighteen years and the Republic of Ireland for five.

Some of the other people I got to know were memorable for better reasons. Honor H was a catholic Glaswegian and was the librarian at the University. She was great fun and the closest to female company that I could get. Mary, the other librarian was very nice too-but temperamental. I had no idea what was going on with her. Then there was Jim W, a golfer –who was lecturing at the university. He turned up twenty years later in Brunei from where I am now writing these recollections.

In the mid-summer break I had a visit from Ken  H, David C, Mum and Dad and Auntie Marjorie! I actually should have been marking bloody exam papers but I didn't realise this  until I had invited all my visitors for July and August. I didn’t go-again this was the arrogance of youth! I don’t think Sister Odelia was very impressed. Anyway I got away with it.

Ken and David were the first to arrive. We set off in my Morris 1300 for the north of Malawi through Lilongwe and then put the car on the ‘Ilala’ boat at Monkey bay for the trip north up Lake Malawi. It was a beautiful trip. David and Ken got on very well. In fact all three of us got on real well. I just loved every moment of this trip. The ‘Ilala’ was a beautiful boat and we went first class. We stopped at Likoma island and went further up to Karonga where we spent the night.

We then drove on to the Nyika plateau which was very high-I think about 6000 feet and it was cold! I remember seeing lots of Zebra and a Jackal.

While  we were were hunting warthogs in the car,  to the amusement of David and I, K suddenly shouted for us to stop the car. The next thing K had opened the back door of the car and had rolled out into the bush and disappeared from our view - stalking a warthog through the grass . What was so funny was that he was dressed in army battle fatigues and he looked like a modern day terrorist! This was in 1982 and so there was no problem. But he looked like an SAS man! David and I couldn’t contain our laughter for several minutes at the site of him stalking the warthog through the bush.

We went up the twisty road to Livingstonia and then came back down through Rumphi to Mzuzu and Lilongwe. We then crossed the border into Zambia. I remember we had a little trouble at the immigration post . The bloke wanted to send us back because we didn’t have cholera injections. I didn’t realize at the time that this was the African way of looking for a bribe and so I had one of my legendary spats with bureaucrats to the embarrassent (and perhaps just a little bemusement) of my two chums. He eventually let us through with a promise to go to the nearest hospital in Zambia to have the shots.

We didn’t of course. We headed into the Luangwa valley and arrived at the camp. It was fabulous. We had very civilised huts with good mosquito nets and the food was great. There were hippos everywhere in the river. Next day, we set off walking in a little group of about five with a guide and a ‘bambo’ to cook our food. (Cornflakes for breakfast!)

David C was having problems with his camera and I remember the moment very well when we were stalking a Rhino and David ,who was behind me, said

“ Tumbled to it, D.W.!”

“ What”? I said.

“I know what’s wrong with the camera”

He had lost all the photos of the trip up until that point!

We saw buffalo and elephant and Kudu and lots of hippo. On the way out of the park we saw a Lion kill of baby elephant. The Luangwa valley was very dry and the driving was fun-a bit hair-raising for my two companions at times. The truth is I don’t know what we would have done if we had had trouble. Once again the ignorance and arrogance of youth had saved us. ‘Ignorance is bliss’!

Later in the summer I also went with David and Ken to the shire Valley with the school. I remember having to stop the school bus because of a Python crossing the road!

The trips to Mulanje mountain were also memorable. The forestry huts were at about 6000 feet and it took the whole day to get up the first one–Chambe hut. I went several times. The huts were basic but clean and well maintained with a ‘Bambo’ to tend the fire and wash the dishes! The idea was to walk from hut to hut each day through the most magnificent scenery with sparkling fresh rivers and streams everywhere. It was cool at night –magnificent!

Zomba plateau was itself superb and I went up regularly to Kuchawe Inn and walked on the forestry trails-and up the river beds.

It was an idyllic existence really. But as usual I managed to convince myself that it wasn’t! In retrospect what more could I really have wanted? I had a beautiful house; (By now, I was sharing with Rob in his University house) a beautiful environment-wonderful teaching –a good social life; golf, tennis, cheap beer; money! The list just goes on and on…

But no, I convinced myself that I deserved more! I think the truth was I couldn’t see myself finding a companion for life in Africa. Although I loved the Africans I did not meet any I could consider as soulmates. Moreover the female expats were even less appealing –they were all , like myself, so demanding, and complicated!

So, I started looking around for things to do next. I got the idea of doing a Masters in Education from some of my golfing friends and I started to look for a course to do in the UK. I applied to Manchester University and was very generously given a grant by APSO (Agency for Personal Service Overseas) in Dublin to study my Masters. It was worth three thousand pounds – a lot of money in those days!

Malawi was a wonderful time for me but as usual there were difficult times. The arrival of the ‘Christians Abroad’ representative –Miss T was an unexpected disappointment. She was stuffy and critical of the way I had handled some things at school without being specific. (I now suspect not doing the marking in the vacation may have been a problem). She seemed content with my decision to leave Malawi. I was furious and wrote her a letter which may have given me some satisfaction at the time of writing but didn't really help my cause at all. I have been such writing letters all  my life.  Hopefully, they have improved a bit!

Miss T of course didn’t realize just how incompetent Sister O really was. I found myself on the defensive and I decided to leave at the end of my two year contract. After all I could pretty much get a job when and where I liked couldn’t I? The world was at my feet …..or so I thought.

The next stop was Manchester. Within a year I was in Mexico and had proposed to Maria in Spanish. It was 'Goodbye' to Africa for a while and 'Hello' to  Latin America!

2009 Hoons, Orwell, The Advertiser

What was I saying just two days ago about being proud to be an Aussie at last?

Maybe I spoke too soon. I loathe the media here (and everywhere else for that matter)

I don't deny we really need them to tackle the corruption of politicians and keep the bastards honest.

But they could so much more if they were more responsible. Why do they always have to pander to the basest element in our nature? After all, in any relationship  is it not considered ethically reprehensible for a person to pander to the base elements in human nature?


The problem  is greed. The newspapers want to make more money.

I woke up on Sunday morning to find someone else has bought the Adelaide Advertiser. I have recently stopped buying it and get all my news form the net. The main story is the usual knee-jerk, self-righteous, 'blame the victim' approach of the Adelaide Advertiser ...

'Mob Rule- Nightmare on Main street!'

Oh! Shock! Horror! Oh dear! How awful!

Boys letting off a bit of steam were they?

Why don't we put them in boot camp?

Or send them to Guantanamo Bay?

orwhy not "secretly render" them to the CIA in Thailand for a bit of waterboarding? We can 'Outsource' them forever!

Yes, hoon driving is sad, socially undesirable, tragic even, in some cases.

But no-one asks the question WHY does this happen in Adelaide?

Oh no, that might raise some awkward questions for ourselves? Why do grown men feel the need to behave like this in the middle of the night?

There are always the Conservatives who will take the eugenics approach and just say that hoons are genetically defective, born that way and deserve to be extricated from society.

Such people are part of Adelaide's huge cadre of petty officials and buraeucrats who only feel comfortable when criminalising everyone around them, including motorists. Such people (not the hoons) were responsible for allowing Hitler's thugs to take over Europe. In fact, such people colluded with thugs in Hitler's Germany. Some even encouraged Hitler's thugs to do their dirty work.

In my opinion it is possible that such 'criminalisers' are born that way. I hope I am wrong. But there seem to be so many of them - even though they have been totally discredited as having brought the world to the brink of the current economic catastrophe.

No, I don't really  buy the eugenic criminal theory.

One comment in the article from a self-confessed 'Hoon' is worth listening to.

"If there was a dedicated drag site in Adelaide-this wouldn't happen"

Well, then let's build a dedicated drag site for God's sake!

That was easy!

But I'm more interested in the reason they do it. This is where my mentor, George Orwell and his '1984' is relevant.

This is more than just drag-racing - I believe it is a symptom of a growing (I hope) subversive subculture which is challenging the status-quo.

The ludicrous, sanctimonious over-reaction of the Adelaide Advertiser attempts to tap into the Conservative 'lust' to blame the victim in order (for the Advertiser) to sell a few more newspapers.

This is the real problem for all of us: blaming the victim. Because, as in Orwell's 1984, the manipulation is so subtle most of us don't even see it.

I have a forlorn hope that  Adelaide's conservatism, conformism and notorious officiousness is finally being challenged from within it's own ranks.

I'd rather have a few hundred 'Hoons' harming only themselves, than the Talibanic conformism which characterises daily life here.

Its not just women who are kept in the home and not allowed to speak to strangers in Adelaide -it's everyone!

Rush! Rush! Nobody speaks to each other - no time! 'I'm too busy!' Everyone is suspicious of each other and are either too busy to talk to co-workers, friends, or too xenophobic to talk to foreigners.

Such attitudes are anchored firmly in place by the organs of power here such as Newspapers, Television and the police.

So, if a few hunderd 'Hoons' are on the street in the middle of the night then I, for one, am glad to see it, although I'd prefer them to have their own dedicated drag site somewhere close to the city.

I might even go along myself to see them.

Its a sign that people are still alive here.