Silkstone State School

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I have no memory at all of my first day at Silkstone State School, being 5 years old. 

My parents bought a house at 51 Stafford Street, Booval, a big, old 4 bedroom Queenslander.

My older brother and 4 sisters all lived there until the eldest sister met her beloved and moved out.

The school was, I think, one of Queensland's biggest schools at that time. 

The Principal was then known by the much better title of Head Teacher (not Principal) and he was Charlie Kinnie, who also happened to know my Dad (scared me endlessly because I thought that everything I did would go straight back to Dad). My Dad loved telling us how well he knew old Charlie so I was, justifiably, scared.

My first real memory of being at Silkstone was when I was in Grade 2 and the lady teacher sent me outside, for talking. You had to stand outside until she let you back in. From a few buildings away, I could see Charlie Kinnie coming, so I hid behind a cupboard out there and hoped to escape being seen by him. 

He went away, and she welcomed me back with two rulers smacked around my calves - 

"Sit down and shut up!" 

"Yes, Miss!"

No further memories about Year 2. My report card said, "Mark can do better," and I think that it stayed that way to this very minute in 2026.

I have a very fond memory of my Grade 3 teacher, Mr Dixon. 

This was the year, 1960 I think, that my dad took us all out of school, resigned, or took leave from being Head Teacher of the brand new Ipswich Opportunity School, hired a caravan and headed north to Cooktown, selling illustrated history books to schools along the way. My two youngest sisters sat up front with Mum holding the youngest, while my two older sisters, my brother and I all sat in the back row- for three months. How my Mum, Sylvy, coped is anyone's guess as the old man was a real prick (best description I can think of) - lost his temper in the blink of an eye and had a violent response to anything that annoyed him (mostly us, Sylvy and reversing the van).

It must be admitted that having a whole new job (selling books), 6 kids in a caravan and no money would tend to stress anyone out.

After the three months on the road, Mr Dixon, helped me as best he could, to catch up. More importantly, he liked rugby league and encouraged me to play. It ended up being a lifetime love of that sport and I played it for about twenty years. 

In Grade 5, I made unfortunate contact with a teacher who was the opposite of Mr Dixon - the very corpulent and nasty, Mr Hoeppner. He could hit you, and did, with a duster from 10 metres away. I don't recollect learning anything much in Grade 5 except how to improve my reflexes. He was one of those teachers who just stood out the front and yelled or told you what to do, rather than actually "teach" you. He also seemed to be get awfully "close" to the girls in class and, as was the way of the world at the time, no-one did anything about it.

Nothing much happened to bring a single memory back from Grade 6, although I was getting very good at "Red Rover". Everyone stood in a line and "IT" called out.

"Come over come over, red rover," and you had to race across about 20 metres to the other side. When tagged, you helped out IT. So at the end, there could be fifteen ITs and then they would all call out the chant and you had to beat all of them without getting tagged. I loved it and often was last out. It's probably how Alfie Langer and the Walters' boys became good at footy.

Grade 7 was a nightmare because it was becoming obvious that I was hopeless at Maths and was looked at as, generally, being a hopeless student. However, I was starting to get very good at rugby league, so had some status from that, but my learning confidence had disappeared

My recall of being moved from the average Maths class (B) to the Hopeless (C) one is still vivid and it was a very sad time. I could do the C class work but I didn't want to be a "C". In those days, there was no-one to tell and you just carried your sadness or anger or whatever emotion with you. You certainly didn't tell your father.

One day, during "Art", we were allowed to cut up timber and make a sculpture. I managed to use the saw to cut the outdoor seat, under a big tree, almost in half and rejoiced when some "smart" kids sat on it a couple of days later and it broke in half. I know - that's so sad, but it made me happy for the next 60 years or so.

Primary school just sort of passed me by really. 

Before I knew it, I was off to Bremer State High School.