One day the playground was spread with new gravel, and at recess the yard was dotted with squatting figures, moving with bent heads over the ground. We were searching for precious stones studded with glittering silver. We kept our finds that looked like teeth with fillings in matchboxes. Then the silver disappeared; the gravel was a dirty grey, and turned cruel: it tripped me when I ran after the ball, and I fell; looked up to see children who laughed at my torn knees and said they knew the colour of my pants.

And then I was in Grade Five, and this was a special class, because it was a mixture of boys and girls.

I was in Grade Five, and the other girls were Joan Stott, Janice Redway and Diana Horricks, Margaret Ettridge and Lorna Jones, Janice Budden and Rosemary Hearn. Joan Stott was born on the same day as I; Diana Horricks had a boy friend called Gilbert Perks; Lorna Jones was bossy and told me not to sniff when I had a cold; Janice Redway had white hair and eye-lashes; Janice Budden was the best runner, and had all the autographs of the West Torrens football team; Margaret Ettridge said her family had a maid, and dilated her nostrils; Rosemary Hearn was the teacher’s favourite.

Frederick Harvey Goodman was our teacher. He was over six feet tall with red hair, and looked like a devil. He was a devil when he hit the boys with the wooden bat. He called them out for spelling errors and for reading comics, for chewing gum and for unfinished homework, for talking and for being late. He made them stand on the platform and touch their toes; he hit them on and on with the bat — until they cried out. He hit them, and we hid our faces so that we could not see; Rosemary Hearn and I began to cry — I felt as if I was on fire, and would burst if he did not stop.

He hit the little Grade Four boys who came in once a week. He hit Michael Saradakis who was his enemy. He hit him when he moved his hand because he did not understand that he was to keep as still as a statue. Mr. Goodman said: ‘Saradakis, bend over and look at the daisies,’ and he hit him longer and harder than anyone else, because he was Greek and did not understand. And Michael Saradakis’ mother came to see the headmaster, but nothing happened — the beatings continued. On April Fool’s Day we hid the bat, but the next day it was back — and once more we hid our faces; I began to cry.

I learned I was clever in Grade Five when I got 97½ in the exam. I learned that I was the best at drawing, and Janice Budden was the best at sport; that Rosemary Hearn had the prettiest clothes, and Ronny Morrison was my boy friend.