Reminiscences: Herbert S Dettmann (Pupil, 1889-1892)

After nearly five and forty years, memories crowd on one, vivid and vague, so that it is easier to write a small book than a short article. I recall my first morning, standing out on the floor as number one of the five new entrance scholars, next to me being W G Forsyth, now head of Sly & Russell, whom I beat then by half a year in age and half a foot in height - he was to be at the School for six years and one term, probably a record, and to end with the possible ten A's in the Senior, all except one B in French, the School weakness. W W Monahan, K C, may have come about that time, and there stood there also a fellow with thick-soled boots called Friend, who later went to the English bar, and an American named Muller, who was to spend his leisure in making Boston Cream. It is curious how one remembers small details and forgets important things. But to me it was a big day.

It was an ugly building, one big room and a couple of class rooms off it, with a tin shed for Science and Geography - I do not remember ever entering that galvanised oven, but it must have been the limit in discomfort. On our front, to Castlereagh Street, was a stone wall, topped with iron. The playground was tiny, with poor asphalt, but some irregular walls at the Pawnshop end made possible a sort of handball. There was no organised sport except, or until, the first Annual Athletic Meeting, but I played in cricket match on the Mt Rennie mud wicket at Moore Park, either with or against S E Gregory , then an Old Boy (he hit a ball over the tram-line), and in a mixed team of old and present boys at the Association (ie, Sydney) Cricket Ground, when I cut my head on the fence in mis-fielding a boundary hit - few schoolboys then had any experience of an enclosed ground.

There was talk of a similar combined match against Newington, with T W Garrett leading them and "Joey" Coates leading us, as he had once led New South Wales; but poor old "Joey" was already having trouble in stumping about with the aid of an umbrella. In my last two years I take credit for fathering (and mothering) a real Eleven, without any staff help at all, except "Joey's" hearty sympathy and a five pound note that he gave us to buy material - and five pounds went a long way in those days. After being beaten by most of the Second Elevens of the big schools, we learned a little psychology, and challenged the first teams, with notable success. Coates offered bats, once used by P S McDonnell, the great Australian XI hitter, for any school match score over 50, and they were won by H B Lusk, afterwards the best batsman in New Zealand, against Shore, and by myself against Grammar - the Sydneian of that day says I gave seven chances, but that now seems to me unlikely. But, apart from the Headmaster's practical blessing, we had no help from anybody.

Our football was even more ragged and even less organised, lacking the master mind. I can recall only that, after beating Scot's our best fighter, D G Stewart, later a University Maths medalist, and even then a good man of his hands, knocked out theirs in a friendly attempt to prove the victory correct.

On the staff were Crompton, Stephenson, Gordon Legge (the soldier), Elphinstone (a fine chap who ran the Sports, the one man who could help us out of school), Sharp (a Wesleyan minister), Studdy and Trebeck. Crompton was a most interesting fellow, a capable teacher in his own way - and much else. I owe him a good deal of Latin, not much Greek and, most gratefully, some knowledge of the by-paths of English Literature. He had personality, he taught a good deal away from the book, and I had an affection for him not shared by everybody. Stephenson, a big man even without reckoning his feet, was Mathematical master, and a real master of Mathematics. He taught us admirably, when we felt like learning, and we liked him. Legge was a sound man; I think of him now as a little aloof. Coates himself was a first rate teacher, within his own range, which was not that of a specialist in anything. I think he caned left hand, and with a pleasing vigour. With others I was on the polite terms of a nodding acquaintance, but remember Elphinstone as likeable and Trebeck as eccentric. George Saxby came as a young master just as I left. The great thing was they stayed on and were not shifted about to other High Schools.

One quaint and doubtful practice I recall: for our Athletic trophies we plagued the business houses of the city, and the loot was astonishingly worthy. The prizes were not as in Homer, "cauldrons and tripods and horses and mules and strong oxen and fair-girdled women and grey iron," but they were good stuff; and, like the heroic warrior, you saw beforehand what was offering; the prizes were displayed in all their glory, duly ticketed, in some shop window. For a win in the Quarter my brother got some silver spoons which are still bright and still silver. But, in general, we were not spoon-fed: we had to fend for ourselves. Similarly, there were no school prizes, except that the Head gave a medal or so. One prize he gave against his will. S D Chalmers, later a world authority on Optics (he did great scientific work in the war ) had been our "false alarm" in Mathematics, always below his brilliant best. Joey presumed on this, and jocosely offered him "a writing desk worth five pounds," if he beat me in Maths at the Matric. Chalmers ran straight and won the University Maths Scholarship from a good field. The "old man" pleaded an obvious "never intended," but he compromised and paid up finally.

The change over to the new building at Mary Ann Street, Ultimo, was a disappointment. Of the building and its surroundings, its unimpressive structure and its cramped playground, I need say nothing, for later generations know it only too well. Our sport was advanced from handball to little cricket with a soft ball. The Glebe Oval (Blackwattle Bay, was it?) was close enough, but in my day we had no funds to pay for the humblest use of it. It is something of a miracle that a great school has been built up on such a foundation, amid such surroundings, but, as G K Chesterton has said, the really miraculous thing about miracles is that they do happen.

The Record, November, 1937, pp 16 - 19.