BORN IN THE CITY#3 Bloody hard leaving WOOLLOOMOOLOO, but it's still there, with exceptions'. MAINLY 'CAUSE I'M SICK OF SPELLING, it's the Singwriters enigma, like MULLUMBIMBY AND MURWILLUMBAH. ME OLD SCHOOL 'DARLO.  My schooling was completed at Darlinghurst Junior Technical School, the year of 1954; I was fortunate because the traveling days were mostly over and managed to have an uninterrupted year. Quite some distance from 112 PALMER STREET, transport generally was to catch the tram to KINGS X or the Darlinghurst tram up Bourke Street and walk the remaining journey. During these last days of school I boarded at Uncle Bruce and Auntie Kinas' place for some time.  I have made mention of the introduction to "Darlo" AND THOSE MEMORIES REMAIN, the principal reason for this schools existence were centered around excellence in schooling and introducing the pupils to essential skills in the trades arena. We learnt skills in metal work, wood working, and plumbing? And my favorite things; School Prefect in the 9th grade, sports days and also science and psychics'. "Darlo" was similar to "Black Board Jungle" genre, but only in the sense of street wise boys, lets say a few of the mates strayed of the path a little. SMOKEN'  The position of one of the Prefects could be described as School Mentor, you help to regulate the schools code of conduct and attempted to a lead your fellow school friends down the correct path, you became the "Team Leader" and would lead by example while still attempting to remain friends, and John Farley became adept at these skills. I cannot remember having a bad school friend except on the football field but you were friends afterwards. Let me tell you my secret. OUT OF LEFT FIELD, the Principle requested me to cooperate in a plan to bring some of our pupils back to the flock, you remember my "wagging" days, tell me you have never felt the superb feeling of not going to school and coming up with fibs to cover your indiscretion. Me?, I got sick of new schools,  but never wagged because school shat me!. "Your job will involve going into the field? and tracking down our missing pupils, you would do this during the lunch break". (Bugger me then what?), and "telling them the fault of their ways and asking them to return to school", A PLAN SOON EVOLVED as we spoke, I can tell you the conversation is probably not accurate but the results are true. Before I destroy all the faith and trust you have empowered me with, can we change track a little? John Pollock was the greatest Teacher and was instrumental in leading me down the path of learning. Scripture was a burden, it gave me no satisfaction, I have a God and God is good, I have no time for religious fairy tales, I believe in the principles of the "COMMANDMENTS", tolerance and understanding. This outlook may turn you off, so will be the following. MY GOD IS YOUR GOD'S BROTHER, TOO SIMPLE? YOUR GOD IS YOUR GOD, MY GOD IS MY GOD, YOUR GOD IS MY GOD, HOW CAN THAT WORK? NICOTINE AND PLACES TO HIDE  Very early, I sought permission to be placed in Mr. Pollock's Science Class during the Scripture lessons, the Principle relented. The prefect, me, knew of many derelict houses around the "Darlo" precinct, these places were investigated during the lunch break resulting in confrontation with my school "wagger" friends, my powers of logic sometimes led to their return, although a cigarette and several minutes of discussion resulted. When I needed a smoke the place to find one was; that's enough! Of course there were those dreadful toffees', some of the boys married some of the girls, despite. While on school matters, swimming days were described earlier, and mention was made of our bathing facilities, Red Leaf  Harbor Pool was one of our venues. The pool was frequented by European people who were quite liberated in their choice of bathing apparel, or sometimes lack of in particular the ladies. Going to work soon and you will be proud of my achievements, not. I have made mention of the football and my ethnic mates, the South Sydney area had heaps of junior and school Rugby League teams. Why have I broached this subject? Well you might ask. FARLEY, TEAM PLAYER.  At school we had our soccer and rugby league teams, we had badminton teams, athletics' teams, cricket teams and participants in other sports, at a higher level we had the pupils who competed against other schools, notable here was the Combined Public Schools competitions generally conducted at the Sydney Sports Stadium?, yes I was a team player, not good just average. My swimming skills were above average at school, that is until I got into the real world, however, several events were won by yours truly and proudly represented "Darlo". Limited success in the open division but we all had fun. Now athletics was a different situation, our school, as mentioned, was being wound down and we had limited numbers to choose from. I found myself running the 110 and 220 yard races in open company. Remember the no football boots problem?, well I could not afford running spikes either, any money from papers went to my mother, (less a couple of bob), or for board money at my Uncle and Aunties. So on the big day Farls runs bare footed against the "professionals" from the bigger schools, Paddington High and Fort Street High were our antagonists among others. In the 110 yards I never made the Dias but only just, in the longer 220 yard the blisters won. Similar results occurred in football, although a pair of boots were obtained later. BACK TO THE ETHNICS  My attack on the game of football had commenced at bush schools, and bindies and stones hurt more than a hard tackle, we survived and at last a pair of boots materialized. These boots were to play a significant role in football things, always polished and with gleaming white hand washed laces; they helped in ways not immediately obvious to the reader. Together with my mates, many with strange sounding surnames, we played footie for clubs in the Paddington / South Sydney district also had a few junior games in the Fernleighs side. We would play on weekends at various playing fields in the district, Centennial Park, and Moore Park comes to mind. The benefit of my boots were twofold, they protected my feet and allowed me to run on muddy playing fields and as a strange spin-off were a entry ticket into the "Big" games at the Sydney Sports Stadium, and the Football Stadium. When we had completed our game, we would frequently make our way to the big stadiums to seek admission to see the Great Rabbitos do battle or for that matter any game going. South Sydney were our hero's', so rock up to the turnstiles with your footie boots around your neck and the officials let us in at half time. And that RUSSELL CROWE, MATE is my association with the mighty South's, not spectacular, do you still offer that privilege to young footie kids, if so, I might contact my ethnic mates, form a team and make a comeback, regards and best wishes JF. 10/15/2007 7:37:44 AM, Sad to say my other team lost, Manly lost to the Melbourne Storm, the Eagle got blown away, me and the boys were shattered. THE CORNER OF BOURKE AND BURTON, TAYLORS SQUARE. Do you know the area?, hello, hope I have still got your attention. Don't be so patronizing Farley and get on with it. My Uncle Bruce was a rover and a returned soldier, I would not know a great deal of his history and still don't, although at the above address we became Uncle and Nephew. Kina Wharepapa became my Aunty. For some reason Mum and Clive went off working and had me board at Bruce and Kinas' in early '54, the premises were similar to 112, two story, old and housed a laundry run by the above. The building was located 100 meters from Taylors Square and Oxford Street, The Darlinghurst Police Station the East Sydney Technical College, the Court House, Sergeants Pies and Don Athaldo. And 163 Riley Street and Repetition Manufacturing Company P / L. And so a short walk to "Darlo" and school, and incidentally not far from a district known as "The Red Light Area". Bruce and Kina ran this laundry and it was a true humid, steamy concern. They had many clients from many organizations. Many business men would leave their laundry for service; I never have seen so many white shirts owned by one person, a dozen or more shirts, I only owned one white shirt at a time, a shark's skin shirt very expensive and worn on very special occasions. They worked long hours laundering sheets and other stuff to make a pound; the back yard was the drying area, in wet weather several bar heaters worked overtime, may have been kero heaters. Around the corner in Burton Street lived George Hajanakitus, sorry George, Nickey and Ricky Dunas and their Parents and Grand Parents, Greek and bloody proud. We were compatriots and friends and did stuff together, we may have played football or just hung out. Next store was a man described as Australia's strongest man, Don Athaldo. This man could lift heavy weights and pull heavy things. Like trains, he was enormously broad shouldered and a moral person, he would have us lift weights with suitable technique. Google and Don Athaldo. Sunday, October 14, 2007, Mr. Howard declares an election will be held, I am as described as a Democratic Socialist, may the best party win. Mostly I am inclined to say if it's not broken don't fix it. ARE THE MAORI ETHNIC? WELL WHO GIVES A RAT'S ARSE.  Aunty Kina was my other favorite person, she was Maori and ranked highly in their hierarchy, she had a Philosophy Degree and practiced Hatha Yoga, and I learnt many social skills and life skills from this lovely woman. Kinas' friends and relations would frequent the laundry on regular occasions including the New Zealand Army Entertainment Group, they were on their way to Korea to entertain the "Occupation" forces, and they were incredibly gifted vocalists and musicians'. There is always a girl, OK, Hinemoa Tutarnaki, forgive the spelling it's phonetic, she was gorgeous, her combination of Indian and Maori genes gave her a special attractiveness', she could sing and was a lovely person as well, this young boy was besotted. I am not certain, however, Kina may have been instrumental in forming the Matariki Southern Cross Society, if not, she was a wheel in the organization. We quite frequently visited their club rooms and it was here I learnt some of the beautiful island songs, like, help, Po Kare Kare Ana, I stopped here!, (sounds like; Enga Hoia, Po Aatarau, Esa Lei, Beyond the Reef is right, Haere Ra, and the traditional Haka. I met a famous Maori "Muso", his name was / is Tu Teka. Aunty Kina's nephew, Rudy Wharepapa and I became friends when his RNZN ship came to town and he would visit us, his sister and I would correspond for a while, she sent scented? letters written in green ink, I had her letters in large tobacco tin, Hi ya. Many traditional Maori foods hit our dinning table, like Pawa, (mutton fish, abalone) tenderized in Paw Paw juice, Kina sucked from the egg and we did too, Poohaa and bacon bones, (pork?, long white pig?), or anything from the sea. We would gather milk thistles from any where, mainly Botany Bay together with a special flax plant. This plant has very long fibers' and when dried forms long cylindrical tubes which have to be burnt in a special way, a great many of these tubes go towards making the traditional grass skirt. Kina would make the whirling Poi, Uncle Bruce and I made the Putu from soft wood timber, painted green to look like green jade, we would carve little Tikis' likewise with all the secret carvings. Kina had some tattoos. This extraordinary woman introduced Bruce and I to the secrets of Hatha Yoga, we could eventually contort into weird positions, use controlled breathing and meditate for long periods, that is, when we got through the blackout stage of hyper ventilation. She introduce me to things on philosophy and understanding of life I still use, my eyesight was not good, a diet of carrots and Poohaa and green vegatables staved off having to wear glasses for some time, she was responsible. And no, the eyesight problem was not the result of:---------. KINA WONDERFULL WOMEN, I LOVE YOU STILL.  If you could see me now, and you will, my hair line has receded under the normal rules of ageing. For some reason known only to teenage boys, my hair at one stage was allowed to grow quite long, and although washed and combed it / I copped a ribbing from my year 9 friends. One rebellious day I visited Eric Wolfe, the local hairdresser, and asked for complete "Crew Cut", imagine the boys reaction when Farley came to school with the only hair style of its type in the school, the revving started again. "Darlo" was a short walk from my lodgings, up Burton St. over the hill and there you were. Generally, I pack my own lunch and indulge the horrible milk school kids were supplied with. The milk was delivered at some obscure time to the various schools and left sitting around until the pupils got to school. I could tell you that on the Snowdons Dairy farm we would drink warm milk from the teat and love it, somehow milk left in crates was not exactly my idea of a nourishing drink, we drank it because we were told to. Well now, some stories of possible censor attention. They call it the Oldest Profession and there is no point denying its existence, down the hill in Palmer St, (not the Woolloomooloo side)!, and  a laneway known as Chapel Lane, a contradiction in terms, is an area I have described as "the red-light area", many ladies of the night were present in some of the dwellings. I have an affinity, very moral if course, with some of the women. Returning from school was a bit of a ritual, throw my port on the bed, dress in "civvies" and get ready to run some errands for the girls, notably the "Black Panther". Milk and bread and other requirements' as needed would be purchased at the local corner store, a small tip was the payment, they gave me respect, the moral; you do what you do for what seems right at the time. Most days it was down to the W'LOO to sell papers, this job was by now a little spasmodic and I would go only 2 to 3 sometimes 4 days a week. I had homework; Kina was a hard task master. Us boys, me and the Greek kids, knew an old Greek lady called, as close as I can get, Asimina. She claimed to have sat on God's lap and we sort of believed her because of her adamant attitude, she lived somewhere close and it is to no body's benefit to doubt old wise people. For the class of '54 possibly the high light was seeing the Queen of England, well only from a distance. We had to walk from school to Centennial Park and line up for hours until a motorcade containing her Eminence arrived, we waved and yelled and yes she saw me, another fib. The highlight really was to have the major portion of the school day off. Now having said all of this was I wrong?, was it "53. Well guys I really don't care, nearly everything else is correct. Anyhoo, for us boys and girls the year was essentially winter and summer, winter for football and girls, summer for girls and the beach and Coogee Beach was the place to be, oh, and a little bit of cricket. If you have persevered thus far JohnFarls was not a good cricketer, for me it was woozy game and required far too much concentration to hit that red ball, not only that the bloody ball was a missile and really smarted when, an attempt to catch the barstard was miss-timed. I found my position in life was to be a score keeper. Now surfing was my go, and as well as Coogee we would frequent, Bronte, Maroubra and sometimes Bondi. I will concentrate on surfing and Surf Club Stuff soon. We traveled by tram and bus and had good times, it was a good year and culminated in a "Post" in the Intermediate Certificate.    The nulli secunda, ne plus ultra saga of the "Flying Porcelain Gusunder". It has always intrigued me how humor and the unexpected co-habit, how something quite serious things can have a funny side; across the road from the laundry and behind the Darlinghurst Police Station was a place where mentally disturbed people resided. One day a rather loud disturbance was heard emanating from the confines of this building, now the windows were secured, although not protected by a grill or heavy gauge steel mesh. Loud voices and banging could be discerned by us boys as we stood on the corner near the laundry, followed by an even louder crash, followed by a very large painted pisspot smashing through one of the windows, followed by its disintegration on the footpath, and finally, followed by a very naked young man. He clambered from the window and dropped some three yards to the footpath, he sprinted for a passing tram just turning into Burton Street amongst loud exclamations of surprise from the passengers, men yelled, ladies screamed, babies cried. He bordered the tram as people attempted to disembark and flee for safety, by this stage the tram driver has became aware of the unfolding drama and had stopped the tram, so in the front door of the tram and out the back goes the naked man defiantly on a mission. He is last seen disappearing over for hill in his pursuit for freedom, followed by now by men in white coats. We waited for his return, instead, the men in white coats returned. Some police cars from the adjoining police station took of in the general direction we never saw our new hero again. This incredible story was over in a flash, when ever I have a vision of the painted piddle pot, and I swear I can still the colored flowers, hurtling through the window, well, it brightens up my day. Gusunder; def: Goes under the bed. Mom and Clive returned towards the end '54 and you guessed it, off again to place called Ballina, North Coast NSW. We weren't long here and school had finished. Clive worked for a building company called Thatchers at Bega, they mainly built extensions for Catholic Churches, Rectories and things. About the only story was about fishing and whaling. And yes the bloody Harley and Uncle Chris. I don't think mum was working because we spent a lot of time fishing, and one particular place was called Shaws Bay a peculiar place. When the Break Walls were constructed a large lagoon was enclosed on the northern side, (Ballina side), of the Richmond River. Tidal flow and small fish could enter this enclosed marine area and it also trapped marine life at the stage of construction. This is the enigma, back then the sand dunes between the lagoon and the beach were un-developed, Ballina was still a growing place and not many people fished in Shaws Bay. Fish that had been trapped grew to become, shall we say, quite large, there was a huge greenback? Turtle residing there, some of the mullet were like 18 inches long, the bream and whiting were larger than usual and groper and cod could be seen in the water where the tide filtered through the break wall. A swimming area of concrete steps was built and many people enjoyed the safe enclosure. Here is a story in real life, come with mum and I to Shaws Bay tomorrow ok, say yes. You and I and mum are walking across the Missingham Bridge carrying our fishing bags and our rods and we quickly arrive at the start of the North Wall, we proceed about 200 yards. You hear me say, "Careful of the rocks, we need to get down to back of the lagoon, what was your name again? oh what a lovely name", mum, "just concentrate you flirt and help her down to the beach". We are down on the beach behind the lagoon and proceed about 100 yards through some small mangroves, mum says " what about here this seems a good spot", we agree. And so the narrative really begins. We set up our fishing site, you and mum and I bait up with prawns and cast our lines into the eerie lagoon, the rods ends are driven into the sand a waiting game begins. Do you notice the sound of the surf behind us? Not many people around? It's a great fishing spot. We have set our drag and the ratchet and then nature gives me a call. As I head off into the bush the sound of the whirring ratchet indicates a fish has taken the bait, mum was prone to play games "mum leave my rod alone" her reply was "I'm on Johnnie, it has to be a flathead", you and me race to see mum struggling and winding a very bent rod, she plays at what is a very big fish. Her and fish move up and down the small beach, she wins some, she loses some, she is a fighter my mum and slowly the battle turns in her favor, you get the net and  I will give the fisher person a hand, "keep back and get ready the net here", at last a very exhausted fish, of absolutely preposterous proportions, is landed. This will be the last of my embellishments, only you and me and mum know the, and its is flathead, truth, a monster of 15 lbs was weighted at the Fish Co-op. Remember how we carried it home, with me as a gauge, the head to the tail almost measured one yard. Bet you had a great time, Clive will fillet the flathead so you can have fish for tea. Times and priorities have changed, a fish this size would be released, even by Big David's Fishing adventures, non the less we have been responsible for indiscriminate depletion of our marine life, not less the wonderful whales that reside in our oceans. Moored at Ballina during our stay were two whale harpooning boats, the Ballina 1 and the Ballina 2, converted "Fairmiles" of about 60 feet. Based at Byron Bay was a whaling station where harpooned whales were towed, hauled on to a flenshing deck and butchered for meat and oil and by products. We traveled to Byron Bay and witnessed some of this travesty, I did have other stories concerning this "Industry". Here comes "The Bike". Chris arrived for a holiday and fishen' was back on. We traveled the then very rough Lennox Head Road to "Flat Rock" and beyond, several fish were landed. Returning to Sydney and 112 Palmer Street was a culture shock, I fully accounted in my mind that 1955 was to be the start of my adult life, paid work was the only option. But don't worry, the boy never left the man, not did the boy leave the country. People in high places may remember 163 Riley Street Darlinghurst. See "Many Jobs Many Skills".