Miss Horrocks - Walking on Sunshine

It was 1960.
It happened in Subiaco, Western Australia.
St Joseph's Marist Brothers School

Imagine an all boys school with 400 Catholic boys aged between ten and seventeen. Imagine all fifteen teachers are male Marist Brothers. Imagine St Joseph's Church a stone's throw away with two Catholic priests. Imagine one boy has a camera.

Imagine what might happen when the Marist Brothers School employs a new Grade Four teacher. The new teacher is not a Marist Brother or priest. The new teacher belongs to no religious order at all. The new teacher is secular, single and sexy.

The new teacher is female.

Miss Horrock's arrival at Marist Brothers was as though the sun had burst through the grey clouds. If you listened hard enough you could hear Katrina and the Waves singing 'Walking on Sunshine' (except Katrina wasn't around yet). There was chatter and gossip; in the same league as if Pope Pius XII got caught reading Playboy. Miss Horrocks arrival did not go unnoticed ........ by anybody. There were stirrings in the ranks of both boys and brothers.

To make matters worse (better I thought!) Miss Horrocks was slightly shy and bashful and suffered from a delightfully bad case of blushing at the slightest attention. With over 400 rampant lads in the paddock suffering from a sacred dose of Catholcity  Miss Horrocks received more than the occasional glance. She blushed quite a bit.

Build into this scenario that one fifteen year old lad had worked his butt off for eight weeks during Perth's searing summer to buy himself a Hanimex C35 camera.

Just like in the Agatha Christie novels there was motive and passion. Then opportunity came knocking. The Feast of Christ the King was a major celebration for Catholics worldwide - even in Subiaco. All the boys and brothers piled into buses headed for Aquinas College to join all the other Catholic schools and colleges for Mass and singing and marching.

My mind was somewhere else.

I was  fifteen and had never asked a woman to pose for me (especially one I had never met formally). But armed with my new camera and a roll of film I felt brave. Not only did I have the confidence to ask Miss Horrocks to pose, I felt it my duty to do so.

Her cheeks flushed when I asked her but she sat on the wall and held her hat and smiled so gracefully. I focused and clicked the shutter. Just one shot.

I thought 'I really like this' and sat next to Miss Horrocks for the ride to Aquinas.

It was my Catholic duty.

Bridging the Gap

It was 1985 and my body told me something was seriously wrong. In the space of 48 hours I had gone from being a seriously fit professional cyclist racing 200 kms in a day to barely being able to climb three steps to my front door. It virtually happened overnight on 15 September 1985.

Three months later my doctor diagnosed myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME*.)  Dr Trevor lord smiled gently and uttered words I've never forgotten,
'Dale, you've got something called ME. Now for the bad news; its not going to kill you'

Trevor Lord was right. ME didn't kill me. However, it was the end of my job, the end of my cycling, the dwindling of friendships and almost the severing of my marriage and family. They were tough days.

Two and a half years later and still struggling physically and mentally I joined the Cycle Touring Association's (CTA) Bicentennial Tour from Albany to Perth. I didn't ride my bike; I drove a car. I wanted to be with cyclists along country roads. Fourteen years earlier I had helped start the CTA in Western Australia. The CTA was like family to me.  It was part of my part of my blood.

I drove my KIngswood station wagon and photographed the 21 cyclists riding through the south-west forests, freewheeling down hills in their white and yellow shirts and camping in youth hostels.


'A palette of colour races past. Gears and chains chime out their melody and then fade. I turn and look 
at the yellow and white stream winding effortlessly, gracefully down the grade and out of sight.'

In cycle racing parlance the term Bridging the Gap is used to describe the effort put in by the peleton to catch a breakaway. In 1988 the gap was between my body and mind and that of the healthy throng of cyclists.

'Let's count the spokes in their wheels on the print. 1/1000 sec @ f5.6 on Plus X film. Sit on the road; worm's eye view - remember the shot of Greg Jack on Gravity Hill in'78, sitting on the road. That road's bloody hot! Have to settle for eye-level.'


In reality it took another seven years to regain my health to be able to work again and cycle but the Bicentennial Tour was the catalyst that got me back on the road, struggling every day to bridge the gap.

I was fortunate a few years later to meet Australia's most famous cyclist and member of parliament Sir Hubert Opperman. I remember his words fondly,
"Unless you have headwinds and hills, you never appreciate the tailwinds and downhills'
Life's like that as well.

Inside the weatherboard and iron dormitory the wafting incense of the mosquito coil overpowers me and I drift off to dream of  ... Banjo  ..... bicycles  .... and beautiful things.

(The full story of Bridging the Gap was printed in the September/Ocober 1988 edition of Freewheeling)
*ME is now referred to as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS)

footnote: In 2014 the CTA will celebrate its 40 Anniversary and will re-run the Perth-Albany Tour. 

Photos:
Top: Stan Wiechecki leads the descent through Karri Valley
Second: Donna Earles (USA) cools off after a 40 deg celsius ride
Thurd: Bea Page on the flat near Pemberton
Bottom: Leone Pollard of NSW with local farmer near Pemberton

All photos shot on a Yashica Mat 124G 120 roll film camera on Kodak Plux X film