Schools are great places for learning, but learning is not the only thing that takes place in schools and learning is not confined to the classroom. You do stuff in the classroom, stuff like read, write stories, do sums and so on. The important learning takes place outside the classroom, particularly in the school yard. In the school yard one learns, develops, makes life-long friends, matures and eventually becomes an individual and a unique person.

Starting with my first school, the primary school in Mala, and looking back at it sixty years later, I see it in a different way. Now, it seems as if the whole process of learning and socialising there was a waste of time, sad, pathetic and confusing. But there and then it was seriously important, it was a great achievement for a student to graduate from the highest and the only school in the village. The school's main educational goals were to teach students to read, write letters and to carry out basic arithmetic operations such as additions, subtractions, multiplications and divisions. The primary school in Mala adequately provided these basic needs. Primary school education was sufficient for a subsistence-style life in a rural village. Not many students went on to secondary education, mainly due to financial reasons and the lack of employment opportunities.

After the wars in Europe, there was a lost generation of people who missed out on a primary school education. Not able to read or write, old people would sit outside their homes with a newspaper in their hands pretending that they could read it. People were ashamed and felt inadequate that they were illiterate.

There is an old tale regarding the illiterate generation. An old man is seated outside his house holding a newspaper upside-down and, yes, pretending to read it. A young man points out to the old man and says:

"Dedo (Grandpa), you are holding the newspaper upside-down."

The old man answers back. "Yes, I know. I have read the paper in the right position so many times and now I want to see if I can read it upside-down."

I didn't spend a lot of time in the school yard in my village because it was wet and cold for most of the year. For three or more months of the school year the school yard was covered with snow. I do remember the marching, parade formation and rehearsals of speeches in the school yard in preparation for the end-of-school assembly. The assembly was to be held in Lerin and attended by all of the regional schools. The boys wore shorts and the girls wore short dresses and I remember how excited the boys were to see a bit of flesh above the girls' knees. I vaguely remember the seven kilometre march to Lerin in July 1959 for that end-of year ceremony. I led our school whilst carrying the school's flag with great pride, as I was dux of our school.

Most of my knowledge about natural concepts is intuitive and it comes from observations of everything that went on outside the classroom. I spent more time observing, thinking about possible explanations, and asking questions about the way things are and sometimes experimenting with objects than I spent time learning in the classroom. This approach prepared me well for my educational training in Australia, where I managed to do well with minimal study. One example of learning by observation which appears paradoxical is that an icicle is as strong as a piece of rock that's equal in size and shape. And yet the icicle melts in your hands while the rock doesn't. "Why is this so?" I wondered.

A year later, at the start of September of 1960, I was enrolled in North Richmond Primary School where the school yard was accessible all year round. Most of my initial learning took place in the school yard.

North Richmond Primary School was a stone's throw away from our house. I walked there every school day for eighteen months. I was enrolled in September 1960 because dad mistakenly thought that the school year started early in September, as it does in Europe. I graduated, well, I finished my primary education in December 1961. As a result of my late enrollment and having to repeat grade 6, I was two school years behind my peers. But I wasn't worried about being a late school starter, and fortunately this turned out to be beneficial for me, as you will see later on.

For me, most of the interesting activities like games, socialising, playing practical jokes and, believe it or not, learning English took place outside the school classrooms, mainly in the school yard. I dreaded going into the classroom because initially I couldn't understand a word the teachers were saying. When I was in the classroom, I entertained myself by watching the young female teacher prancing around the classroom in her pleated tartan skirt. The skirt was pinned by one safety pin half way up her thigh and she would spin around every now and then to make her skirt spread out like a cone. She thought that made her look pretty. I can't remember hearing her speak in the classroom. If she did speak, then I didn't understand a word she said. For me, the school yard was my favourite place. In the school yard I learned basic English words like: yes, no, hello, goodbye and so on.

And my teacher was a fellow student by the name of Russell Morris. Yes, that Russell Morris, the one who in 1969 released a chart-topping song titled The Real Thing. Russell was literally the "real thing" and an entertainer as well, even then, in 1961, in the school yard of North Richmond Primary School.

Russell found the sounds of Greek words fascinating and he would constantly ask me how to say things in Greek. With Russell we translated many words from English to Greek together.

I can't boast and say that I was Russell's best friend because everyone in the school liked him. He had many friends, particularly a boy named Franz Kraus. Franz was fixated by Russell, he stood motionless looking at Russell entertaining his school mates, not by singing, but by his personality and by his persona. I was fascinated by Franz, by how absorbed he was by Russell's humanity; they were great mates.

And there was another Morris in the school. Morris was his Christian name, I didn't know his surname. But this other Morris was completely opposite in character to Russell Morris. This other Morris was arrogant, he insisted that we call him "Morrie". All of these mixed names, where a name can be used as a Christian or as a surname and can be shortened confused me. And then there were the ethnic names with their complicated spelling that made learning the English language difficult for me. There were kids of several ethnic backgrounds, all of them getting on together with no antagonism, no bullying, all happy as Larry.

There was no racial discrimination, even by Mrs Kowalski who ran the milk bar directly opposite the school. She tolerated the kids pushing and shoving in order to enter into her milk bar. Mrs Kowalski made the most amazing meatballs that many kids always bought from her at lunchtime. Kids didn't want to miss out on Mrs Kowalski's delicious meatballs, thus shoving in order to buy some before she sold out of them.

She would serve everyone and anyone without discrimination including the boy of an Italian background. If he would go to her shop. But no, the boy of the Italian background had a better lunch arrangement than the other kids.

The Italian mother of the Italian boy came to school every lunchtime and fed her son a hot home-cooked meal, followed by a glass of red wine. He dined under the peppercorn tree, near the school fence, until one day he and his mother were spotted by the teachers on yard duty. Two male teachers were always on yard duty and they spent all of the lunch time standing on the outside staircase landing that was situated on the second floor and at the edge of the school building. This afforded them a 270 degree view of the school yard. These teachers, whilst enjoying their hot cup of tea, saw the covert feeding activity. The teachers finished dipping their Teddy Bear biscuits in their tea, drank the hot tea. And then they walked up to Mrs Ferugio where she was dining her son under the peppercorn tree and politely explained to her.

"Here in Australia, we don't give wine to the children, Mrs Ferugio," said one of the teachers.

Mrs Ferugio understood what was said to her. "Oh, sorry, OK, I understand," she said in an Italian accent.

Mrs Ferugio packed up her son's lunch and left the school. Next day she appeared again with the hot home-cooked meal, but this time with a drinking glass and a bottle of cold beer.

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