Judging sponge cakes is no laughing matter at a school gala. Photo / 123rf
With schools returning, it’s only a matter of time before children start turning up at our doorsteps, cap in hand like Oliver Twist, politely asking for more.
Or in this case, asking if we’d like to support their school by buying something we didn’t know we needed, at a price that feels oddly ambitious.
Now, to be fair, most of these requests come with a genuine purpose.
New sports equipment. A playground upgrade. Sending the First XV to Fiji. All good causes. All worthwhile. And all, these days, seemingly funded by the same model: the chocolate fundraiser.
For those unfamiliar, this involves sending your child around the neighbourhood, or directly to grandparents, because they’re soft targets, selling chocolate bars at a price that would make a dairy owner’s eyes water.
The chocolate itself is fine. Not great. Not terrible.
However, it is priced like Kopi Luwak coffee, yes, the one that’s been eaten, digested and politely returned to the world by a cat.
Luckily, the theory behind chocolate fundraising is much simpler.
The child sells the chocolate. The school makes money. Everyone wins.
The reality is also simple, just less ideal.
Parents take one look at the admin involved, quietly sigh, and end up buying the entire box themselves.
The chocolate is then redistributed around the house as a form of currency, used to bribe children into completing simple tasks like loading the dishwasher or maintaining a level of hygiene just above a petri dish.
So, the school gets the money, the child learns very little about hard work, and parents are left with the bill.
Which makes me wonder if it’s time to bring back that classic school fundraiser.
The old-school gala day.
A day that brought the community together, raised money, and left everyone with a sugar crash, a sunburn, and a strangely elevated sense of community that often results in false promises of future catch-ups.
Now I know gala days weren’t perfect.
For a start, the pronunciation alone could tear a PTA apart.
Was it “gar-la” or “gay-la”?
Entire meetings were lost to that debate. But if we can move past that, and I think there’s huge potential in reviving this uniquely Kiwi event.
Because the gala wasn’t just about fundraising.
It was about organised chaos.
It was a place where normal rules were temporarily suspended, common sense took the day off, and parents discovered skills they didn’t know they had, like decorating a gumboot so it resembled something from Elton John’s wardrobe, or judging sponge cakes with alarming seriousness.
And there were, and could be again, so many great events, like the trailer ride – a genuine highlight when I was young.
This involved cramming children into a caged trailer, not unlike sheep heading to market, and towing them behind a vehicle that would almost certainly fail several modern safety audits.
Quite often this was a three-wheeled farm bike, now illegal, for reasons that feel increasingly obvious with hindsight.
The parent driving would aim to get the trailer on one wheel as they powered around corners at a speed best described as enthusiastic, until the wiser half of the marriage could be heard yelling “SLOW DOWN” from somewhere near the sausage sizzle.
And yet, somehow, it worked. Money was raised. Kids laughed. Injuries were minimal. Character was built.
Then there was the white elephant stall. A magical place where items went to begin their second, third, or sometimes seventh life.
This was where you’d find chipped mugs with company logos from businesses that no longer existed, VHS tapes of movies nobody owned a player for anymore, and ornaments that looked faintly haunted.
All laid out lovingly on trestle tables, waiting for someone to say, “You know what, that could bring the room together”.
There was always one person who took it very seriously.
They’d arrive early, scan the tables like they were about to appear on Antiques Roadshow, and walk away clutching something while everyone else quietly wondered why.
Cake stalls were another cornerstone. Home baking in all its glory. Slices are cut generously. Cupcakes iced without restraint or the thought of a health star rating.
There was no talk of food prep hygiene or allergies, and the coconut ice had an addictive quality that suggested it wasn’t so much baked as manufactured, possibly by someone who’d watched a little too much Breaking Bad.
And of course, the sponge cake competition.
Judged by someone important. Possibly the mayor. Or a very senior member of the PTA with strong views on crumb structure.
Games were everywhere.
Dunk the school principal. Guess the number of jellybeans. Darts at balloons. A lucky dip that was never particularly lucky, but always thrilling.
You’d pay 50 cents, plunge your hand into a mysterious box, and emerge with a plastic whistle or a bouncy ball that felt like it had lived inside a Christmas cracker in another life.
And then there were the raffles, drawn over a crackly PA system that only worked if someone stood in exactly the right spot holding the microphone at a specific angle.
The thrill rivalled an RSA meat raffle, minus the paperwork, the sign-in sheet, and Jim quietly asking, “Have you signed in?“
I know times have changed.
Health and safety has opinions now. Insurance exists. And nobody’s suggesting we bring back everything exactly as it was.
But maybe the spirit of the gala day is worth revisiting.
Fundraising that feels less like a tax deduction and more like an event.
Something that teaches kids that raising money can be creative, communal and fun, not just transactional, parental or grandparental.
So, as school newsletters begin to pile up on the fridge and fundraising season quietly approaches, maybe it’s worth asking whether we could bring back the gala.
One good day to raise the funds needed to resurface the back field, or finally install that sunshade that’s been sitting in the PTA minutes for years.
- Glenn Dwight is the studio creative director – regional at NZME and an occasional writer for The Country.