School ties reunite Lynfield College girls

By GRAHAM REID

Like flowers pressed in an old book, the annual class photo arrests life in a frozen moment, the rows of neat uniforms denying individuality, and the similarity of one class to another reinforcing a lack of identity.

Yet a surprising number of these artefacts of youth are treasured because they prompt the memory and gain greater resonance as the years pass. Who could say they have looked at their own and not wondered, "Whatever happened to ... ?"

Today almost all of Lynfield College's 3 ComB class of 1960 will have their answer.

Organised by Jill Comerford-Parker and Barbara Thaugland, the girls will gather for a reunion at the home of a former classmate, go to lunch at an Auckland restaurant, "and after that, who knows?" says Barbara, laughing.

We can guess: memories and life stories shared, and reminiscences of teachers and mutual friends.

"There's lots we can talk about," says Jill, who has made the calls and over four months has tracked down all but a few from four decades ago. "Some have married several times, some have never married, some have been with the same husband for the past 30 or 40 years — and a lot of the girls I've spoken to have had twins."

"We've had a lot of laughs when Jill's let me listen to the answerphone messages," says Barbara. "We think, 'Gosh, she sounds like a drinker and a smoker!' It's been great fun just so far."

But, says Jill, most she has spoken to sound as they did 40 years ago.

Barbara, Jill and Bev Powell — who has been a friend of Jill's since they left school — are sitting under the trees in Warkworth reflecting on the school they went to, their classmates and their lives, of which they speak with an uncomplaining dignity rare in a culture where people are quick to claim their victim status.

When they say with excited anticipation that all of the girls they have contacted have been enthusiastic about the planned reunion and expect to make it, Jill notes they have heard one girl has died. They consider this silently.

But it's unusual that only one of their peers has passed on from this group now all in their early 50s.

"Yes, it is remarkable, isn't it?" says Barbara. "That's why I feel so privileged to be here today."

There are nods of affirmation and Barbara — a mother of two and grandmother, now in a second relationship and whose former husband (with whom she remained on good terms) died of cancer in February — says she feels fortunate to have had a wonderful life.

Bev, who married at 17 and whose first husband died of cancer fewer than six years later, leaving her with two children, says she wouldn't change her life for anything. "I've got five grandchildren and five step-grandchildren. I've been lucky with both of my husbands, my first was wonderful. It was very sad that he died, but that's life, isn't it?"

And Jill, the smallest kid in 3 ComB, who was a chronic asthmatic, left school before the fifth form and has moved around the north after leaving a husband and "a bad marriage" at age 48, concludes her story with a sad smile. "Yes, I would say the last three years have been difficult. But I'm still here."

Still here, accepting of their lot and grateful for the lives they've had. Lynfield College whose motto is "learn to live," should be proud.

When the coed college opened in 1958 on former strawberry farms, it had a roll of around 80 third-form students drawn from the predominantly working-class suburbs around. Two years later when 3 ComB, a non-academic class which trained girls in shorthand and typing for office work, went for their class photo the roll was around 550.

Mike Blamires, today's deputy principal at Lynfield and whose father Geoff held the same position 40 years ago, says from the start the school had a good reputation. The first principal, Des Thurston, was a keen academic and sportsman and the college attracted enthusiastic teachers. These girls from 3 ComB, who say they felt the academic kids were conceited and thought they were better than them because they were prefects, remember the school and most teachers fondly but see it from their own perspective.

They graciously won't name the person for fear even now it may hurt her feelings — it was senior mistress Beryl Thompson, whom Blamires confirms was fussy about uniforms and ruthless in confiscating girls' jewellery — but their memories are of a strict staff always on duty in the playground, and a school where you'd be pulled up for a ladder in your stockings or not wearing your panama hat and gloves.

"I remember the day I left school," says Bev. "Everyone signed my hat and then we shredded the edges and took the band off."

It was a mild piece of rebellion and the girls agree that at that time they were naive and innocent. Smoking at school was unknown to them, the worst they might do was "a waggie," to go to friends' houses to try each others' clothes on and maybe do a bit of baking.

Bev, whose family rented a farmhouse on land which is now the shopping centre — "The palm at Palmers Garden Centre is on what was our front lawn" — recalls with clarity a day she wagged and made toffee at home.

"I burned the bum out of the pot and couldn't tell Mum, but where we lived was just paddocks so I went as far as I could and threw it away. It must have been two years later that Mum was picking blackberries and she found it and said she'd known damn well I'd done something with it even though I'd kept denying it."

They share similar playful memories from a more innocent time. They laugh about the bloomers they had to wear and how they'd be embarrassed running near the boys' classes, and how life is harder for kids today who grow up so fast they don't have a childhood. Back then kids had a fantasy life because all you had were board games with the family, radio shows like Life with Dexter, and paddocks at Lynfield to run and play in. No television then.

But girls knew little about sex and few parents talked about it. Four girls left their class that year. Pregnant.

"One day they were at school, the next they were gone," says Jill. "It was all hush hush." You just heard rumours, just a whisper, nods Barbara.

While they are all enthusiastic about the reunion, Jill recalls 3 ComB as a very special year in a life which hasn't always been kind.

"It was a good class and people were different in those days. Every girl in the class was friends with each other. You didn't have the cliques, maybe that's why I managed to find everyone so quickly when I started making phone calls. Some have remained friends over the years.

"I don't remember anyone not hanging out together. There were a lot of shy girls and I was one of them. But the ones that weren't encouraged you to be friends with them. It's hard to explain but it was a most unusual class, I feel."

She recalls 1960 at Lynfield as the best year of her life. She was sickly, shy and small and had often been teased for her health. In 3 ComB other girls would stick up for her, and it was a year in which she felt the most protected.

It was a meeting between her and Barbara in the Warkworth boutique in which Barbara works part-time that brought about the reunion. She thought she recognised Barbara but wasn't brave enough to approach her.

"It took me three times to walk in before you approached me. I didn't buy anything but found a reason to go back in. Your face looked familiar but you are a different shape."

Bev laughs about being curious at how the old classmates will be now. "I was always slim until I had children, then just piled the weight on, so it's going to be interesting to see what people look like."

They speak candidly of the tough times in their lives. Bev and her husband wanted a lifestyle change after working for the post office in Auckland, so took on the Highway Tearooms in Wellsford and ran that until three years ago. It wasn't easy and she has blood pressure problems she attributes to getting up at 4 am for 10 years. Her husband, who is 50, has found it difficult to find work since then.

"It's been a hard three years but we've three new grandchildren and I've had a big input into their lives."

The three have coincidentally gravitated north and Jill and Bev don't much like Auckland. Jill, who moved about seven years go, says she didn't feel safe on the streets after 6 pm. Bev tells of going to the new mall in Glenfield recently and not recognising anyone among the thousands there. People don't smile, she says.

She and her husband don't socialise much, "maybe because I married young and my life has revolved around family."

Barbara, who was good at sports at school and moved around the country often with her late husband, travels to Auckland regularly but always feels safe because there are so many people around. She and her new partner come down for dinner and shows. She loved Gene Pitney and afterwards had a great time at the casino.

Yes, they speak of difficult times, but the reunion for which some girls will be coming over from Australia prompts them mostly to recall the good. They all love this country.

"My daughter in Sydney wants me to go over there and says everyone's moving there," says Bev, "but I'm a Kiwi born and bred. We might not all agree politically but I wouldn't live anywhere else."

"I absolutely love New Zealand. I think we are so privileged to live here," says Barbara. She gestures across the quiet river bank where birds sing in the dappled light of a summer morning: "We haven't got a war zone over there where people are dying."

No, they haven't travelled much: Bev to Australia to see her daughter and grandchildren; Barbara also to Australia; Jill dreams of going to Egypt next year because she loves ancient history, and her Dutch grandmother and great-grandmother are buried in South Africa.

They believe their parents would be proud of the lives they've made, and are amused again by the class photograph in which Bev stands out because she'd just arrived from Kelston and wears a different uniform.

"But what I remember about the class is that I was accepted, it was very special like that," she says.

Jill retains special memories, too, not just because she felt so protected and safe. She fingers the photo and tells of the regulation that girls had to either have plaits or short hair.

"Having a South African grandmother who was very traditional in her ways, all girls had long hair. I hated plaits, so Mum took me to a hairdresser, and my granny was with us all the way protesting. I was going to break the tradition. I watched all this beautiful hair fall on the floor. It was sad."

If a class photo is a prompt to memory, then the cliche is true: every picture tells a story.