Lessons That Last: The day we took the joke too far

Every classroom had an emergency warning system, and it required no electricity whatsoever.

“HE’S COMING!”

Those two words could transform a room full of noisy schoolkids into a picture of innocence in about three seconds. Books reopened, bodies returned to seats and the kid who’d been standing near the blackboard was suddenly studying something with extraordinary concentration.

The teacher would walk back in, look around the room and, of course, know immediately that something had happened.

We thought we were very clever, but one day at high school in the early ’80s, we weren’t.

Mr Alexander leaves the room

Mr Alexander was a fantastic teacher. He was young, funny and one of those teachers who could have a laugh with us while still somehow managing to teach us something.

We liked him a lot, which naturally meant we occasionally interpreted his good nature as permission to behave like complete idiots.

On this particular day, Mr Alexander was wearing a pair of beautiful white jeans.

White jeans!

Even in the early ’80s, he was ahead of his time. They were immaculate, too, which would soon become an important detail in this story.

At some point during the lesson, Mr Alexander had to leave the classroom.

I don’t remember why, but what I do remember is the Vegemite.

Somebody had it. Why they had it, I have no idea, but once Mr Alexander disappeared through the door, a plan was hatched.

A generous strip of Vegemite was smeared across his chair, strategically for positioning.

I’m not going to identify the person responsible because, after more than 40 years, I see no reason to start dobbing now. Besides, the rest of us were hardly innocent. We knew what was about to happen and thought it was hilarious.

Then came the warning.

“HE’S COMING!”

Everyone scrambled back into position.

Mr Alexander walked in.

We waited.

He sat down.

The room exploded.

Suddenly, nobody was laughing

For perhaps three seconds, it was one of the funniest things we had ever seen.

Then Mr Alexander stood up.

He was not laughing. Not one bit.

There was Vegemite across the backside of those magnificent white jeans and, as the laughter disappeared from the room, it became obvious we’d badly misjudged this one.

I don’t remember exactly what he said. I don’t remember whether somebody confessed, whether we were punished or whether the culprit eventually had to face the music.

But I remember is that horrible moment when a group of kids suddenly realises the joke isn’t funny anymore.

We’d taken it too far, and poor Mr Alexander’s white jeans had paid the price.

The moment the teacher disappeared

Most of us probably remember what happened whenever a teacher left the classroom.

It didn’t matter whether they were gone for 30 seconds or five minutes. The atmosphere changed almost immediately.

Conversations started across the room, sSomeone moved seats and notes were passed, and chalk occasionally found purposes for which it had never been intended. Even the class clown recognised that his audience was briefly unsupervised and got to work.

There was usually an unofficial lookout near the door, although I don’t remember anyone ever formally appointing one.

Every class simply knew the system.

The lookout’s job was to spot the returning teacher and sound the alarm.

“SHE’S COMING!”

Or, in our case:

“HE’S COMING!”

Then came the extraordinary part. A classroom that had sounded like a football crowd moments earlier could suddenly become suspiciously silent.

We’d be sitting at our desks reading, writing or staring earnestly at the blackboard when the teacher returned.

They knew. They always knew.

Those poor white jeans

There were teachers you wouldn’t have dared try anything on, of course. Depending on when and where you went to school, the consequences of misbehaving could be considerably more severe than they were for later generations.

Mr Alexander was different.

He got us onside because he was young, engaging and funny, and I remember his classes as being fun.

That’s why the Vegemite incident has stayed with me. We’d played plenty of jokes and mucked around countless times, but on that day we pushed a good bloke too far.

I remember how much we liked him.

And I remember those dazzling jeans.

Somewhere in the early 1980s, Mr Alexander walked into school wearing possibly the coolest white jeans we’d ever seen.

They deserved better.

This article is part of ‘Lessons That Last’, a new Starts At 60 series exploring the memories, traditions and school experiences that shape Australians across generations, presented in partnership with Schoolblazer Limited, a specialist school uniform company that works with hundreds of schools internationally. Through Lessons That Last, Starts At 60 is exploring the memories and experiences of school life across generations of Australians.

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