Lessons That Last: the things teachers confiscated

Somewhere out there is a Billy Picken Scanlens football card that rightfully belongs to me.

I was a mad Collingwood (AFL) supporter growing up, and Billy Picken was one of my heroes. Having his footy card was a pretty big deal, and like most kids, I probably spent more time admiring my collection than paying attention to whatever the teacher was saying.

Unfortunately, one day I made the mistake of having Billy out during class.

A teacher, who shall remain nameless, confiscated the card and assured me I’d get it back at the end of term.

Now, here’s where things get interesting. This particular teacher was also a Collingwood supporter.

I’m not suggesting anything untoward happened. I’m simply pointing out that the end of term came and went, followed by another term, several decades and quite a few Collingwood premiership campaigns.

I never saw Billy again.

The teacher’s treasure chest

Every school seemed to have a teacher whose desk drawer contained enough confiscated possessions to open a small toy shop.

Marbles were regular casualties, particularly when somebody decided to roll one across the classroom floor. Yo-yos disappeared after one trick too many, while Matchbox cars were apparently considered a serious threat to the education system.

Then there were the footy cards.

For generations of Australian kids, swapping Scanlens cards was serious business. You’d spend weeks trying to find that elusive player, finally get your hands on him, then have the whole thing brought undone because you couldn’t resist showing your mate during maths.

Comics were another favourite. Plenty of us perfected the art of hiding a comic inside a school textbook, although teachers seemed remarkably good at spotting a child who was suddenly enjoying reading a little too much.

You can have it back at the end of term

Those words could break a young heart.

The end of term might have been only three weeks away, but to a nine-year-old it may as well have been three years.

Some teachers were pretty good about returning things and others appeared to operate a system in which confiscated property entered a drawer and was never heard from again.

As we got older, the treasures changed. Chewing gum was a perennial offender, followed by portable radios, Walkmans and anything else that could distract a classroom.

And let’s not forget the folded notes passed between desks.

There was always the terrifying possibility that the teacher wouldn’t simply confiscate one but read it aloud to the entire class and that could be considerably worse than losing a marble.

Where did it all go?

I’ve often wondered what happened to those mountains of confiscated childhood possessions.

Did teachers eventually empty their drawers at the end of the year? Were there cupboards full of forgotten toys, comics and footy cards? Did some poor cleaner discover a lifetime’s collection of yo-yos and marbles when a school finally closed?

Or did the teachers take them home?

Which brings me back to Billy Picken.

He was one of Collingwood’s great high-flying defenders, and his Scanlens card was a prized possession of mine until it disappeared into the hands of a fellow Magpies supporter.

I’ve been pretty patient about the whole thing, but if that teacher happens to be reading this, I’m still waiting.

And after nearly 50 years, I reckon I’m entitled to a little interest.

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.

Also check out LESSONS THAT LAST: THE LAST FIRST KISS BEHIND THE INCINERATOR