Caprice by Doris Pilkington Garimara Page A

Long”, because all he seemed to know about maths was long division, long multiplication and long addition. His talent as an organist and musician far exceeeded his skills as a teacher of the three Rs.
    His wife instructed the girls in needlework and embroidery. We learnt and sang a lot of hymns, English ballads or some folk songs from the British Isles.
    In the mid 1950s the education of the children was taken over by the government—the department of education. Thus once again those of us who had a fondness for different or special subjects and the desire to excel in something—even though it may have been only to please the teacher—sat eagerly and ready to absorb whatever knowledge was being imparted.
    Our newness became tarnished somewhat as we settled and became accepted and recognised as “the mission kids”.

Seasonal Changes
    My first impression of Roelands Mission was a favourable one—except for the slightly claustrophobic feeling the closeness of the hills induced. There were seven hills surrounding the mission, someone informed us. In fact “Seven Hills Mission”, was its original name.
    The landscape and the environment were peaceful and tranquil—even though it was a hot dry mid-summer’s day and the paddocks were covered with dry grass and patches of bare brown dusty earth. I just knew that I was going to like living here.
    It was paradise compared with the Settlement conditions. The food was wholesome and nutritious. An established vegetable garden, the mixed orchard that produced an abundance of stone fruits, apples, pears and citrus fruits, and eggs and dairy products, enabled the mission to be a self-supporting, productive and enterprising institution.
    When winter came shrouded in its dismal grey mantle, the trees that were covered in the warm autumn coloured leaves now stood stark bare and leafless—almost lifeless. The playing fields were a slushy quagmire with springs of fresh water seeping through the ground. A cold and sombre atmosphere permeated the mission. The inmates stayed indoors—only venturing outside to performrostered duties, attend school and to have our meals. The river had swelled and was spilling over its banks and the creeks were full and running down to join the river. The meeting of the waters took place at the fertile triagular plot where the vegetable garden was established.
    The bullfrogs croaked very loudly in various tones all night. During the day we searched for these creatures, these croaking nuisances, to rid ourselves of their nightly plunk-plunking forever. We never found too many—a couple I think. So for the rest of the winter we either grew accustomed to their croaking or if you were one of the lucky ones you slept through it.
    Rising early each morning when the mists were stationary over the river at sunrise was something you got used to. We braved the chilly frosty mornings to do our duties. It seemed that every movement every action was done mechanically, with no pleasure and definitely no enthusiasm.
    It is needless to say that when spring came it was welcomed with opened arms. The landscape was transformed once again, and it stimulated the senses with the abundance of fragrance, colour and appeal.
    With the sensation of spring one could easily become intoxicated by the blossoms, the flower gardens and the sight of the blaze of colour the golden wattle trees produce. There are seven varieties located around the mission. This is the time when the orchards are also filled with the abundance of blossoms which will later bear fruit.
    In the fields of lush green pastures, the sheep and horses and cattle are grazing heavily. The unfurrowed fields are now covered with golden dandelions and white patches of subterranean clover. Spring is life, movement and productivity.
    But if you were to ask any ex-mission boy or girl what they remember most specifically about the mission, theywould probably say the hard work,