New School

The old green and yellow government bus chugged wearily up Bathurst Street. Black fumes belching over the boys legs as he waited for the "Walk" signal. the fumes felt strangely hot, and choked the city. He held his breath and looked at the tall buildings, trying to catch a glimpse of sky. The "Don't Walk" soon changed to "Walk" and his mother took him across the street, into a dark building. People in Sydney confused him, always in a hurry, always frowning, their lives meaningful yet meaningless. Some seemed to deliberately walk slowly, lost in conversations. There mission was to walk side by side and block the entire path, frustrating those who got stuck behind.

Men in suits and women in stilettos risked life and limb by leaping into the oncoming traffic, just to save a few seconds, Rushing. Those that were passed did not even notice, simply continued on, utterly meaningless.
The entrance to the building seemed strangely cool and quiet. To the right a sign saying "Camp Howard". A store full of camping equipment and supplies, sleeping bags, tents and fuel stoves. It looked good. To the left, an old lift, which sat wearily with its jail like door half ajar. As if its mouth was open, trying to speak. They walked down a few stairs A few stairs into a studio.


Centre was a grand piano, to the left and right, choir stalls. A middle aged man who sat in a crumpled suit, whose hair constantly needed pushing back into place, welcomed them both. He seemed always in a hurry, like those outside, thinking he should be somewhere else, if only he could overtake this task at hand. He slurped on what looked like a milkshake. " My Lunch" he said, embarrassed, pushing his hair back into place

"Right, you want to join the choir." More a statement than a question, "Yes" said his mother. The choirmaster sat at the piano and asked to boy to sing some notes, then harmonise. The boy did so. He asked him to sing a song. The boy did so. He asked him to sight read some music, the boy did so. Within a few minutes he was finished. "He certainly can sing", Said the choirmaster. "Yes." Agreed his mother. The boy felt strangely shy and out of place. This man was a kind person the boy thought to himself and liked him immediately. " We will let you know in due course" Said the Choirmaster, calling in the next boy. They both left as the next boy tried his best but sang out of tune.


They took the train, fondly called red rattlers, back to Ingleburn. "This school looks like it is the one" His mother said. "You did well, but...." The boys mind began to drift, as the inner city rail yards and slums raced past the window. She was always like that, always striving to achieve more. He drifted back into his imagination.

That evening he lay on his bed, the smell of the bus fumes still lingering on his clothes, he thought of the crowds, the buses the business of the city. Soon he was to be a part of it.