A certain amount of youthful pranks was tolerated at the College as being an outlet for exuberance. Saturday night was a night off. There was band practice, perhaps a concert or a parlour entertainment, or simple foolery. One such night I remember well. It was a summer evening when a number of boys were standing around the water pump filling their jugs and talking. The pump was close to the wall, the large underground cistern a few yards away. Norm Jeffs and Charlie Tinworth occupied a room on the third floor directly above the pump. They had apparently collected a little extra water in the room. Looking out of the window and seeing this bunch of boys congregated below, still in their good clothes, these two pranksters emptied their used water bucket over the group. It came over them like a cloud-burst. On recovering from the initial shock, they all dashed up to the room, the source of the downpour. The door was locked, or a chair was set under the knob. So they drew back some yards and gave the word to “Charge!” The boys within then unlatched the door, so the others charged against the open door and fell in a heap, while Norman and Charlie emptied the rest of the water over them. There was no small furor over this, for the water trickled down through to the second floor and then into the first, which was the Preceptor’s parlour.
Life was not all sombre, and devilment would be delivered by the most unexpected persons. One quiet type, a boy from Queensland, surprised us all by ringing the chapel bell at midnight. He did this by climbing the bell tower and attaching a long length of rope that would reach from there down into the dark orchard. From there unseen, he would tug at the bell every few minutes. One of the faculty went up to see what was going on, but the dangling bell rope was in its normal position, so he could find no bell ringer. When he went back to his room the ringing started again. This time he stayed there, expecting the culprit to return to the regular bellrope. But no one returned, and the bell started to ring on its own. This was spooky. He climbed up to the bell, found the extra rope, and traced it down to the prankster in the orchard, one of our harmless, sedate students.
Dora Creek is a sizable river, some chains wide, and running deep. It was our playground and gave us much fun. I could barely swim before going to Avondale, but soon learned, and loved the water. There was a changing shed, a jetty and a fine springboard reaching well out into the deep water. This board was long and of fine springy hardwood. To stand on the end and jump would send you six to eight feet into the air. I was doing such jumps one afternoon when I missed with one foot and hit the board with the other. My knee wrenched out of joint as I fell heavily into the water. Boys came to the rescue and helped me back to the bank. There I held the upper part of my leg, while another took hold of the foot and with a sudden jerk hauled the knee into place. It hurt badly at the time, and because of the strained ligaments my knee would afterwards slip out at the slightest side pressure. It took some years to recover.
My brother Gordon was a strong swimmer, and he with some others swam down to Dora Creek railway station one day, the whole four miles. On the way back he was towed by the launch “Avondale”, loaded with goods. I was standing on the river bank some distance below the landing wharf, watching the launch ploughing through smooth waters with Gordon holding a rope behind, when I saw a long black snake crossing the river, right in their path. I was horrified. It seemed certain that Gordon would get mixed with this snake, which was six or seven feet long. He could not see it and I was helpless watching from the bank. The launch was nearly on it, and Gordon was next. The snake ducked under the boat and Gordon missed it by a few feet. I offered a prayer of thankfulness.
Our college picnics were always held somewhere on the shores of Lake Macquarie. This meant loaded launches and barge. It was a great day for freedom and fun, a delightful mixing with the boys and girls. There was nothing dull about it, as the day was filled with organized games and good food. However, weather on the lake was unpredictable. One day someone arranged a smaller, private picnic which only required the two launches. We were on the “Avondale”, about eighteen of us, with a chaperone, Miss Hughes, overseer of girls at the factory. The passenger launch had about twenty, and we were to meet at Wangi, many miles down the lake. The wind sprang up, the sky was overcast, and we battled our way through rising waves which were mounting higher and higher, dousing us with spray. It was rather scary, and we were glad to see the wharf and village of Wangi, for this lake had caused a number of tragedies in violent weather.
The launch was ahead of us, and as we drew near we saw that it was half under water, with just the canopy above the waves. It was too dangerous to try landing here, so we turned and headed for the lee side of an island, hoping we would make it. All from the other launch were able to get ashore, soaked, but help was available. On our island there was nothing but a couple of small fishermen’s tents. They invited us to share these while they went off in their sturdy craft. It was raining now, quite heavily, and we were stranded. There was nothing to do but sit out the weather, which meant all the rest of the day and all through the night. We huddled up on the bunks together, with the chaperone helpless. It wasn’t the kind of picnic we had bargained for, but it was not unpleasant either. The next morning the weather had cleared, the sea was calm, and we boarded our ship and made for home. Instead of being scolded we received a hero and heroine’s reception. After all, they had no way of knowing what had become of us, and there was considerable anxiety. So our appearance brought great relief.
For the first couple of years at college I mingled with the juniors and had no Idea what I was aiming for. I had much to catch up in general education, let alone worry about what I was going to be. The major courses such as Ministry or Teaching seemed beyond my achievement. I compared myself with these talented graduates and felt so inferior. The years ahead looked so long, and I was impatient. It was not until I made a rededication of my life to the Lord that I committed my future into the hands of God. “I write unto you young men because you are strong” wrote the Apostle John. I took this seriously and felt thankful that I was young and strong. Privately I thanked God for this and determined to do my best for Him. It was on this basis that I decided on the Ministry. With maturity came a consciousness of responsibility.
I was seventeen and a half when I changed my thinking, my life style, and sought more mature companions. I had some wonderful pals, apart from Gordon and Howard Totenhofer, who were always close to me. Room mates meant a great deal to me. I roomed with Jim and Charlie Lawson and also Willard Staples from South Africa. They all had an influence on my life, for a bit of them rubbed off onto me. We never had any problems but got along fine. Willard was interesting, sharp, talented and competent. He developed into a fine evangelist and administrator; also a dynamic speaker. He was totally dedicated and accomplished, perhaps more than any other man from South Africa. This I concluded when I visited him many years later in Bloemfontein where he was president of the South African Union Conference. There I saw the many churches which he had established.
Roy Anderson was another room mate who became a special lifelong friend. We had so much in common. He had a fine, lovable personality, was very talented and popular. He could play the piano well and often played my accompaniments. We had good times around the piano with cornet or voice. I was just finding my feet, and enjoyed these sessions together. Often we would be invited out to musical evenings. We were called “Andy and Brandy”. Roy could also play any instrument in the band, and conducted the college band while there. He was a good conductor and had a fine band. It was my appointment to take over the band after he left. We missed him very much, and I most of all. This handsome, talented young man has made an invaluable contribution to the Adventist ministry in the sixty years since then.
In referring to our college music, I have a vivid recollection of a time F. L. Sharp, Bible teacher, Preceptor and organist put on the cantata “Belshazzar’s Feast”. I was privileged to sing the tenor solos, taking the part of Daniel. A week or so before the performance, a year-end special, I caught a heavy cold. I could scarcely talk, let alone sing. The situation was critical and embarrassing. The last few practices the choir was calling for Daniel. He had half a dozen short solos, and it was important to practice with the lead part in. I did not know if I would be able to sing at all, and waited with some anxiety. I hated to let them down. Then two days before the performance my voice cleared. I came into the choir room, sucked a raw egg for an albumen throat coating, and went onto the platform. The trick had worked for me before. My voice never felt in better form, both in range and quality. And I needed all the range I had. I regarded this experience as an answer to my prayers. Gordon had been asked to sing the baritone solos and his voice came through clear and true. Every word was distinct and impressive as he represented the High Priest and sang the scriptural references.
Many more incidents of life at Avondale come flooding into my memory which I am tempted to mention. However I feel that I have covered enough. Many more students are worthy of mention, too. There was W. G. Turner, a serious senior who acted as preceptor on the second floor. There was George Totenhofer, another senior, who was a fine, dignified and dedicated gentleman. There was Arthur Knight of the same calibre, who was held in high esteem. Bill Gilson was a brilliant student with great potential. He worked hard on the farm with a number of other senior boys, digging drains or clearing the land. Mr. Fred Reeke was farm manager and had to organize the work of many farm hands. He had a big voice and a quaint way of ordering the boys around. They took him off, mimicked his voice and orders, making him the butt of much fun and good humour. Bill Gilson wrote a poem about him entitled “Our Farm Day”.
Ted Streeter was another pal and work mate. He was the leading plumber with whom I worked, a bright young student, particularly gifted at mechanics. When he arrived he was a “snipe” in short pants and full of fun and tricks. For instance, he worked with Mr. Searle in the bakehouse. Part of his job was to clean the shelves of the revolving oven. To do this, the oven would be stopped at the opening, and a jute sack, dangled on the end of a broom handle, would be dipped into a large can of water and would be swung back and forth across the soot-laden shelf. On bringing it out it was a soggy black mess of soot. Filled with devilment one day, Ted could not resist whacking this around the snow-white uniform of Mr. Searle the head baker. Then he ran downstairs with Searle after him, dodged amongst the girls packing Granose, and fled up to his room and hid. He kept away from the bakehouse the rest of the day.
Another time this young prankster tied a brick to the boiler whistle at the factory, set it on the balance, tied a string to an alarm clock, and set it for 2 a.m. The factory then did not work night shifts. At two in the morning the alarm went off, the brick fell down and the whistle sounded throughout the village. This was recognized as a fire signal, and people came from all directions to fight the fire. Finally some caught up with the joke, but only a few of us knew the culprit. Ted was a good pal and an efficient worker. He spent practically all his years teaching in India, and later as the Division building director. His competence is attested by the many buildings and the records of his work in India. He now lives in retirement at Red Hill, close to Avondale.
Many changes took place at Avondale from 1916 through to 1918. Under the planning, designing and directing of Mr. Tempest, an architect and electrician, a completely new factory was built. The old original saw mill building gave place to a modern double-the-size saw-tooth roof structure and a new office building close by. Also a large new steam power house was built. As the plumbers, Ted Streeter and I did much of the pipe work on the latter. It was our job, too, to put the roofs on the houses and offices built in this era, make the tanks, and lay the water through the buildings. A new office was built over the road in front of the Chapel. The college power house was also constructed and the gas engine with dynamo was duly installed about this time, besides a number of new staff houses. All were constructed of timber, and most of this was cut on our own saw mill. This was a major development period, a far cry from the pioneering times which reached almost to the year of my arrival at college. After all it had been only 17 years since the time of the opening of the college to my arrival there 1914. Then there was an ugly swamp land opposite the barn down to the river.
Author: Roy Brandstater 1982
