There were approximately three hundred indoor students at college, and perhaps fifty to a hundred or more outdoors, living in the village. Some of these were fairly old, one or two even with beards turning grey. Others were boys of fifteen and sixteen. We were called “snipes” compared to the more mature students who carried an aura of superiority. The rules for segregation of the sexes were stringent, much more so than they are today. The college campus, all fifteen hundred acres, was divided by an imaginary line running through the Chapel from front to back right through to the boundaries of the college property. The girls’ walk reached from their side, covering the bush trails and forest as far as the Amen Gate. That was the property limit; beyond was Sunnyside, for some years the home of Ellen G. White. The boys had all the land on their side running back to the river, then up the road to the village gates at the front.
In the chapel the girls sat on the right facing the rostrum, and boys on the left. We naturally often glanced across the wide dividing aisle and watched the girls come in. The girls knew this, and it was a little embarrassing since the entrance to each side faced the congregation, so everyone who came in ran the gauntlet of the staring eyes of those in the seats. It was easy to see that the girls were sensitive to this and were self- conscious before that evaluating bunch of critics.
At the dining tables there was mixing, for this taught us social graces, and it was a good practical school for this. There were eight to a table, carefully selected by the matron, four boys and four girls. The tables were changed about every six weeks so that there was no chance of getting too familiar. A host and hostess were appointed, and one boy was detailed off by the table host at “tray boy”. His job was to carry all the food on a large tray from the servery. On entering the dining room, all stood behind their chairs. The matron, whose table occupied a commanding position, would touch the little bell for silence, and one of the boys, selected in advance, would say grace. A frightful racket followed as everyone shifted seats on the bare wood floor to sit down. The tray boys would immediately march back to the servery, pick up their trays already loaded with the main dishes, set them down before the host and hostess, whose responsibility was to fill the plates as they were handed to them, strictly ladies first. The host and hostess were also expected to lead out in the conversation in which all joined.
We were not in the habit of using each other’s first or Christian names. This would have been taking familiar liberties, especially with young ladies. The first time I was addressed as “Mister” was at the table. As a boy of sixteen I felt a bit over-rated, but soon got used to it. This form of address kept proper decorum between the sexes, at least for awhile, and in the presence of faculty members, who could control our grade points. It was possible to see a young lady, of course, but only by permission of the preceptor or matron. These are known now in our American colleges as Dean of Men or of Women. This special social privilege was granted to couples who were serious in their relationships, were senior students, and had a specific reason for meeting. It was mostly arranged for the girls’ parlour, a public place which was no good for love making.
Some bold, reckless young people would sometimes steal furtively away to an arranged meeting place, but woe betide them If they were caught! And this was not unusual. It meant probable dismissal, which would be certain after a second offense. A senior boy, by the name of Fred Holder, and his girl friend were caught red-handed one day. She was sitting on his knee on a log in the bush, when a faculty member appeared. “Holder!” he barked. “That’s what I am trying to do”, was his apt response. This was a classic story that lived for years. I know of a number of boys who suffered the ultimate penalty for this serious infringement of the rules.
I remember one sizable senior couldn’t-care-less fellow who, when expelled for some reason I never knew, happened to be sitting at the matron’s table. She happened not to be there at the time, and he tapped her little bell. All in the dining room dropped tools and fell silent, waiting for a big announcement. Then Harold Nassall, or “Baalam”, as we use to call him, stood up and in a nonchalant voice announced his dismissal. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to announce that Baalam is about to move his tabernacle from between the two seas and this holy mountain, for he has come to his end with no one to help him. So farewell my friends”. I heard this same wag make another announcement one lunch time from the same table when there was no authority at the table. Sometimes our table grapes would be picked when not quite ripe, and none of us liked eating sour grapes. Harold stood up to pass a popular remark. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a small announcement to make”. There was dead silence. “I have found a ripe grape”. Strict rules were undeniably necessary if we were to successfully operate a college of this calibre, but a light humour helped to brighten the day.
Weekends were always a relaxing time. All work would stop Friday afternoon to give the staff and students time to do their chores and get ready for Sabbath. Shoes were cleaned, rooms given an extra once over, clothes checked over and pressed, and baths were taken. This was the only time apart from mid-week when the coke heaters were lit to provide hot showers. The boys would crowd into the large shower room with its concrete floor, and there would be rollicking fun and noisy frolic. They would strip off and wait their turn at the many showers. One Friday while in this mood, Walter Scragg and Herb Kent came in and stripped off. These were mature men, hefty fellows of enviable physique, giant men. There was quite a bit of horse play and wrestling, when somehow Herb and Walter got involved. They spun around the concrete floor like two fighting bulls, while we climbed on the benches and watched this heavyweight contest. It was colossal fun as we cheered on one or the other like spectators at a ringside. It ended in a draw, for they were evenly matched. Both took it in good part and we gave them a well-earned cheer. It was top entertainment.
Friday night there was a special devotional meeting followed by personal testimonies, which would last from 7:30 till 9 p.m. Both from the girls and the boys there was usually a good response. Twenty to fifty students would be standing at the same time, and the minister would take the speakers row by row. It was deeply spiritual and sometimes entertaining to hear inexperienced young people express themselves. Besides it was good practice in public utterance. Sabbath morning was a relaxed and enjoyable period until it was time to get ready for church. Of course we were dressed in our very best from the time we stepped out of bed. We washed in our rooms, that is, those who did not go to the shower room for a cold shower. Our rooms had the old fashioned washstand with a large hole in the top which held the dish. On this stood a large water jug which we filled with water from the cistern outside. Under the dish stood a bucket which took the used water.
Going to church was the major event of the day. This meant walking down to the large Avondale church in the village. There were no church services on the campus except the young people’s meeting in the afternoon. Attendance at all these meetings was mandatory. We were not allowed to straggle down to the village church as we chose. All must be lined up in two double columns, the girls first and boys following. It was quite a sight to see these vibrant young people dressed in their best and led by faculty members, marching to Zion. The church was always well filled with a large village constituency and students, five to seven hundred in all. The students usually had some part in the program, especially in the Sabbath School and in rendering special music. That was where I first found my voice, singing tenor parts in quartets or duets. One of my earliest was in a duet with Myra Wendt, later to become Mrs. R. A. Anderson. She was a beautiful girl with a fine soprano voice. My brother Gordon used to do well giving talks or taking a Sabbath School review. One I thought was a special when he reviewed Paul’s Third Missionary Journey. He traced this on a map which he had drawn, then recited a poem he had composed, bringing in all the names of places where the apostle ministered.
The young people’s meeting in the afternoon was also a fine training ground for ministerial students. The meetings were well prepared, and were made interesting by talented young people who worked hard on the program. Also we occasionally had a missionary return from the Pacific Island mission field who would thrill us with tales of primitive pioneering work amongst natives who had not previously seen a white man. A. G. Stewart, Parker of the New Hebrides, Norman Wiles, and G. F. Jones and others, we knew them all. They told the stories of encounters with cannibals, threats on their lives, and the problems of trying to get through to people whose lives were controlled by pagan tradition and heathen customs.
Parker’s story was a classic, when he told of his frightening experience with the Maneaters of Malekula, New Hebrides. Norman Wiles responded to an appeal for a young couple to take the Gospel to these people. He married Alma Butz, and in their early twenties they went to live on this dangerous island. After about twelve months Norman came back, infected with malaria and drained of vitality, to recover at the Sydney Sanitarium. One Friday night he took our service, thrilling us with his presence and his story. This blonde, youthful and dedicated fellow student opened his Bible at Isa. 41:1 “Keep silence before me 0 islands and let my people renew their strength.” After six months he returned to the islands, only to succumb to another bout of blackwater fever. Many were the heroes and heroines who went out to do pioneer Gospel work from the college in my day. Now there are more Adventists in those island fields of the South Pacific Ocean than in all of Australia.
