My name is currently etched onto some pretty special honour boards of my old senior school at Brisbane Grammar, in some rather prestigious locations I might add. But you know, the etching that held most honour amongst my peers right up until my last day, was carved under the masters table of the 2nd form classroom allocated to class 2E. 2E? my mum puzzled when she first heard of my particular placement – Why did they put you in there. Because there was no 2F was my obvious get with the program mum reply. Anyway, another place where my name is remembered in fine gold lettering, is on those dark mahogany timber panels of the School’s Great Hall. Under the column School Gymnastics Champion, my name is recorded beside the year 1970. Two entries up in 1968 is recorded a name carrying a similar surname but displaying the first initial of my big brother David. See it was David who introduced me to the precise sport of Gymnastics, primarily because it would provide a great opportunity to express my artistic freedom – particularly on the School’s Wednesday afternoon compulsory club or military cadets participation stipulation. See, whilst the rest of the school was busily engaged in military parades or some sort of indoor club activity – David, me and the other members of his Gymnastics Club were expressing that artistic freedom by climbing over the fence onto the railway tracks and nicking off from school about an hour earlier than was set down for club activities to end. Still, it just so happened that the prerequisite skills required of a good gymnast did reside deeply in our family genes. Firstly, you had to be small in stature passed that one very easily. Secondly, you had to have a good sense of timing and an ability to think quick under pressure- well, growing up with David’s life threatening games soon honed these specialist skills. Finally, you needed to have a sort of death wish The Baskerville boy’s natural trait if ever there was one. So there you have it, the perfect specimen to be a Gymnastic Champion and so it was, and evidenced by winning the Brisbane Grammar School Championship, the YMCA Championship, the Queensland Schoolboy Title and the Under 19 Queensland Title all in that 15 minutes of fame year of 1970. My greatest competitor for those titles was my close school friend Lindsay Evans. When I explained to David one day that he was my greatest rival, David gave a certain acknowledging nod. I know of him yes, that’s right, it’s the name written on the gym shorts I have been wearing for the past month. Well, the gymnasium change room was build on an open plan with a timber bench and hook arrangement, where uniforms and gym gear were usually strewn from one end to the other. Wearing another’s clothes by mistake was commonplace and generally accepted by students, if not by parents. It was also a place where your bus fare to get home was secretly hidden in the toe of your school shoes remarkably, a place where school thieves for countless generations have never thought to look. Now then, back at the gymnastics and it is all very quiet. Folks, I just don’t understand why the crowd goes so ‘pin drop’ silent during a gymnasts performance. It simply endures that the slightest sound emanating from the strained gymnast’s efforts, becomes amplified beyond reason in this tense, strained and soundless atrium. Grunts fair enough, tissing through tight tense teeth understandable, pant splitting wind releases totally unacceptable, and are dealt with in the usually crowd sniggering, chair shaking way. Well finally, at the end of every competition whilst the judges added up the competitor’s scores, the gymnasts were permitted to give a carefree demonstration of their special freeform tricks to keep the crowd entertained. Most tricks involved double aerial spins or rotations followed by some complex floor activity combinations. Once the flashy displays had taken place, David would usually just step onto the floor and proceed to do a backward somersault but deliberately land on his belly. The groans from the male members of the crowd spoke of a certain empathy that they felt for David who continued to ham up the act by writhing on the ground, only to jump up, waive to the crowd and go back to the end of the performing line. He eventually taught this Baskerville only trick to me by explaining that the force of the landing must be taken by your elbows and thigh mussels, but unfortunately not before I had spent my first attempt lying in agony on the mat, wondering if it would ever recover sufficiently to father any children in the future in order to carry on this noble family tradition.
