Sitting on the lounge watching the TV news I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No, that couldn’t be right. Surely not. The reporter said that DFAT hadn’t confirmed it yet but it was believed that a retired Wollongong couple, both school teachers, had died in the MH17 disaster. Then they named them. Michael and Carol Clancy.
Tragedies like this happen to other people, they never happen to you. Victims are always someone else’s family, friends and acquaintances. Only this time the rule was broken. I hoped, like we all did, but it really was a forlorn hope. It couldn’t have been made public without it almost certainly being true.
When I moved back to Wollongong to live and started doing casual relief teaching again, (2005?) the first school where I had an assignment was Albion Park Public. The job was a half day a week, on-going. It was in a year 5/6 class and it was supporting a small group of boys within the class all of whom were struggling with literacy issues. The teacher of the class was Michael Clancy and one of the other groups was being cared for by his wife, Carol. It wasn’t onerous and it was hugely rewarding as we saw these boys start to really grasp reading and comprehension. Carol was Special Ed and this was her specific field of expertise. I won’t say I learned a lot about techniques for teaching literacy from them but I did see the compassion and loving care that they gave to the task.
Michael (everyone at the school just called him Mick) was only a little guy, barely over five feet tall. His ongoing chronic arthritis which I learned about a little later, meant that he stood and walked (“bustled” is a better word) in a stooped position and that made him look even shorter. Despite extreme health problems, he continued to work, long past when he should have retired on medical grounds and staff will tell you that, at the beginning of each term, making sure that Mick wasn’t in the room at the time, the principal, Jim Cooper, would instruct staff that, under no circumstances were they to ask Mick to lift anything for them nor were they allowed to LET him do so. He never complained about his health and just got on with his work, the familiar smile forever on his face.
From that first assignment came an on-going list of casual assignments at APPS, some just a day or maybe two, some for more extended periods of time. It was a happy time. They ran a tight ship; the children were a delight to teach and politeness and courtesy were in abundance. As well the staff were a hoot and recess and lunch times in the staff room were always entertaining. And, through it all, Mick was the dynamo that kept the ship purring along. He was one of these sorts of people who were everywhere all at the same time. Relieved of full-time teaching duties when he was appointed as Deputy Principal, he was exactly the right man for the job, a born organiser and one who got it done with humour and cooperation.
I am delighted, if I can say that, to have a memento of Mick that now means a great deal more to me than it ever has. One day when I was teaching at the school (it was close to the end of the final term of the year) I noticed through the window, a small group of year 6 boys going backwards and forwards from the house (the schoolyard contains a 19th century house that was once the principal’s residence – it is now used for small class work and some storage) carrying loads of stuff. On one trip I noticed them carrying a guitar. Instantly interested, I opened the window and asked what they were doing. “We’re just cleaning out the old music store for Mr Clancy,” was the answer. “Well, what are you going to do with that guitar?” I asked. The answer was that they were going to smash it up (rock concert-style) and put it in the dumpster. I asked them not to do that and to bring it to me instead. It was an old instrument, a nylon string one, no strings and one set of tuning pegs was missing. It didn’t have a brand name on it but the style looked familiar. It had provision for the neck to be adjusted, something unusual in a nylon stringed instrument and, apart for a few scratches and lots of dust, it looked reasonable; certainly worth saving, anyway.
At lunch time I told the story to Mick and asked him if the guitar was only going to be disposed of anyway, could I have it? Of course he said yes. A new set of tuning pegs on one side of the head, a new set of strings and a clean-up and it was ready to go. I don’t know how old it was but it sure sounded good. I have used that guitar more than any other of my instruments since as it became the guitar that I took to school each day when I did my casual assignments at all the schools at which I have taught since. I have since seen another guitar that looks identical and realised why the style of it looked familiar. The other one I have seen is a Maton, made in Melbourne. While I can’t every be certain that mine is, I am pretty confident that it started its life in the same factory and its longevity and quality adds weight to that suspicion.
The school is, of course, in a state of shock, as is the close-knit teaching community here in the Illawarra. From the pages and pages of tributes in the local on-line newspaper, it is evident that the influence of Mick and Carol will forever be felt in this community.
I bought a sympathy card and dropped it in at the school. It seemed such an insignificant thing compared to what they are suffering, but I had to do it. Staff have set up their own little memorial in the yard and small groups of children were silently milling around, some crying, some praying and some just sitting or standing in a state of some confusion over what has happened. School organisation is “flexible” at the moment and children and staff are being allowed to express their grief in whatever way seems most comfortable for them.
The loss of these two, wonderful and utterly charming teachers will have a permanent impact upon the education and the wider community in Wollongong. Mick had retired and the European jaunt was his and Carol’s first “hit out” as a retired couple, enjoying life without the responsibilities of school. Their children had persuaded them to upgrade to First Class for the return journey so that they could fully enjoy the experience and the fruits of their labours over the last 40 years or so. It is fitting that their final moments were spent in comfort and luxury because they sure as hell deserved it.
A memorial service of an informal kind is planned for this Friday in the grounds of the school and all are invited to attend, which I will do. I expect the school yard to be packed to capacity as hundreds of people gather to, like me, show their appreciation of this wonderful couple.
Words are never enough for, how can one put a value on a human life? RIP Michael and Carol Clancy.