Primary School Confidential (20 page)

Then in 1922 something happened that would revolutionise school lunches. An outfit called the Fred Walker Company used brewers' yeast to develop a product that they called Pure Vegetable Extract. Catchy, huh? Fortunately, some bright spark changed the name to Vegemite, and out to market it went. And the rest is history, right?

Well, no—not quite. Australians weren't buying it, figuratively or literally; they were already heavily into the English version, Marmite. So in 1928 the Fred Walker Company tried a rebrand; Vegemite was reintroduced to consumers under the name Parwill. Because if Marmite, then Parwill. Get it? And, no, I am not making this up.

As a marketing initiative, it was an epic fail. The name was changed back to Vegemite and, next thing you know, the British Medical Association was getting all excited about its medicinal benefits. It was so jam-packed with vitamin B that they recommended embracing it with gusto.

And with gusto it was duly embraced! Because we love our Vegemite, we all adore our Vegemite; it puts a rose in every cheek. Today we buy over 22 million jars of the stuff, and it is still our most popular sandwich spread.

When I was growing up, sandwiches were still the main staple of the school lunch pail. And by pail, I mean a metal tin. I desperately wanted a
Mork and Mindy
lunch pail. I mean, everyone else had one so why not me? I also wanted a big clunky drink bottle, made of plastic containing plenty of evil PVA to contaminate my Tang. Not that there was any Tang in my pail, for I was a child of the bubbler era, which meant I was either in a serious state of
dehydration because the bubblers were broken or I was completely soaked because the bubblers were working a little too well. There seemed to be no middle ground between these two states.

At least we weren't being forced to imbibe warm milk, like those who went before us. From 1950 to 1973, every school kid was given a small glass bottle of milk at morning recess, because it was believed to be beneficial for children's physical health (not to mention the fact that milk makes kids smarter). The problem was that the milk was delivered first thing in the morning, and was generally left out in the sun until recess. By the time it was ready for consumption, it had usually gone off. Many people who went to the school in that era still have an aversion to milk. Thank God for the Whitlam government, who took a look at the scheme and then kicked the bucket over.

Today there are some strong arguments against kids drinking cow's milk, one of the main points being that cow milk is designed to meet the needs of rapidly growing calves, not little children. Some studies have linked cow milk to allergies, diabetes, constipation and ear infections. Anti-cow-milkers might even implore you to replace the milk on your kids' cereal with any of the following:

And of course there are fierce arguments ranging around the pros and cons of these too. If you ask me, it can be dangerous to know too much. It can certainly be tedious.

But back to my lunch (the lunch
not
carried in a
Mork and Mindy
pail). Every day I had a Vegemite sandwich on white bread, which may or may not have been fresh, depending on the day. It was inserted into a sandwich bag that had some special kind of closing mechanism that never worked. Next to it was either a banana or an apple. And then there was the treat! The treat was either a Scotch Finger biscuit (with a crunch that was made to share, except I never did) or a bit of homemade slice.

The closest thing I've found to those sandwich bags of yore are Ziploc bags—or, as I like to call them, Mummy's Little Helpers. These little beauties are cruelly shunned by those primary schools with a no-waste policy, but I have spoken to teachers the world over, and here is the hot tip: they love Ziploc bags. They not only use them for their own lunches, they also keep flashcards in them and find them useful for sorting and classifying their colourful plastic counters. But the impact on the environment cannot be ignored, so when you get the letter home from school saying that next Tuesday has been declared a Litter-Free Lunch day, I'd suggest you plan to keep your kids at home. You do not want to fork out for the unbreakable Tupperware litter-free lunchbox again, because it is always used as a soccer ball once its contents have been consumed. And it is not unbreakable. Trust me.

But just what to put in that lunchbox? Government websites have loads of information to guide you through this arduous
undertaking. Where once your mum slapped two pieces of bread together and slapped you on the back as you left for school, now you risk social ostracism should another parent spy a pre-packaged item in your kid's bag.

Ideally, your child's lunchbox will contain fruit and vegies, something starchy, something containing protein and something from the dairy family. AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT INCLUDING THAT MINI PACKET OF TINY TEDDIES. I know they are convenient, and I know they will get eaten, but would you let your kid take a loaded gun to school? Some people seem to think that they are essentially the same thing.

I believe the biggest revolution in packed lunches over the years is the box itself. Gone are the days of the tin pail. Lunchboxes these days are insulated satchels complete with a compartment into which you insert a frozen brick to keep the contents cool and fresh. You can even buy lunchboxes that have solar panels, allowing you to heat or cool your food as you require.

My lunches were always hot (though not by design), always Vegemite and always squishy. I recall sitting on the bench one lunchtime—I was in Year 1, I think; at least I was still at that age where the teachers made you sit and eat your lunch before you could go and play. I was always concerned to make sure that my sandwich had the correct margarine-to-Vegemite ratio before I ate it. (I don't know why I was so particular about this.) Anyway, on this occasion, as I opened up the sandwich, I found myself under the flight path of one of those notorious playground pests, the revolting Indian myna bird. This particular myna bird must have been unwell, because it dropped its guts onto my sandwich, adding a spread of its own.

Of course I immediately became completely hysterical and had to be taken to the office for some soothing words and an emergency sandwich.

‘A bird pooed on my Vegemite sandwich and I am starving to death!' (I told you I was a drama queen.)

Because it was considered an act of God, rather than the act of a forgetful, hungover or lazy parent who just could not be bothered to pack their child's lunch (like
some
kids' parents . . . *ahem*), I was able to go to the canteen and have the kind ladies prepare me a fresh sandwich for free. Needless to say, this fresh sandwich was Vegemite (and I personally supervised the application of margarine and Vegemite to ensure the correct ratio).

All these decades later, I have never forgiven that species of bird for ruining my lunch and scaring the living bejesus out of me. They are still the scourge of Australian playgrounds, and you can find them digging though bins and even in classrooms. Ironically, they were introduced into Australia in the late 1800s to counter a pest problem at Melbourne's market gardens. Who knew they'd turn out to
be
a pest problem? They are one of only three birds worldwide to feature in the top 100 Worst Invasive Species on the Global Invasive Species Database. So, yes, I do bear a grudge . . .

Another pest that used to be common in the school playground was the dog. When I was little, there was always a stray dog roaming the grounds, or someone's pet had followed them to school. These dogs were also fond of stealing lunches. (As well as the lunch-stealers, there was this huge labrador who used to swing by from time to time. This beast had a huge set of balls on him, which must have been sending testosterone surges to his brain, as it wasn't lunches he sought out; he was looking for small
children to dry hump. The very sight of him coming through the school gate would cause us all to break out into hysterics.)

My journey though the grades coincided with a period of increasing migration. As new families joined our school communities, they brought with them an array of tasty new lunchbox items. All of a sudden I was swapping my Vegemite sandwich for two handmade kibbeh—win! Meanwhile, my Lebanese mate got to acquaint herself with an Australian icon.

A Maori family moved into our suburb and offered to host a Hangi feast at school. This meant that all the male teachers spent the best part of one Friday morning digging a huge hole in the ground next to the cricket nets. A large beast (I'm not quite sure what it actually was, come to think of it) was lowered into the pit and covered with earth. In my memory, there was no concern about occupational health and safety, nor did hygiene seem to be an issue. I do remember that, while I was not a fan of the food (the meat was a bit too fatty for my liking), I loved the spirit of occasion.

Another family who joined us were from Malta. A pair of sour-faced twin girls turned up in our class and I could not
wait
to see what they had in their lunchboxes. Their mum and dad had taken over the milk bar, so when I saw that their lunch pails had exotic-looking little pastries along with full-sized bottles of Coca-Cola, I enquired whether I might partake in a little taste test.

I was refused with a sneer and these stinging words: ‘Maybe
your
dad should buy a takeaway then . . .'

Excuse me?!

Speaking of bad playground etiquette, we really should address the issue of scabbing. Heaven forbid you should ever be labelled a scab. That word would follow you around for weeks.

Scabbing, for those not in the know, is the art of persistently nagging your fellow students for either a bit of their ice block, or five cents to buy five carob buds at the canteen. The art to being a good (i.e. effective) scab is to know when to fold, and not simply be a pain in the arse. And of course you had to pay it forward; when approached by someone you scabbed off yesterday with their scabby request today, you had to pay up.

Scab. Such a charming word. You want to know another charming word?

Infestation. But that's a whole other story . . .