The Fog of Truth
“TO ‘TRUE LOVE’, ‘IN LOVE’, ‘Deprived of Love’, ‘Love Sick’, ‘Smith’ and others who are in love with their teachers – crushes are a part of growing up. DON’T EXPECT THE TEACHERS TO RESPOND.”
The paper is yellowing and the pages falling out of my last tatty copies of Jam – the high-school newspaper I set up nearly… well… oh, alright, four decades ago. It sold briskly, despite an effective paywall of 30c a copy. Our end-of-year party, with cake and herbal tea, was spectacular.
As editor, I had few illusions. I knew it wasn’t the poems, netball coverage, student polls, book reviews or even my interview with Dave McArtney & the Pink Flamingos that moved units. It was the “Dear Agnes” column. A friend, writing anonymously, became a minor school celebrity with brisk advice that usually involved pulling up socks, mainlining school spirit and jumping cheerily into the icy swimming pool of life.
“To ‘Cornered’,
