Perth Modern School

What’s In a Name? The history of Perth Normal School and Perth Modern

It’s amazing the things you can learn from unexpected places and people. Writers always need to be ready for their next inspiration, because you never know when it will happen.

In 2019 I was shopping for tea-towels – not something I do regularly – and started chatting to the lady behind the counter. The tea-towels were gifts for my daughters’ teachers, and so the conversation moved from teachers to schools, and then we then got to chatting about a school she worked at in New Zealand. She mentioned the name of the school – Papakura Normal School.

I had heard this term before – in researching my novel I had come across Perth Normal School, which was in operation around the turn of the 20th Century. I had always noted the unusual name, but hadn’t investigated any further.

The woman explained that in New Zealand a ‘Normal’ school is one closely linked with the teacher training colleges, and while an average state school might have one or two trainee teachers, the Normal Schools, of which there are more than twenty in New Zealand, are considered the primary training grounds, and where most of the trainee teachers are based.

We laughed about this; if these were the ‘normal’ schools, then by default, all other schools were ‘abnormal,’ but then she mentioned that the name actually came from a French word.

I came home (with my bag of tea-towels) and went straight into research mode.

The concept of Normal Schools actually come from the French idea of ‘ecole normale’ (literally school normal) which was to establish specific schools in which the best practice of teaching was ‘normalised’ for student teachers. They have been around since the 16th century and you can find Normal Schools in the US and Canada, across Europe and also in Australia and New Zealand, including Perth Normal School at the turn of the 20th century.

There isn’t a lot of information about Perth Normal School, but that’s probably because it only existed for four years, from 1907 to 1910. It provides a two year high school program specifically designed for students wishing to train as teachers. If their grades were sufficient, they could then proceed to the Claremont Training College which was the tertiary training facility for teachers from 1902 to 1981.

Prior to 1907,  the pathway to becoming a teacher was a little more patchy. Students would first become a ‘monitor’ with classes at both Fremantle Princess May and Perth Technical School.

A monitor was typically aged between 14 and 18 years who had reached the maximum of education afforded by their own school, and was basically a system where the older and more experienced students helped the younger students. This was a paid role and the annual salary depended upon which examination the student had passed. In 1906 a male monitor who had passed the Junior Certificate would be paid £30, and a female would get £20. If they had passed the Senior Certificate, they would get £56/£40.

By 1904 the monitor classes had been combined at Queen’s Hall in Perth, and then in 1906 moved into new buildings in James Street under the name Perth Central School for Monitors. Finally, in 1907 the school was restructured and renamed Perth Normal School. This formalised and centralised the process, and while it was generally agreed it would lead to better qualified monitors and teachers, there were also those who believed it would dissuade students from outside Perth (in particular from the Goldfields) from pursuing a career as a monitor/teacher, as it required them to move to Perth for the two year program for very little allowance.

If, after the two year program a student’s grade were not sufficient to earn them a place at the Training College, they could stay on as monitors. Their annual salary would increase with experience, although females would always earn approximately 70% of the male salary. To put it in perspective though, a (male) monitor in 1909 could expect to earn only £50 where a (male) student who had passed the teachers B Certificate, would earn £150.

Perth Normal School was closed after only four years at the end of 1910, and unlike many other countries where older schools still retain the term ‘Normal’ in their title to show the historical significance of the role they played in teacher training, most traces of the Perth institution has long disappeared.

What I only learned recently, and thanks to the detective efforts of the ‘Ask A Librarian Service’ at the State Library, was that Perth Normal School and its entire student body of 200 students was simply re-opened in 1911 as a much more well-known educational institution: Perth Modern School, although at the time it was simply called Modern School.

Today ‘Mod’ is known as one of Western Australia’s best public high schools, fully selective and catering only to students who pass strict academic entrance exams. It has produced Rhodes Scholars, Prime Ministers, Governors and more.

When it opened more than a century ago, with its 200 students, there were only eight other high schools in Perth and all were single-sex (five for boys, three for girls). The ‘modern’ philosophy that the school took its name from was two-fold.

First, it was considered the first public co-educational high school in the state accommodating both male and female students*. Second, it would not allow any authoritative corporal punishment that was both common and expected in schools at the time. This very modern school, would instead expect students to manage themselves with self-discipline, not by teachers administering the cane and paddle. At the time, Mod was ground-breaking in its attitude to learning, a truly modern establishment.

Over time the focus on teacher training lessened, to the point today where it is an almost forgotten and unknown aspect of the school’s long history.

It goes to show that the unusual names we hear on a daily basis, often have a deep historical basis that have become forgotten over time, and it’s just those chance conversations, in random places that shed enlightenment.

Where have you found your most unexpected inspiration?

*Although Perth Normal School during its brief tenure was also co-educational.

 

Meeting the Family

A few months back I put out an open letter to the Turpin, Regan and Blair families, asking descendants of these families to get in contact. It was wishful thinking – I wasn’t sure if I ever expected a reply.

Then one day the doorbell rang.

The woman who stood there had never known Doris, but she was family. Doris died long before she was born, but Yolanda was her great niece, and now lived only a suburb away. She promised to send me photographs, and to come back again with more of Doris’ family.

Doris Turpin early 60s at Maralyns wedding

It was a few days later when I opened my letter box and a packet of photographs fell out. The first photo was a black and white image of an older woman clearly taken in the 1960s; she had three strands of pearls at her neck, a hat decorated with flowers perched atop her head, and a pair of ubiquitous cats eye glasses. But it was her smile that captured my heart. This elderly lady, clearly in her 70s looked like such fun. I flicked to the next photo. The same woman but many years younger, smiling widely at the camera, outside in the garden, with a young boy kneeling on her lap, and little girl with a cheeky grin, sitting next to her.

 

In all I had been given almost a dozen photographs, each showing the woman who I never believed I would ever get to see. A woman I had been researching for the better part of a decade, who had walked the same floorboards as I, who looked through the same windows. The woman whose story had inspired a novel and who I knew so much about except what she looked like – and finally, here she was in my hands.

Unknown group with Doris Turpin, front left seated in all white outfit

The most precious was a photo likely taken at Claremont Training College itself, of a teenaged Doris, sitting with five other students. The sepia tones verifies its age, the men are wearing full three piece suits, starched collars, ties and carefully oiled hair. The woman all wear long skirts and button-down shirts with tiny neck bows. Their hands are clasped primly in their laps, their expression blank as required by the time. But one of the men has clearly moved during the photograph: he has four hands and three feet, and perhaps for this reason Doris, dressed all in white, and the man behind her are smiling. The smiling man gazes at something out of frame, he is no longer even looking at the photographer, but Doris – eighteen or nineteen years old – squints at the camera, with the same cheeky smile that is apparent in photos almost fifty years later.

I could not have been more emotional about finally meeting Doris, than if she had been my own long-lost relative. In truth she felt like family.

Weeks later, my new friend Yolanda returned with her aunty Maralyn. Maralyn lived at my house in Daglish in the 1940s when she was very young, and she continued to visit even after the family moved to their new home in Subiaco. She brought with her Doris’ own photo album and diligently went through every photo, pointing out who everyone was, telling little stories like I was a part of the family. She showed us a picture of her on her wedding day in the front lounge – I could recognise the brickwork around the fireplace. It hadn’t changed in 60 years.

Doris Turpin with Kenneth Walter (Dick) and Gwenyth Turpin

Yolanda’s mother was the youngest of the four children, born during the time her family shared the 2 bedroom house on Lutey Avenue with Doris. Yolanda said she had felt an affinity with Lutey Avenue growing up; she would deliberately detour to walk down the small, tree-lined street, although she had no idea that her great-aunt had once lived on the street.

Maralyn shared many stories that afternoon, giving clarity to stories that her older sister Gwenyth, now deceased, had told me over the phone years earlier, and filling in some blanks.

She and her brother and sisters went to Subiaco Primary at the same time Doris was a teacher there. Doris taught upper primary and had the reputation of being a good and fair teacher. Maralyn recalled that the other students would call her ‘Old Turps’, but made Maralyn promise not to tell her Aunty about the nickname. As an adult she remembers asking Doris if she was aware of what the students called her, and Doris had laughed and said that all the teachers knew what the kids nicknames for them were.

It’s hard to quantify what the photos mean, to explain how it felt like to hear stories about Doris from someone who knew and loved her. None of it has any bearing on the fictional story I am writing, but they represent an extra step in my writing journey, an extra piece in the puzzle.

Prior to this I had photos of my ANZAC boys John Regan and Walter Blair. As men, and soldiers who died, they were always more likely to be photographed and mentioned in the papers. But as a woman, Doris was always less likely to be so publicly mentioned. I thought I would never get to see what she looked like. But it is bittersweet seeing her as an old lady, surrounded by family, because there would never be any comparative photos of the boys, who died so young at Gallipoli. They would never be old men, surrounded by loved ones.

Doris Turpin

I now keep a photo of Doris on the wall of my office. She smiles down at me as I work, eyes squinting at the camera, with a smile that suggests she is having a private joke. It never fails to make me smile back, a smile shared over sixty years.

 

These photos of Doris Turpin have been republished with kind permission from Maralyn Johnson (nee Turpin) and Yolanda Savage.