It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, writes Rob Urquhart.
I must have been 10 years old, 1957 was the year. I only went to school because my ever-loving mum said I had to.
Maths and history did not interest me much. Spelling was OK, so was English. When it came to gymnastics, cricket and soccer at play times, I was in my element.
This particular day dawned fine and clear. I had an idea: a day off school! With 30 children in my class at North East Valley primary, I would not be missed.
Best not tell Mum, she would be cross.
Off we went, my brother Bruce and I, lunch boxes in hand, for the 1km walk to school.
Walking down Baldwin St, I said to Bruce, "Let's take the day off school today, and go down to the railway yards and watch the trains. No-one will know''.
Bruce was 8 years old, we got on well, and he was quickly agreeable. After all, big brothers often come up with good ideas. He loved the trains, just as I did.
The two of us walked quickly down North Rd and past the school gates, where our school mates were heading to class.
It took us until near lunchtime to reach a spot, south of the Dunedin station, where we had a great view of all the shunting action.
It was a hive of activity, the wagons were shunted into their respective sidings, the guard or shunter, would move in when the wagons crashed together, put the connecting hook down, and connect the air lines.
No-one questioned our presence, it was an enthralling experience, and so much better than sitting in a stuffy old classroom.
This is the life, what a day! We had lunch and started on the return journey so we could slip past the school and be home in time to tell Mum what a great day we had in class.
The plan was working well, we were in great spirits after the adventure as we passed the school gates at 2.45pm. Little did we know that the headmaster, Mr Dew, was in his office early that day and he was looking out the window.
Bruce and I had thought we could duck down below the stone fence and get past without being seen.
"How was your day?'' Mum asked. We both agreed, it was a good day at school, nothing out of the ordinary.
The next day was another story. The bell rang, we settled into class, but not for long. Mr Dew called me into his office, where Bruce was already waiting.
"Why were you not at school yesterday?'' he asked. "I saw you going past the school before school had finished.''
There was no further debate, he stood up, removed a heavily stitched leather strap from his top drawer, and walked around to the front of his desk.
Mr Dew had a fearful reputation with the strap. I held out my left hand and hung my head low.
I reacted to each cut of the strap with a shrill, "Ouch!''. After three cuts of the strap on the left hand, it was on to the right.
Poor Bruce, he received two cuts of the same. He was really the innocent partner, I was older, I should have known better. Returning to class, two very sore hands, tears in my eyes, embarrassed in front of my classmates, I could not help thinking: "Mr D, you have just turned one of the best days in my life into one of the worst days of my life''.
But my memories of the trains are still vivid, while the numbness cleared from my hands after a day or two. It was worth it!
Fifty-eight years later, I reminded Bruce of our adventure. He remains of the view: "It was a great idea, I would not have missed it for the world''.
• Rob Urquhart is a retired farmer.
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