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Bloody hell Gough, we must be cousins or something. I spent a year in grade 6 at the uranium mine at Mary Kathleen, halfway between Mount Isa and Cloncurry. Got a job delivering papers after school, with a 10c bonus for every paper sold over and above the deliveries. A couple of mates tagged along with me because there wasn't anything else to do.
We had three young female primary teachers who lived together in a company house. Every afternoon I'd call in, they would feed us and give us soft drink, and the random guys in their kitchen would always call us "mate" and buy two or three papers each. Then we'd head off to the pub and sell any leftover papers.
Had absolutely no idea why the teachers were so popular, or why they occasionally wore a nightie in the middle of the afternoon. "Tired" was a very satisfactory explanation to a twelve year old.
The year after I left school, the principal ran off with an art teacher. He was married, not sure if she was.