Today it is 45 years since man first landed on the moon.

I was at school then, third class at Truscott St, and Mrs Law was my teacher. She was a stern sort of lady, unlike the warm cheerfulness of my favourite teacher of the time, Miss Springett, who taught me in first and second class. I remember that her first name was Hazel, because Mum struck up a friendship with her, and we went to see her in a musical put on by the Willoughby Dramatic Society. I don’t remember which one it was. She was my teacher when Kay Henderson decided that we should kiss like they did in the movies, except we did it in the playground, under the stringy barks by the benches that we would eat play lunch on.

I think I was secretly excited to be doing this with Kay. I recall that she had longish, blondish hair, and she was quite pretty, and I think I had a bit of a crush on her. But little boys and little girls are often poles apart, and the ribbing I got from my mates overcame any rush of passion that I may have felt. Besides, I was only seven years old. But I did like it, deep down, and I mean deep down, and I think she may have had braces.

I never ran away with Kay, but I did with Megan Richards.

I walked one mile to and from school every day. Warren Nicholls, who was sort of my second or third best friend (Martin Cooper was my best and most inseparable, but he had a short cut through the neighbours over his back fence), and lived in the same street, Lionel Ave. We would walk together to school. Our perambulation took us, on one particular occasion, along Morsehead St, when generally we would walk along Edmondson St. I think the fact that our route had varied meant that something was in the wind.

Somewhere along Morsehead St, Warren and I decided that we would wag school. We talked about it, but couldn’t quite get the plan to gel. We needed a third. We came across Megan, who was in our class – and I think may have lived in Sturdee St, which ran into Morsehead – and put the hard word on her. Would she wag school with us. We bribed her with the exotic promise of catching her a lizard in the patch of bush next to the bus turnaround.

I knew Megan, in fact she is the only girl I’ve ever proposed to. We were in kindergarten, I was Prince Charming to her Cinderella, or Sleeping Beauty, or some fairytale belle that needed rescuing. I had brown corduroy trousers on, tucked into little black gumboots, with some sort of cape thrown over my shoulders. I don’t remember what she wore, except that it was pale, or white – becoming of a five year old princess. At the end of all the action, and I doubt that there was much, I fell to one knee, looked longingly into her deep brown eyes and implored ‘will you marry me?’ ‘Yes I will’ was her rashly considered response, and our characters lived happily ever after in fairy tale land.

So there were three of us now, a tiny flock with a mission. We went down to the bus turnaround for the lizard, but Megan preferred to sit on a rock and let the warriors do the hunting. How we mighty dragon catchers toiled, lifting mighty logs, rocks and branches, but no reptiles dared show themselves. After a long time, which may have been ten minutes, we returned empty handed to the waiting princess, little faces ashen with remorse. Naturally, being a princess, she forgave us.

The mission, though not accomplished, was over for now. We decided that we would attempt it again later, as it was obviously much too early for lizards to be out and about, and so our little flock seemed to head in the only direction we we felt confident about. School.

We got close, but we were wagging, so we couldn’t get too close. We hid behind some bushes on the nature strip – oleanders I think – where we could see the school, but they couldn’t see us. We sat there, probably wondering what on earth we were going to do all day, the conversation turning into a series of …….. We decided to have play lunch, as we could hear that the kids at school were out having theirs. I ate my little slice of packet mix chocolate cake, and as I had been ill with tonsillitis recently, had a swig of my banana flavoured antibiotic. Warren and Megan ate their playlunches as well.

I remember that the sound of an approaching car car alerted us to our plight, three five or six year olds sitting on the verge just out of sight of the school. What could we do to diffuse a potentially awkward situation? The driver might inform the principal of our whereabouts! I have to put up my hand for coming up with the solution. Lie spread eagled on the grass and pretend to be dead. As if dead children scattered on nature strips in Sydney in the latter 1960’s was commonplace. It must have worked though, as the car went past and didn’t stop at the school.

We decided to have another go at catching Megan a lizard, and set off back down Morsehead St, quite chirpy to have something to do. It was this trip that led to our downfall. Heather Lodge, one of Mums best friends, lived in Morsehead St and saw us. She called out my name as we walked past her house, but we took off as fast as our little legs would take us, back down to the bush by the bus turnaround.

I don’t recall any luck this time either, but I do recall feeling that I’d let Megan down, what with the promise of a lizard in exchange for her company. She’d met her part of the bargain, but Warren and I had failed to keep our side of the deal. And the fact that we were lousy lizard hunters bruised the ego as well.

We headed back up Morsehead St again, somewhat deflated. Then a brown Falcon stationwagon pulled up next to us. It was Mum. Mrs Lodge had phoned to say that she’d seen us. The jig was up, the carnival was over. We were taken to school.

Mrs Foot, the headmistress, spoke to us sternly and in no uncertain terms. I don’t remember what was said, but Miss Springett told Mum that I looked as if I wondered what all the fuss was about.

And so, after 45 years, landing on the moon would appear to be about as useful as climbing Mt Everest. Cross it off the list of things that are there. Still, it was a mighty achievement, and it certainly captured the worlds imagination. It signalled a possibility that with mankind, anything is possible. In itself though, apart from a few more successes (and a memorable failure), it has not been something that humanity has rushed to build upon. Why people would want to go to Mars and live there escapes me. How would they get back, it’s not like Mars has a thriving space industry to assist them. And what are they going to eat?

Somehow, Mrs Law had contrived to get a television set into the classroom – these were days when audio-visual was a high tech concept – and our class huddled around the flickering black and white images that were beamed from the moon. I don’t really remember the moment of Armstrongs feet touching the moons surface (although dozens of replays over the ensuing years have that moment indelibly etched), but I do recall the feeling of excitement shared by everyone present. Of course, that may have had something to do with the previously unknown thrill of watching TV in class.

Something else I remember is that I wore a grey or brown bomber jacket that I had. Onto the upper right sleeve Mum had sewn a cloth replica badge of the moon missions insignia that was a commemorative giveaway (from I think, the Sun Herald Sunday newspaper), and from memory, it had the image of an eagles head. I don’t know what happened to that, I probably outgrew it (in fact, that would be obvious).

It’s funny where thinking about the moon will take you.