There is something about an orchestra that sets it apart from a band. A band swells in the open air. It is an exciting spectacle, its natural space a rotunda, a park or a main street. An orchestra shines under electric lights. It radiates romance, its natural space a ballroom or concert hall. It woos and charms, caresses and pursues.
Buildings have their history and also their mystery. The name alone, Cockroach Castle, is intriguing. When did the reputation of this building sink so low as to acquire that pejorative?
That terrible war was about ordinary young men wanting adventure, itching to test their heroic capacity on foreign battlefields, wanting to prove their love of country and empire.
Architect William Kemp introduced a new style of bush school, the Beehive. It avoided the Gothic, had an enclosed verandah, semi-circular galvanised iron roof and was built with local materials (in the case of Pyangle, timber and stone).
Education was pretty raw a hundred and fifty years ago. Imagine a dozen or more kids squashed on a couple of long benches, scraping their feet on the dirt floor of a slab and bark shack, reciting letters of the alphabet, while the untrained teacher pointed with his cane.