Alice Miller in Term 2, 2025 HAPPENINGS AROUND THE PLACE

What a day.

Thank you to everyone who made the trip to the Melbourne Town Hall or tuned in via the Zoom link (one of our school families got up at 5 am in Europe to do so!). It was a triumphant event: funny, poignant, moving, and packed to the rafters with friends, family, and our school community. John may have outwardly groaned at all the fuss, but I have no doubt he would have been secretly moved to see how many people love, admire, and appreciate him.

Many people generously offered their time and talent for the event. Sincere gratitude to the speakers and performers, Ros and Robin Marsden, Charlie Tautkus, Jeremy Madin, Shane Howard, Charlotte Austin, Ali McGregor, Dan Marsh, Alice Pung, Molly Daniels, Minister for Creative Industries Colin Brooks, Premier Jacinta Allan, and, of course, the performers of Candlebark and Alice Miller.

Events of this scale require colossal effort behind the scenes. Thank you to Sarah Thorpe, who designed the exquisite program, invitations and light boxes, to James Cecil, who stage managed the event, and to Dave Vertigan, who coordinated the live stream and video recording. One of the biggest logistical exercises was shepherding 400 students from the Macedon Ranges to the Town Hall. For a school brimming with first-hand experiences, it was our largest - and most important - excursion to date. Of course, Sam Thorpe, Mark Johnstone, and the staff managed this with the utmost assurance.

After John died, we knew we needed to have a commemoration fitting of his enormous impact on literature and education in this country. It was always going to be a big event, but this was an intimidating prospect on top of everything else that needed managing at the time. Initially, I got in touch with Sam McMillan (Sammy J), knowing of his friendship with John, and asked if he would like to MC. Sam immediately said that he would not only MC, but would help produce the entire event. Sam was instrumental in securing the Town Hall as a venue and designing a program that felt less like a memorial and more like the best show in town. He took time out of his national tour to visit both schools and spent many hours communicating with everyone involved. Sam was unwavering in his kindness and generosity and made a challenging process feel joyful. Several of you have asked for a copy of his opening speech; I've included it below.

I've said repeatedly over the years that we are all here because of the vision and tenacity of John Marsden. It is staggering how one person can shape the lives and futures of so many. The environments he set up for young people have changed and even saved lives, both literally and metaphorically.

It is also fair to say that there will never be anyone quite like John. We were all lucky to know him. We miss his unrivalled intelligence, drive, wit, and perception. We also miss his Lancefield op shop jumpers, his love of pink hot dogs, his lack of pretence, and his terrific laugh. He was as partial to a fart joke as he was to William Blake or Shakespeare. Like Les Murray, a literary great like John could have lived anywhere, but instead chose the area of his early childhood. In his affinity with the Macedon Ranges, John described himself as "a person of the mountains and the open paddocks and the big empty sky - that's me."

Sarita Ryan, Principal.

Sammy J's opening address

Hello my friends and welcome to the beautiful Melbourne Town Hall for this celebration of the life and legacy of John Marsden. My name is Sammy J, or Sam McMillan as John first knew me, and it is a deep honour to be your MC today.

I’d like to begin by acknowledging the Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung and Bunurong/Boon Wurrung people of the Kulin nation as the Traditional Owners of the land we’re meeting on, and on behalf of all those speaking, pay my respect to their elders past, present and emerging. We’ll be sharing a lot of stories today, so it’s worth remembering that stories have been shared on this spot for many, many thousands of years.

I’d also like to extend a special welcome to members of John’s family, to those who have travelled far to be here, and of course to members of John’s beloved school community, who I can see are making up half of this wonderful audience.

I’m sure I won’t be the only person on stage this afternoon who is daunted by the prospect of trying to find the right words when talking about the master of words himself.

I can feel John reading this over my shoulder going “cut that bit, you don’t need that, and did you just call me a master of words? For god’s sake. Pick a more original word than master! How about “visionary?”. And don’t forget to take risks!”

“Take Risks!” - one of John’s most recent books - and also the very first words he ever wrote to me, when he signed a poster that I’d stolen from the window of Robinsons Bookshop in the late 90s, then lined up with all my fellow reading nerds to meet him.

So I took him at his word; I risked getting a detention when I wagged school for the day to go and see John speak at Mentone Girls Secondary where my dad was teaching, then I took another day off school to see the same speech again at Frankston High where my step-dad was teaching, so that by the time John visited my own school to speak I already knew every punchline and he pointed me out in the crowd as his resident stalker.

He mustn’t have felt too threatened though, because he still took the time to reply to my letters, and these weren’t cursory, template replies, they were several pages long and he’d actually engage with what I’d written and ask me questions and comment on pieces of writing that I’d sent him and argue with me when he disagreed with something and honestly, if John’s books were a window to the outside world, then getting a letter from John was like climbing out that window, shimmying down the drain pipe, and jumping the fence.

Because here was someone talking to teenagers as equals, making us feel worthy of being listened to, and John’s letters became my most treasured possessions. They built me up, they gave me confidence, they inspired me to keep on creating, and as we all know, he did the same for countless other young people across his life and career. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to identify someone who so comprehensively shaped you at such a formative time.

I tried to repay this debt years later when John invited me to do my own school speech at Candlebark, followed by a fundraiser for the launch of the Alice Miller School, and that started our “second phase” friendship where emails replaced letters and mutually agreed catch ups replaced schoolyard mobbing. It was with some satisfaction, when John sat in the front row of one of my comedy shows, then followed my every move via breakfast radio, that I was finally able to accuse him of stalking me.

When John died in December I experienced a very lonely kind of grief, like I didn’t have the right to feel so sad. But the more I spoke to others the more I realised this loneliness was a common feeling, because John meant so much to so many; the generosity that I experienced was not unique to me; and he maintained so many individual friendships alongside his more public roles.

In his collection of poems called “For Weddings and a Funeral”, John wrote:

Sometimes the people who officiate at the important ceremonies in our lives sound a little stale, a little tired, as they read again the words they have read a thousand times before. It can be important for everyone who takes part in ceremonies to have something chosen specifically for the occasion.

So John, challenge accepted. We've done our best to put something together that you would not only enjoy, but that you'd bloody love, because it's filled with people who loved you. There’s going to be music, there’s going to be readings, and we’ve hidden the politician in the back half so hopefully you won’t even notice they’re here.

And whether you knew John personally, or via his words; whether you were taught by him directly or inspired by him from afar; I want to sincerely welcome you as we come together to speak and laugh and cry and celebrate this remarkable man.

But John I know you’d be unhappy with the word “remarkable”, so let’s kick today off with some better words - let’s hear it for the exemplary educational entrepreneur, lover of literature and linguistics, charismatic cult-leader, wilderness warrior, basher of bureaucracy, hater of hypocrisy, coke-zero connoisseur, the one, the only, John Marsden.

Year 8

Hobart Trip

Tasmania: a seminal backdrop in the lives of Alice Miller students. Each year, our Year 8 cohort makes the pilgrimage across the Bass Strait to Hobart, home of the quoll, pademelon, and best scallop pie Australia has to offer. Alas, native fauna and culinary excellence are not our sole reasons for journeying to this distant realm—our students also get to experience its rich history, eccentric contemporariness, and small-town-big-city feeling.

In 2025, it all began with a trip to the Cascades Female Factory, which between 1828 and 1856 housed seven thousand women convicts and two thousand of their young children. Our guide pointed out that Tasmania was not called Tasmania but Van Diemen’s Land back then. Our students pointed out that this is not to be confused with Vin Diesel, the leading man of the Fast and Furious franchise, not the Dutch colonial governor namesake of Tasmania. We took a stroll through the past, revisiting the incredible lives of various prisoners who, once upon a time, sat behind the same cold, barren walls we found ourselves. Woody, Tom, and Rory were particularly taken by Sarah Maquire, the “most dexterous and experienced pickpocket in the colonies.” On an unrelated note, Dave’s phone, wallet, and keys went missing shortly after the presentation.

The next day, we ventured to Port Arthur, where we took a harbour cruise around the various penal islands, including the Isle of the Dead and Point Puer, the first juvenile prison in the British Empire. I am pleased to report that no Alice Miller students were arrested during this portion of the trip. Although they were well-equipped to escape had they been reprimanded, thanks to our tour guide—let’s call him Jim—who shared stories about all the successful runaways in the prison’s history (spoilers: there weren’t any—barring those who, as Jim put it, escaped without their lives). We were also treated to an excavation workshop, where we pulled apart rubble, ran our hands over age-old glass, smoothed by years of neglect, and did our best to hypothesise where various relics originated on the rainy reserve.

With our spirits high and brains full of wild stories of colonial Tasmania, we set aboard a ferry, painted in pink camouflage with sheep where there should have been seats, and headed to the Museum of Old and New Art. “Woah, this place is like a Bond-villain lair!”, I heard one student exclaim. “Is there really a poo machine?”, another pondered worryingly. “What’s for lunch?” they all echoed in unison. We descended a twisting staircase, deep into a dark chasm filled with eccentric exhibitions, from strobe light dance parties to euthanasia machines. Inspired by these creative surroundings, Christine had the brilliant idea of setting each group a task: They had to construct a haiku about Gregory Barsamian’s Artifact, a steel sculpture housed within a giant head, that uses a zoetrope principle to create the illusion of animation. Moreover, they had to perform their haiku in silence to the rest of the group, who would guess the lines based on their movements. Suffice it to say, we were officially artistes.

On our final day, we took in the sights, sounds, scents, and samples of Salamanca Markets, a perfect way to cap off a delightful trip. While the pastries were flaky and fantastic, and the seafood was as fresh as the autumn air, we all agreed that they did not compare to the salivating meals made by the students for dinner each night, including ramen, spaghetti bolognese (the secret ingredient was garlic, and lots of it), and cheeseburgers. As part of this adventure, the Alice Miller Year 8s were responsible for budgeting, purchasing, and preparing their breakfast and dinner meals, a tremendous step towards their ever-growing independence, and preparation for future camps like WOMAD and The Big Trip. Each student took on this extra responsibility with diligence, excitement, maturity, and, of course, a touch of mischief, as they tried their best to smuggle Coco Pops and Froot Loops into the trolley—unsuccessfully.

I want to thank Mark and Lisa for their nonstop hard work in helping organise this camp by vetting accommodation, arranging transport, and booking amazing experiences for our students. Thanks to the staff, Madeline, Chloe, Conan, Dave, and Christine, for their support and infectious positivity; the parents and caregivers who made it to Melbourne Airport at undoubtedly inconvenient times (some, two weeks in a row), and, of course, the students, who were a pleasure to live with for the week, approached each endeavour with curiosity, and made me pinch myself at points - can you believe we get paid for this?

Conor Dimasi, Year 8 Coordinator.