Barney and the art of the non-bath

Education here in Australia is a lot more situational and a lot less rote. No sleepless nights spent devouring entire text books so that their contents may be spewed all over the examination paper without really knowing why.

For example: ‘What is a selenelion?’ My first reaction to the question is: ‘Never heard of it!’ But a million kids who’ve gorged on the text book write the correct answer in the exam paper: ‘A selenelion, or a horizontal eclipse, is a rare cosmic event where a total lunar eclipse coincides with the rising sun so that the sun and the moon should both be visible at the same time.’

Word for word. Excellent.

Now for the follow up question: ‘During a total eclipse, with the sun and the moon in alignment they should not be visible at the same time. Yet what makes this possible during a selenelion?’

Umm… Hmm. Not sure. A lot of head-scratching. Side glances, to see if someone seated nearby could be of help, maybe whisper a few clues. The textbook didn’t exactly say why. Or, if it did, it wasn’t very clear and obvious.

The answer requires a bit of lateral thinking: ‘Because of the earth’s atmosphere, the sun and the moon appear to momentarily be lifted above the horizon, giving viewers a few minutes to see both of them.’

With Australia’s ‘Do and Learn’ formula, pupils tend to remember the second question because they’ve seen how this can happen via a classroom model. All they have to do is write the answer in their own words. Learn by doing is the approach encouraged here. Pupils are set all kinds of projects and surveys which they have to go out and conduct, and tabulate their findings.

Recently, a high school batch conducting one such survey found that when asked the question ‘Which part of the body are you least likely to wash during a shower?’ the body part that topped the list, rather surprisingly, was the ears. Most, though they showered, felt they didn’t enjoy water getting into the ears. Some said they used shower caps for this very reason.

When I shared this news with my friends Mr and Mrs Barney recently over a cup of coffee, Mrs Barney burst out laughing. For a moment I failed to see where the humour might lie. Then I happened to glance in the direction of my prankster friend Barney. He’d been enjoying my little discourse up to the point when his wife laughed. Then his face adopted a serious, distracted expression. Twice he attempted to change the subject but his wife’s laughter kept it alive.

Finally, I had to ask, “What’s the joke? Do share.”

Contagious laughter

Barney’s mother should really be here telling you this not me, said Mrs Barney, unable to control herself, tears streaming down her cheeks. By this time poor Barney’s face was seriously aflame.

“It was the winter, and it was a boarding school, do not forget that,” he protested. This only cracked Mrs Barney up even more. One person’s hysterical laughter can become contagious and I was beginning to catch the germ, too.

“The winter! It was winter for the other boys too, Barney,” she reminded him. “What did you do?” I asked Barney, but his wife, enjoying turning the tables on him for a change, said, “Ask what he didn’t do. Which is, take a bath.”

Turns out there wasn’t any particular part that my dear mate Barney didn’t enjoy bathing. It was his entire self. He’d allegedly stand in a far corner of the shower stall and make appropriate shivering, teeth-chattering sounds while the cold shower sprayed on nothing in particular, then, dry-bodied, emerge towel-wrapped.

“He’s still terrified of cold water,” says Mrs Barney. I look at Barney, red-faced, glaring at Mrs Barney. I then glance at her, pink-cheeked with hilarity dabbing at her mirth-moistened cheeks.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia