I will always remember Mr Hoffman. He was my school bus driver. He was an aging man, always wearing blue, strong looking, yet appearing to be almost fragile. He had a gruff exterior which seemed frightening to those who didn't know better. I know that for the first few months that I started travelling by bus home from school each day I never forgot to have my ticket ready to put in the collection tin! He reserved a higher respect in some way than even our headmaster, Mr Legge. It was something I never really understood, or ever will, now.

I started catching the bus in about grade three, possibly as a result of mum re-entering the work force for the first time since marrying my father some sixteen years before. All I remember is, my waiting for the yellow station wagon outside the school gates became a thing of the past, as I now had to rush from class to make sure I didn't miss the bus, which always left at precisely 3:35 pm without fail. I missed not waiting with everyone else who used to get picked up by someone. Most of all, I missed my occasional rides home with Jody Lucky and her sister Katherine.

Mandy Clarke, whom I've known all my life, or maybe Chelsea Zanker would go around rattling the tin under everyone's nose, waiting to collect their fares. You either paid 30¢ or used a ticket, which you could buy from the Newsagency for 30¢ each. I can't remember now how things were when I started out, but I know that within a few months, I rarely remembered my tickets, and I noticed too, that barely anyone ever paid their fare. But no one was ever kicked off for not paying. Once Travis Farrell got kicked off (and indeed banned from travelling on the bus) for fighting, but never for not paying his fare.

Once departed from Warracknabeal Primary School it was barely a minute and a half's travel to St Mary's Primary School, where about another twenty kids would climb on board. I didn't know a lot of the people from St Mary's, but did know a few of them. I always felt sorry for them, being so strictly ruled over. Across the Dimboola Rd bridge; the first of two crossings of the Yarriambiak Creek for the journey is made. If we continued out along the Dimboola Rd, we'd end up (in about six hours) in Adelaide.

Our path followed the creek for a while, with several stops along the way. Just as the creek turns away, my father's place of work was situated. Once, a girl who too had a father who worked at Woodbine got off there. She never did again. It was painful to hear the taunts they yelled out to her as the bus pulled away. How miss-informed and ignorant they all are, I would have thought to myself. A lot of them knew my father was the manager there, but they never teased me about it. Why her? What's so funny about a school/hostel for disabled people?

When I first started using the bus service, I recall Mandy being like a life line to me, as, for one, we had been friends forever, and secondly, I was going to be getting off at her stop, outside her house, and then walking down the back lane to my home. This was really a little stupid, as the bus went right past my house on the way to Mandy's, but I was to shy to ask the big burly driver to stop for just little ol' me. I did eventually, and so long as I stood by the door as we approached 39 Devereux St, he would remember to stop and let me out.

Thinking back now, I don't know if I dreamt this, or if it was real, but I recall having to ask Mr Hoffman one day, as the sole passenger left on the bus, what to do, as I'd gone past my stop. He had to go to the High School to take the "out of towners" home, and I think he let me off near Anzac Park, if it was real, and not just a figment of my imagination. That's what started this recollection off - my doubts as to whether or not I ever did control the school bus's hazard lights. As I am alone up here, with no Warracknabealean in sight who travelled on that bus with me, I don't know if it was just a dream, or perhaps some delusion, or if it really happened...

The seat right at the front of the bus, next to Mr Hoffman's seat, could fit two people. One of those two people who sat up front with Mr Hoffman was responsible for activating the Hazard light as he stopped the bus to let the kids off. Not just anyone could do it. I never really understood the hierarchy of it, but I somehow broke into it, and on many occasions would lean, facing back towards the passengers most unsafely, against the dash and pull the big knob up as we came to a halt, and push it back in as we drove off.

To become one of the esteemed Hazard light operators, I presume I must have asked one of my friends (who exactly I cannot say), who was already one of the few who flicked the switch, how I would go about having a turn myself. One day, when we both got to the bus extremely early, and where both sitting up front with Mr H, my friend asked him if I could take over when s/he got off. And so it happened...

I remember the first time I attempted the job, with Mr Hoffman, telling me in his gruff, mean voice (which you soon came to know as being so kind and gentle) when to push or pull that knob. Obviously, he didn't mind my efforts, and let me operate the light as I pleased. This meant trying to either get to the bus early enough to get into the front seat, or sitting near enough to the front so that when the current operator got off, you could quickly clamber up into the seat, and take your position.

Of all the time I spent travelling on that large, rickety old school bus, I have only two regrets. The first is that I never attempted "the run". Sometimes, if there was someone actually getting off at the Lion's Flora and Fauna Park stop, just near the second crossover of the Yarriambiak, if Mr Hoffman would let them, someone (always male, of course) would try to beat the bus to its next stop. They would run through the park, across the footbridge over the creek, then one block down Rainbow Road to the stop. Each time I watched to see if they were out of the park by the time the bus got to the start of Rainbow Road, or whether they were yet to cross that bridge. I was always afraid that if I tried, I'd be too slow, and have to walk home. I don't think that was the only reason though, as the walk wasn't all that far. In all the attempts I witnessed, I think only one or two ever failed.

My second regret is that I never said goodbye to Mr Hoffman. I remember my last trip on that bus, on the last day of my schooling life in Warracknabeal. The day had ended on a low note after a huge farewell party for me in the morning. I don't think anyone remembered by the end of the day that it was my finale. I hopped on that bus, not even trying for the hazard spot, and got comfortable for my last trip home. I waved goodbye to all the landmarks as we drove by; bye-bye creek, farewell Woodbine, see ya later park, till next time bridge. But when it came to saying goodbye to Mr Hoffman, I didn't. I can't remember why. Perhaps he didn't take us that day? All I know is, as I stepped down from that bus for the last time, with no farewells from anyone on board, most of whom I would never see again, I was full of regret.

And that's my story. There are many other anecdotes I could tell, stories of apple throwing, missing stops, fights, loves, but they're just another story...