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Reaching out to homeless youth can challenge even the most dedicated person, and as Beverley Hadgraft discovered, helping them complete school takes a special kind of teacher.

Although Hollywood is fond of stories about teachers who turn troubled teens into angelic achievers, real life is not so simple. A little over 10 years ago, Father Chris Riley (pictured page 186) decided to set up a school for homeless kids. As founder and chief executive officer of Youth off the Streets, he‘d been providing crisis care through his organisation and helping young people turn their lives around since 1991. He knew all about the problems of homelessness, drug dependency, exclusion from school, neglect and abuse young people can experience, but he also believed education provided the way out of a troubled life. So in 1997, Key College, in the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills, Sydney, opened its doors.

Min Bonwick, Key College teacher and coordinator Min’s story will make you believe we are all exactly where we should be and all things happen for a reason. In 1996 Min Bonwick spotted a little job advertisement in a Sydney newspaper that read: ‘Teacher wanted to start school for homeless kids.’

Having spent some time working in special education, it was exactly the sort of thing Min had always wanted to do. She was appointed to the position, along with another teacher, Peter. The pair then proceeded to prepare their new classroom. As they cleared the shelves to

make way for textbooks, Min found a book and read the title in disbelief: Mignon and Peter: Stories for Happiness. “Mignon is my real name – is that spooky or what?” she exclaims. She kept the book, and on days when she feels a bit burned-out and battered, she gets it out. “It makes me feel I’m meant to be here,” she says.

The early days of Min’s Key College experience were “a bit like Monty Python”, she says. Being the first of its kind, it was difficult to know how to get kids through the door. Although Min sent information to crisis refuges, for a while it was “teachers: two; kids: zilch”, she recalls. “At one point I told Father Chris, ‘I don’t know if this is going to work.’” Father Chris doesn’t

deal in doubt; he prefers the “what shall we try next?” approach. He counteracted her misgivings, telling her: “You said you’d make it work,” and eventually, Min did.

First, one child came, then another. They told their friends and today there is a waiting list for places at Key College. The school is a success story – perhaps not by conventional standards. But if your mum loved drugs more than you; if you’ve been abandoned and told you’re worthless; if you think the whole world lives on benefits because that’s what everyone in your world does – then you go on to get a high school education, accumulate living skills and go out to work ­­­­– yes, that is a success.

Some of Min’s pupils have achieved truly astounding success. For instance, one girl came to the school from a crisis refuge ­– the victim of a family break-up and an abusive father – yet she still scored 91 per cent for English in her School Certificate. There are kids who have embraced their first ever encounter with boundaries and earned their Duke of Edinburgh Bronze and Silver awards, while others have gone on to mainstream schools to complete their Higher School Certificate. One past student has even gone on to university. It‘s humbling when you consider many pupils haven’t spent more than a couple of weeks at secondary school and are living in the most difficult conditions.

Min fondly recalls one pupil who told her he had been homeless since he was nine years old, was in the grip of a serious drug habit and loved churches. “Why’s that?” she asked him, hopeful there might be some light in his sad story. “Because they leave the doors unlocked so I can always sleep in them,” he replied. Today you wouldn’t recognise that boy. He has a traineeship at a garden centre and is clean in every sense of the word, with a friendly smile and a good attitude. “He’d been through a lot. I can’t believe the difference in him,” she says.

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Understandably, days at Key College are not structured like those in mainstream schools, although discipline is paramount. The school believes it’s important to establish the rules of accountability if their students are to go on to find employment, so kids have to be in class by 9.20 am, or call beforehand to explain why they won’t be attending. Swearing, wandering off and eating in class are not permitted and there are clear limits on disruptive behaviour. Expectations are high, routine is relished and homework is requested.

Mornings are devoted to English, maths and computer studies with lessons strictly geared towards getting students through their School Certificate exams ­– an achievable and meaningful goal. Volunteer teachers come in to conduct science and Australian history lessons, and the kids do art, drama and life skills. However, the day is often interrupted to manage legal issues such as reporting to police or social workers, attending counselling sessions or visiting the dentist.

The youngest pupil Key College takes is 14 and it‘s not unusual for students to be totally bereft of literacy skills. “I have a theory that if kids are having problems at home when they’re very little, they don’t do much learning,” Min says. “Why would they be switched on to lessons when they’ve got so much else going on? When they get to Year Seven and move out of that close-knit primary school environment, things disintegrate further, and that’s when real problems start.” For an example of ‘problems at home’, consider the case of another former pupil who told Min her childhood memories consisted of packing  her few possessions in a plastic bag and catching a train with her mum to yet another refuge. That continued until the day her mum disappeared.

Eventually, the girl and her siblings were placed into care. Today that girl is a mother herself. “She looks after her children very nicely. I think she’s doing pretty well,” says Min.

Recognising that poor parenting is a behaviour Key College students experience and are likely to repeat, Min introduced a parenting program into the syllabus. The kids can be hard to engage at the best of times, so the course starts with them going into the courtyard and smashing a plate, then trying to mend it. “That demonstrates how easy it is to break relationships down and how hard it is to put them back together,” Min explains. Other initiatives include Service Learning – a form of volunteer charity work. “Living on the streets, they have to look after ‘number one’; it’s important they learn to look after others,” Min explains.

They are undoubtedly lucky to have her, but Min considers herself equally blessed. She once took two kids out for a meal and they were so astonished at being given their first ever steak, they insisted on having their photo taken to prove it really happened. “You’ve got to keep building up their self esteem. These kids have no-one to exclaim over their achievements,” she says. Well, almost no-one. Min keeps in touch with students, even after they leave. “What’s the point of going home and doing my housework?” she says. “It’s far better to drive around town and do a few visits.”

Words: Beverley Hadgraft.   Photography: Andrew Lehmann

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