GOETHALS MEMORIAL SCHOOL ~~ KURSEONG.
W.B. INDIA.
C H A P T
E R 6
|
The Goethals years. |
By: Malcolm Lewis. 1933-1935. |
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All boarding schools are run to a strict
timetable, and Goethals was no exception. Here is a typical day at Goethals:
We were woken by the Duty Brother walking slowly up and down the dormitory between the rows of beds, giving a slow handclap. Then, forming into a line three abreast, a bleary-eyed column descended from the dormitory down the staircase and out of the building along a covered-way leading to the bathhouse. This was always an unpleasant exercise. Arrived at the ablution block, we made our way to the first floor where there were lockers and benches. Each of us had a clothing locker, but the Matron - a Mrs.Mogose (Moggie)- had charge of our wardrobe and would set out on the bench the garb we were to wear for that day. Back down again with towels and underclothes to the lines of delightfully hot showers because the temperature in Kurseong was always either cold or freezing. Showered and dressed for the day we would once more form into a column and march into the refectory on the ground floor of the main building. Seated at long rows of tables and benches, a group of local Bhutia waiters would serve us our breakfast. I was always a very good trencherman at school and frequently asked for seconds; in fact, the boys seated near me got into the habit of offering me their tucker when it wasn't to their liking. After breakfast we were allowed a free half-hour before a bell was rung for classes to begin.
Brother Munchen was in charge of the class I was in. He was a nuggety, bushy-browed, middle-aged man with a very volatile temperament. His 'habit', or gown, that all Irish Christian Brothers wore, always looked tight on him. Prominently displayed, tucked into his belt at the back was a black leather strap, an instrument used for punishing delinquent boys. We all felt the sting of that wretched strap on our cold hands at one time or another. Lunchtime meant a return to the refectory, after which a further half-hour or so was allowed for play. After finishing classes in the afternoon there was a free period of two hours for sport. Teams were made up for whatever game was in season; hockey, football or cricket, and all three playing fields rang to the shouts and sounds of these games. Then back to the refectory for dinner, always a pleasant period for me, before being herded into the study hall for an hour and a half of study and homework; a period that none of us looked forward to. My memories of study time are principally of the dim lighting in the room. Of course there was no mains power available, the school had to have its own generator. And judging from the poor overall illumination it just wasn't powerful enough. After study we would again form into columns and proceed to the outside toilet block which was at the far end of the second playing field. That over with, we made our orderly way up to the first floor and into the chapel. Evening prayers were either relatively short or interminably long, depending on whether the Brother-in-charge chose to conduct Stations-of-the Cross or not. This lengthy routine consisted of a series of twelve wall-hung pictures depicting Christ's last journey from the Garden at Gethsemane to Calvary. Each picture had its relevant passage in a prayer book and was mumbled by all of us in subdued and reverent tones. This brought us to the end of the day and full circle back up to the dormitory.
My bed was by a dormer window facing out onto the hillside. It looked straight out at the 'Cryptomerian' forest (for such was the specie of conifer) that extended uphill right out of sight.
Strange night calls would waft out of the jungle. Birds and animals that I had no knowledge of and whose calls would give me goose bumps as I lay listening in bed. There was a belief that the call of a "Pheow' was always heard when a tiger was in the vicinity; and a strange wailing sound was, in fact, heard by me occasionally. But it was no Pheow that called, for there are no tigers in that part of the Himalayas. More than likely the death cry of some unfortunate bird or animal when taken by a predator. Or indeed, maybe the howl of a 'banshee' - a forest-dwelling evil spirit. Shades of "Churails" and the supernatural beings of my early childhood. It wasn't long before I fell into boarding school routine and made a few friends in my class. The Dodson brothers, through no fault of their own, were not a great deal of help in my settling-in period. Ralph was quite a bit older than me, and Ernest was not in my class and not very compatible. He, like me and my front teeth, had a regrettable physical irregularity: his nose was unusually large and hooked. For this it was compared favourably with a 'tin-cutter' (old-fashioned can opener). But like me, he did not allow these disparaging comments to worry him unduly.
The two boys with whom I became particularly friendly were Derek Heldt and Walter de Almeida. The three of us remained good mates during the entire time that I was in Goethals.
So having eased into school life, I paid more attention to the setting, near and far, of the school itself. Plainly visible on the next mountainside was St.Helens*, our sister-school. Being girls only we never had any inter-school visits because the Irish Christian Brothers were extremely strict about keeping the sexes apart. I'm sure they held the view that if a party of us were allowed to go over to St.Helen's for, say, a sports day visit, sex would rear its ugly head.
The under storey of the forest on our hill was covered in raspberry bushes. These provided us, when in season, with bags of sweet succulent fruit. One area in particular, just below our major playing field, was called Croaker and was thick with these plants. Why Croaker? Well, we referred to the cicadas that abounded everywhere as 'croakers'. And our raspberry hillside seemed to have an extra large population. Actually there were two species of cicadas present; a large drab coloured specie and an extra large three-inch monster variety which we naturally called a King Croaker. He generated a buzz loud enough for a sawmill, and was coloured red and black. Croaker also had a healthy population of stinging nettle bushes, but fortunately not of a very virulent type. Rubbing the sting with 'dock' leaves did relieve the discomfort somewhat.
Looking straight down the mountainside on a clear day the lovely Tista** river valley was visible three thousand feet below. This incredibly beautiful area was a days round trip walk for us.
You see it was the custom that on Saturdays in good weather we were taken for walks, in class groups. A number of places were available as destinations. Either uphill and along a ridge, or north along the Cart road to Sonada (our next uphill village), or south along the Cart road to Kurseong and beyond, or down the tea-bush terraced mountain to the rushing Tista river flowing through a steep boulder-strewn gorge. Known to us as Kettle Valley and a favourite picnic spot of ours. What a magic planet we live on. This particular walk was the loveliest (and the hardest) of all the walks. The tea plantation which we had to negotiate for part of the way meant jumping down hundreds of two-foot high terraces on the track down, then struggling uphill all the way back to school. By the time we reached the Tista on the down leg of our walk our knees were literally shaking from the exertion. Goethals certainly equipped us all with well developed walking legs.
Another favourite place we used as a picnic site was known as 'Triangle'. It was at the foot of a long spur that descended right down from Kurseong town. Right at the bottom was an enormous triangular shaped bamboo plantation. I have never since seen bamboos to equal the giants that grew down there; the mature ones were at least a foot in diameter. To get to Triangle we first had to follow the Cart road from school right into Kurseong. From there a steep track twisted its way down to the valley floor and the bamboo clump. The round trip providing another good workout for the legs.
The monsoon season in the Himalayas was never welcome in school. Weeks of continuous rain were made even more unpleasant by thick mists enveloping the mountains in a dark shroud, reducing visibility to a few feet. The sounds of running and falling water a constant background noise. There was an open stormwater drain running alongside the verandah of the main building, and we would race little wooden boats along this swift-flowing drain. It helped to pass the time. But eventually the rain stopped and the sun shone. If it was a normal working day the whole school would gather on the playing field adjacent to the main building, with an air of expectancy.
The Principal - Brother O'Connor - would emerge and be confronted by the head boy. A brief verbal exchange would ensue with Brother O'Connor casting a quick glance up at the sky and nodding his head. The conversation would go something like this:-
"Sir. It's a lovely sunny morning at last and it doesn't look as if any rain will come up today."
"Yes, O'Grady." (Head boy). "It certainly is a fine morning."
"Then, please sir, can we be excused from classes today?"
O'Connor scans the sky; gives his square jaw a short massage while he considers the request, and nods his head. The whole gathering reads his message and erupts into loud cheers. With a faint trace of a smile O'Connor turns and re-enters the school. A very dour character was old O'Connor.
Invariably these 'free' days were taken as another opportunity for a walk. Brother Munchen would appear and consult with us to decide on a destination. The school usually scored, on request, at least two 'fine weather' holidays a year. The requests were seldom refused.
Another source of holidays was on 'Feast days'. These occurred on specific dates through the year when the birthdays, or whatever, of important Saints were observed. On the plus side of these days the school was treated to a slap-up dinner, but on the minus side we also copped an extra dose of prayers in the chapel. You win some, you lose some.
Supplementary food was readily available, both official and unofficial. We had a tuck shop, and most of my pocket money was spent in there. It was mainly confectionery that was offered, and it served to keep my sweet tooth happy. A favourite purchase of mine was known as 'Rainbow Pipes', in appearance like a long multi-coloured pencil made from pure sugar, judging by its sweetness. The unofficial source of tucker was far more tasty. This came from the Indian 'Puri-Tak' man. He had a limited but delicious assortment of curries and parathas which he carried around in a battered tin trunk divided into a number of compartments. As the Brothers, quite rightly, did not permit us to buy any food over whose preparation they had no control, our Puri-Tak man was refused permission to enter the school grounds. So he would set up at our rail siding down on the Cart road. But the siding was out of bounds and this made it hazardous for us to patronize him. I can remember one occasion on a very misty day I was on a sortie down to the siding. Just to make sure that the coast was clear I shouted down through the mists to whoever might already be there:-
"Oi! Is Robbie down there?"
Now this was a most ill-advised and regrettable move. Brother Roberts (Robbie) was a powerful and bad-tempered man, inordinately fond of belting us boys with the strap. He also, at times, used his open hand to smash us on the side of the head right across the ear. One of my classmates finished up with a permanent ear injury as a result of just such a blow. A sadist, was Brother Roberts. Anyhow, to continue with my story. In response to my call a rather weak "No" floated up to me from the mists. Great, I thought, and charged confidently right down and straight into the company of the Puri-Tak man, a sheepish-looking Emmett Ritchin (a classmate) and Brother Roberts in person! He issued an immediate invitation to Emmett and me to proceed back up to school and wait outside his room, where he proposed to join us in a short while. I hated him even more after the strapping we copped, particularly because I received six more wallops than Emmett.
Another anecdote springs to mind, this time a painless one, but also dealing with food (sort of). Being a Protestant, I was not permitted to receive Communion, although obliged to attend all religious services. This meant that I was not amongst those lined up at the altar rails when the 'host' was dished out. Recipients of this substance assured me that it was tasteless and just evaporated when placed on the tongue. Curiosity decided me to try and get at this stuff. But how? Well, behind the chapel at the altar end was the Sacristy. This was a small room where all the religious paraphernalia was stored, including, I hoped, a supply of Host. The Sacristy door was never locked as there was no threat of burglary. It was a relatively simple matter then to hang about till the coast was clear and nip into this room. Derek (also a Protestant) was persuaded to accompany me even though his fascination with Host was only lukewarm. It turned out to be a very simple and successful exercise. We found the substance in a rather ornate brass container and hopped into the contents. Quite an anti-climax. It was tasteless, it did vanish on the tongue and it was incredibly light. Certainly not the sort of tucker you would want to pig out on. So, having satisfied our curiosity with just a few flakes, we left the scene of the crime. I'm sure no one would have noticed the small amount missing, and there were no resulting repercussions.
Continuing in a religious vein. Brother Aloysius (pronounced Alo-vish-us) was choirmaster. He was just the opposite of Brother Roberts; quiet, softly spoken and a keen musician, he was the school organist. One day, just a few weeks after I had entered Goethals, he drew me aside and invited me to join the school choir. I was delighted. Just sitting in a pew listening to a priest droning on in Latin bored me to tears; here was a way to relieve this tedium being handed to me on a plate. Brother Aloysius was pleased, I was pleased and, I'm sure, so was God.
Why wouldn't He be, after all I was going to sing to Him. This made life at school much more interesting. Heaps of choir practices and lusty singing on Feast days added a new dimension to school days. "Gloria in excelcis, In excelcis Deo" indeed. Another privilege granted to the choir was an extra holiday and picnic all to ourselves.
Goethals also had a music teacher. A civilian who had retired from the Army was employed to teach music; he was also required to set-up and conduct a school orchestra. A short, elderly little fellow by the name of Challis and an excellent example of the Indian saying "Chota Mirich bahooth jhal" (the smallest chillies are the hotest). Being ex-Army his language was colourful to say the least; it brought new life to my drab vocabulary. Dad decided that I should learn the violin and this brought Mr.Challis and me together. Although the relationship was not an altogether happy one he did remain as my teacher for some years. Just to keep my lessons unbroken over the Christmas period he agreed to continue them in Calcutta. But the violin was not my instrument, and progress was very slow, much to the exasperation of the poor man. I could never produce the quality of sound that satisfied me or him. Even his threat, one day, to shove the bow up my rear didn't effect a dramatic improvement in my playing. Of course he couched the threat in a much more explicit manner. We had a large bench-lined hall on the first floor where lengthy serial movies were occasionally screened on Feast evenings. Mainly of Cowboy and Indian content, they were very poor productions, and coupled with the fact that the projection equipment was also inferior they were more a source of eyestrain than entertainment. A much better use was made of this hall by Mr.Challis who used it to mount a production of "The Pirates of Penzance". A very ambitious project that required a great amount of liaison between Brother Aloysius, Mr.Challis and various lesser mortals. Naturally, I was a member of the orchestra, occupying a second violin desk. The Pirates turned out as a well produced and well enjoyed play, and a credit to the cast and producers. Unfortunately it was the only theatrical venture that was attempted during my time at Goethals.
My parents came up to Kurseong one October to visit me. They stayed at a local boarding house, run by a Mrs. Mumford, very close to the railway station in the heart of the town. It was the first time that Mum and Dad had come up to the Himalayas and, naturally, they were delighted with the mountain environment. Long walks along the cart road watching the 'toy trains' chug past; crossing swift flowing 'jhoras'; eating wild raspberries. What a change to life in Calcutta. They visited the school and met Brother Munchen; rather embarrassing for a young boy in front of his mates. But it was a memorable holiday for them. We had another holiday in Kurseong after I had left Goethals. But that is another and much more interesting story.
The most important day of the year for us kids was in November at the end of the school year when we all packed up to catch the train back home for the Christmas holidays. The other very enjoyable event was Sports Day. It was held in October, and there was a gradual build up of excitement and preparation. The whole school was involved in lane marking, pavilion decorating and numerous other activities associated with a sporting event. Parents and whoever else were interested were most welcome to attend. Seating had to be provided, and also a podium for the band which was usually a military one from Darjeeling. Bunting was in great evidence all around the ground which gave the whole area a very festive appearance. Prior to the day itself numerous heats had to be conducted to decide the Finals competitors. One item which was common to a lot of Schools in India was a group display of Indian Club swinging. It was a very popular feature with the public. The clubs themselves were much like shortened baseball bats. Then about fifty or more students in uniform would perform massed drill exercises swinging and twirling these clubs in unison, one in each hand. The overall effect was quite spectacular. The Chinese are fond of this type of display, usually using coloured ribbons instead of clubs. It is sometimes also a feature at the opening ceremonies of major sporting events like the Olympics, but on a much larger scale. Anyway, I was part of the club swingers and can remember many weeks of tiring rehearsals. Yes; Sports Day was a great show. The crack of starter pistols, loudspeaker announcements, musical interludes, competitors doing warming-up exercises all over the place, kids calling to each other in excited tones, the air was electric. All culminating in speeches and the handing out of the prizes to the victors. Cups - applause, medals - applause, ribbons - applause. Relay teams lining up on the dais, grinning like Cheshire cats. What fun. At the end of the day a very tired mob of kids climbed to our various dormitories.
Without doubt, the most popular non-staff visitor to the school was 'Tip', the postman. Why 'Tip' I don't know, but that was what he was called. Coming from the remote Himalayan country of Bhutan, he had the typical short, very muscular development of his race. He was a smiling happy little man, typical of the Bhutias. Rain, hail or shine, Tip would always show up with his bag of mail, even carrying parcels that parents would sometimes send up. Mum and Dad usually posted up a small box of mangoes as these were not available in Kurseong. Tip had no mechanical means of transport, indeed, he could not have used even a bicycle on the mountain paths that he had to negotiate.
The months of September and October were most enjoyed by us kids. The miserable monsoon season was over; the year had almost slipped by, and the thought that was uppermost in our minds was HOME. Freezing temperatures after sundown reminded us that winter was just around the corner, especially with the 'winterline' visible on the distant southern horizon; this was a weather phenomenon that developed in October. It showed as a dead straight line, low on the horizon, extending right across the sky in the evenings. The top half a rosy pink above a uniformly grey lower half. A logical explanation would be that smoke pollution from village fires was held down by the layer of cold air above it. But the perfectly straight line was quite a sight. Anyway, it was another sign that the end of one more school year was just a few weeks away.
Next up, the biggest event - the journey HOME.
The main party would leave at the end of November, leaving only the senior boys sitting for the Cambridge exams to stay on for another week. I believe this had something to do with the ruling that required the simultaneous release of the exam papers throughout India. The last few days and what excitement. All the things we were going to do when we got home. Calcutta, here I come! Christmas at home. Christmas along Chowringhee. Christmas in the New Market. Just a kaleidoscope of happy thoughts.
A large three foot square board was always made on which was painted the school crest and name. This was fixed to the front of the locomotives (both narrow and broad-gauge) that pulled our train. On departure morning, a truck would make a number of trips between the school and our siding, laden with luggage. A special train was always provided for us and the Brother-in-charge would be there to see that we boarded without too much horse-play. Then, with the old familiar whistle or two from the engine and cheers from us, the little train would pull out of the siding and start its easy downhill run to Siliguri. The arrival at this little foothills town was in the late afternoon. Then much activity for the changeover from narrow to broad-gauge. How enormous and spacious the big train looked after a year's absence. And the great big powerful engine up front sitting there and giving off clouds of steam. What a great sight. Again, I almost had to pinch myself to make sure this was reality. The big locomotives were all named after famous British statesmen; Lord Clive, Lord Hastings, Lord Dalhousie etc. After we had transferred our school crest from the toy engine we all crowded into the rather cramped dining room at the station, for a meal.
We were rather tired and subdued when we eventually boarded the train for the overnight run to Calcutta.
"The above from the Memoirs of Malcolm
Lewis who now resides in Perth, Australia.
* During the 60’s St. Mary’s Novitiate was located at the spot where Malcolm recalls St. Helen’s stood. Perhaps the Convent was relocated to the present premises closer to the town in the 1940’s. If any of our readers can enlighten us with this puzzle we would be forever grateful.
** The Tista River (Teesta) originates from Sikkim and flows along the
valley to the east of Goethals, closer to Kalimpong. The river which Malcolm
mentions is the Balason River which can be viewed from various locations in
Kurseong.
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