SCHOOL DAZE

SCHOOL DAZE

Harry Bissoon  8/16/23


The morning walk to primary school, in the warmth and glow of the early morning rising sun, was the beginning of new adventures, still unknown, as another day dawned upon us. Youthful energy, and sometimes uncontrollable abandonment, with cares and cocerns about our world left to our parents, we relished in attitudes that played havoc with our still young, developing minds. 


Friends gravitated along the route to school, excited, and bantering profusely, after a restful night, about a multitude of things - homework, housework, old higue, posters in front of the village cinema, and mental arithmetic. 


Mental arithmetic was the bane of many students. It was the first subject in class, after going through the rigors of lining up, as if we were soldiers preparing for battle. Then came the morning ritual of prayers before the onset of the dreaded mathematical, airborne calculations, as fingers flicked and folded, eyes rolled and heads tilted, and brains spun and clicked into high gear. Wrong answers precipitated mild lashes across the palms, as if to remind us that mental arithmetic was a precursor of what will unfold during the day. 


Notwithstanding mental arithmetic, primary school days, as with kindergarten and high school, were full of fun and excitement. We were taught subjects that were intended to make us better at coping with life. In the midst of studies, lashes, and getting A's, we thrived in bullying, fights, games, schemes and mischief, and infatuation with the other sex, and sometimes, first love. 


I was bullied by guys and gals who thought I was better than them, or maybe because I was in a team that hunted and found those who stayed away from classes, roaming the nearby market, or going to the morning matinee show at the the Radio City Cinema. 


I didn't fear bullies because I had a protector. I gave him gifts of delicacies that were sold at the stands which populated the school compound. Bully me when he is not around and he would seek you out and give you a good thrashing!


Once a week we marched over, in solemn and uniform fashion, to the nearby Anglican Church for devotion and prayers. My primary school, Skeldon Anglican School, was managed and controlled by the Anglican Church. Our greatest fear was not God, but the caretaker of the church, a thin, lean, mean looking lady - we thought so - who, we were repeatedly told, roamed, at night, the burial grounds next to the church, and that she didn't like little children. We stayed clear of her and hardly saw her even though she lived in a house in the school compound, next to the Pastor's manse. 


My primary school days had great teachers. Some we feared, others we mimicked, while many we adored, and dreamt of becoming like them. Nonetheless, we respected all of them!






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