In this next posting Yakkity Yak carries on with his account of Primary School days. Teachers, good or bad, male or female leave a lasting impression on the groiwng boy.
“First to P1, then to P2”
Yakkity Yak
School life may be tough, even if classroom life isn’t. Unlike the fortunate kids today, school life was never one of “First to Bata, then to school” We went to school with some nondescript tennis shoes. If Bata was the Reebok of the day, then Sin Wah or Blue Arrow were the crumbs that were brushed off from the table by the rich kids. We had only one pair of uniform and one pair of worn-out shoes that was stitched and re-stitched ten times over. Then, we were also very much at the mercy of the weather and the elements. Deprived of a rain coat and too self conscious to drape ourselves over with a plastic sheet, our uniforms and shoes would be drenched through. This, however, wasn’t the problem. The real problem was that we have to go to school the next in wet or at least damp shoes and clothes. My ever caring mother tried to save the day by asking me to carry my shoes in my bag. Sometimes, she would give me a pair of slippers which was co-owned by many in the family. Ocassionally, if I could take it, I walked bare-footed. But often times, I rather a wet pair of shoes the following day, than to risk walking bare-footed , all the way to school, from Kallang Rd to McNair Rd, off Balestier Rd.
Classroom life was not necessarily humdrum even in those days. Far from being lifeless, there was more than the usual classroom drama and excitement. It must be so because the impression I had of teachers in those days was that they had the license to ‘teach and beat’. They really spared no rod and probably spoilt every child, too. It was mostly the stick approach, very little carrot! If you forgot your multiplication tables, it was whack! If you failed to recite a poem word-perfect, it was also whack. And if you misspelt, you get the whack treatment, too! If you froze at mental sums, you bloody well got whacked, too! You got whacked with the ruler. You got whacked on the head with the blackboard duster. You got whacked anywhere on your anatomy with anything which the god-damned sadistic teacher could lay his hands on. Invariably, these treatments were meted out to those who happened to be not so scholastically blessed. At least, that was the style of some of my teachers.
The drama and excitement, was, however, blunted a little by the fact that I had the same teachers twice in the same year up till Primary 4. These robbed things a little of the shine, the variety and the fun. My P1 teacher was better known to me as ABC. These initials were emblazoned on everything, his record book, the class register and on the class time table, which was incidentally neatly framed and hung up! He was actually “Chua Ah Bah” to be precise. But I supposed since he was English-educated and can speak and write “England”, he decided to anglicise the way his name was to be formatted- surname at the end. So “Ah Bah Chua”, it was to be! And this translates into ‘ABC’ as his initials (QED!).
I had ABC for P1 and P2. That might as well be the case. Nearly all in my cohort first learnt their ABCs in school; save for those privileged ones whose parents (or at least one of them) came from the gentry -class and had an English-based education themselves. These people with silver-gilded mouth could speak English when they were first inducted into school. They were even more competent with the letters of the alphabet than Professor Higgins could teach Mary Hopkins to the tune and the sounds of music! But strangely, the first thing anywhere close to English which I leant in P1 was not ABC, but “Please, Sir may I go out (to the toilet)?”
If ABC was a stern school master, he was extra nice to me. I gave him no trouble. I even had the privilege of frequent rides in his car, not all the way home but up to the main road so that I walk all the way back. During Sports Day, I had extra cakes and ice creams. I need not have the necessary coupons to exchange for these items. He would seek me out from the stands and ushered me into the Common Room, and everything was laid out for me. Humility forbids me to recount but I was more than a model student. He was immensely proud of me and would show me off the teacher in the next class when I did something which he impressed him. Once, for example, we just finished a reading lesson in which the phrase ‘out of reach’ was in the text. He explained the phrase to the class and I believed we all understood. Not long after (say an hour or so later) he asked me to remove a chart which was pinned on the board at the back of the classroom. I helplessly told him that it was ‘out of reach”. He was so pleased with my apt application and usage of the phrase, that he came up to me, hugged me and brought me to the teacher next door and recounted the entire episode to her. On another day in P2, he told me to ask my father to see him. This usually forebode ill. It is always the case when a teacher wants to see you parents. I did not have the courage to ask for the reason and did dutifully what I had too. It was only when my father came that I knew what it was all about. It was about double-promotion which I did not want. Being a little kiasu, I told both ABC and my father that if I go for double promotion I may not top the class. I rather be a big fish in a small pond than a small one in a bigger pond! I was the only one who could bring library books from the little library corner home. He was more than convinced that I would read them, not just look at the ang kong, (Hokkien for pictures and illustrations) like the many others.
I cannot help but say a little more about the teacher next door, after mentioning her in passing in an earlier paragraph. She is Miss Yap. Miss Yap played the piano and fittingly, taught us music and singing. More significantly, she exudes style and elegance. Chauffeured driven to school, she definitely had the pedigree and a distinct aristocratic lineage. It would be an understatement to describe her as pretty as she is more beautiful than pretty. Endowed with great sartorial sense, she is elegantly suited up in cheongsam.
Cutting an imposing figure, she is quite an adornment in front of the otherwise dull and drab classroom. However, as the pupils then were only P1, it could also well be a case of “a flower wasting its scent in the desert air”
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
But no. I was naively mistaken. She flaunted her plumage more for the benefit of her male peers. Sadly too, this Miss Yap was perhaps a little hopelessly helpless and a trifle incompetent, too. Once too often, she would scurry over to my class, Primary I D, to consult ABC and sought his frequent but unwise counsel. ABC, naturally found her misfortune his opportunity!
