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The Good Old Days by Gabriel Fernandes
They say your first teachers are your parents. My father died when I
was very young, and it was my mother illiterate as she was who taught
me some of the most important lessons of my life.The way she brought
us all up is nothing short of a miracle.
Another informal educator was the Church.My proudest early memory was
of serving as an altar boy in the Chapel of Our Lady of Remedios in
Vaddem, Soccorro. What was special was that I was barely 6 years old
- a record I believe that has not been beaten till today- 61 years
later. And remember the mass I servd was in Latin - therefore I had to
have enough of a smattering of that classical language to know when to
react and how. I was too little to carry the heay Bible, so the Padre
Capelao had to help me move the Book from one place to another. Sadly
I can't recall the name of the priest who grilled me in Latin and
other things.
Although performing such grown up tasks like serving as a Sacristan, I
was still young enough to demand that my mother give me my fill of
milk to give me the strength to do so! Nowadays it is unheard of for a
child to be suckled after 1 or 2 years.In those days it was
commonplace for kids to be breastfed till they were 6 or even older.
In fact, all sorts of propoganda is neccesary to convince people that
there is no substitute for mother's milk.I am not at all embarrassed
to tell you this - the practice was both healthy and heavenly for us.
The first school I went to was the Uccasaim Aula (aula is Portuguese
for class or school ) After passing the primeiro grau it was decided
that I should continue my education in English.Although Portuguese
was the language of the administration in Goa my elders knew that
there was no hope of progress in that language except for the
bhatkars, and that if we were to make our way up in life we had to go
to British India or Africa for which we needed English. I remember
going alone to the St. Francis de Sales School in Bastora and I recall
the Fr Superior Gabriel Lobo looking down on me and asking me whether
I didn't have parents. Without batting an eyelid I replied that I had
a mother but no father. " Well then see that you bring her here.", he
ordered. I ran back home and dragged my mother to the school whereupon
I was admitted lo Std. 1.
My first teacher of English was also the best teacher I ever had -
Miss Candide D'Sousa from Bastora. She had a soft corner for me no
matter what mischeif i was up to. But not just me, she made all the
children in the school feel she was their mother. She never beat any
child; she was kind and patient ; she was totally dedicated to her
profession. Even the dullest child would make special efforts to study
to make her happy
There were a lot of boarders in the school mainly from Salcette. In
those days many students were huge hulks, boys of 25 were not
uncommon.Around 1955 they fell out with the school authorities, I
think because of food. I am told that there was a blocade imposed by
the Indian govt. due to which there was a shortages of certain goods.
Possibly the boarders did not understand the situation and rebelled.
Anyway whatever the reason the school closed down and the students
went to different schools in Mapuca Aldona and Moira. I myself was
admitted to St Anthony's High School, Monte - de - Guirim where I
studied till the I Matriculation class. The school premises became
Portuguese troop barracks. After Liberation it went back to the
Salesians, and later it became the bese for St. Xavier's College
before the new college was built on top of Mapuca hill.
In those days there were no school buses, and going to school was an
expedition in itself. I doubt even college students walk as much even
when they go for the occasional hike.If we went by the prorer road via
Porvorim, it would have taken at least 1 1/2 hours at least. So unless
it was the height of the monsoon, we make a bee line through the
fields and rivulets17 boys in all would gather at my place in Vaddem
and we would set out together. We would wear just a kashti ( loincloth
)our uniforms and books in our bag, which when we reached the rivulets
we would place on our heads as we waded across the streams.
This journey would take about 45 minutes. We would reach the main road
( now NH17 ) when the first bell rang; Justin's shop at the foothill
of Monte, when the second bell was sounded; and by the time we reached
school and changed into our uniforms the third bell would ring for
assembly.
As we crossed the rivulets our kashtis would get wet, but there was
nothing to worry about, as a dry one was there in the bag.The wet one
was left hanging on the branch of a "iingod " tree, ( the speciality
of this tree was that no pests such as white ants would attack it ) By
the time school was over at 4 the kashi would be dry!
However when the watermelon season beganwe would take a slight detour
which took us through those fields.Every time we passed a few of the
luscious melons mysteriously disappeared. The owners of the
plantations would shower Shirab ( curses ) upon us, but I'm afraid
they were not very effective.
The teachers were mainly the Capuchin Friars. At the time when Fr.
Ambrose was the Principal, Fr. Ephraim was our maths teacher. He could
write equally well with his left hand as with his right. He would
start by writing on one half of the board with his left, then move to
write with his right. before he finished the right side, his left
would rub off the left and then he would begin again.We would plead
with him, " Sir, please give us time to write..." But he would go on.
It was his way of punishing those who weren't concentrating.
Our lunch time was at 12.30 About 12 of us would share our food. Some
of the boys would at times be very dirty - in that they would quietly
steal some of our tiffins. When this happened those of us whose food
remained untouched would share what was left with the others. We
never found out who the culprit was or we would have given him the
thrashing of his life. thrashing of his life.45 years later however ,
I now feel sorry for the thief - his need was probably greater than
ours.
Games were an important part of school life.I was the undisputed
master of marbles.There were three games that we played - millani,
bodheani, and manani. I was good at all of them. Sometimes the
children, and in the village grown men too, played for money. I never
gambled although I was sure I would have won every time.I only played
for my opponents' marbles, and I ran up a huge collection. My
companions would fear and hate me for this.
Another game we played was football Not only in school, but even after
we got home, we would rush out to play, much to the anger of our
mothers, who had a lot of housework lined up for us. But when we got
back there was no escape. We had to do things like drawing water and
watering the plants. and early in the morning we had to go to the
fields to help. and on top of that we had homework to do. I have no
idea where we found the time to do all these things
I never did finish my matriculation. This was because I had to answer
a paper in Hindi, a language I was very poor in. Knowing I would
surely fail I simply didn't bother to sit for the exam. My
childhood days were hard days, and this generation has no idea what we
had to go through. Yet I would not give awaythose days for anything
else - they were the best days of my life!
[ Mr. Gabriel Fernandes, originally from Vaddem, Soccorrs,worked in
the British Navy, before retiring, and now runs Fernandes Bar and
General Stores in Paliem, Uccasaim, where he now resides. Iedited this
article drom his notes and embellished it with the yarns he told
me.-Augusto Pinto]
--
Augusto Pinto
40, Novo Portugal,
Moira, Bardez,
Goa, India
E [EMAIL PROTECTED] or [EMAIL PROTECTED]
P 0832-2470336
M 9881126350
