Ms. Yvette? the short one with dark black spectacle frames? - I too met her some years ago... and she remembered me too, grey hair & all..& she didnt teach me at all so this proves she had a good memory.
Didnt know she was not well. I think she was in Guirim so she is probably still living there. Ms. Angela? - she didnt teach me either - Rani of Jhansi? Well I dont remember much history, but why was she named that? ciao Annette Date: Fri, 6 Mar 2009 11:59:37 +0530 From: [email protected] Subject: [SALIGAONET] Re: Saligao... in the Seventies To: [email protected] CC: [email protected]; [email protected] Dearest Rico, yes I read your excellent account of Lourdes Convent in the seventies and remember those good old days - I am sure on reading your text lots of people will wish they could live those happy days again, the days of Phantom, Tarzan and Mandrake comics.. My first memories of you are those when you were sitting on the corridor parapet and engrossed in " SOLDIERS OF GOD " a magazine popular at that time costing 10 n.paisa My first memories of Ms.Angela ( Rani of Jhansi as she was known by the older students at that time ) are when she kept few of us after class and made us write 100 lines as punishment. You have mentioned Ms. Yvette - I last spotted her once in Panjim some years back and I was surprised that she recognised me and still knew my name despite her medical condition at that time - any idea where she is ? Thanks Allwyn --- On Thu, 5/3/09, Frederick [FN] Noronha * फ्रेडरिक न <[email protected]> wrote: From: Frederick [FN] Noronha * फ्रेडरिक न <[email protected]> Subject: [SALIGAONET] Saligao... in the Seventies To: [email protected] Date: Thursday, 5 March, 2009, 11:44 PM Found this article I had written some time ago. Thought of sharing it once again. Some of you might have already read it earlier... FN STORIES FROM THE SALIGAO OF THE 'SEVENTIES: ETCHED IN OUR MEMORIES By Frederick Noronha It was a then village in full bloom. Our school was, naturally, right in the heart of that garden. Talent was returning back home. Suddenly, there was confidence enough to stage musical-plays like *Snow White And The Seven Dwards*, and more. Villagers took part in mando festivals. Back in our school, the stage suddenly came to life with 'modern art' style canvases suddenly making things look bright and unusual. Our cub-scout troop was active and lively. Sister Pushpa showed us that a whole new world existed out there. Our uniforms sat proud of our young minds; and a day-long trek to Aguada took us to a historic region, the history of which we didn't quite understand then. I can still recall almost the exact spot, from where, as a young boy, one peered at the big girls staging *Pearl The Fisher Maiden*. One chilly evening, 'Sir' Edwin Saldanha stunned the lot of us by setting the campfire ablaze with a stick that ignited the gun-powder. Or was it some other fuel? It didn't matter then, this all sparked off our youthful imagination. Growing up in Saligao in the 'seventies meant encountering strange and wondrous times. Maybe we all tend to romanticise the period of our youth; but will such times ever come back to our children's minds? Why not? We can indeed make it happen if they and we dare to dream. In Goa of the times, Portuguese rule was dead and gone; but it was just a decade-and-half gone. Today, it seems the significance of being around then had largely missed our youthful minds. Idi Amin and the African independence movements ensured the return of a large expat population back home. It uprooted a large number of Goans settled there; but it was a mixed blessing. That, in itself, had led to a great deal of vibrancy in our village. Maybe some might have another view, but the sudden entry of 'expat' Saligaokars -- whether Africanders, as they called themselves, or those returning from other parts of the country -- lent an unusual vibrancy to the village. But there were others too. Many had returned home to post-1961 Goa, expecting much from their state. Others had finished careers in different parts of India, and were returning back. It was Quennie D'Souza, who's husband Colonel Edwin had retired from the Indian Army and set up his dentistry practice in Salmona, that surely must have been behind some of the extravagant concerts that Lourdes Convent started to have. Critical mass fell into place. Edwin Saldanha, the man of many talents who later became our scout master and drawing teacher in Britto's, would paint elaborate backdrops and wings for the stage. Some had the modern-art style, which was just then becoming popular to the general public, and even invading sacred space by way of drawings in the Bible and other religious texts. Lourdes Convent attracted the best of the village talent as students. But it was our teachers and the school management who took on bigger ventures, and made things happen. But my first memories of Lourdes Convent was of the kindly nuns who were at its helm. Sister Veronica, pale and grey-haired, was always kind and a grandmother-figure to many of us.. As far as I could recall, she never had to utter a rude word or shout at anybody, but managed to make her point in the most polite of tones. At one of the picnics (to Dona Paula and the Miramar beach), some of us youngsters seemed to be in a tearing hurry to grow up. Somehow, our idea of 'growing up' turned into inhaling noxious fumes that hardly helped our schoolboy ages. Sister Veronica didn't make much of it, giving us time to think about the implications of our actions, and feel the remorse ourselves. That was the last time one ever touched a cigarette in real-life. Sr Livinia was also one of the senior nuns then, who while being stricter also had a sporting side to her. Another of the sisters was Sr Blandina -- who in those days was better known for taking part in sports, clad in the unusual combination of tennis-shoes and the triple-striped sari. (Sr Blandina was later known as Sr Nora, and I've just learnt the other day that she has recently moved to work for their religious order in Sri Lanka, with former head-mistress Sister Adelaide.) Sister Isabel doesn't seem to have aged a year, for the nearly four decades that I've known her. Since she was in-charge of the kitchen, we who would hang around the place got to know her the best. One suspects children also have a way of recognising those people they can stretch more than others! Since both our parents would be out at work, they arrived at some arrangement whereby the nuns would allow us two brothers -- better known as Ricky and Rico -- to stay at the school for the entire day. We treated the place as if it was our home, and would raise hell with our jeeps and cars in the corridors after school hours. How this was tolerated is something one can't quite comprehend today. On joining school, I was just three, and had the dubious distinction of failing in three subjects in the nursery! But one can't recall teachers being unnecessarily strict, or pushing us into taking a dislike for our studies. Of course, there would be the unfortunate few who couldn't cope with all the subjects that the inflexible Goa syllabus pushes down. Maybe our school and alumni needs to think more deeply about the less-fortunate, and those pushed needlessly into being 'drop outs' for no fault of their own. As day-boarders, my strongest memory was the table-manners we ran into. Those who supervised our eating then believed that it was unhealthy for sips of water to interrupt a meal. We kids just couldn't cope with the spicy food. Our solution, to the horror of our parents who realised this only later, was to wipe our burning tongues against the white-shirt sleeves (girls wore pink blouses, which went with the maroon skirts) of our uniforms! One of my earliest teacher's I recall was Miss Ida, of Tabravaddo, who taught me in IIB, the class close to what was then the boarders kitchen. She was kind and considerate, and would encourage us to take home a copy of the 'Saligao Bulletin', a small print publication put out by a bold co-villager. The price was a princely 15 naya paise! The stately Mrs Figueiredo -- whom we knew as Sharon and Tanya's mum, specially after the girls made such a hit in the school concerts, and all of us youngsters looked up to them -- was also one of our impressive teachers. I don't remember for sure if she only stood in when others were absent, or was our class teacher sometime along the way. Not only did she carry herself with dignity and decorum, but she was proud of us, her students. Some months back, when she learnt (don't ask me how) that the editorials of a local newspaper were then being penned by this writer, she phoned Panjim all the way from Benaulim. She made it a point to mention to the News Editor on duty that I had been her student in the second standard. He narrated the story to me with a smile. Only goes to show: if students often forget their old teachers, the reverse is not true! Mrs Philomena "Bobo" D'Souza of Sonarbhat taught us in Std III. I can still picture the classroom, and the clock which she would bring in, to teach us to read the time. It seems children nowadays grow up much faster than we did, in times when Saligao was just about getting electrified! Some like Teacher Joanita, of Pilerne, went on and on with their work. After teaching me in the primary, she retired just two or three years before my daughter reached the same class. I remember her as someone very friendly, who would always show a pride in what her ex-students were doing. She remembered that the first class she had taught was that of Fidelis (also from Pilerne), sometimes in the 'sixties. Our other teachers included Miss Lira, Mrs Shoba Naik, my neighbours Joseph and Joyce Victoria's aunt the ever-smiling Sr Genevieve, Sister Hilaria whom we sometimes brought to tears with our mischeviousness, Miss Primila from Sangolda, and our piano teachers both the Miss Margarets. Both the latter duo worked hard to get us to learn music, a subject that many of us didn't take seriously enough, it not being part of the syllabus. It was very touching to see some alumni, however, recall the very songs we had learnt three or so decades ago, at the hands of the two Margarets. The other day, when Nolasco D'Souza (Kenneth's dad, from Arrarim) passed away, I recalled the short but memorable spell during which he taught us Maths. To this day, I can remember his peering down at us, his specs perched on his nose, with patience as we worked on what seemed to then be the strange mysteries of Mathematics. Miss Edna taught us sometime in the primary school; by some quirk of fate, she managed to trace my email address via the Internet, and wrote across nearly three years back, from Canada, where she is now settled. Strange how the little things in life are those we never forget; I still recall how she taught us to make an elephant's face, cut-out on cardboard, and with a hole where the trunk should be. We were to push our podgy little finger through, and wriggle it in lieu of the missing jumbo's trunk. Oh, how that made an impression on us then! You never know what impresses a child. My elder brother Ricky's class (batch of 1977) had a teacher whom they were much impressed by, Miss Piedade of Candolim. Ricky's classmate Diogo Fernandes, one of those active in our alumni, mentioned he had met Miss Piedade just a few days back. "I wouldn't have recognised her if I wasn't told... or maybe I would have," he said. Miss Figueira of Guirim came in the fifth standard to teach us Maths for awhile. I remember her as a young lady -- seemingly not much older than us! -- and very patient and kind. What really made us empathise with her then was the fact that she wore a small round sticker on her watch, something which was just young people like us would have been doing! Mrs Shobha Naik taught us Marathi and Hindi, and we were perennially tripping up and mixing the two languages. At that time, we also saw it as a coercive step to get us to unwillingly learn these languages; perhaps our elders' attitudes at home influenced this. Today, we are no doubt grateful that we are a little more comfortable in two more languages which we can use to come to terms with large areas of South Asia. Miss Monteiro from Candolim taught us sometime during the primary or middle school. I don't remember Miss Luisa teaching me, but she was another young and popular teacher. Years down the line, one was surprised to learn that she was the wife of former Goa minister Dominick Fernandes, whom we met in totally another context. Miss Angela from Pilerne was our strict but efficient Hindi teacher. She had moved down from Jabalpur, one of the thousands of families from the Goan diaspora, together with her family, and her younger brother Clariano was in class with us. In hindsight, Miss Angela was perhaps too good for us, who looked at Hindi as a necessary evil, and just aimed to get the minimum needed for passing. Since we boys left the (then not co-ed) school by the time we completed our sixth or, at most, seventh standards, we didn't meet up with teachers from the senor classes. But Miss Shirley, who taught a generation of students, Sir Archibald, Miss Ninette, Miss Yvette, my neighbour Mrs Clara Sequeira, and the others were teachers who were admired and looked up-to by hundreds of their students. Obviously there are names which should have been mentioned here, except for reasons of shortness of memory, rather than ingratitude. For some reason, our years at Lourdes Convent remains strongly etched on one's mind. After that, we spent shorter stints in the boys' school, higher secondary and college, before moving into the world of work. Those latter memories seem like a blur, with life moving in fast-forward. We must thank our teachers for those times, and above all for shaping us into what we are today. -- FN * http://fredericknoronha.wordpress.com M +91-9822122436 P +91-832-2409490 http://twitter.com/fn On Facebook: http://www.new.facebook.com/people/Frederick-Noronha/502514643 "Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment." - Will Rogers -- FN * http://fredericknoronha.wordpress.com M +91-9822122436 P +91-832-2409490 http://twitter.com/fn On Facebook: http://www.new.facebook.com/people/Frederick-Noronha/502514643 "I like a woman with a head on her shoulders. I hate necks." - Steve Martin Add more friends to your messenger and enjoy! 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