Hi Kevin,
Good to hear from you. I do remember the magic of the campfires.It was fun, even though a few of us tried to disrupt it on that one occasion at the fountain. It was just being pranksters and I do shake my head at this memory. Wonder what our kids are up to? Regards Chris in Cal --- On Fri, 3/6/09, Kevin Saldanha <[email protected]> wrote: > From: Kevin Saldanha <[email protected]> > Subject: [SALIGAONET] Re: Saligao... in the Seventies > To: [email protected] > Date: Friday, March 6, 2009, 7:58 AM > Hi Chris, > > has your guilty conscience been pricking you all these > years ;-? Rest > easy... I think Rico was referring to the campfires at > Lourdes Convent where > my Dad would 'magically' start the fire by invoking > the winds from the north > and from the south, from the east and from the west... > > Come on guys... don't you believe in magic any more? > > Kevin > > On Thu, Mar 5, 2009 at 8:11 PM, Christopher Desouza > <[email protected] > > wrote: > > > > > About the gunpowder in the campfire. Sorry a few years > to own up. We were a > > group of guys, I will not mention names, Juveniles > basically in early to > > late teens, who resented the fountain being taken over > during that camp for > > a whole week as we couldn't use it. About 7 or 8 > boys. It was a dada bomb > > tossed into the campfire and dada bombs with incense > sticks fuses set up > > around the various camps. we thought it was funny at > that time. Mr. Saldhana > > suspected us but was not able to get to the bottom of > it. Thanks for taking > > us down memory lane. > > Chris in California > > > > > > --- On Thu, 3/5/09, 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, March 5, 2009, 10:14 AM > > > 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 > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > -- > “Man in his arrogance thinks himself a great work, worthy > the interposition > of a deity...it is more humble and I believe truer to > consider him created > from animals” (Charles Darwin) > > --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ This message comes via the Google Groups "Saligao-Net" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected] To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected] For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/saligao-net?hl=en Please post regularly to keep the e-village active! -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
