For bringing the horse to water!

A lady, visibly struggling with her gravid tummy, was heard conversing with a fellow attendee at a maternity clinic. Excerpts from her conversing, which were anything but discrete, were soon made known to others. She was complaining about how she still had to go to school carrying a pair of twins in utero with just less than one month from her due date. This year alone, five teachers had gone on maternity leave, leaving a large vacuum for others to fill up. 

It does not help that her school had 80% of the teachers as ladies and that recently, maternity leaves had been extended from 60 days a few years previously to 98 days now. 

"I am just wasting my time teaching children who are not interested in learning, anyway," she was lamenting. 

Thanks, Mr Khoo!

I remember when a teacher motivated me to push my boundaries beyond my imagination, reaching for the unthinkable. I was just an average student trying to sponge whatever little knowledge my teachers were trying to impart. One thing I never did throughout my schooling life was to fail a test. Be it a public examination or a quiz, I may not excel, but I definitely will not falter. I did fail my motorbike licence test, though. I wanted to save the money spent on riding school but used my old bone shaker instead.

So, I was devastated when the monthly test result for physics was out. I found that I had scored 16%. I stared at big red-inked scribblings on the test paper with disbelief. I should not be surprised as the questions were based on the exact topics my Physics teacher had assured us we would not be drilled. Still, heartbreaking it sure was. 

Pensive mood, are we?

The subsequent examination would be the mid-term test, which would have some bearing on the school testimonials. This cannot be, I told myself. I had to pull myself with my own bootstraps. Frankly, I found it extremely difficult to understand what my Physics master was trying to teach. I felt we were in different lingos, like how a dog and a cat or a hen would talk to a duck. Sometimes, I thought he was the manifestation of an oracle of Delphi. He managed to create a sense of mysticism around the subject matter. At the end of the lesson, we, the students, will stay as ignorant as before. 

Penang Sunrise

The falter at the monthly test pushed me to learn everything covered in the syllabus. I burned the midnight oil in all barrels, leaving no stones unturned. So when the midterm examinations were out, not only did I come out with flying colours, but as the top scorer of the form, I went on to win a book prize. 

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought of winning an academic award like that. If not for the direct or indirect prodding from my Physics teacher, Mr Khoo, I would have just been another student who passed through the school corridors, leaving nothing behind. Now, I have at least tasted the sweet, succulent taste of victory and personal satisfaction. 'Ain't no mountain high enough!' is no longer just a passing statement or a line in a song.

The recent secondary school reunion was a gesture to show our appreciation to our grand old school teachers who still remember us or at least put up a convincing front to tell us they do. Seriously, just as they made an impression on us, we did not know how much observation they made about us and live to tell us. 

Memorial for the founder, RS Hutchings

One for the album

N.B. Thank you, Teik Hock, Sow Wu, Guan Chiang, et al for the pictures.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

50 years on, it is the SAME Queen!

Pistol (Disney +, miniseries; 2022)

Director: Danny Boyle

Thanks to my English language in Form 1, my friends and I were exposed to this British punk band. That, I think, is the role of a teacher - to expose the young minds to the real world, not just what is in the syllabus. Most teachers just wanted to finish their teaching plan and ensure that students were prepared for the public exams; KSG (Kiss Some Girls, he boasts) went that extra mile. He would tell us quickly excitable 13 and 14-year-old pubescents about the birds and bees. Somewhere along the way came the story of 'The Sex Pistols'. That was my first exposure to the Pistols, but only in name. The fact it was banned by the British Broadcasting Corporation made it even more fascinating. The jester of class JL used to croak out 'God save the Queen' with an obvious sexual connotation, much to the annoyance of KSG. At that juncture, I wonder if KSG thought that he should have stuck on to the syllabus. To this and much related non-academic exposure to the real world, I thank KSG.

Looking back, I understand that the late 70s were watershed years for the then not-so-great Britain. After the Sun decided to set on the British Empire, Britain was in the doldrums. The century of the English had ended. One by one, the colonial subjects had broken free. It was more about economics. Actually, the East Indian Company and the Colonial Offices had brokered deals that finally made it ever so expensive to maintain the colonies. The final straw came when the Indian Navy mutinied against the Masters.

With a bleak future to look for, with no job opportunities and the baby boomers basking in the glory of the past, the youngsters were filled with pent-up emotions waiting to explode. Against this background came a punk band composed of boys from dysfunctional families. 

Punk rules OK!

The story tells the tale of a shoplifting teenager caught redhanded at a boutique in King's Road in London. From there started a foul-mouthed band with an eccentric manager and a fashion designer who just wanted to showcase her creation. The punk group, Sex Pistols became the mouthpiece of the new generation. They had no filter and were forthcoming with what they thought of the Queen, what they felt inside, and the social pressure the average Joe or Jane was going through. They speak frankly about unwanted pregnancies, anarchy and destruction. Their version of Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' is just their way of saying this is our way, take it or leave it!

The miniseries narrates the decadent descent of the band of boys into alcoholism, drugs and depression. A good collection of 70s songs would jog our memories of the past when our chests were filled with hope for a more fantastic future, and politicians were honest.

(P.S. Thanks DA for introducing)

50 years later, it is the same Queen!

Prophetic or what, ask dwellers of Luton!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Teachers, glad you didn't leave us kids alone!

PFS 55 GTG 2018
A meeting of students honouring their dear teachers. ©FG

The excitement was palpably clear. Hints of tinges of moistening of the angle of eyes were there but they tried to suppress it. Laughter was free-flowing, so were the stories of an era so distant yet so near. It was a reminiscence of the memory of a bygone era of Malaysia that we yearn to re-live and re-create. Chatter interspersed with occasional bouts of schoolboy chuckling and heckling was drowning the background piped-in music.

A student went, "Gagool (as we referred to one of the fiercest teachers in Form 1; after the character in Henry Huggard Ridley's 'King Solomon's Mines') told me that I stank." The speaker is now a former state football player, who, during school holidays, was forever seen in possession of a soccer ball. It appeared like his main intention of attending school was to play football. He could come to school early, at noon, for the afternoon session, just to play football with whoever was playing. After a hard play in the heat of the tropical high noon sun, he would enter the classroom all dishevelled, clammy and reeking of sweat. It was as though coming to class was an interlude as he would rush to the field during recess and again after school. Disapproving of his overindulgence in extra-curricular activities, 'Gagool' and many teachers would admonish him. He, however, defying all odds, secured a place in the state football team and is doing well in his career too.

And another went, "My economics teacher, Mr NB was so crossed with me that I kept getting poor grades in his subject that he said that he would eat his shoes if I passed my economics." "That spurred me to push hard. When the A-levels results were out and I got through with flying colours, the first thing I did was to ask NB, 'would you like ketchup with that, Sir?' "

Thus went the night with talks of moments that left a mark in their respective lives. Something that may be trivial to some, which the teachers did in the course of their day to day duties may have been a game changer in some. The bottom line is the respect of people of the yesteryears gave to figures of authority. Unlike the people of the 21st century, folks then gave their undivided support to teachers. If a student was punished in school for whatever reason, the last thing that he would do is to complain to his parents. He knows that that would signal another barrage of missiles from the parents instead! Such was the trust in the system. Everybody did their given job well with dedication. Job satisfaction was not measured in terms of monetary figures but in unspoken deeds of appreciation, staying true to the profession and moments like this.

Pink Floyd must be wrong. We need education. Our thoughts need to be controlled and steered towards the path most travelled. Only after that can we venture to areas less explored. We need sarcasm as we need to see the other side of things, from a different perspective. Did I say it makes you witty? We are all another brick in the wall but left to our own devices and the elements of Nature, we would wither away. We need the resilience to fight a good fight. All in all, don't just leave us alone! 

Thank you for all the guidance and the selfless contributions that went beyond the call of duty. 

  

 

©FG

https://asok22.wixsite.com/real-lesson 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Once a Free, always a Free.

OFA – Be a little foolish, be a little different
PFS to celebrate its 200th year – from The Star newspaper

When I left Penang for university in the US, I also left Penang Free School before the school year ended. I felt I did so without disrupting much the life of the School: I wasn’t editor of the School magazine. I wasn’t Break Monitor, Class Monitor, Traffic Warden, House Prefect, or School Prefect. I didn’t captain any School sports team. In some subjects, I would usually get close to failing marks — ok, not in “some subjects” but in Art, specifically. Fellow students who were my seniors would routinely reject my writing submissions to school publications for my being too flippant (I had to look up what “flippant” meant the first time I heard back from one editor). School teachers would openly warn me in class for being disruptive, every so often. Fellow students who were my seniors and who trained with me in gymnastics would ask me why I kept coming back as I never seemed to get any stronger, faster, or better.

Prof Danny Quah

At PFS I hadn’t failed at everything. But I wasn’t a remarkable student at PFS. In the eyes of people in charge, I was in the middle of the pack. That felt about right to me as that’s where most people are, generally. Where I’d not done well at School, I figured perhaps those things didn’t matter.

I’m now Professor of Economics at the LSE. My CV makes plain what that involves. But compared to when I was a PFS student, I have also had to do a few things where I have felt a little more exposed — no longer so much middle of the pack — and that are less obviously associated with my job but perhaps more interesting. These are not typically things that come with being a Professor. So I undertake added risks when I take them on.

Before thousands of graduating university students and their families, for three years as Head of Department for Economics at LSE, I announced the names of fresh graduates and congratulated them as they undertook the last of their university rites. Over decades of teaching and travelling, I lectured to tens of thousands of people — in New Zealand, Beijing, Southeast Asia, the Gulf, and nations in between all the way through to North and South America. CNN, Reuters, Bloomberg, and the BBC tell me they broadcast to hundreds of millions of people worldwide — so I could potentially have spoken to some reasonable fraction of that many people each time I’ve appeared on TV or radio from London.

My research has, over the years, varied from the extremely mathematical and obscure on the one hand, to the politically more visible on the other. As a consequence, I’ve gotten feedback on what I do from many different segments of society. Some of my writings have been translated into 18 different languages. What I work on now, the rise of the East in the global economy, gets more than usually varied reactions. Some tell me to hide away this work:

‘Americans, as is, are already paranoid enough, just short of trumping up a shooting war with China. Can you please tone down your “research”, and better yet file it in your basement and wait for 50 years before publishing them? Please let the world be a more peaceful place.’

counts among the gentler of messages I regularly receive. Other feedback can be slightly more encouraging.

Not that I think I have to be ready for my own shooting war, but I also train regularly in taekwon-do, now as a second-dan blackbelt. Five years after I started taekwon-do here in the UK, I managed to fight my way to being runner-up in sparring at the British championships and I managed to become British champion in patterns.

When I correlate the things I do now that draw for me the greatest sense of achievement with what I’d previously done well at PFS, I’m struck by how orthogonal these two sets of attributes are. At PFS I’d excelled in mathematics and science, but that is now only a small part of what I need to do to be a productive contributing member of the community. What matters more instead? A good sense of of what is artistically compelling and linguistically convincing. A political awareness of what ought to matter to people in international society. Articulateness in writing and speaking, and an ability to debate effectively. Physical acuity and a feeling of confidence and security in my own skin.

What is strange is that those characteristics I now find most valuable are the same as those where PFS had challenged me most and found me most wanting, exactly those areas I’d been most dismissive of when I’d been at PFS (they were only “soft skills”).

Perhaps PFS does this to everyone, although in different ways. PFS is an educational institution of such deep and profound historical achievement, it ferrets out those areas where you the student need most to build, and then it challenges you there. How you respond — do you turn your back and say it’s all meaningless; do you say, let me learn so I can be better — is up to you.

At PFS, as in most of life, you only get one go-round. You can make that one pass-through be everything to you, or you can make it mean much less. On the one hand, this lesson I’ve learnt about PFS as an institution is awesomely frightening: no one there is going to give you easy answers but you can be sure they’ll be there to ask you the hard questions. On the other hand, this realization is staggeringly optimistic: PFS challenges each of us to leave as better people than when we began at the School. And by being a little foolish — admitting we don’t know everything even as we don’t pander to everything old people say they want us to be — we can each indeed end up a little better.

(This appears in FIDELIS, the 200th anniversary commemorative book of the Old Frees Association.)

Full circle?

So there was this guy who appeared in a similar attire as mine on my 4th birthday bash back in 1967. His grandmother was my parents' landlady when they moved into their first matrimonial place of stay. Their relationship with this matriarchal figure persisted even when they moved into their own home. Hence, the invitation and the photograph....
After the meeting in the late 60s, our lives (both guys in striped shirts) intertwined again in secondary school, though in different classes and off we went again different ways after the 80s.
As luck had it, with the help of social media, some old buddies met up at one friend's daughter's wedding. Midst of it all, a burly chap approached the table we were at, with the most boisterous of laughter. Quickly, he introduced himself. Everyone at the people was looking at each other, hoping that someone could correctly identify him. You see, he had now embraced a new name and new appearance after his wedding. Yes, not only ladies lose their surname but sometimes men lose their and their father's name!
I may not know the whole story, but I thought RK was born Chinese and was adopted by an Indian family. He is now dressed and articulated like a Malay. RK, now RA has lived a full circle amongst the major ethnicities of Peninsular Malaysia. 

To Teachers with Love!

PFS '63 GTG 50 (Penang)
14th December 2013
Another trip down nostalgia yet again but this time around a potpourri of different crowd which include teachers as well. The trip down memory was sweeter with the venue being none other than where it all started - the grounds of alma mater, more specifically the school canteen where many hours were spent yakking and interacting through the much anticipated times of school recess. The tuck shop, as it was known by the older generation teacher who were educated by educators from the British Empire, was also a hub for activities of the extra curricular type, i.e. uniformed and non-uniformed societies. In addition to supplying calories to the growing bodies, the canteen was also a place to prepare themselves for human interaction and survival skills in life later.

1976

If those days, there was an invisible fence that prevented free interaction between immature teenagers and the patriarchal (matriarchal) figures of teachers, now there are none. After all the teachers are all way past retirement age and their pupils were nearing so!
It must have been such an honour for teachers to receive such a recognition for their unsung deeds over the years. And for their students, the opportune time to express their gratitude in person rather than talking about them in their memoirs or autobiographies!

His time in the spotlight

What is success? How high do you want to go before you say enough is enough? How much do you want to be in the limelight? How high is high enough? Have you reached the zenith? Have you found what you are looking for? Will you ever?
It is all a matter of perspective, whether your life is half empty or partially filled.
If you sit down and analyse, you must have a tale to tell. It could be small or it could be big. If you dig deep enough, even if your life is not even half complete, you must have achieved something, anything, if you look hard enough!
This I discovered during my last meeting with long lost childhood friends.
On the outward, they may not look as glamorous or flamboyant as our typical mindset depict, they indeed have something to brag about. A small footstep for the rest of mankind but giant one indeed for him and from where he came from.
Everyone will have something nice to be mentioned in their eulogies!
Or may be you are still looking for the elusive pot of gold or the mythical Prince Charming to saunter along and sweep you off the feet to ride into the sunset. Dream on.... When you get up, you can see things much more clearly then!

50 going 17?

31 years ago, they all left to start journey to their future, armed with the scroll of their knowledge. In their long treacherous and arduous journey, they must have swam through many sharks infested waters weathering through inclement weather. Some would have hit the jackpot; some into bottomless pit; some through bad decisions of life; some with incurable maladies; some through painful divorces; some trapped in the clutches of the black dog; some ventured into untested territories and God forsaken places; some happy; some sad and some were ashamed of their absence of achievements.
The idea of getting together at 50 mooted about a year when YTH got a handful of people together for a simple dinner. It was followed a series of small meeting here and there. The killer shot materialised when my better/other half schemed my 50th surprise birthday party.
All salutations to geeks who started social medias.
With the help of emails, WhatsApp, FB and mobile communication, the number of attendees kept on snowballing. The excitement was set to motion via WhatsApp and FB Group. The number of participants swelled to its maximum number and the alert button kept on bleeping. The messages kept on coming on the minute and suddenly the 50 years olds were acting like 17years olds, gazing at their smart phones every other minute and overtaking their children in the number of messages received on the social media.
Old stories and photos made their way to rekindle old fond memories. Our brilliantly creative art prodigy, DTBT, took a trip up north to snap brilliant pictures of the Alma Mater from various angles to further set the mood going.
Finally on the day of reckoning, close to 80 people zeroed on the venue of PFS '63 GTG Five-O from near and far - as far as both ends of the Peninsular, Sabah, Indonesia and USA. JT took 10days leave for his busy paediatric practice just to join the fun. Fun, a rocking good time they had. Seeing each after 30 years brought laughter and smiles that which no laughing gas, SSRI or LSD could. All the accolades and prefixes were out of the window. Everyone was on first name basis, as they always knew. There was so much so roars of laughter that day that the restaurant would probably have second thoughts if we were to have our second gathering there again for fear of driving patrons away.

Everybody was 17 again, retelling and reliving the teenage escapades. Untold stories about their pranks with teachers and friend came to the surface. Poking jokes at each others appearance was also another favourite talking point. Mega pixels after mega pixels of pictures were taken again and again to immortalise the union.
The shower of joy lingered on until way past the closing time. The fellowship continued later at various eateries around town in smaller groups.

For more than 4 hours, the 80 odd 50years old were acting like 17 year old like how they were some 30years previously. Every good thing  must come to an end. All when back happy for while, back to face reality of life and its intricacies.

50 years olds

It used to be their playground!

Perfect sense

Growing up in RRF, Amma tried all the ways that she knew that could impart the values that could mold her son into a knowledgeable individual. One of the ways that she carried off her duty was reading aloud the proverbs and quotations printed on the daily leaf of a Tamil calendar. This calendar had daily chart of good and bad astronomical times together with daily saying of the day. The leaf of the calendar is torn daily and viola, another gem comes out.
Mother read me about JFK's 'Ask what your country has done for you...' long before I knew about American foreign policy, about 'turning the other cheek' from Gandhi and Jesus, and Socrates' call to think critically and question intelligently. I would then in turn rebut with some wise crack ridiculing the sayings but must helped in thinking outside the box.
In the growing and trying age of teenage, quotations were a big deal. Teachers' autograph on annual school magazine were treated as gems. LHS' 'plough hard while sluggards sleep' and 'cows may come and cows may go but this bull stays here forever' were inscribed permanently at my reading corner!
The Gen-Y may have missed all these while they were growing up.  Like they say, a poor man and unhappy man are philosophical men. Our parents, from the doldrums, have many gems that they have learnt in the course of trailing the pebble-stoned path of life.
Anas, a fellow Free, had complied some of life lessons from his parents that make perfect sense today, even at the time of 4G and Google!

Pssst, nice tune!

This tune (Colonel Bogey March) brings back fond memories of the Penang Free School (PFS) band's rendition of this tune during School Sports Day. It was played solely on flutes while the band marched past the VIPs and parents' shed majestically with their their proud band master, colours and the impeccable laurels to match. Those were the glory days of PFS and its stature as one of the premier schools in the country! Hey, what do you know? It is something like the theme of the movie 'The Bridge of River Kwai'. Living on the pride of our institution!

A snippet (Colonel Bogey March) from the 1957's 7 Oscar winner (including Best Music Score - but there was hardly any 'music' in the movie!) - 'The Bridge over River Kwai' - showcasing pride of the British Army. This is not the kind of movie that my wife or children would fancy - there are no fancy clothes, no promiscuity, no lovey-dovey dialogues and provocative flashing of flesh!
Here is a bit of trivia for you.... (from Wikipedia)

According to Turner Classic Movies, the producers nearly suffered a catastrophe following the filming of the bridge explosion. To ensure they captured the one-time event, multiple cameras from several angles were used. The film was shipped to London by air freight for processing. When the shipment failed to arrive, a worldwide search for the film was undertaken. To the producers' horror the film containers were found a week later on an airport tarmac in Cairo, sitting in the broiling Egyptian sun. Though it was not exposed to sunlight, the heat-sensitive color film stock should have been hopelessly ruined. However, when processed the shots were perfect and appeared in the film.

Puppets on a string....

Continuation from 1st October 2010...

'Down but not out'

 "Not bad," I thought to myself. After being unconscious for a month since the first day of Aidilfitri, being in the twilight of things in a world of paranoia, delusions and hallucinations afterwards, recovering from nosocomial infections, recovering from cellulitis after a poorly set infusion line, pressure sores, and still recovering from the weakness of both upper and lower limbs, it is nice to see Farouk alert, jovial and poking fun at himself after five months of hospitalization! And I have not gotten to the point of asking about his experience after 12 cardiac arrests. And he has not even completed the narration of his escapades in the four different hospitals in the Klang Valley. He attributes his victory so far to good deeds that he must have done, and God is slowly deducting them one by one. Looks like he has a lot of catching up to do to replenish his good records after this ordeal is all over!

Being a cardio-thoracic surgeon himself, he has had the first-hand experience of a sick patient in a very precarious position. The whole experience has been a very humbling one for him (and all of us as well). At least in the first month of his illness, he was unconscious (to be worried about himself).

He actually was stricken by a mild febrile illness after a week of field research at the Orang Asli settlement in Gelang Patah with his medical students which eventually turned out to be meningoencephalitis (infection of the brain and its covering).

I do not plan to be a spoilsport. Farouk plans to write his memoir on the events of his ailment after he has made of full recovery, and we will all hear it from the horse's mouth. With his fighting spirit, that faithful day is quite imminent. One take-home message; we whine, we cringe, we fret, we complain, we demand, we prosecute for our rights, but at the end of the day, our lives are so vulnerable, like a puppet on a string. Like the Malay proverb says, 'Telur di hujung tanduk'!

Hope for a speedy recovery!

Harakahdaily columnist Dr Farouk Musa ill

Harakahdaily

KUALA LUMPUR, Sept 15: Activist and Harakahdaily columnist Dr Ahmad Farouk Musa (pic) has been admitted at Hospital Kuala Lumpur since last week for bacterial meningitis. His condition is reported to be critical. Dr Farouk, 47, a cardiothoracic surgeon by profession and a senior lecturer at Monash University, was admitted on Friday evening. He was later put on sedation. He is currently still warded at the intensive care unit, but has yet to regain consciousness. Friends who visited him at the hospital describe him as a person who never runs out of energy. Days before he was taken to hospital, he informed Harakahdaily's English editor that he was preparing for his next piece for his column, 'Islamism Revisited'. Late last year, he launched a new organisation called Islamic Renaissance Front, a youth empowerment movement which focuses on intellectual debate. The IRF has since held several talks and seminars, most notably organising a lecture by well-known Swiss scholar Dr Tariq Ramadan last July and a seminar on Qur'anic tafsir. Dr Farouk is also a founding member of the Muslim Professionals Forum, and has been actively speaking at various inter-religious fora as well as contributing his thought-provoking articles on the subject of Islamic reform. Despite his busy teaching job and practice, he is said to be engaged in various projects, one of which is to produce a Bahasa Melayu translation of the late Polish-Muslim scholar Muhammad Asad's renowned work, The Message of the Qur'an. Dr Farouk takes a personal interest in the subject of Islamic revivalism, and in speeches and writings has emphasised the need for reform based on true Islamic intellectual traditions, an interest which led him to form the IRF. He has been actively involved in his medical field, having presented papers in Asia and Europe, winning several awards for his research works, specifically on minimally invasive surgery and atrial fibrillation. We hope readers will pray for Dr Farouk's speedy recovery. NB. Ahmad Farouk Musa was my classmate in Penang Free School between 1976 and 1980. (FG)

To the lower secondary school teachers with love...

PFS was a new experience for me when I stepped into its compound in the early days of the year 1976. Besides the super-smart students that I had mentioned in the previous posts, there were equally memorable and dedicated teachers to match that. The most striking teacher that awed me was the late Mr Koh Sin Ghee. In Form 1A, he taught us the English Language. But in reality, he opened my eyes to many other things in life, like divergent thinking and letting the mind wander as well as being verbose. He would come in dressed in his 'uniform' of a long-sleeved white shirt, black pants and crimson coloured tie, carry his briefcase bearing his initials KSG. He would try to humour our young impressionable minds by saying that it stood for 'Kiss Some Girls', contributing much to the class's commotion. We called him DOM (Dirty Old Man) instead. 

He was a self-proclaimed walking dictionary as he tried to open our eyes to the plethora of words in the English Language that (at least to me) appeared gibberish. He would impress us with bombastic words like rendezvous, gargantuan, melancholy, debris (with silent 's') and on and on... so much so that I started a scrapbook religiously enlisting all the 'new' (at least to me) words introduced by Mr Koh, which on average is about 5 words a day. Generally, his class is filled with laughter. Some of us will forward to his dirty jokes and newly coined words like sexperiments, mostly self-discovery of one's own adolescent body! And his dirty humoured laced quotations like, "Hope like eternally in the human in the human breasts!" (emphasis on breasts) and "Time flies, man's hopes go!" The second quotation was more like a sign off when he leaves the class, much like in the 'Mickey Mouse Club' where their parting song goes, "...and now it is time to say goodbye to all our company, MIC....see you real soon, KEY...why? Because we love you, MOUSE...and the waving of the cute children, which included Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, who later become not such good role models!


Coming to KSG, he looked a bit like Costello (of Abbot and Costello), short and plump. His temperament was sometimes unpredictable. He would be jovial at one instance, and suddenly he would explode in anger when someone in the class misbehaves (usually chit-chatting or napping). His usual weapon is the soft blackboard duster he would use as a missile to throw at the offender, occasionally missing its intended target.
Rumour had that KSG was a compulsive gambler and declared bankrupt. Many angry old ladies were occasionally seen harassing him, and he sheepishly quietening them. KSG used to sell his personal collections of stamp collection and related paraphernalia to the class students. All the stress must have taken its toll on his health as he succumbed to a coronary event a few years before his retirement when we were in Form 4 or 5!

My form teacher in F1A was Encik Azman Aziz, the fair pot-bellied Randhir Kapoor look-alike sloppy appearing Bahasa Malaysia teacher who was actually trained to teach English. He was called in once to fill up for a dearth of Bahasa Malaysia teacher, and he never taught English after that! Despite his lethargic outlook, he was quite a good Bahasa teacher. I can categorically say that I obtained a distinction in Bahasa Malaysia in SPM through his early input.

AA usually speaks English in the Malay Language class. There was once a circular from the education office requiring everyone to converse in the Malay language in the language class. One fateful day Cikgu Azman attended the class. We had just finished a strenuous (as usual) physical education under Mr Wilson Doss, and we were cooling down under the fan. AA told us to cool down first before we started the class. One smart alec (PV) immediately told not to speak in English in BM class, and the correct word should be 'sejuk bawah', much to the amusement of the whole class! And off PV was sent off to stand at the corner of the course. It was quite distracting with a 6ft 2in figure is standing facing the wall for the entire period whilst lessons went on as usual afterwards!

Lat's caricature

The History syllabus in Form 1 started with the beginning of human civilisation itself -the Indus valley civilisation of Mohenjo Daro and Harappa. This was covered by a fierce-looking over-sized over-endowed tight cheongsam clad tiger-eye bespectacled teacher named Mrs Lai. She was the exact replica of fierce teachers depicted in Lat's cartoon strip! She was later replaced by a highly viviparous but not so vivacious, Cilla Black hair-styled (of 'A Lover's Concerto' and 'Blind date' fame) Puan Majidah, who had just returned from maternity leave. As far as I can remember, she was perpetually pregnant (twice between 1976 and 1978). 

She managed to be pregnant more successfully than she cared to teach us history! Her teaching strategy was simple - a student reads a page aloud, she re-read the page aloud and asks students to underline the relevant parts of a page. Students receiving textbooks for a loan were told to erase the underling before returning them! The stars answered our prayers in the form of Mr Lee Kok Keng, who gave new meaning to learning and relevance to History in Form 3 via his critical dramatisation and story-telling mode of teaching. It was as if he was there at the turning point of history! We missed the lessons that he had to miss as he had to handle the textbook loan scheme at the beginning and end of the year.

Art and craft had never been our cup of tea. Mr Kam Eng Chye just managed to kill the passion and the hidden talent (if there ever was) altogether. I do not remember a single thing that he taught as an Art teacher. He would just come in and ask to draw this and that, without teaching about colours, shades etc. Unlike now, there were no textbooks for Art and Craft either. Only Ho King Hee managed to produce masterpieces after masterpieces, especially for the examinations, with his mother's help or someone who was an art teacher! This changed when Mr Tan Teong Kooi came to the picture in Form 3. The bearded teacher with dark glasses was the patron of the Photographic Society of the school. He at least taught us something which at least helped to get a 'C' in Art! He actually was impressed with a painting of mine which depicted an old lady who was choosing durians from a roadside stall, and he pasted it in the Art and Craft room! And helped in crafting a comical puppet head (Puss in Boots type) for SRP. His wife, Mrs Tan Teong Kooi, was a no-nonsense Maths teacher and my form teacher in Form2A. Mr KSG once made a sexist joke in front of her, only to be told off in a very nice way outside the classroom! Their son, Rene, a year younger than us, was an all-rounder. He excelled in sports and studies and was the head boy of his batch.

Nana Mouskouri

Geography was taught by Ms Teh, a dedicated mild-mannered teacher with Nana Mouskouri hairstyle and spectacles.
Ms Tai was a fierce spinster with a bulldog face who taught us Commerce. She looked like a potato with toothpicks at four sides, further accentuated by her tight body-hugging cheongsam. Another fierce lady taught us English Literature. All I remember of her name is that we use to call her 'Gagool' - the same character (an evil witch doctor) that she was trying to teach from the book King Solomon's mines.

Talking about slave drivers, Mr Wilson Doss fitted the bill absolutely. He was supposed to teach us PE, but he would ask us to do manoeuvers that were humanly impossible, like Duck Walk and Crouch Bounce. The aches from the exercises would last a whole week until it was time for another session. His famous words were, "Do as I say but don't do as I do!" as he had a drinking problem and subsequently succumbed to it. Despite his strict disposition, he was liked by many, especially the cricketers, as he moulded the school team to victory.
In Form 1, we got the most uninspiring teacher of Science in Mr Chew Kee. He was a plain Joe with forever the same set of attire and brown plastic bag tucked under his armpit and cycled to school daily on his grandfather bicycle.

Ray Milland

Another funny character with a twisted sense of humour taught us Science in the form of Mr Teoh Chin Kooi. He had the uncanny resemblance to Ray Milland of Alfred Hitchcock's 'Dial M for Murder' with the same broad forehead, receding hairline and back-combed hair. One day his lesson to teach prisms had to be cancelled as it was raining. He then told us, "We will do the experiment tomorrow but ask your God not to pass urine tomorrow!"

Before Paul the Octopus came into existence, we had our own soccer soothsayer through Mr Chang, our Mathematics teacher. 1978, when we were in Form 3, was a FIFA World Cup year. Mr Chang was the first to discover that the cup always stays in the host continent, except for Brazil, in 1958. His exception seems to have recurred in 2002 (Brazil won In Asia), and this year - Spain won on the African continent!

Cikgu Ibrahim:2010

En Ibrahim recently appeared on the 50th anniversary of the 7th Georgetown South Scout movement in Penang (see pic). He was the Afternoon Session supervisor and a strict discipline master. He had taken a few relief classes and tried teaching a thing or two. What I remember from his classes is the joke that he had repeated a bit too often. A young boy went to a shop to buy pencils. He picked up a pencil and its cost. The shopkeeper said, "10 sen". He picked a second and asked him again. This time, the shopkeeper said, "15 sen!"  So our hero put back the first pencil and pays the shopkeeper only 5 sen!

He and so many other teachers like him who found great pride and pleasure in their profession are true icons of 1-Malaysia. Their sweat nurtured the young ugly ducklings into majestic swans that we are today. To all my teachers, a big 'Thank You' from the bottom of my heart!

Next attraction: Upper secondary teachers...