THE LAST LAUGH
When principals unite
We have forgotten that our youth was a lockdown – most of the time, anyway. Of course, we went to school; but all times of departure, arrival and what went on in-between were carefully monitored.
Unlike today, parents and principals got on famously with nobody daring to contradict the school head.
An octet of us classmates would meet each month for lunch; and although common memories were blurred by then, we all remembered vividly the relationship our mothers had with our principal Sister Gabriel at Bishop’s.
Mo’s mother Auntie Lolita was a thirdgeneration alumnus and a shining light of the PPA.
“So Sister, anything I need to correct? Mo is behaving, I hope?”
“Just a ‘leetle’ matter of too much tennis and the homework is suffering!”
“I will stop that nonsense instantly,” boomed Auntie Lolita.
Suni’s mother was likewise president of the PPA and another distinguished alumnus. Not that it made any difference to Sister Gabriel.
“You really must stop Suni bringing food for the hostellers every day.”
“I had no idea,” was the totally truthful reply. “But I’ll stop that nonsense immediately.”
Then came Mal’s turn. Her mother’s frequent utterance was that other than entering her three daughters into school, she did not need to see the principal ever again. That was true until Mal cut afternoon school one day to watch a movie.
The subsequent fallout was so nervewracking for Mal’s poor mother (Sister Gabriel’s righteous wrath shattered that gentle lady!) that she had to drive straight up to her Nuwara Eliya house to recover from the interview.
“You can be quite sure Sister, that Mal will be severely punished,” she quavered. She was not the slightest bit concerned about how severe Sister’s punishment for Mal was going to be.
Readers will notice that never did parents side with their offspring. Principals reigned with iron rods and parents gladly surrendered trustfully, thinking the school knew best.
My own situation at Bishop’s was slightly different. My mother was the Principal of Musaeus at the time and the two ladies met frequently at private school principals’ meetings. Alas for me, they were friends.
Sister Gabriel was tall, dignified and British. Mother was tall, dignified and American. But despite this transatlantic difference, the two ladies were greatly in sync.
“You may sit with Miss Edwards, Goolbai,” Sister would say coldly, banishing me to her secretary’s room if I accompanied Mother to her office. That pleased me. I could eavesdrop comfortably.
Of course, they were meeting on other business; but I was fairly sure they’d get round to me eventually.
They did. And I was ready to hear it all.
As Mother was getting ready to leave, she asked casually: “So what’s Goolbai been up to these days?”
Sister sighed. “Her maths!
You know how…”
“I am indeed aware…”
“How did such backwardness…?”
“Change of countries and schools, I suppose…”
“I am so embarrassed that we seem unable to…”
“Oh no, Sister. It is not your fault at all,” said Mother, comfortingly. “It’s entirely…”
“She doesn’t try you know. Some galvanizing...?”
“Hmm... Yes. Perhaps a ‘leetle’ outside help…?”
“Perhaps very tiny amounts may…?”
They never finished sentences. Total sympathetic understanding existed. The word ‘tuition’ trembled in the air. Neither principal approved of such a thing. Nor would either mention it.
I was summoned from Miss Edward’s protecting office. Both principals gave me accusatory stares. As usual, they stood united.
The next day, Mr. Asirwatham from Wesley College informed me I would have 24 lessons for three months and a guaranteed O-Level pass. Tennis was cancelled. Leisure was a thing of the past.
But for the record, I passed in maths by the skin of my teeth. The two principals congratulated each other warmly. I wonder if they remembered who had actually sat for the paper!