Dear Friends:

You must have seen on TV or read in the news about the terrorist attack in Mumbai.  Last 3 days I have been watching on TV what was happening in Mumbai, which is the financial capital of India.

A group of terrorists captured a ship/boat and reached Mumbai. They struck at many places with AK 47 assault rifles and grenades.

They took many as hostages in famous hotels like the Taj, Nariman, Oberoi and Trident. Indian commandos had to oust them by carefully surrounding the hotels making sure that many tourists are not killed. It took them 3 nights and two full days to kill 11 heavily armed terrorists and capture one terrorist alive.

It looks like that some groups, jealous of India making even modest progress, constantly strike at important parts of the nation. Striking at major hotels in Mumbai was to cause panic and an attempt to make India appear as an unsafe place. But the Indian army and police have conquered the terrorists at some cost. It is here known as India’s 26/11; something like 9/11 in USA. The place I live is Kerala , which is about 1000 km away from Mumbai. Things have been peaceful here. The Mumbai attack by terrorists has been the major news all over India and perhaps in other parts of the world.

India being such a complex country with so many ethnic and religious groups, there can be periodic hiccups here and there. This one has been a major one instigated by foreign forces against the  safety and progress of the country. One great lesson the event has taught is that India needs a much better civil intelligence structure. The one India has now is  much too inadequate and quite outmoded for the complex world we are in.

We all hope and pray that terrorists stop such evil activities that people of India and the world can live in peace and make progress particularly for the benefit of the poor.

Good wishes,

Joe Chira

Kerala, India

 Happy Birthday to Prof. Paul J. Erriah.  We all wish him a long and healthy life and a happy semi-retirement.

***

“A time to give thanks for the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies … bounties which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come.”

***

Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity: it must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all.  William Faulkner.  Wishing you and your loves ones a Happy, Safe Holiday…Happy Thanksgiving!

- Debra and Carla

***

Happy Thanksgiving.  It’s a time for family and fun but also for some introspection!

- Kamie

***

Happy Thanksgiving to the CHS-JCCSS family.  Rishi, I know you are a motor cycle enthusiast.  After 42 years I am back on the Motor cycle. This time in Ajax, Ontario.  It’s a 650 cc Yamaha V Star Crusiser. After 28 years with Ontario Power Generation Nuclear at Pickering and hope to retire in two years with my bike in Guyana snow birding.

- Narine Datt Ramsarran

***

Happy Thanksgiving to the Class of 1969 and to all CHS-JCCSS grads, teachers and their families.

Here are some wedding pictures of Goopta and Vidya.

- Chandra Dutt

***   

Happy Thanksgiving to all the CHS-JCCSS folks in the USA. I am sending  some pictures of Jamaica where I have been living for the past 15 years.

- Tina Fenton                             

A Man of Resourcefulness, Wit, and Histrionics

By Paris Singh

Mr. J. C. Chandisingh was the driving force behind the building of the new Corentyne High School, but Mr. Haroun Samad  more than any other teacher helped to make that dream a reality.  In his resourcefulness, wit, histrionics, and protean personality, Mr. Samad might well have been a Shakespearean protagonist, catapulted  from the stage into the world of reality.  In essence, he was a rare fusion of intellect, humanity and earthiness, never losing his joie de vivre as he deeply immersed himself in such a plurality of activities.  He was a strict, fearless disciplinarian of the old school brand (but far from being a narrow-minded martinet), a very astute and capable administrator, a history teacher without parallel, a raconteur and humorist, a true lover of English literature, and an exemplary pillar of his community.

Mr. Samad had a rather privileged childhood.  (Since the close proximity of our desks in the staff room made us neighbors, he told me a great deal about his life amid his frequent light bantering.)  He graduated from Central High School in Georgetown, where he developed a life-long love for history and for Romantic and Renaissance literature.  He always spoke well of his father, who, he said, owned a fleet of cars, and who constantly exhorted  him  to shun life’s alluring snares and pitfalls  that quickly led to  the abyss of decadence and dissoluteness.  He absolutely loathed smoking  and said of a cigarette: “It has fire at one end and a fool at the other end.”  Since he knew about my own literary interests, he was in the habit of quoting from Marlow, Shakespeare and Keats.  He loved Doctor Faustus, from which he often recited these lines:

            Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,

                And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

                Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.

His favorite lines from Keats were

            “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”,   Endymion

            And

            “Bright star!  Would  I were steadfast as thou art”. Sonnet: “Bright Star”

Whenever I attempted to curtail the excesses of his praises, he would say: “ ‘The eye sees not itself/But by reflection’ ; therefore let me be ‘such mirrors as will turn/Your hidden worthiness into your eyes’ ”.  Once in disciplining a disruptive student who saw himself as a class clown, he told the student, alluding to Twelfth Night, “You are not a witty fool or a foolish wit; you are a nitwit.”

Despite its limited resources, Corentyne High ranked among the top schools in the country.  Much of the credit must also go to the teachers.  Though the overwhelming majority of them were not professionally trained, the teachers nevertheless ranked among the finest   because of the passion and commitment they brought to their mission.  However, while I was a student at CHS, I had never had a history teacher  as lively, witty, theatrical, knowledgeable, and effective as Mr. Samad.

It is difficult to do justice in trying to come to terms with why Mr. Samad  was a history teacher par excellence.  Apart from being who he was, he also had that indefinable,  that Je  ne sais quoi, quality about him.   As I was to hear him later in staff meetings, he argued fanatically and passionately that history was one of the most important subjects and that all students without exception must  take that subject in the culminating public examination.  At first I privately used to dismiss his reasoning for being tendentious, but later I began to appreciate  the cardinal importance of history.  It was Mr. Samad, as I eventually realized, who infused me with a lasting love for the subject. 

Mr. Samad’s classroom approach to the subject was absolutely phenomenal.  From start to finish in any lesson, he was a magnet, not merely because he was a figure of administrative power and authority , but also because  he had an imposing presence, and students loved his wit, his liveliness, and his drama.  He did not just make history come  alive;  he made us believe that we were living at that particular time.  Who can ever forget  Richard  III, the last Plantagenet; the Battle of Bosworth Field;  Perkin Warbeck; Lambert Simnel; Oliver Cromwell, the New Model Army, Marston Moor and Naseby;  James II  and the Glorious Revolution; the War of the Spanish Succession;  Marlborough’s victories at Ramillies, Malplaquet, Oudenarde, and Blenheim; the War of Jenkins’ Ear; or the truce of Aix-La-Chapelle?  These words will always resonate in my mind, redolent of  the nostalgic golden days of high school around such an unforgettable history mentor.  When I was in the third form, I overheard one of the finest compliments paid to Mr. Samad by a student named Bhola.  Bhola said to three other students, Sadhu, “Katax” (who later became a science teacher at Queen’s) and “Jupiter” (who later became a teacher at CHS): “Man, nobody knows Southgate better than Samad.” (He was referring to Southgate’s history of England under the Tudors and Stuarts).

We should not forget that Mr. Samad helped to build the new CHS with his own hands.   Bookers Sugar Estates in the former British Guiana had given the land for the new school building as well as the old Albion Sugar Estate Hospital.  When the hospital was dismantled in the summer of 1958,  Mr. Samad and another teacher, Mr. Salim Khan, assisted in transporting the materials to the new site.  They had rented a truck, which they themselves loaded, and Mr. Samad did the driving.  I witnessed all of this because I was living at the time in one of the three residential buildings in the hospital compound.  The demolished hospital was used for the construction of a new wing of the old school and also for the auditorium of the new school.  Mr. Samad  was the linchpin in fund raising events, notably the school bingo in the old building in 1958.

Mr. Samad’s quest for the Deputyship was a  rather long one but it culminated  in his success in 1962.  Until that time he was the unacknowledged de facto Deputy Principal.  This meant that he was always saddled with the strenuously demanding  responsibilities of devising the school’s time table, doing all the paper work in registering students for the Cambridge and London examinations, and handling all discipline problems.  In 1958, before the Principal left for a holiday in Trinidad, Mr. Samad collected money from the students and staff to present him with  a beautiful Bullova watch and some spending money for the trip.  He had also organized  in the Principal’s honor a concert in which two of the Sohan sisters sang the Harry Bellafonte hit song, “A Jamaican Farewell”.  That year also Mr. Claude Veira, a teacher from Central High School who had acquired national celebrity as a member of the Theatre Guild  in Georgetown and who was a household  name for his weekly quiz program on  Radio Demerara, joined the CHS staff and was made Deputy Principal.  Because of their effervescence, effusiveness and kindred  wit, Mr. Samad and Mr. Veira became friends.  Of course, another concert in 1958 in the new wing of the old school  was  memorable.   One of the events was a wrestling match between Mr. Samad and Mr. Veira.  The sheer incongruity of the scene, in which these two Titans of the teaching profession, having cast aside their mantles of authority, having girded their loins, and making surrealistic faces at each other in the fight, albeit in mime, led to seismic laughter from the audience.  At this concert, Mr. Samad sang one of his favorite songs, “Ol’ Man River”, a song made famous by Paul Robeson in the film version of  Jerome Kern’s musical Show Boat.  When he reached the climactic moment with:

            You an’ me, we sweat and strain

            Body all achin’ and racked with pain.

            “Tote that barge!  Lift that bale!”

            Git a little drunk,

            An’ you lands in jail!

the students’ drowning applause was an affirmation of his powerful vocal chords.

Mr. Veira’s sojourn at CHS was just under two years, and he left as mysteriously as he had arrived.  Shortly after his departure he was appointed to a high-profiled administrative post at the Ministry of Education in Brickdam, Georgetown.  In his  wake, Mr. Jain, a Mathematics and Science teacher from India, was appointed  Deputy in the new school in 1959.  The relationship between Mr. Jain and Mr. Samad  was not memorable for its milk of human concord.  In the acrimonious clashes between them in staff meetings, Mr. Jain was no match  for the dexterous parries, penetrating thrusts and  incisive slashes from his colleague’s well-stocked verbal arsenal.  Mr. Samad  once told me an incident that seemed to cast doubt on Mr. Jain’s suitability as a science teacher.  He said:

“Once Mr. Jain came to my home breathless, evidently from running.  With great difficulty he was able to say: ‘Mr. Samad!  Mr. Samad, somebody stole the engine of my car!  Come and see!’  He and I rushed to his home in the school compound.  He then opened the bonnet of the car  and lamented:  ‘Look!  The engine! It’s gone!’  I  led him to the back of the car and said: ‘No one stole your engine.  Look, it’s at the back of the car.  This is a Volkswagen.’ ”

Mr. Jain left after two years to join his wife in Georgetown, and then Mr. Samad was officially made the Deputy.

There is indeed the perennial truth in this paradox: one cannot be too careful in choosing one’s enemies.  Since Mr. Samad was perceived as the lion at the Principal’s side, ready to see that all school policies were implemented, teachers by and large had an ambivalent attitude towards him.  On the one hand, they had to be very circumspect in dealing with him.  We must give Mr. Samad his due; he always made it clear publicly and unambiguously where he stood.  At staff meetings, referring, say,  to a particular infringement of a school regulation, he would often remark: “Chief,  many of our rules are frequently observed in the breach than in the observance.”  Or he might say, “Chief, some teachers who do not support a particular policy would not make any genuine effort to give it a try but would instead do everything possible to make it fail.”  Let me add another instance.  In 1963, when I was still new to the staff, the senior teachers formed a delegation and approached the Principal to petition for an immediate salary increase.  The petition was denied, and the next morning the Principal convened a staff meeting.  He came armed with his ledgers to explain that the school was still in debt and could ill-afford any salary increase then or in the foreseeable future.  Not to be outdone, Mr. Samad took the floor.  He said:  “Chief, I must remind my colleagues that even the government has turned us down.  Last month I joined the AMM leadership  (Association of Masters and Mistresses, the Union of teachers of Private and Secondary-Aided Schools) to put forward our case for a salary increase before the Minister of Education.  Sister Consulata of St. Rose’s High School very diligently and very scrupulously presented our position, but alas! the Government claimed it had no money.”  Since then no one could ever forget that disembodied name, “Sister Consulata”, which became a byword in comic exchanges. 

On the other hand, teachers quickly learned that Mr. Samad was an indispensable ally.  They found that he was amenable to good ideas and would make an earnest effort to try them out.  Moreover, if teachers had any problems with recalcitrant students, Mr. Samad’s assistance was very helpful.

I still like to flatter myself in believing that the relationship between Mr. Samad and myself was a special one, partly, I believe, because  he  had a love for the literature I taught and studied, and because  I had a consuming interest in his field of history.  He invited me a few times to his home, and I was able to  observe how exemplary a family man he was.  I admired his gusto and acumen, his spontaneous and devastating wit,  his  warmth and vivacity, and his inherent social graces.  His social accomplishments were many-faceted.  He was a very good dancer, and many were the trophies he and his wife  had won on the  dancing floors at special social events.  He loved to dance to the songs of Jim Reeves.  In addition, he was fanatical about horse racing, though, I suspect, he never struck it rich in that pastime.   He was a versatile singer  in both English and Hindi.  I once witnessed a competition between him and Rajendra Chandisingh in the middle classroom of the left wing (overlooking the playing field).  School was not in secession since the students had finished the terminal examinations and were on holiday. Teachers had to stay back to complete grading  examinations.   With theatrical flair and an incredible vocal virtuosity Mr. Samad sang an Indian song (whose name I had long forgotten)   and the song “Drink, Drink” from Sigmond Romberg’s operetta, The Student Prince. It was a performance I still  vividly recall  with absolute incredulity.  He loved the Hollywood classics of the 1940’s, the ’50’s, and the ’60’s and would always recommend films for me to see, films such as Green Dolphin Street (1947; with Lana Turner and Richard Hart) and The Seventh Veil  (1945; with James Mason and Ann Todd).

Mr. Samad’s  intellect and authority were  tempered with his earthiness, as evinced in his humor.  No one could tell a joke better than he because of his mastery of the spoken word and because of his histrionic skill in mimicking  such a wide range  of voices and characters.  Whence he obtained his inexhaustible stock of jokes remained a mystery, but to give him his due, the jokes were such unforgettable classics that they still make me laugh.  He once told me  this “history”  joke.  He said: “On one occasion at his home the British Foreign Secretary was entertaining the French Ambassador to London.  Taking him through his study and showing him the portraits of European statesmen, the Foreign Secretary commented: ‘This is Canning, a famous British Prime Minister during the Napoleonic era; this is Castlereagh, Britain’s War Minister during the Peninsula War, and this is Metternich, who ruled Austria with an iron fist after Napoleon’s defeat.’  The Ambassador at this point asked: ‘But where is Napoleon?’  The Foreign Minister then took him to the bathroom and said: ‘There is Napoleon.’  Shocked, the Ambassador said: ‘This is a disgrace.  Napoleon is France’s national hero.  Why his portrait in the bathroom?’  ‘Because’, said the Foreign Secretary, ‘we British were  so scared of him that whenever we saw him, you could well have imagined what he inspired us to do.’ ”

Mr. Samad never let his rank cut him off from the rest  of the staff, and he freely associated with his colleagues, provided that they refrained from unparliamentary language and conducted themselves with proper decorum.  He never wavered in his admiration for Bacchus. In fact, many were the times when, at Auntie Bettie’s Rum Shop, fortified with bunjal chicken and infused with good whiskey, he would preside at  Bacchic symposiums (or symposia) with his colleagues, amusing them with his diverting conversations on the week’s events and with his jovial comments.  This was also the time when teachers aired their views, discussed their problems, or sought his advice, and he was a good listener, who counselled with avuncular care.

When I visited Mr. Samad at him home in August, 1973 to bid him good-bye before going overseas, I could never have imagined that he would succumb to a fatal heart attack about two years later.  We were all saddened that he departed  at such a comparatively  young age.  He had enriched the minds and molded the character of more than a generation of students throughout the Corentyne , many of whom later distinguished themselves, and still continue to do so,  in diversified careers at home and abroad.  He would always be remembered as one who helped build the school and  enable it to stand proudly among the finest  educational institutions in Guyana.  Mr. Samad had given his very all to CHS, and his own life had exemplified and enshrined  the finest virtues of humanity.  The Principal, Mr. J. C. Chandisingh, wept profusely and inconsolably  at the funeral, perhaps realizing that he had lost his life-long friend and most trusted ally, and that what Mr. Samad received in return was sadly incommensurate with what he had given, for what he had given was beyond evaluation.

Early memories of Kanhai, Butcher, Solomon and Madray

By Julius B. Nathoo

Just near to the old hospital at Port Mourant stood a little building called “creche.” It was probably built by the estate owners to serve as some kind of kindergarten but by the time we were nine or ten, the estate had abandoned that use. The building stood idle and vacant and to it we came every day and from there teased, taunted and flirted with every girl that passed on the road. It is not a memory I am proud of. It is also the place from which we watched greatness in the making.

On the grass strip in front of the crech the older boys from the neighbourhood played “underhan” (softball cricket). Every Saturday and Sunday would assemble there at least three scores of players ready to do battle. Among them were Rohan Kahnai, Basil Butcher, Joe Solomon, Ivan Madray and the great “Buddy Boy” whose proper name I cannot remember. The self-appointed captains, Basil Butcher and Buddy Boy would pick their teams. Invariably they would start with Basil picking Joe Solomon and Buddy Boy picking Rohan Kanhai. Then they would go down the list until there were twelve players on every side. Occasionally I would get picked but only if they were short on numbers.

“The child is father of the man” wrote Wordsworth. Even in those early years we saw not only the talents but also the characters of the big four: Rohan was always angry and impetuous; Basil was polished and urbane; Ivan was handsome and pleasant; Joe Solomon was all smiles and giggles, the embodiment of “niceness.”

Even in those early years Joe Solomon was the hardest to get out.  He could bat all day; he just enjoyed playing the ball whether he was hitting it beyond the houses or just playing it back to the bowler. If you wanted to  win a match, pick Joe Solomon.

Invariably, though, it was a contest between Rohan and Basil, both having the uncanny ability to see a loose ball very early and lifting it way beyond the houses for a boundary! I remember now what Arthur Ashe, the great U.S. tennis player, said about the champion hitters. They have an ability to see the ball earlier and more sharply than others. They have eyes as eagles.

These talented players later became members of the Port Mourant Cricket team and then members of the British Guiana Team and still later renowned members of the West Indies Cricket Team. I will have something to say about that in the next installment.

From our famous vantage point we saw greatness in the making. It was from there also that we heard Cheddi Jagan deliver his most famous speeches. I don’t know if the creche is still standing; it should have been preserved as a historic relic. There was an aura of greatness about it.  Near to it stood a tamarind tree.

“I think I shall never see

A poem lovely as that tamarind tree.”

What memories it evokes!   

 In the past week the CHS-JCCSS website received 1,139  visits from the following 10 countries: Canada | Ecuador|Germany |Guyana | Jamaica |Netherland Antilles  | New Zealand| Trinidad & Tobago|USA | UK |[Source: Google Analytics]

 Rafudeen (Michael) Nizamudeen recently visited from Guyana.  Some of the boys from class of 76 got together at Nigel Drepaul’s place last Sunday .. November 16th.  Here are some pictures for the website.

Sher

Many a history was handed down by word of mouth; and many also lost. Each of us knows something that the other does not know or remember. In sharing them, we are not only enriched but they enter into the collective memory and imagination  and live in perpetuity as part of our heritage.

Rishi, you are also a treasure trove of memories yourself. I now recall Miss Mangru from Topoo. Her sister, Irene, and I attended Albion CM School together. Topoo is still very alive in my mind as I used to cut through it as a shortcut to Rose Hall. I don’t think it is forgotten; it now has running water and electricity. I also recall the silk cotton trees there. There was a huge one just before entering Topoo. We were cautioned not to go there or point our finger towards it at midday as jumbies used to lurk underneath it at that time.

Beauty, I knew your Uncle Donald quite well (Teacher Rawana and later Dr. Rawana, after obtaining his medical credentials in Ireland). He was the best-man at my late brother’s wedding. My brother was G.P. Dhanraj (Madan), more commonly known as Jack. I think we still have a photo with your uncle at the wedding. Glysis Trilokie, a former teacher at Albion CM School, is now living in Canada. The Ramkumars were prominent in Albion Estate. They had a shop and one member had a car for hire, as I recall.

Mr. Nathoo, yes, there was talk in Guyana as to bringing back the whip, as I read in the papers recently. This shows that there was merit in those days of using it! Quite a few boys had the cross-bench from JR. Fortunately, they lived to be examples to the rest of us. I totally agree with you that the whip stifled some creativity on our part. We were all too fearful of being punished for inadvertently mentioning something deemed wrong.

To all the other readers, I can now envision you relaxing at home during the weekends musing about your own recollection of memories of the good old days. In the usual Guyanese spirit, cheers to them!!!

Chananlall (Walter) Dhanraj

I find these postings very interesting.  I live in Augusta, Georgia and when I went to vote a few weeks I met a gentleman with whom I had a brief conversation.  After I told him that I was from Guyana, he mentioned that he knew someone from Guyana; I am sure he used the term Reverend with either Jagnandan or Somwaru.  I think it is the same person mentioned in one of the postings.  I will be happy to meet these people because there are not many Guyanese in Augusta.  I have a feeling they have moved, perhaps to somewhere else in Georgia.  Syd, I think I know one of your brothers; I cannot remember his first name.  Is it Arnold?  We attended the evening class at Rose Hall High School in the early sixties.

Emam Hoosain

University of Augusta

Innocence and the Will to Survive

Part 1

by Prof. Paul Erriah

1.       Growing up in Plantation Albion was based on childhood innocence and the will to survive.

2.       Saturdays was the big market day on the road in front of the Hospital.

3.       All the merchants “moved” their merchandise to the Saturday market. Even the barber, Ramsaywack, opened shop at the market.

4.       His son’s nickname was “Cuts”. The sign on a cloth at the market barber shop read “Cuts Cuts Hair Here”.(J)(J)!!!!

5.       I was my maternal grandmother’s assistant at the market. She sold wara, tamarind balls, byre, and dried peppers.

6.       When the cane was burned before being cut for the factory, all the black soot flew into the area of our residential loggies. WHAT A MESS!!!!

7.       The factory whistle went off for the beginning of each shift.

8.       The water mill was steam– driven and when it released steam, it produced a huge burst of steam and a frightening noise.

9.       When it was castor oil day, we were lined up at the hospital and had to drink the thing from a skinny tall glass.

10.    We used to take a toffee to avoid vomiting the  laxative since the figure of Mr. Bonus (Ashton Veeramalay’s father) was a nightmare for children.

11.    I used to hate to go to “Chiney” John’s shop because he would playfully pinch you on the cheek.

12.    The Matadeen family had a huge business selling groceries, soft drinks, and ice.

                13. One of their son’s nickname was “Butterball”.