My four years at St. Mary’s College (SMC) were well spent, at a time when life was virtually at a standstill and St. Lucia was in social, political and economic transition, though much unbeknownst to most students, whose primary care was passing exams and aiming to leave The College with as-many qualifications as it would take to guide us through afterschool life.
In my continuing walk down College Memory Lane, I recall that College Boys’ parents were overly proud of their sons standing on pedestals over those who didn’t pass the door-opening Entrance Test.
The political transition at the time (circa 1969-73) was one when radical politicians George Odlum and Peter Josie’ influences were being manifested through a progressive entity called The Forum, of which SMC’s first local principal, Michael ‘Kyack’ Mondesir, was a founding member, even though Catholic and Education Ministry rules didn’t allow him to join speakers on their monthly Columbus Square platform.
The economic situation was nothing like now, as, back then, one EC dollar went a long way.
For example, my father would send me to the ‘Penny Bank’ on Saturday mornings to withdraw EC $10.00 for my mum’s long shopping list at the M&C supermarket on Bridge Street in Castries and after paying the two-cents stamp, I would sink the 98 cents into my fob and use the $9.00 for mum’s shopping.
My 98 cents would then buy me: a 25 cents matinee (cinema) ticket (to sit in ‘Pit’), a Tip Top (soft drink) for 12 cents, a Flamingo Restaurant hamburger for 35 cents, a packet of roasted peanuts for 12 cents – and still have 16 cents left in pocket change.
A bus fare to and from The College (on ‘Cherry’) was 10 cents each way, but some would save the return fare by walking to town on afternoons, crossing Vigie Airport tarmac on the ‘Green Light’.
Territorial gang warfare also had early roots in those days: those (like me) who attended the Methodist Primary School on Darling Road would have to daily ‘beware’ of fellow ‘bad boys’ in the Anglican School while going home for lunch, as well as ‘the CDC Boys’ and then ‘the RC Boys’.
Those living at Hospital Road, La Toc Road or at The Morne would first also pass by the Amy King store on Laborie Street, place a big stone into an empty shoe-box, cover and place it in the middle of the sidewalk and wait for some ‘Country Bookie’ to kick it — and we’d shout ‘Hegas!’ before running off to the Copra House on Mongiraud Street.
Stealing copra at the Copra House would require one of us blowing the horn on the Lister cart to attract ‘Mano’ (the watchman) to the front of the building while those gathered at the back stole the dried coconut pieces, before crossing the Castries River to argue over sharing the stolen spoils – and all that before heading home for lunch and to return to school in time for our afternoon classes that began with ‘Times Tables’ and Physical Exercises (‘Hands Up, Out, In and Down’.
But College Boys couldn’t have that type of fun after entering SMC – not while wearing the school’s white shirt with the school’s emblem on the pocket.
College Boys from working-class communities also had to be smarter about having fun between classes and during the lunch break — whether secretly betting ‘a penny’ on ‘Out-Goes-In’ cricket games, or (in my case) singing calypsos (like The Mighty Sparrow’s ‘The Lizard’) for the ‘White Boys’ in exchange for a Ham-and Cheese’ sandwich, or exchanging a Julie Mango for a ‘Bacon-and-Egg’.
Some College Boys who could swim would be enrolled in the Sea Scouts to sail across the Castries Harbour on Saturdays under the watchful eyes of Brother Joachim, while those doing Geometry would compete to draw a circle on the blackboard — without a compass — like done daily by Bro Mc Caarten.
Our History classes romanticised British colonial wars and conquests, Geography classes taught us to draw maps of Europe, Australia and Canada, Literature classes involved stories about ‘Takka the Otter’ and French classes required we properly-spell and correctly-pronounce tongue-twisting names exactly like by Madame Henry (her surname pronounced ‘Anwi’).
And our daily downers came with announcements of who’d earned ‘Pink Slips’ for afternoon detentions in The Gym, or ‘Green Slips’ to be ‘caned’ by the Irish principal, Bro. Donatus.
Those of us already hooked on ‘Afro’ hairstyles of the emerging Black Power era had a definite problem with Bro. Donatus forbidding our hairstyle when his was a white version of the same, but at our parents’ insistence, we had no choice over regular haircuts.
One common denominator was that many College Boys yearned to have a Convent Girl (students of St. Joseph’s Convent) as a girlfriend and eagerly would look forward to attending ‘summer’ holiday parties at the homes of the more privileged among us, or meeting the girls at ‘Teenage’ dances sponsored by the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) at the Parish Centre on Micoud Street — the luckier ‘making flash’ or ‘cutting style’ with ‘rent a tile’ dancefloor moves.
Another privileged fun time was sitting next to a Convent Girl at the annual Easter matinee shows at Gaiety or Clarke’s Cinema to watch ‘The Ten Commandments’.
Yes, being College Boys made our parents proud of their sons wearing our blue College Blazers through town on the first day of school, every September.
And yes too, those were the school days The Mighty Sparrow aptly-described in song as being our ‘Happy. Happy Days!’ — even though not exactly along the lines of his melodious definition of the word CONTENTS that adorned the back of our exercise books.
But, no – back-then, I had absolutely no idea that my annual holidays-at-sea would have turned me into a lifelong writer, still with only one GCE (General Certificate of Examinations) to my name.