The ghost of the past

Yesterday I was at my old secondary school which i last visited two years ago. As I strolled through the compound I was amazed at how years fly. It was as if yesterday that I was rushing for prep, practically scampering after hearing the siren, ahead of the teacher on duty who was waving an intimidating stick as if we were cows.

Ok I must admit the way we ran made us sort of look like cows. Those who faced the good old days of the rod will identify with me on this one. Exchanging chits at preptime, dreadful preps, exam pressure, reading novels (mills and boons), nicknaming teachers, hanging around the canteen, dressing up on Saturdays, going for school trips and lots of other scandalous moments.

Just as I was walking over to the headmaster’s office, I run into one teacher, oh yes! Wasn’t it that Arts and craft teacher who gave me a swollen bottom on one occasion? It is so ironical when you meet these teachers years later and see nothing intimidating about them. Remember the tummy ache that came whenever you were summoned to the staff room?

When he flashed me a killer smile,I was thinking, what the heck did I ever fear about this guy. Then the memory of one cold dark night in front of the staff room in senior two came back to me. It was during night prep when a grasshopper landed on one girl’s shoulder. The tickle sent her screaming and every one else in pursuit of the door.

Such chaos! Five minutes later my class was kneeling in front of the staff room as that teacher on duty demanded to know the culprits. But like real students, solida (protecting the criminals/law of silence) ruled. Painfully we ‘tied’ our butts as three strokes of the cane had their way with our bottoms.
What years those were, someone buy Fagil Monday a cold drink for banning the cane.

Anyhow so I was saying, being in memory lane was really special. Though I am still very mad that the school built a swimming pool years after me. How could they do that to us yet we were more deserving students than today’s lot.

One thing I still marvel at is that the teachers still look the same. What do they feed teachers on? I could pass for the same age as my history and home economics teachers back in the day. And the men apparently look like they can buy me lunch with out raising a brow. Many be I should have been a teacher.

Anyway it felt so good to walk in and out of the gate. Gosh I hated the process of asking for permission. Being in boarding school was practically like being in prison. How I looked forward to finishing school and returning to boast with hot clothes, hair and all. Such sweet memories.