La Salle Recollections – by Stephen Wong

Primary 5 C  (Class master: Mr. Yuen Wui Ping, nick-named 光頭袁)

First day at La Salle, we sat quietly, nervously on our hands listening intently to what the teacher had to say, fearing that our command of the English language was insufficient to comprehend. We were the envy of our teachers and school-mates in our old schools. After all, how many boys were lucky enough to get into La Salle College!

Our parents were hovering over the open windows along the entire left side of the classroom on Perth Street, watching and making sure that we did not misbehave and get kicked out on the first day.

光頭袁 opened his mouth and began to speak. Gee, my English was not that bad. I could understand what he was saying. But wait, he was speaking in Cantonese, and more to the parents outside the windows than to the class.

“Your ancestors have blessed your families, for you have been assigned to my class and be taught by me,“ he began. Everyone was impressed. The parents nodded in agreement.

Weeks and months went by …

“I am going to teach you an English word that not even your parents would know. Go ahead and ask them. If I am right, I will treat the whole class to ice cream. What is the English word for the Cantonese word ‘mare’ (carry someone on the back)?”

He was right, no one knew. We did not ask our parents most of whom did not know English anyway. So the whole class was taken to the tuck shop during class time for ice cream.  The answer, according to 光頭袁, was “pick-a-back”.  We were impressed, as we licked the final drop of ice cream off our fingers.  Years later, after we had become better educated, we learned that the correct answer should have been “piggy back”.

“Don’t scream or applaud, but I am going to tell you some good news. 老牛 has just won two contests from the first Hong Kong Art Festival, one for the best translation from Chinese to English and the another for English to Chinese.”

老牛 was the nick name he used to refer to himself during his infrequent bouts of humility attack.  He then showed us an English newspaper with a picture of him holding two big silver trophies, one in each hand. Apparently he won with a translation of a Shakespearean sonnet into classical Chinese poetry and a piece of classical Chinese poetry into a sonnet.  We were impressed, and off to the tuck shop to celebrate with ice cream. “What is a sonnet?” A question we never bothered to ask or find out its answer.

Primary 6C  (Class master: Brother Wilfred, nick-named 蠶豆)

My ancestors must have stopped blessing my family. I was assigned to the dreaded  蠶豆’s class. Class started half-an-hour earlier and finished half-an-hour later, no extra school fees. Those who were sent to “detention” for mostly trivial reasons meant staying another hour to complete extra work. On an average day, a quarter of the class was sent to detention, and about the same number was whipped in the rump with a rattan cane, either publicly in front of the class on all fours or in the privacy of the garage at number 1, Perth Street. That white building at the head of Perth Street was where the brothers and boarders lived. During the course of the year, all students in the class, save one, had at least a taste of the cane. The lone boy who did not, grew up to become a head prefect and then a brilliant cardiac surgeon.

One memory burned into our collective memory and haunted us forever. After one routine double-caning, the victim got up and his face contorted as a reflex reaction to the pain. 蠶豆 got a glimpse of the expression and barked: “Why are you smiling?” Down on all fours he pushed the boy and the cane whipped down two more times. The poor boy got up, not realizing what was happening or why. 蠶豆 checked the boy’s facial expression. “Still smiling?” Down the boy went again and followed by the cane, twice.

To our horror, the scene repeated and repeated. After the fifth or sixth time, the boy literally went into shock and all twenty-four of his facial muscles went into collective spasm. 蠶豆 took another look at the face and said:  “That’s better.” The nightmare ended to everyone’s relief. Normal class activities resumed. No one bothered or dared to offer the victim  condolences or words of support. This boy grew up and eighteen months later, he came first among all of four classes of Form 1, besting Ip Moon Wai and Choi Siu Lun.

Form 1D  (Form master: Mr. Thomas Chan Ho Yim, nick-named 豬王)

I was absent for the first half of the school year as a result of a serious illness and thus had few recollections other than the fact that no one seemed to know the form master’s real name. He was universally known as 豬王. He had buck teeth, making his mouth look like the snout of a pig, thus the nick-name. Uninformed and naïve pupils sometimes addressed him as “Mr. Chu” or “Mr. Wong”, with dire consequences.

Form 2A  (Form master:  Mr. John Richard)

John Richard had no nick-name but his surname was Lee. He dropped his surname Lee for whatever reasons. Most assumed that his surname was Richard. He was “promoted” from 1A form master to being Form 2A form master. Non-Chinese students were put into the “A” class and they took French as the second language. This was my first exposure to peers of foreign descent: English, Portuguese, Indian, Korean, etc., increasing the need to converse in English during school hours, but only slightly, as they did not seem to mingle much with the Cantonese crowd and vice versa.

Form 3B  (Form master: Mr. Henry Lau)

Another teacher with no nick-name. This was the year I fell in love with literature and became a “romantic”, thanks to the Chinese teacher Mr. Huang Kent (黃幹). 黃幹 was an intellectual that marched to his own tune, thus rumoured to be a “leftist” and unpopular among the teaching staff. He was always impeccably dressed. In the first class of Chinese History, he covered the entire required syllabus. For the remaining classes, he used the time to introduce to us the beauty of Chinese poetry, concentrating on the poetry (詩) of 李煜 and the libretto (詞) by 李清照.

I fell in love with 李清照 who later led me to other loves – the music of Joni James and Hank Williams. The beauty of Chinese poetry further led me to English literature. I was hooked for life.

Form 4A  (Form master:  Bro. Alphonsus)

Hurray! We started the school year back on Boundary Street. In the summer before school started, a few of us went there to have a sneak preview of the premises. What we saw disgusted us. The British “gentlemen” from the Royal Army felt being unfairly evicted. They decided to leave nothing nice behind. Flowering plants were pulled, young trees uprooted, and an out-door swimming pool was filled with rocks and dirt. The grounds looked like they have been through a major typhoon. A couple of months later, all were forgotten and forgiven. Nothing could spoil the joy and satisfaction of returning to a long-lost home.

光頭袁 became our Chinese teacher who also taught us Translation. Every one was drilled in “Mr. Yuen’s Translation Secrets” encapsulated in four words:

刪 – Delete

存 – Retain

補 – Supplement

調 – Re-sequence

Of the text to be translated, delete (刪) words, phrases, ideas, etc. that are superfluous while retaining (存) those that are relevant. Add words that supplement (補) the message where appropriate and do not be afraid to re-sequence (調) words and phrases in order to clarify the message and conform to the different grammatical structures of the two languages. If all fail,

化 – Digest

As a last resort, forget about word-for-word translation. Rather, digest (化) the text to get the true message and meaning. Then, using entirely your own words and style, write a passage in the new language that would convey the entire message accurately and completely.

Form 5A  (Form master:  Bro. Eugene, nick-named 金星)

This was a pivotal year in my life. I got a shock after doing poorly in the mid-term exams. I had never been a diligent student and seldom studied hard to prepare for any exam. Instead, I relied on my excellent memory and uncanny ability in guessing what topics would be asked in the exam. My usual method of preparing for the exams was to show up an hour early and listened to the discussions of my fellow students. However, these tricks were not sufficient this time around. I failed miserably in the Maths exams. In panic, I bought books that contained all the Maths papers in the School Certificate Examinations for the previous three years. Then I spent the next three months working on all the questions. Using the answers and explanations provided in the book, I gradually taught myself what I should have learned in class in the previous two years.

My favourite subjects were English, Literature and Biology. I enjoyed these classes and hungered for more. It took no effort at all to memorize passage after passage of Julius Caesar or the names of all organs found in a rabbit. 金星 gave me extra work on the appreciation of Shakespeare.

The School Certificate Examination came and went. I thought I did well in my three favourite subjects. As for Maths, I was happy to have completed about eighty percent of the questions. One memory stood out among a few:

Part of the exam in English was Dictation. 光頭袁 was the teacher assigned to read out the passage, slowly and clearly, and the students were to write it out. An external invigilator stood in front of the class, making sure that the students did not cheat. Just before the exam was to begin, 光頭袁 came in early and explained that the two main traps in Dictation were the ‘hyphen’ and the ‘apostrophe’. He suggested that we should look at him closely whenever he read from the passage. He would touch his upper lip if the words were hyphenated and he would straighten his hair if there was an apostrophe in the word. After he was assured that every student had clearly understood, he fetched the invigilator and began the Dictation exam. We were all too nervous to smile or giggle at the sight of the teacher rubbing his upper lip and straightening the few strands of hair left on his bald head. We were also grateful that our sense of ethics and morals was not permanently impaired by this incident.

During the weeks before the results of the School Certificate Examination were published, I had to make a difficult decision, whether to enroll in Form 6 Arts or Science. My heart told me to go into Arts and concentrate on English Literature, if I ever had the chance of a university education, which was doubtful due to financial circumstances at home. But my love of Biology and the prospect of getting into the medical profession were pulling me towards Science. Peer pressure, too, pushed students towards the Science stream. During an unplanned encounter with Henry Lau, I told him of my dilemma. His advice was that I should let the result of my exam decide for me. As it turned out, I got Distinctions in English, Biology and Maths, and to my great surprise and disappointment, only a Credit in English Literature.

Following Henry Lau’s suggestion, I enrolled in Form 6 Science, thus leaving the decision of my entire future to fate and fluke.

Years later, I often wonder how my life history would have been drastically different had I listened to my heart!