Mr Kempson Wong - The Reunion

On September the 9th, I was ridden with regret.
https://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2019/09/im-so-sorry.html


Then on the 10th I was over the moon.
https://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2019/09/im-over-moon.html


But by October 29 my cup runneth over - because finally I met my former Primary School teacher, Mr Kempson Wong from Pasir Panjang English School, Singapore - face to face.  He was my class teacher from 64 years ago (1955) when I was just 11 years old.    It was not the last time I saw him - I met him briefly in 1968, by which time I was a young adult, a teacher, just like him.

He was a fantastic, unforgettable teacher, and in 2012 - having not seen him for 44 years - I wrote a posting for him.
http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2012/09/remembering-mr-kempson-wong.html

Seven years later, the fates were kind to me.    I met up with Mr Kempson Wong once again - and this time I met his lovely wife Catherine too.

Catherine and Maznoor in their kitchen.

She not only gave me a bottle of her absolutely divine Almond Florentine biscuits.  I also took home with me the recipe and the special Florentine flour.    Iain and I are still squabbling over who has had more Florentines than the other.  Thank you so much Catherine.

My ex-teacher is so lucky (and so happy) to have Catherine as his soul mate - a finer couple would be very hard to find.  When I got back to Kuala Lumpur from Singapore I wrote him a message;
"When Iain and I grow up we want to be just like you!"

Because of "circumstances beyond his control" Iain was unable to enter Singapore to meet my former teacher.  In his place I passed on a gift of his book  "Fatimah's Kampung" to this exceptional teacher of mine.

Here's something I managed to cobble together to celebrate my reunion with Mr Kempson Wong - something for our family album.

Left: Maznoor and Iain Buchanan.    Right:  Catherine and Kempson Wong 

 At 85 years of age, Mr Kempson Wong still plays tennis twice a week.  His voice is just as strong as it was in 1955.  His walk is just as straight and sturdy.   And there is still that twinkle in his eye.

He was my teacher 64 long years ago - but I remember his classes like they were yesterday.    He is indeed hard to live up to.   They just don't make people like him any more.

But I discovered something new about him.  He plays the piano - and he does it so beautifully.  It was something he decided to learn when he retired from his profession.   I shall never forget my ex-teacher's serenade to celebrate our meeting.

I asked him to play for me "The Ash Grove" .  Then he followed it with this.

I wished I could have recorded his version but I guess the original song will have to do.

After he had ended the repertoire, he stood up, looked at me and smiled and sang :

"My memories of love will be of you."

What else could  I do but collapse in tears.  Thank you Sir.  I always knew you were special.  I shall treasure this morning  to the end of  my  days.

Long, long ago in 1955 :

Mr Kempson Wong (red square),  Maznoor (red circle).

The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called truth.  (Dan Rather)

I'm over the moon!

The kindness of Mr Chan Peng Kin, also a former pupil of Mr Kempson Wong, enabled me to savour one of the most joyful experience from being a blogger.

When I wrote my post in 2012 remembering a great teacher, I never envisaged the slightest chance of Mr KW reading my article at all.  And when I spoke to him yesterday - he's now 85 - but still "hale n hearty" ( as Mr Chan put it),  it took me back to over 64 years ago when I was a scruffy 11 year-old, tagging behind him during House Practice.

Call it serindipity, fate, Kismet but who cares, it's a septuagenarian's dream come true.

Pasir Panjang English School (1955 or 1956).  All my special teachers are there, Mr Chia Wai Chee and Mrs Tan Choon Lan (seated).  Then there's Mr Chong Khim Siong and  Mr Kempson Wong (boxed in red) , standing.

We had a lovely chat, we shared a lot of laughter and happy memories.

A few weeks ago, sometime in mid-August I made what I reckoned to be my last trip to Singapore.  But I just have to go back again, for a day-trip to visit my dear ex-teacher Mr Kempson Wong and make my dream come true.

See you soon, Sir!!

I'm so sorry.

Three weeks ago at Tung Shin Hospital, the spouse and I were waiting to see our Acupuncturist Prof Moon Jae Sung.  Then this petite Malay lady in her (traditional style) Baju Kurung and scarf came towards me and asked "Excuse me, are you AnaksiHamid?"  I nodded a "Yes I am."  Then she added, "I am Semenyih."

You could have knocked me down with a feather!!!!!  The face was that of a stranger, but the name was a familiar, friendly and intelligent commentator on my blog.  She said she had made several comments on my blog and there had been no response.  I replied that I had not noticed any new indications of comments made into Ash since 2015.

But it was such a wonderful serindipitious contact with Siti aka Semenyih and her husband Chris.  We could not get over the coincidence.  We four had a lot to talk about - what a breath of fresh air!

We promised to meet again but as we're all too tied up with commitments we had to make it another day, here in Kuala Lumpur or in England.  When we parted at Tung Shin, to go to our separate cars I commented "Some one up there planned this meeting" and Siti said "Allah works in mysterious ways!"

Indeed He does.

Yesterday I received a lovely e-mail from Siti in England and she mentioned once again about her making a recent comment.  I felt I had to do something about this.  So I opened up the Blog's desktop  and discovered that Comments were now on a separate column and not on the top of the list of posts.  I clicked on it and found three headings; Published, Awaiting Moderation and Spam.  This was all new to me.  So there they were, all this time.  There were the usual rants and rubbish from bigots, losers and no-hopers, plus loads of  advertisements camouflaged as Comments. 

But in the process I also missed out on my genuine commentators.  I am especially cut up because the son (Francis Wong) and friend ( Mr Chan Peng Kin) of my former teacher Mr Kempson Wong had tried to make contact with me,

https://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2012/09/remembering-mr-kempson-wong.html


to arrange a get-together with my dear former teacher.  I spent all morning trying to contact Francis Wong, but I could not get through.  I'm trying other channels too but should I fail to do so, I have to take comfort that one of my favourite teachers when I was 11 years old did get to read about how much I appreciated him and how he made my school days so meaningful and happy.  Here's to you Sir.

If I could see you once again in front of my eyes, your septuagenarian ex-pupil would give you a big hug and rejoice once again in all those happy, innocent years at Pasir Panjang English School.

To Francis and Chan Peng Kin,  I am so sorry.

And I ask the same of my brother Mus, good friends like Din, Irene, Awang Goneng, Baiti, Mamasita, Charlie, Puyi, and Catharsis.  To all the Anons and new visitors and well-wishers, thank you for taking the trouble to add to the writings of AsH.

Finally to Semenyih - If not for you??????  Thank you being so steadfast and persisting.  I shall repeat what you said :  ALLAH WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It's been a funny old day - pelting rain followed by the gentle drip, drip drip of a a smoochy lazy morning.

We ponteng  (played truant) our usual Monday appointment at Tung Shin Hospital because we could not bear to face KL traffic on a morning like this and it seemed like a better idea to go to Diva Restaurant up the hill for breakfast and watch the rain falling while scoffing our roti canai, roti telur, teh tarik and kopi susu.

Even our three cats chose to stay at home on this melancholy day.

A melancholy cat, TC (That Cat) passing the time of day on a melancholy morning

As kids, we used to hate rainy Monday mornings.  The bed says 'stay!' while Mak is yelling "Bangun, pegi sekolah!"    It's such a palaver getting to school - you have to keep your spanking clean and white Monday shoes in the school bag and trudge in squelching slippers for about half a mile to get to Pasir Panjang Primary School from Kampung Abu Kassim.

No rucksacks  during our school days! I do believe our right arms grew to be longer than the left because of the weight we carried.

On rainy days, - other than our reluctant selves - our shoes and schoolbag, have to be kept dry.  It was quite an acrobatic feat to tuck your schoolbag under your raincoat and carry on walking to school.  And so, your mind wanders to all the other wonderful fun you could have on such a rainy day.

.... you could play in it, if you wanted to, from morning to night.

No,we're both too old to play in the rain.  We could do it I suppose.  But we have just got over our infection and we'll be courting trouble if  we misbehave in this wonderful rain.

So we decided to do something daring.  We bought a newspaper!!  This news of a JOHOR HOUSING SCAM was on the front page.

However I would not describe this as simply a scam.  'SCAM' is such a lightweight word to describe  fraud, thievery, deceit , robbery, rapacity, swindle, dishonesty, cheating and larceny.   As a Malay, I would label the  participation of  the Malays in this crime as  treachery, betrayal, treason and downright DOSA.   Perhaps I should delete the last noun as I am just a former teacher and cannot claim sufficient knowledge of the definition and delineations of  DOSA ,  or PAHALA  - for that matter

Other than despairing at the fate of my Abah's Tanah Pusaka ;

..... perhaps I can contribute these little gems to illustrate the Malays' (some)  shameless Ways and Purpose  with the hope that in the future. the PAGAR will not MAKAN  the PADI.

Raffles had no doubt about the predicament of the Malays.  Being the "kind and urbane" man that he was, he made the Malays - who were like possums transfixed in the glare of a headlight - sign an affidavit validating the occupation of Singapura,  with their consent.  (Extract from Raffles of Singapore by Reginald  Coupland)

The consequence is this : -
Kata sahibu 'lhikayat, Singapura/Tumasik  menjadi Singapore.  And the anak Nusantara were re- categorised as immigrants.  Compare the spouse's England:it's the equivalent of labelling the English in Northumberland ( whose ancestors were Vikings) as immigrants - and no different from the Asian and the East European latecomers....

However, today's modern Malays are more sophisticated - just look at their spoils of treachery - fat bank accounts, Mercedes Benz, Bentleys, Porsches, property at home and overseas, luxury handbags and gold watches.  What can you get with an annual income of 5,000 Spanish dollars, at today's prices?  (Extract from Raffles of Singapore by Reginald Coupland) 

But no matter what shape it takes, this is still pork barrel for their benefit and their clients'.

At this present rate, it won't take too long ....

Spoilt for choice.  (From Punch Diary 1973)

.... for our elites, professionals, and ruling class to bleed this country dry and  turn the Malays into a bunch of Putras without the Bumi!

Drip, drip. drip.  It is a melancholy old day.

The Second " R "

Reading, 'Riting and  'Rithmetic  - they make up the basic three " Rs "  which form the foundation of modern education.  That was the makeup of my English language colonial education in the 1950s as well as the beginning of my training as a school teacher during the latter half of the 1960s.

Just the other day, the spouse and I were ruminating about the approaching demise of one signifier of our self as an individual :  writing - our handwriting!

This one .............

...... belongs to her.

This quaint handwriting  ........

.... was done by this quaint little nerd.

Oh dear, I am noticing signs of rebellion.


                                                                    ==============

Nowadays we appreciate and take pride in all things that are hand made and we are willing to dig deep into our pockets for items made by human hands!

But more and more we are losing the one art that can be created only by us - our handwriting. Just think, there are millions of us (those who were lucky enough to go to school) able to scribble and identify themselves by their handwriting - each one distinct and unique, just like our fingerprints.
However, we now take to the keyboard and indicate ourselves less and less by our handwriting ( and signature) - but by passwords, codes and pin numbers.  Welcome to the digitised world!

We don't write letters anymore.  We do not keep envelopes in the house and neither do we buy stamps.  We only send e-mails!

Part of my primary school education included subjects like "Writing" and that was included as an examination subject.

A 'Writing' Examination - 1957, PPES.

'Letter Writing' was always part of the English Language Examination.

'Letter Writing' for a Primary Six examination, 1957, PPES

A few days ago, I received a comment - a very touching note - from Kalsom Taib -  from my cohort group, so to speak.

Kalsom, I hope the above images will bring a big smile to your face - and to remind you of our good (and at that time it seemed horrible), old days.

So, I thought I'd like to sit down and write you a letter - to overlay an electronic page with a letter written with a fountain pen  -  to thank you for the content and kindness in your message.

We, Kalsom and I,  are blessed to be able to observe and live the present life we have.  Materially and technically we have gained so much.  But the price we pay is too awful - at times - to bear.

Here's my 'Dictation' Examination - ideas still as valid - if not even more today - as  58 years ago.

The greatest honour is the honour which men give to you in their hearts. 

A song we heard on the radio in our kampung house in 1954/1955.

Petronas - Tabungkan lah duit kamu

When we got back to Leicester in August this year, we were so happy to discover that ......

.......... the price of our favourite frozen fast food had not gone up at all.

We took out a couple of packets to boil for our dinner.  The spouse also made mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.  We sat down, snipped the packet and what dropped out of it were indeed cod steaks in parsley sauce ... but much reduced in size - by nearly a quarter - compared to a few months ago.

Once back in Kuala Lumpur, we bought a fresh tank of gas - the price had gone up from MYR $25 to $29.  But who are we to grumble?  There are millions of others living under much more straitened circumstances, with children to feed, to clothe and to educate.

I cannot bear to think what our children from deprived families have to do without.  I can remember a time when we used to come home after school to a lunch of just rice, kicap and fried ikan bilis.  Our Abah was paying off a loan to our taukeh kedai because he had been diddled by his 'manager' and customers when he was running a a sundry shop - "Malay Trading" at 5 milestone Pasir Panjang Road.

See: http://anaksihamid.blogspot.com/2011/06/tuberculosis-teapot-and-tears-csh.html

And even when life got better, we had to limit our demands and desires for the fancy stuff of life. When I was in Secondary school, I insisted on getting a pair of  top of the range Bata Badminton Masters canvas shoes.  When the join between the rubber frontal end and the canvas fell apart, I dared not ask for a new pair.  So I sewed the two parts together - several times - as they kept on splitting apart.  I did not ask for a new pair until the soles got worn out as well.

A pair of  Bata Badminton Masters.  This image is taken from http://media.straitstimes.com/50things2/#image-5

When my Crescent Girls' School blouse became threadbare on the back - mainly because of heavy sweating - my mother sewed a light yellowish square patch on the inside to enable me to keep on wearing the blouse.  My sister and I were allowed only 2 blouses per year.  You see, that yellow cotton material could be bought from only one approved supplier - Heap Hin at Cecil Street I think. The material for both the peacock blue skirt and the yellow blouse were priced at $3.50 per yard - and that was a lot of money then!

The habit of savings was very much encouraged during our schooling days - by both our parents and our primary schools.

Report in the Co-Ed, Pasir Panjang English School 1956

Report in the Co-Ed, Pasir Panjang Primary School, 1955

At home, Abah would get us a cute little savings box, shaped like a house.

To retrieve your savings, simply twist and separate the house from the base!

The above image was not my original "National Savings Bank'.  I bought this from a car-boot sale at Saddington, Leicester about 15 years ago.  And it cost me all of 20p!  I was in ecstasy for days and days after that acquisition.  This phone-box savings tin was probably from the 1940s .  It was a treat for 10p.

My ten-pence box.

I wonder if  parents encourage and practise the art of savings for their children in this hi-tech 21st century.  Do the young ones physically place their coins in little savings boxes?  Maybe they do it online or perhaps their parents set up trusts in all kinds of funds and stocks and shares???

The fun in savings was to hear the rattle of the coins, to feel the growing weight and then to pour it all on a table, count them and take them to the Post Office Savings Counter to be transferred into your own account.  But of course there had to be the mandatory deduction for an ice cream - my favourite was an ice-cream tucked in a slice of bread!

"Tabungkan Duitmu " is taken from a 78 rpm record, probably during the 1940s/1950s. 

This song, like all the remembrances and values noted above, comes from a bygone age.   Of course, some may regard them as out-of-date and irrelevant.   In this age of excessive and almost obscene consumerism, I think people have to take a step back and re-evaluate the way they devour and squander the world's resources, and their own as well!  But I'm grumbling and I have to stop.

                                                            **************************

But now, let's come down to earth and ponder our present  and disquieting reality.

In today's NST

A few days ago Petronas warned about a 12% drop in net profit.  Malaysia has been riding on a wave of rising prices of gas and crude oil.   As a result,  Petronas  has been used and abused as  the 'goose that laid the golden eggs'  to subsidise and bail out  profligacy in Malaysia.

See:  http://themalaysianreserve.com/new/story/petronas-declares-12-drop-3q14-net-profit-rm15b

But the ways and purpose of the world's economy are never as straightforward as they are made out to be. You have to look beyond the  dollars and (non)sense.

Firstly the IMF regards this as good news.    Read ;www.nst.com.my/node/58413 about the view expressed  by Christine Lagarde , IMF's Managing Director at a conference of corporation chief executives sponsored by the Wall Street Journal.

Secondly I would suggest looking at another scenario.

Read:  www.counterpunch.org/2014/12/01/defending-dollar-imperialism/ 

Here's an exract.

USA, Israel, Saudi Arabia - strange bedfellows!

Also look at :

http://www.theguardian.com/business/economics-blog/2014/nov/09/us-iran-russia-oil-prices-shale


When the elephants fight, the grass gets trampled.

The Saga of the Saga Seeds (CsH)

The photographs in this (except for the last two crummy pictures which are of my making) and later postings are by courtesy of my former student Lely, who, in the last 6 months has been transformed from a laid-back maknyonya to an obsessed and imaginative nature photographer. More of her marvellous work can be found at http://www.photoblog.com/pickledherring.


This is the elegant saga tree


and

the saga seeds which had given me much joy and grief when I was a pupil at Pasir Panjang Primary School. We, especially the girls loved these beautifully bright red and heart-shaped seeds. We used to pick them from the ground on the roadside near our school. The seeds are stored in a pod and will fall when the pods ripen and turn a brittle brown. Many a time you will find a number of girls huddling and scuttling under these trees to pick the seeds. Of course when such scanty things are coveted by 4-5 pairs of eyes, you can expect a mad scramble followed by quick-fingered stuffing into pockets before making your getaway. Sometimes, you can see a couple of ripe pods with the seeds shining like red rubies still on the tree. Any red-blooded kid has to throw a branch or a shoe to bring it down. And there is an unwritten code of honour. You do not pick for your own any seeds brought down by another aficionado of saga seeds.
Then someone devised a diabolical scheme to accumulate loads of saga seeds without having to work for them. This was our first introduction to free market capitalism and Wall Street style shenanigans.
It was so simple like any other get-rich-quick ruse. Two punters would each put down 10-20 seeds. Then they cham cham pas (somewhat like scissors and water) to decide who gets to go first. Next, you sprinkle the seeds on the table and your task is to draw your finger between 2 seeds - but you must not touch either of them. Then you flick one against the other like tiddley winks and they are yours to keep if you are skilful enough not to hit the other seeds. And so it goes on until you mis-hit your seeds. It looks like this.

The first round

Voila! Winner keeps two.
But there was one conniving girl who would scoop up all the seeds for herself at the heartstopping moment when teacher enters the class. She was eventually blackballed, or rather, redballed.

I wasn't any good at this high-table gambol because of my podgy fingers and I lacked the killer instinct. And I lost it all when my seeds flew like they had been hit by a tsunami. But someone was watching my humiliation and felt sorry for me.
A few days later Ang Hock Kee shyly approached me and handed over a heap of those precious seeds. I was astounded and thanked him most profusely but quietly in case the other kids might hear. Then I noticed he had lost a tooth and asked why? He said he had taken a fall from the saga seed tree. Oh, poor Hock Kee. He was so embarassed and quickly walked away. He was indeed my hero and I wished I had told him so there and then.
I went on to Crescent Girls School and Hock Kee to Pasir Panjang Secondary School. His house was not too far from the corner of Yew Siang Road (to the school) and Pasir Panjang Road. I often saw him just hanging out in front of his house - he posed better than James Dean ever could. I would give him a wave and a big smile whenever I saw him there - when I was on my way home from school or when I was cycling to the market at Alexandra Terrace.
Those were precious innocent days when a little Malay girl and a little Chinese boy could foster a sweet loving friendship. I wasn't the prettiest girl in the class and Hock Kee was no potential Fabian. But we just liked each other and we showed that we did. We were not aware of our differences of colour and race - just 2 children who were fond of each other,

Years later after my A-Levels, I was given the very sad news that Hock Kee had passed away from a brain tumour. This posting is for my very dear friend Ang Hock Kee. I still remember you most affectionately and for always.

From our Primary One Class Photo

Gaudeamus Igitur - PPES (CsH)

Mrs Tan is seated, fourth from the left. Isn't she gorgeous?

Remember your first day at school? Lucky me - I had two first days in 1951.

Sometime in January 1951, my dad enrolled me at Sekolah Melayu Pasir Panjang (Pasir Panjang Malay School), somewhere at 6 milestone Pasir Panjang Road. It was a homely little school, a school by the seaside - consisting of one longish building with 6-7 classes. There was a separate little store on the side. The schoolyard was snug and cosy, a mini field of grass tucked between the school building and the sea. During break time almost all the kids rushed to the edge of the playground to stare longingly at the shimmering sea. I can still remember it was high tide then.

In the classroom I sat on this chair which was attached to the desk and on that desk I recalled my first lesson. I wrote my first letters in Jawi : alif, ba, ta using white chalk on the desk itself. To this day I don't know what the desk was made of but I remember how we could easily erase our writing from the desk

On that first day, I wore a scarf. It wasn't because my dad was a strict orthodox Muslim. You see, my hair was just beginning to sprout and without that exquisite 1950s scarf my head looked like a porcupine! Of course I received a lot of odd and quizzical stares but that was all. Little children were not so mean and cruel in those days.

Why the camouflage? This much I can recall. I had measles and just as the spots were beginning to shrivel I had run out to play in the rain. Well, the measles recurred with a vengeance. This part was related by my sister. She said my temperature soared so high they had to strip me and wrap me up in layers of banana leaves . Remember this was in the very early fifties. She saw the leaves curling up and turning brown because of this hot little totty! But I survived and because the pistules had spread all over, my head had to be shaved and it left me as bald as a coot! Hence the scarf.

"Selamat Pagi Che'gu" were my very first words on my first day. There was no apprehension or nervousness, just a sense of being grown up at last! ( I prefer the spelling Che'gu because it spells what it means, Che Guru. I guess I'm just old-fashioned and stubborn ).

But the very next day I was chanting "Good Morning Teacher". For I had now moved to another school. I now found myself at Pasir Panjang English School, located at Yew Siang Road, which was much nearer to our house at Kampung Abu Kassim. This time I was wearing the school uniform made up of a light blue blouse and a dark blue pinafore. I could not remember my school bag but that symbol of schooldom, the blackboard, was a proud accessory. In a way the blackboard meant you had arrived - you were now a schoolgirl, not just a snotty kid with nothing to do but sit at home, helping with horrible domestic chores and minding your little bratty brothers. But , it also marked you as a greenhorn, a new kid on the block. So, after a few weeks the blackboard ceased to be a badge of adulthood because you stood out as the runt in the school.

The blackboard was actually a board painted green on one side so that you could scribble on it with chalk. I loved drawing with the coloured chalk and my mother made sure I used it to the very last millimetre. However, one day, on my way home alone, from school I was chased by a dog. In terror I dropped my blackboard and after I retrieved it, I noticed one corner was chipped.

I received no sympathy from my mum and got an earful of chastisement from her. Another blackboard was out of the question and I had to live the rest of my Primary One days with a chipped blackboard and a dented pride.

And so for the second time Abah had to enrol me into another school, this time an English primary school. I remembered clutching his hand as we approached PPES. It was so, so much bigger than my one-day-school. The school building was cream and green in colour and about 5 times larger. It was double-storeyed, with huge staircases, big glass windows and a large tuck-shop. The school field was huge; you could put in it 3-4 football fields. As for that field, it became a place of fun and games for my brother Mus. He and his rascal sidekick Jeevan - when they were about 10 - used to raid the caretaker's garden at the edge of the field and stuffed themselves with roasted tapioca. As to his other antics at PPES I shall leave it to my scally-wag brother to recall.

This time I was really scared and when my dad left me to go back to work, I got misty-eyed as I waved him good-bye. BUT I was not like the other kids whose mums draped themselves at the class windows to make sure their offspring were fine. I remembered one girl who cried each time her mother disappeared from view.

I knew not a single word in English . My very first lesson was a nursery rhyme.

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,

Jack jumped over the candlestick.

I hadn't the foggiest idea what it was all about. But we all enjoyed jumping when we got to the last line. My classmate who sat next to me was a boy named Tan Aik Chuan. We smiled shyly at each other and he gave me a present of his pencil. But it was a short affair because I discovered Geow Chwee Him who seemed a nicer boy. Oh, I was a hussy!! But I want to mention here Chia Tzu Tit - crippled, because one of his legs was shorter than the other and to compensate, one of his shoes had to have a very thick sole. Tzu Tit did his utmost to keep up with our pace during class assembly and we all made sure that he did not overstrain himself. Tzu Tit was a kind and helpful soul. We all would go to him whenever we had a problem with Arithmetic and he was always very obliging. The last I heard of him was he became a nuclear physics Professor in some American university - he deserved it.

Last but not least was my Primary One Class Teacher Mrs Tan Choon Lan - such an elegant lady in her cheongsam. She taught all four of Abdul Hamid's children when they were in Primary One. Mrs Tan was a warm and caring teacher, not in the touchy-feely way as with teachers in England. For she had the tough job of teaching in English to kids for whom English might as well be a language from another planet; but she was patience itself and she never ever made us think we were stupid or slow. She made us feel very secure, such a pre-requisite for learning. I don't think I will ever forget that picture of her bending over so delicately in her cheongsam just to help one of her pupils tie up his shoe lace. I believe if there were more Mrs Tan Choon Lans in the teaching profession, a lot more kids would not have fallen by the wayside.

Mrs Tan may be the first but not the last in this series of wonderful teachers at PPES. There were Mr Chong Khim Siong, Mr. Kempson Wong and Mr Chia Wai Chee. I owe them a lot. They were strict, at times funny but always committed to their pupils and their profession. When I became a teacher in 1967, they were my models. I hope that I have been able to light that same fire for learning in my students as they have done for me.