Vignettes from a Boarding School

 by Suresh Subrahmanyan

During the 1950s my banker father was serving in the Far East. When he was transferred to the Head Office in Calcutta he decided that my brother and I should be ensconced in a good boarding school. Bangalore was a popular choice for its salubrious climate and spread of boarding houses. That some of our family’s close relatives lived in Bangalore lent weight to this decision.

We were admitted to Bishop Cottons, boasting a hoary and proud history, beautifully designed heritage architecture nestling amongst acres of lung space. The Tower Block alone is worth the price of admission. The British pastors who envisioned the school’s ambience doubtless took inspiration from their ‘green and pleasant land’. We are talking about the early ‘60s when Bangalore was Bangalore, a Cantonment town just a wee bit bigger than a hill station. Not the bustling, impossibly congested Bengaluru of today.

Starting academia as a boarder at Cottons, however wonderful the surroundings, was a nerve-wracking experience. My brother and I were 8 and 10 years old respectively, and to be uprooted from your parents and thrust into an environment that was completely strange and minatory, took some getting used to. You were part of a dormitory with your own bed, a locker in which to keep your toiletries and personal effects, a mosquito net and a canvas soiled linen bag to stuff your dirty clothes for washing. That was your private space. The dormitory master, an authority figure, had his own room as an adjunct, and he it was who looked after our requirements and ensured discipline was maintained. This did not preclude the boys from getting up to pranks after lights out at night. Pillow fights, ‘contraband’ home-made snacks quietly consumed, and the odd attempt to bunk, or leave the school premises under cover of darkness, were not uncommon. If you were caught in the act, retribution was swift and harsh.

Classrooms were situated below the dormitories. The school had its own gymnasium and an elegant chapel, which played a twin contrarian role of being a place of worship and conflict resolution. The copse behind the hallowed dwelling was used by the boys to steal a forbidden smoke, and to settle personal scores with fisticuffs. “I’ll see you behind chapel” was a familiar refrain when matters spiralled out of control. As for piety, we boarders enjoyed chapel service at dusk, joining fervidly in singing hymns and reading the lesson. The school followed the Church of England dispensation. Sundays were grim. The afternoons were reserved for writing to our parents. “How are you? I am fine. Grub’s lousy. John Kennedy was shot dead. Love.”

A caveat. At no time did any of us who were not Christians, ever feel that the school was forcing theology down our throats. We treated chapel service like any other activity in school. To relieve the tedium, the headmaster or Warden, as he was properly addressed, would invite the senior boarders to his warm home of a Sunday evening, and treat us to cake and lemonade, and a choice selection of The Beatles, Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard records! His wife would ‘play mother’, busying herself with the refreshments, and their Siamese cat was a pleasant diversion. The Reverend I.L. Thomas, our Warden, was a Welshman possessed of a stentorian voice, and would break into traditional Ye Olde English songs for our benefit.

Sports played a major role in our lives. Hockey, Cricket, Football, Boxing, Tennis, Table tennis and Athletics were all on offer. Cubs and Scouts were voluntary activities, encouraged for the values they instilled. To inculcate a healthy sense of competition, the school had instituted a ‘house system’. We had four houses all named after former Wardens – Pope, Pettigrew, Packenham Walsh and Elphick. Boys were assigned to one of these houses, and for the rest of our school lives, we were identified by our house colours.

Music was always in the air. According to our singing potential, we were inducted into the school choir and taught the basic principles of harmony. As we grew and voices broke, we moved from soprano to alto to tenor and finally, just a few, got to singing bass. The school band gave an opportunity to those who had a penchant for playing instruments.  Participating in elocution contests and plays was encouraged to rid us of our inhibitions and foster self-confidence.

Once a month, the boarders would be taken to English movies. What a thrill! The sight of a 100 boys in whites, green blazers, ties and caps snaking through Brigade Road or South Parade (now M.G. Road) in double file to the theatre is now an indelible, nostalgic frieze.

Boarders followed a strict regimen. Barring weekends, the rising bell would chime at 6 am, courtesy Mali, the school gardener. We had to be up, washed and changed and be down at the dining hall by 6:40 am for what was quaintly called ‘Chota Hazri’, consisting of a largish tumbler of coffee (we only had the Pantry Sergeant’s word for it!) and two rock hard biscuits. An hour for studies followed by breakfast, school assembly and off to classes. Between the two segments of classes was lunch break, as we trooped into the musty Dining Hall, redolent of a hundred years of lamb stew and porridge. Grace was said before and after each meal, to give thanks to the Almighty. Given that we complained bitterly about the quality of the menu, one wondered what the supplication was for!

Senior students were appointed Prefects to maintain discipline amongst the boys. They in turn were led by the Captain of School and the Heads of Boarders and Day Scholars. These were positions of responsibility and prestige, with powers to stop bad language and bullying, and generally to set an example to the students. Only the house masters had the inalienable right to administer, with great velocity, the Malacca cane to our tender bottoms if we had been very naughty. Nevertheless, these were great avenues for leadership building, and many of our Prefects and Captains distinguished themselves later in life.

Bishop Cottons also had a girls’ school, located just a few kilometers from the boys’, on St. Mark’s Road. Senior boys and girls were allowed to meet ‘socially’ once every few months, strictly supervised by the teachers from both schools. The idea was to ensure that boys and girls grew more comfortable in each other’s company. Music and dancing were encouraged, and this usually led to some interesting situations, when some of the boys were ‘fixed’ to some of the girls, and woe betide the boy who attempted to ‘tag’ one of the fixed girls. A surefire recipe for a ‘behind the chapel’ rumble! Autograph books were freely exchanged between the sexes with a list of boys or girls requested to scribble their twee messages. Brothers of girls would act as couriers. There was an element of the clandestine here but, mercifully, the teachers looked the other way.

Summer and winter holidays saw the boarders gleefully travel home to enjoy the food, camaraderie and freedom with their families and friends. The Calcutta group, to which I belonged, would take the overnight Mail to Chennai, thence the long journey by the Howrah Mail to Calcutta. Holiday homework included reading recommended books, essay writing and tuning into the BBC World Service Radio. The return journey, predictably, was joyless and sombre.

Exam time was full of fear and loathing for most of us. As a general rule the boarders, barring some notable exceptions, were not academically brilliant. It was as much as they could do to scrape through. My final year report card had this elliptical remark by the Warden, “His marks are not a true reflection of his abilities”. The shame of failure would have been unendurable. That apart, most of us boarders would not, with the benefit of hindsight, have given up hostel life for all the tea in China. Speaking as a Cottonian, I can freely say that it was hugely instrumental in character building and personality development. If I am able to control my stage fright and collywobbles, if I can string together a series of sentences and not botch up my apostrophes, I have my school and boarding life in particular, to thank.

It is hardly surprising, therefore, that when our final day at school arrived and Warden made a stirring speech to all of us ‘going out into the brave new world’, there was not a dry eye in the audience. By today’s fiercely competitive standards, our education decades ago may be considered less than adequate, but to quote the Bard of Avon non-contextually, “Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ‘tis enough, ‘twill serve”.

We were well served by our quintessential school of hard knocks.

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