A learning experience

For those of us familiar with the character sketch of the benign schoolmaster delineated by Oliver Goldsmith, the picture fits in well with the city-dweller's view of bucolic life. The rustic charms of the idyllic countryside have been immortalised in poetry and prose through the years in comparison with the cut-throat pace of urban life with its attendant evils.

But a narration by a silver-haired veteran of his harsh experience has helped me shed the rose-coloured glasses with which I hitherto perceived this way of living. He was the eldest son of a relatively well-off man and was placed under the care of a private tutor. Since the teacher was paid what was considered a princely sum in those days, there was no way this pupil would be allowed to leave. In order to impress the parents, the teacher offered to keep the boy with him for the better part of the day.

So, the lessons stretched from morning to night. The only respite was the lunch break. As soon as he stepped out of that prison, his step grew light as he anticipated the delicious feeling of temporary freedom.

His only ally was his mother who was sympathetic to his plight. But she didn't dare go against her husband. All she could do was offer her son love in the form of nourishing meals and lend him a ear as he poured forth his woes.

As he reluctantly dragged himself back to his "school", he watched enviously the boys and girls streaming out of the only government school in the village. They were free to go home, to play, while he had to return for a second shift of studies.

The drab lessons continued and his interest in academics waned. Soon he decided enough was enough. Mustering his courage, he told his parents he wanted to attend a proper school and interact with other children. He was clever enough to bolster his case by telling them that apart from the fees being a fraction of what was being paid to the private instructor, the syllabus was much more extensive in this real educational institution. What he didn't mention were the holidays and shorter hours. Needless to say, his bete noire didn't believe in holidays.

Perhaps his father was in a good mood that day. He was given permission to attend the school. And what a glorious few days those were. But his joy was shortlived. On his return home from school one day, he saw an unwelcome visitor deep in conversation with his father. The signs were ominous.

Just as he feared, his father informed him a little later that he was going back to private lessons and that he was convinced that this was the wisest course of action if his son was to make anything of himself in life.

Wept and wailed

The boy wept and wailed in protest but to no avail. The next day saw him retracing his steps to his old tormentor. As soon as he came into view, the teacher pounced on him. Glaring at him, he rapped him sharply on the head, saying over and over again, "So, you thought you could escape from me." Gloating over his triumph and to ensure that the boy was never out of sight, he decided there would be no lunch break either. The pursuit of education was not to be taken lightly. And to ensure the "rebel" never again entertained thoughts of making a bid for freedom, his ankle was secured with a chain and a heavy log. No self-respecting lad would dare venture out with that badge of shame or risk the ridicule of his peers.

The few years spent in this "school of learning" were to leave a permanent scar on his psyche. Sixty years later, the memories were as vivid as if it were yesterday. Even as he recounted those dark days, one could feel his pain and humiliation. But the raconteur that he was, his story was laced with humour and his listeners were always torn between tears and laughter.