UPON completing Form Five in 1955, I was at a crossroads about my future. My dream was to study Form Six and attend the University of Singapore.
As there were no Form Six classes at my alma mater – Abu Bakar School (ABS) in Temerloh, Pahang – students had to transfer to Mahmud School in Raub, which was more than 120km away. I knew my parents would never allow me to be so far away from our home in Mentakab
Furthermore, there were no hostels or other forms of accommodation for out-of-town students. Some of my friends went off to Kuala Lumpur and Ipoh to attend Form Six classes, while I was left alone in the sleepy town of Mentakab.
I didn’t know what to do with my life. In the 1950s, girls did not have that many career opportunities besides being a teacher, typist, telephone operator or nurse.
Since my hope to study Form Six was dashed, I applied to be a part-time English language teacher at a Tamil primary school nearby.
Teaching two hours a day and four days a week, I earned a monthly salary of RM160. It may seem a pittance today but I was happy.
The school only had six teachers – among them Annalakshmi and Usha Nair. Both teachers were well versed in Tamil literature, and were famous for their short stories, poems and drama script writing, which were aired on radio and were published in local dailies. I was inspired by them and decided to one day become a writer.When ABS had vacancies for temporary teachers, I applied without hesitation and was given 30 Year Two pupils to teach. They were probably happy to see a teenager teaching them.
I too was exhilarated and in high spirits to teach a multiracial class, which included an English girl and a pair of twins. Before commencing my duties, I introduced myself and the sweet smiling faces acknowledged me enthusiastically. Those were heartwarming and encouraging moments.
After introducing myself, I asked for their names. When it was Susan’s turn, she stood up and sobbed, leaving me flabbergasted. Before I could say or do anything, the whole class shouted, “Teacher, she always cries!” I then sat beside her and coaxed her to tell me her problem.
After some time, she opened up and pointed her finger at the Indian boy, Arunan, who was sitting beside her. She must have been afraid of his dark complexion.
I could have easily changed their seating positions and solve the matter but I decided against it. If I did that, it wouldn’t do justice to the innocent boy. Why should anyone despise or be afraid of someone based on his or her skin complexion?
I didn’t make a fuss about the issue and waited for the bell to ring for the Physical Education lesson. I took them to the field for some exercises and games, and tactfully put Susan and Arunan in one team for the team events.
The two soon clicked and Susan’s tears dried up. The sweet little girl voluntarily held Arunan’s hand when forming a circle for the event. I sighed with much relief as though I had achieved something great.
In those days, parents never came to school with their petty complaints. They trusted the teachers to do the right thing for their children.
The teachers too performed their duties with dedication and integrity. The pupils dared not complain to their parents when the teachers chided or caned them for their misbehaviours.
The most important aspect in primary classes was the “3Rs”, namely, reading, writing and arithmetic.
Back then, thick textbooks and workbooks were non-existent. In school, teachers made sure that each child acquired the three skills and at home, parents guided their children diligently, instead of sending them to tuition classes.
There were academically weak pupils but these children were taught with much patience and dedication so that they were able to at least read, write and count.
My pupils were good and smart children. Teaching them was a pleasant experience. I never encountered any serious problems in class. Off and on, I would conduct singing lessons and storytelling sessions to ward off monotony.
Teaching became a passion for me. I realised then that this was my life’s vocation.
In 1958, I was given a new batch of Year Two pupils. I really missed the studious Ah Moi, the hardworking twins, the precocious Woo with his beautiful handwriting, the loving Hamzah and timid Arunan.
In my new class, I had Mathews, who hailed from Lanchang Estate, which was 20km away from school. Mathews, together with some other kids from that estate, came to school by van.
The van would stop to pick me up, and Mathews would always carry my bag and made sure I was safely inside the van before it drove off. A sweet child, he was also the live wire of the class. I had a lot of fun teaching him and his lovely classmates.
Life was smooth sailing until I got news about my father’s promotion and subsequent transfer to Bentong. I was devastated and was very distraught to leave my comfort zone and move to a new place.
Mentakab was without many amenities but I had grown to love the town for its quiet and serene surroundings. The forest department where my father had worked was situated a few yards away from our house. He was the only Tamil staff member there. Every Hari Raya, the forest rangers brought us lots of kuih, lemang and rendang. We, in turn, gave them muruku and other delicacies during Deepavali. Such was the camaraderie between the different races then.
Eventually, I got a job at Methodist English School in Bentong. For the next 40 years, teaching and writing Tamil short stories and poems became my passion. Many of my old students, whom I cherish, still keep in touch with me. God bless them.
SAKUNTHALA SUNDRAM
