The Sacred Heart: My memories of Main Street
By John Mair in London
Stabroek News
December 28, 2004
Can it really be nearly half a century - 1955 - since I walked into Sacred Heart Roman Catholic School in Main Street, Georgetown as a five-year-old ingénue in short trousers? Now it is no more; razed to the ground like so much of Guyana and her history. But my memories remain.
First, the sheer size: To a five-year-old everything is big. I was lucky, two of my sisters were already there (albeit on the 'girls' side' of the school) and my aunts lived across the road. So I had guides in and out of school and a nice berth for lunch-times. But, still, it was still big to this little boy.
Then the science of where you entered the Main Street system. Within my first week, I was in 'Little ABC' then 'Big ABC' as the nuns assessed me as being a bit brighter than I initially appeared (a lifetime trait). My class must have been housed in one of the partitioned areas of the main school but my recall on that is blurred. I just remember the awe of being taught by nuns for the first time and trying to work out whether they had hair on their heads under the habits! Simple things please simple minds.
I was not a Catholic - my parents had chosen Main Street because of its reputation - but that did not stop me being taught - by rote - my Catechism and some 'Our Fathers' and 'Hail Marys' for luck. The rosary was my guide. Church and school were one.
That became clear when I progressed to fourth standard - via second (even standard numbers were not for me). That was taught by a Mr Ching right in the top and at the back of the Cathedral. Rows after serrated rows of boys, all in immaculate uniform, all learning by rote or near rote. But learning all the same. Some names and faces now come back to me. Albert Ferraj, the son of the owner of the corner shop hard by the school. That was a great advantage when he wanted to make friends. And the boy who sat beside me. Sharp, urban, East Indian and competitive as hell. He was called Ramson then. Today he still is. Charles I believe. Not sure what happened to him.
The ferocity of sharp minds continued in the final class; sixth standard. Ruled with a rod of iron by one of Guyana's true pedagogues -Mr Arokium. We feared him but, by God, did we respect him and his teaching. As the sounds of the Latin Mass drifted up from the church below, he instructed us in the wily ways of arithmetic, english and the world. We were his bright things competing for those coveted 'scholarships' at ten; many of us got them. Sacred Heart RC was a good school for that. Parents queued to get their children in.
Playtimes were mud times in the yard. The cavernous Church itself was a place of mystery especially under the stilts where a series of wild, rabid, dogs roamed usually only to come out at night but sometimes seen at daytime. That was a hidden world which you entered at your peril.
More open were the shaved ice and other traders outside the school. At the end of the day, you could not wait to get outside to bring cool refreshment to your lips or even the glorious taste of peppery mango on them. The women of the pavement operated a primitive credit system. You always paid for the day before. I guess they knew us all by face. But, it did mean that I left the school (and Guyana) owing them six cents; the guilt has stayed with me since.
So, good education, grounding and guilt were what I took away from Main Street. From 1955-1960 Sacred Heart School in Main Street Georgetown was my term time home. Now it is no more. One hundred and forty-three years of memories like mine up in flames.
Let's hope that some latter day Cesar Castellani takes advantage of this tragedy to have the vision for a new Main Street - all of it - worthy of the name where fine modern buildings compete for space and for the eye. Now that would be a worthy memorial to Main Street School and Cathedral.