This is Wellesley Primary School, Georgetown, Penang, Malaysia. I went there from 1965 to 1969. I was in Standard 1A, 2Express, 3Express, 5A, and 6B. The last time I set foot in that school was over 50 years ago.
Through my 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s, I lost touch with almost all my primary school friends through the busyness of life. I now live in New Zealand for the last 33 years.
In mid-March this year, I returned to Penang for a planned three weeks stay to make arrangements for my mother's ongoing care. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in late January this year. The global COVID 19’s pandemic closed many countries' borders, and I ended up staying in Penang for four months and was finally able to return to New Zealand in mid-July 2020.
During this unplanned stay, amongst the many positives was my reconnection with my primary school "bros." A group of my primary school friends set up a WhatsApp group called WPS Old Boys C'69. I joined the group, and over several meals in Penang and Kuala Lumpur, I caught with a number of them in person. One of the recurring themes of our many conversations was the teachers who taught us. We all have our stories of how each one of them made an impact on our lives.
After my return to New Zealand, I remain connected to the group. A few days ago, one of the bros, Fong, sent a text message wishing us all well for the end of year holidays and the year ahead. It is what he included next in his text that I want to dedicate this post to. It reads, "can I appeal to all bros to kindly contribute towards a fund for Florence (I have changed the name out of respect for her privacy). So please help her, while she is still around with us.” I worked out that Florence was one of the retired primary school teachers.
What followed was a flurry of spontaneous responses that to me spoke of the unquestioned filial duty to care for our retired teachers.
After throwing in my support, I texted Fong to get some context for his request. Fong replied that this teacher is now in her 80s, unmarried, living alone, and on a dwindling government pension. He said that it would be nice for her ex-pupils to send her a token of our appreciation, especially during the holiday period, when it can be very lonely times for those who live by themselves.
It was quite late at night here in New Zealand when I received Fong’s reply (he lives in Malaysia), and it sparked a range of emotions and thoughts that interrupted my slumber. I was struggling to remember Florence. I texted the group, "can anybody help? I cannot remember Florence very well?"What followed was a stream of text conversation within the WPS Old Boys C'69 group. Through these almost immediate text conversations, I established that Florence never taught me, but I remembered her because she shared the same family name as me. This appeal was not a once-off. It became clear that some of my old schoolmates have taken on themselves to keep an eye on Florence through the years. Later that night, I slept easily with a warm, heartfelt feeling that "here was a bunch of guys in their 60s who were primary school pupils over half a century ago, have not forgotten our teachers who shaped their young lives all those years ago”.
A great way to end in 2020!