Circular No 1045

 

Newsletter for alumni of The Abbey School, Mt. St. Benedict, Trinidad and Tobago, W.I.

Caracas, 15 February of 2022. No. 1045

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Dear Friends,

Here we have the name of the piano teacher, and more news

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GEORGE MICKIEWICZ <amickiew@att.net>

Thu, Jan 20

Dear All,

A few memories of Pan (Mr./Sir in Polish) Lapiewicz as some of you brought him up in your reflections but could not remember his name.

Father Eugene hired my fellow Pole, Pan Lapiewicz, to play the piano for our choir around 1957 or so.

His role was then expanded to offering piano lessons after our classes ended in the afternoon.

I took those lessons too.

Those afternoons also allowed me to practice my parental language (Polish) that we always spoke in our home.

He was very kind and invited me one weekend to spend it with his family who lived in POS.

Another related memory is that he smoked a lot to deal with his stress from having lived/experienced/survived WWII in Poland like my parents and grandparents did.

I guess we refer to that medical phenomenon today as PTSD.

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Joseph Berment-McDowald <bermentmcdowald@yahoo.com>

Thu, Jan 20

Thanks George,

I remembered the chain smoking as an afterthought a few minutes after I sent my memories.

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Joseph Berment-McDowald <bermentmcdowald@yahoo.com>

Thu, Jan 20 at 10:26 AM

George,

Maybe you can send us back s voice clip with the pronunciation of his name?

Kind regards,

Joe

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Attila GYURIS <gyuris@yahoo.com>

Wed, Jan 26 at 1:57 AM

When I first arrived at the Mount in 1964 I remember seeing a stage function in the Refectory that featured many of the senior boys in a comedy with "Maracas Bay Party" scene with guitars and straw hats and some dancing and singing.  I think Rafael Echeverria. Richard Clark, Norm Smith, and David Narraine were in it, along with many others I forget.

Over the years I have vague memories about some other theatre productions at the Refectory, some were plays with "borrowed" girls from St Joseph's, and other plays where some of the "better looking" boys playing the female roles dressed in female costumes, but I don't remember the names of those plays.

I just have a few "memory photos" of scenes from them.

I never participated myself in any Play while at the Abbey School.

After starting College, I formed part of my University Experimental Theater Group for about two years and I enjoyed it immensely.

We put on one play per quarter ... however after two years I had to quit because my studies became too intense I had no time to attend the rehearsals, etc.

Then, sometime later on, while living and working in the Los Angeles area, as a lark, I had a part as an "extra" in a Hollywood movie production called "Detour", which was being produced by my good friend & movie stuntman Tanner Gill.

It was a very interesting experience being part of a movie set.

The movie never made it into the big time.

Then and there I realized that that life was definitely not for me ... So that was the end of my "acting" career.

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As an aside,...Talking about the St Joseph's girls...

I do have distinct memories of the occasional dances we had at the basketball court with steel bands and such.

This social activity was thanks, in great part, to Fr Theo, (Fr Gregory's -(the Duck)- brother).

Fr Theo was a visiting teacher from Holland at the Abbey School for about two years (from 1966 to 1968 I think).

He had the philosophy that the Mount boys needed to rub elbows and socialize with girls as a natural thing, (in a controlled and supervised setting of course). 

This idea was quite revolutionary and risky at the time, and, I am sure, a hard sell to the school management especially the uptight headmaster Bobo and the rest of the religious cadre.

But Fr Theo, being strong willed as he was, prevailed, and us boys had a few wonderful interactions and dances with the pretty girls from St Joseph's.

The girls were bussed up from the St Joseph's girl's school for the events, always under the watchful eyes for both the Mother Superior Nun and the Abbey School priests.

No matter the supervision, after overcoming our shyness and awkwardness. many of us boys danced the night away and had much fun.

Each of us had a "favorite" girl to dance with and some of us even had a "girlfriend" (whether she knew it or not) with whom we exchanged letters, (for a while at least), even if with little hope of anything would come of it ....

I remember my letter writing girlfriend was Annette Polderman, a beautiful Dutch girl who was the sister of Rudi Polderman, a boy at the Mount in my class who was a star swimmer in the Aqualads.

I always wondered what became of Annette.

Sadly, after Fr Theo left in 1968 to go back to Holland, these dances and activities with the female gender stopped, never to return.

I guess I was lucky to have been there during Fr. Theo's tenure.

That's all I have for now.

Attila Gyuris

S-MSB 1964-1969

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BC Pires <bc@bcpires.com>

Sat, Jan 29 at 7:25 AM

Three Little Birds

SPRANGALANG, our youngest and newest dog, was named for the late-great Dennis Hall, Draxie and his “dub of cultural sprangalang,” because our Sprangalang came out of the cane fields and into our yard and hearts just after the real Sprang checked out of this vale of tears and into the void forever. (When asked if he believed in an afterlife, Sprang paused for several seconds, exquisite comic timing, and answered with a question: “You mean it have people who want two of this?”)

Through the kitchen window, on my doorstep, I saw Sprangalang, the dog, home-name Spranger, wild grin of delight covering his spaniel-ish face, pouncing repeatedly, both front paws together, at something on the ground that was just the size, colour and shape to make me think it was a squash ball.

Until it unfurled and flapped its little wings.

It lifted off the kitchen steps and reached shin height before falling to the lawn, where Spranger again pounced.

Out the kitchen door in a flash, I figured out it had to have fallen out of a nest; only then did the tiny shrieks of its parents reach my hearing.

Smaller than the birds Trinis call picoplats, they had a courage out of all proportion to their laughably dismissible size.

Mother and father together flew fast, tight circles around Spranger’s head repeatedly, throwing him off just enough to give their child a fighting chance.

I was that chance. 

Shouting loudly, waving my arms like a Trinidadian winning an argument, I ran full tilt at Spranger.

The parent birds, recognising an unlikely ally, got out of my way, up into the air above the action on the ground, still squawking as loudly as their little voices allowed. 

I knew what every Trinidadian knows: what is fun for schoolboy is death for crapaud; and what every parent knows: better you lose your own life fighting to protect it than you live to see your child die. 

My diversionary force succeeded.

Spranger ran several steps away.

I turned back towards the bird just in time to see another of our too-many-sometimes dogs, the great hunter Tikka, plunge at it.

I shouted Tikka away and picked up the bird.

It was so small, I could cup its whole body, protect it completely, in one hand, without hurting it at all.

It looked up at me, too shocked to try to get away from this new threat.

“You’re safe,” I said, “and next time listen to your parents when they say you shouldn’t go out.”

The mother and father birds settled in the flamboyant tree’s lowest branches, calling quietly to me; I imagined they were showing me where to look for their nest and walked towards the tree. They did not fly away but sat waiting.

This was the Hollywood ending.

I opened my hand to tell the little bird every little thing would be all right.

It was dead.

All I held now was a small ball covered in feathers that were, I saw now, too downy.

What a brave little thing, to have attempted flight so soon!

What a mighty heart in what a minuscule chest, to declare itself ready for the world.

And now it was gone forever, its life extinguished before it had even started properly.

The only consolation was that it had died in my hand, touching another warm and living thing, and not the hard indifferent ground. 

I turned to its parents, still perched expectantly at my eye height.

I opened my hand, showed them what was left, tried not to think how I would feel if I had witnessed what they had.

They were almost as close to me as Spranger had been to their child.

If I had to bet my own money, I would put it all on their having recognised that their hope for the future was gone. 

What can any of us ever do but cuss this useless God and lean on one another? 

I put the little cadaver on a sturdy branch hoping the parents would somehow get some of what we like to call “closure”. 

I did not look back to see if they landed on the branch. 

Three days later, even five feet off the ground, the ants had found the corpse.

The parents still have not come back. 

Spranger sleeps peacefully in the sunshine. 

BC Pires is one for the birds. In loving memory of Milan Grace Aether Marie Castagne

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Nigel Boos

To Stu Monplaisir

Oct 6, 2013

Thanks, Stu.

I really do appreciate this information. You've solved one of the many puzzles we still have, re. our MSB clan.

Thanks also for your persistence, which at least allows us to close this particular chapter. 

I wonder whether other St. Lucian contacts might be able to offer any other pertinent information about the two Kingshot "boys".

I'll ask them.

By the way, any chance of getting a recent photograph from you?

Best wishes.

Nigel

(905) 426-8999

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On 2013-10-05, at 8:06 PM,

Stu Monplaisir wrote:

Nigel –

Finally got an answer re the Kingshot boys.

Paul is dead.

Apparently passed away quite a few years ago in St Lucia.

Peter is in the UK and not in good health.

Peter left St Lucia many years ago and the person who replied has no contact information.

Stu

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EDITED by Ladislao Kertesz,  kertesz11@yahoo.com,  if you would like to subscribe for a whole year and be in the circular’s mailing list or if you would like to mention any old boy that you would like to include, write to me.

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Photos:

11LK9888FBADC, Andres de Chene,

20PD0001PDEWFE, Paul de Verteuil and wife

14LK7187FBCDFGRP, Cornel de Freitas

18LK3981FBPDB, Paul de la Bastide