Hartley NeitaMY FATHER was the son of a farmer who planted everything from vegetables to bananas, coffee, cocoa, citrus, sugar cane, and sweet potatoes, on his farm in Mount Industry, St. Catherine.
He was a bright student and passed the First, Second and Third Year Pupil Teachers' Examination while attending the elementary school in his district. Only the brightest and the best boys and girls passed these examinations. They also had excellent teachers. He took the entrance examination to Mico College and passed.
I never asked him about the first day he spent at Mico. It must have been a strange environment to him. There were no bananas, coffee, cocoa, citrus, sugar cane or sweet potatoes anywhere on the school grounds. It was a waste of a lot of land.
Like my father, I subsequently came to Kingston to Jamaica College where, as he had at Mico, I boarded. He helped me to unpack my grip and then we were escorted around the school with other new boys and their parents. All of us were from the country, and now that I look back in time, we were all frightened at this new and strange experience.
RIGID SCHEDULE
We were told about the rigid schedule we would follow for the next few years. And then our parents left. My eyes were wet and there was a lump in my throat. I believe it was the same with my father, but we did not look into each other's eyes.
The school bell controlled our days. It rang to wake us at 6.00 a.m. After showering, cleaning our teeth, and brushing our hair, the bell rang again, this time for breakfast.
We entered the dining room, sitting at long tables on which cups, saucers, plates and cutlery were already laid out by the domestic staff. If you were late you could not enter the dining room, and there was no breakfast. A master sat at the head of each table.
As we sat waiting, silently, platters of sliced bread, already buttered, scrambled eggs, and jugs of chocolate and water were placed onto the tables. The arrival of the headmaster and senior masters at a table covered with a white tablecloth on a platform at the end of the room saw the masters at our tables standing. We followed their example.
"Good morning, boys," the headmaster said.
"Good morning, sir," we chorused.
"Let us pray!" he said.
As a well-brought-up country boy from a disciplined, devout and polite country Christian home, I tilted my head for my face to be washed with blessings from heaven, and I closed my eyes. It was familiar prayer. I repeated the words silently, but my 'Amen' was vocally loud.
My eyes remained closed for a while. Then I lowered my head and opened them. There was no bread or scrambled eggs before me. I looked left. I looked right.
Will someone, please be kind, I prayed.
And from the head of my table came the admonition from the master.
"Boy, from now on you will remember the words of our Lord, 'Watch and pray'."
