Scoundrels Without Uniform – 

Lessons from Mayflower.



It was one of the many midterm breaks. 

Long after watching myriad of cars pick up your class mates, your friends, your best friend, your bunkmate...

Long after you've cried your eyes out, having realized no one was coming to pick you up.

The hopefuls still hang out at the Car park, positive that the next car sound would be their Dad or the driver, and have mentally rehearsed countless times, how they’ll scream, rush into the hostel and drag out their packed iron box into the waiting car.

By nightfall, we ‘left behinds’ know ourselves and gather together.

You’ll agree with me times like these, mischief abounds.

It was one of these periods; some of us conceived this ingenious idea of converting our hostel water reservoir into an Olympic sized swimming pool. After all, there was nobody around to use all the body of water anyway.

Let me help your imagination here if you are not an Ex-May.

The male ‘bathrooms’ were more like yards fenced round with high
walls to keep out peeping Toms. Somewhere in the yards were moulded large concrete reservoirs, with metal pipes sticking out at one end (wouldn't really call it a tap) that supplies water.

So you go to there with bucket to draw water, 'park' somewhere at an available space near the wall and have your bath. (It was an open ended affair!)

So come midterm breaks, we would dash into the yard, strip off our clothes and head bare into the inviting water. We would splash around and holler like we don't have a care.

Some of us had our first swimming classes in those shallow waters and many times, we got away with it until this particular day.

I have been perfecting my swimming. I've learnt how to hold my breath and to float without aid. I was learning to do the ‘Sub’. That is, going underwater from one end and coming out at the other end, undetected.

On this fateful day, I had dived underwater, my head was definitely submerged, because I could not see or hear anything happening outside.

The next thing I knew was a sharp sting across my buttocks.

(It was later I learnt that, my head was indeed inside the water but my backside was shooting out, making it a 'perfect target' for the cane).

Impulsively I cried out and swallowed water. I shot up and struggled to get up. As I did, I came face to face with my House master (we called them Warden, now you know why). I could almost feel the heat of his seething anger on my cold body.

With the help of another stroke, I scaled the reservoir wall and scrambled for my green short. Apparently I was the last to know what had happened, the others were already out, and lined up against the wall as if at a firing squad.

I sheepishly joined them trembling not from the cold water but
at the thought of the wrath to come.

All I can tell you now is that I couldn't sit for the next few days. Just picture the impact of a bum in wet shorts against six strong, anger-induced strokes of the cane.

All I can say is that I paid heavily for my swimming classes!