Previously, on his journey as a missionary, he found himself pulled between the classroom and the jungle path, trying to serve both the children of St Mark’s and the scattered communities beyond the river. Week by week, he settled into school life, travelled with Father Ferd to longhouses and little chapels, and began to see the people’s hopes, fears and faith more clearly, from the eager pupils far from home to the Ibans still weighed down by old terrors. It was a demanding chapter, but one that quietly taught him what mattered most: to travel light, listen well, and keep going wherever the mission led.
My travels helped me to meet the parents of our pupils and perhaps helped them in removing any barriers that they perceived between the school and themselves. The school was a five-year course; straightforward one room per year for the upper classes and several for the lower years. The staff were hard-working, mostly Form-Five themselves and a few Form 6. We even had a graduate from Taiwan but such was the animosity towards the Chinese that such degrees were not recognised. From what I could see, these graduates had a much tougher slog than a counter-part in the UK.
Our ordinary school syllabus included English, Maths, Malay, Chinese, History, Geography and Home Economics. I slipped in a science subject, Biology. Unfortunately when we sent in the Overseas Cambridge application forms, the powers that be in Kuching objected that we had no suitable laboratory to conduct this subject. After invoking the good offices of all the friends we had at court, both in Kuching and in Miri, we managed a compromise, in that they sent a Science man from headquarters to see for himself. It was thumbs down. The Biology teacher and pupils were greatly disappointed because they had got to like the subject which they would have easily passed.
It is the old, old story; the inspectors visit a private nursing home or school and insist on the letter of the law being carried out when at the same time they know that their own institutions do not come up to standard. It happens in Malaysia; it happens in UK. Our children worked hard and the staff were very committed. The native pupils always benefit from their proximity to Chinese teachers and pupils. For me it was a great year; I relished the opportunity to help these children who might otherwise have become dropouts.
With so many native pupils our school offered the authentic Sarawak culture and easily carried off any trophies available at festivals. In fact when the VIPS such as Sultans came visiting from the mainland, our dancing teams were usually invited to perform. These girls were brought up to this almost from infancy and it all came naturally. Some of the Kelabit boys had brought with them from home their bamboo flutes on which they performed beautifully. I managed to contact the headmaster in the Kelabit Highlands and he provided me with a whole range of instruments made by hand. He was very grateful for the donation I made to him. Again, the boys were all familiar with these instruments and soon we had a band ready to perform at any public occasion. The music was melodious, soft and haunting.
Soccer is the beautiful game in Sarawak. The Baram Bulls played the Baram Buffaloes several times a year; the latter were loosely based on pupils and ex-pupils of St. Mark’s; the other similarly were related to the government secondary. These were Titanic contests. The parish priest was a great player and from time to time the priest from Long San would be in town to join him to make a formidable partnership. One of the startling events associated with watching football would be the appearance of a swarm of locusts It was like a storm cloud; the strange high-pitched voice of their wings was so eerie. Then they dropped down from the sky and skimmed over the field to seek their food.. Everyone fell to the ground whilst this swarm hurried overhead on its relentless path.
We had a sufficient number of big Chinese boys to produce a good basketball team. With the high scoring in a match, a lot of excitement could be generated much more so than in soccer. Great was the jubilation on those nights when the school carried of the trophies. School basketball was well and fairly conducted. Which could not be said when the adult teams were competing. These were sponsored by local shopkeepers and the teams would wear sports singlets with the appropriate logo. One team I remember which was sponsored by the local dentist had “Great Wall Dentist” with a grinning set of false teeth. Much betting took place which so added to the fervour of the crowd that the Field Force had to be called in to keep order. This was an armed branch of the police used on such occasions and also for border patrol. It was the only excitement possible in such an out of the way place.
The local cinema depended on the arrival of films from Miri; if it managed to screen a kung-fu film then it was full house, with whole families present from grandparents to babies. Perhaps it was the desire to see glimpses of their homeland that brought the Chinese out in full force. At that time Malaysia refused permission for any of its citizens to visit China, such was their obsessive fear that the Chinese were always about to rise against them. But the real excitement came every year or so with the arrival of the circus. Perhaps it had been a circus at one stage and had shed its coat or its cumbersome props. The one I attended had a few performing dogs, a few ladies in sequins and various animals of the non-frightening variety; the star of the show was the man who swallowed lit-electric bulbs and various glass items. I can still hear the glass being chewed and see the lit bulbs illuminated in his throat.
It happened that the priests from the three upriver missions were in town for some reason or other. We decided to have a look. It meant that we took up a fair amount of seats. As we filed into our places, I happened to be near the end. Behind me was a Brother. He jostled me playfully, so that I was left with the end seat of the row. Now he told me that this magician needed an assistant and they always picked the guy at the end of the row to come on the stage. There was I sweating it out all through the various items. Then one of the girls came bounding down from the stage and headed straight to me. Something very grave and ministerial in my demeanour must have halted her for she stretched beyond me and grabbed the Brother. Do they not say? “Hoist with their own petard”. Poor Brother was terribly embarrassed up there on the stage as he played the stooge to the glass-swallower. I muttered a silent prayer, “There but for the grace of God go I” and then settled down to enjoy the rest of the entertainment which somehow assumed the high standard of the Bertram Mills. Brother talked about his experiences for weeks afterwards. No doubt he got great mileage out of this when he returned to his mission of Long Loyang.
Marudi is one of the oldest missions in Borneo. Several days journey upriver another mission had been built in the 1950s at Long San, the home of the Paramount Chief of the Kenyahs and Kayans, who had himself embraced the faith through the tireless efforts of the famous Fr Janssen, working out of Miri on the coast. The priests had almost the length of this long river as their parish, with all the many side-rivers as well.
