Circular No 1,003

 

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

Caracas, 13 of February 2021 No.1003 febB

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Dear Friends,

Here is the first issue with the new format, once a month or/and as news demands it.

Of course, part of the limitation is due to the financial constrains that I am forced to working with, and the other part is shortage of news.

Your generosity will help to increase the number of issues per month.

I thank those that have asked and have send in funds anonymously.

At the end of this issue, you will find the instructions to send funds, I know your limitations.

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Nigel Boos

Thu, 28 Jan, 23:24 (16 hours ago)

Laz,

I thought you could use this:

1959 POOLOOL AND THE BACKWOODSMAN’S BADGE

Cut off from normal human contact as we were, stranded for three months at a time atop a low-lying “mountain” in the Northern Range of Trinidad, without access to daily newspapers, and generally out of touch with daily national life in the island, we were really quite oblivious to the comings and goings of the day. We derived much of our news from little crystal radios which we built for ourselves, just to keep in touch with the rest of the world, and to examine this new-found technology.

We had heard in a vague sort of way about a murderer who had been incarcerated in Port of Spain’s Royal Jail. We did not know much about him, but we did know enough to keep us from ever wanting to come into contact with him.

Everything came to a sudden head, however, when, one night, after our night prayers in the school chapel, Fr. Eugene had an announcement to make:

“Now, I don’t want you to panic, boys,” (immediately, we panicked), “but I must advise you that Poolool has escaped, and it is suspected that he might be in our vicinity. The Police have advised us to be on the look-out for any suspicious characters in this area.”

Well! Talk about panic! Sudden explosive excitement! We raced up to our dormitory, hatching plans on the run to capture Poolool, or at least to defend ourselves and to show him that we were not going to be taken easily.

Poor Poolool! If he only knew the frantic confusion, he caused that night at the Mount. Everyone had a different trap set up for him. Some guys scattered thumb tacks on the floors of their cubicles. Others had heavy weights suspended over their curtains which, supposedly would fall and knock him out, were he to be so silly as to try to enter their cubicles. Wayne Vincent-Brown had a long, thick, heavy piece of rubber which he tied into a huge knot at one end. He demonstrated how it would work by imagining that Poolool had entered the cubicle next door to his. He swung the contraption so that it arched over the intervening plywood wall and swung back on itself, slamming into the opposite side of the wall with some force. “You see”, said he, “I will knock him out with this if he were to enter the cubicle next door.”

Poor, poor Poolool. I feel he would have made a terrible mistake if he had entered our dormitory at any time. He would prefer to have been back in jail.

The following weekend, long before the Poolool scare, I had been scheduled to attempt to pass the “Backwoodsman’s Badge”, together with Christopher Date and Maurice de Verteuil. This was an exciting adventure – a Junior Scout Badge which entailed hiking from Point A to Point B, a distance of perhaps 10-15 miles, through the forest, following existing trails, and at the same time, keeping a log of everything we did. We would have to use a compass to give definite bearings and distances walked. We’d have to build a tent for ourselves in which to sleep, kill a chicken and cook it for ourselves, eat “off the land” and find our way back to the school within 2-3 days. (in the current situation in Trinidad in 2011, with so many murders taking place each day, this would hardly be a good idea!)

We set off early one morning to begin our hike, Chris, Maurice and I, up the hill towards White Stones, cutlasses at our waists, a solitary chicken hanging upside down from a belt, knapsacks with clothing, log books, compasses, pens, rope, jack-knives, flash-lights, plastic plates, knives, forks, spoons, salt, pepper, bathing suits, towels, soap, candles, and a few matches.

We stopped on the brow of a hill and, mindful of Poolool’s possible presence, decided that here was a suitable spot on which to build our lean-to, for the night. Now, we had not brought a tent – we weren’t allowed to. Instead, we cleared the land about 8’ x 8”, and found some strong, 8’ tall trees with trunks about 3” in diameter, which we cut down, setting them up as a fully opened lean-to with one sloping back wall, which we covered with leafy branches and shrubbery. We pulled straws to see who would sleep on the outsides, the central spot being the more preferable one, since whoever was in the middle would be more “protected” from Poolool by whoever was sleeping on the outside.

Then came the job of killing the chicken. None of us had ever killed one before and we had to decide how to do it. Eventually, we each got involved. One held the legs, the other held the head by a string and pulled gently, exposing the neck. The third was the executioner. As we placed the chicken atop a fallen log, he raised the cutlass, closed his eyes and whish! With one mighty chop, the head came off, blood began spouting, the legs were released and the headless bird took off, flapping her way downhill into the bush. We retrieved the chicken and cut it open, removing the innards. We then dug a hole, deep enough for the chicken, made mud with water from a local stream, seasoned the bird with salt, pepper and onions, packed the insides with the mud paste, plastered mud on the outside (feathers and all), plunked it into the hole we’d dug, surrounded the entire ball of mud (chicken inside) with dirt, and lit a fire on top of the hole. We were told that this was the way to cook a chicken in the absence of a stove, and so we followed our instructions religiously.

After about 2-3 hours, during which time we explored our area, collecting leaves, tree barks, filled out pages in our log books, took compass readings, and chatted away, we stuck our potatoes under the ashes still hot on the surface, and left them there, hopefully to cook.

And what a surprise we had. When it was getting dark, and when supposedly, Poolool would be hunting for food – our food - we retrieved the chicken from her muddy grave and found that the mud had hardened around the bird. Tapping on the mud caused it to crack and as we removed the hardened material, the feathers came off with it, exposing clean, white meat.  As we broke the bird into pieces, we found that the insides were also cooked, and any stray bits of lungs, blood vessels, etc., which we had not removed, came away with it. 

What a feast! Chicken a la White Stones mud! We’d learned a new skill and had fun doing so.

Sleep came easily, except that I was on the outside and had visions of Poolool kidnaping me without Christopher or Maurice even taking notice.

We broke camp next day, dressed, packed and continued our hike, taking note of the twists and turns of the mountain path we’d encountered, taking compass readings all the way and dutifully recording it all in our log books. 

As we walked, at one point a small snake was unfortunate enough to cross our paths. Since we’d used up all our food on the first day and still had miles to and another night to sleep, we decided that Mr. Snake would have to make our next meal. I took off my scout belt (the one with the metal buckle) and quickly ended the creature’s life, knowing that it would be the first time I’d ever eaten a snake.

And then fortune smiled on us. Some distance into the forest, we came across an old Indian man who was busy picking mangoes and oranges from a local orchard. These were then piled onto a donkey-cart, which he was driving slowly through the forest to market. I have no idea whether the orchard was his, or whether he was in fact, stealing, and we didn’t ask. We did however, offer to help him pick the fruit, and in return he allowed us to enjoy as many as we wished. So there we were, walking behind this donkey cart which we had loaded with mangoes and oranges, and onto which we had happily deposited our heavy knapsacks. Life was great!

We arrived into the northern end of Maracas Valley and parted company with the old man. The roadway which suddenly appeared made it possible for him to travel a little faster, and we sent him in peace, as we helped ourselves to “just another mango”.

Our destination was the Leotaud Estate in Maracas Valley, which we eventually found around dusk, and where we erected another lean-to. We felt the need to bathe, and the nearby Maracas River, just above the 5^th bridge, provided a magnificent pool in which we were able to indulge ourselves until night-time demanded sleep.

The next morning, we were awakened by the blowing of a car’s horn. It turned out that we had built our lean-to directly in the middle of the Leotaud’s driveway, a grassy track which led to their home about 150 yards away. We quickly scrambled to get up and break down the offending hut, allowing the motor-car to pass.

This was the end of our hike. Someone picked us up later in the morning and returned us to the Mount. We all qualified for our Backwoodsman’s Badge, Poolool or no Poolool, after a most interesting and exhilarating weekend.

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Gregory milne

09:27

Dear Ladislao

Thanks for your email and good hearing from you. 

Please note that Michael Milne did not attend MSB.

God bless and thanks for continuing to do such an amazing job at keeping the MSB alumini in contact,

Gregory

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Nicholas de Verteuil

16:13

Ladislao,

I retired from BHP Billiton Petroleum in February 2009, and moved from Bogotá, Colombia, where I was V.P. and Country Manager, to the USA.

My wife, Simone (nee Seheult) and I now live in Georgetown, Texas.

We are located in Central Texas just north of Austin.

Eion O'Connor, to whom I have CCd this note, lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada.

I believe that "Middle Bhaaji" is located in Ancaster, Ontario, Canada, but I am not sure on that.

Best wishes,

Nicholas "Meow" de Verteuil

109 Old Blue Mountain Lane

Georgetown, Texas 78633

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Ladislao Kertesz<kertesz11@gmail.com>

Fri, 29 Jan, 17:30

Thanks Don.

Please note the new numbering system, I wanted to keep consecutive numbering for use in the files and blog but showing the monthly issue separate from the extra issues.

I am sending out 1001feb on the first of February, to subscribers and those that contribute an essay.

1002 febA an extra issue if there is material

1003 febB This issue

1004 febC another extra issue if there is material

If there are no more extra issues then the next number would be the next consecutive number available for the first of March

I have promised a monthly issue to subscribers and extra issues depending on news. And I shall ask for funds in each new Circular.

I have not mentioned this to you, but I feel that there must be a regular effort to keep news, like RIP, and other matters going.

This issue shall be sent to the subscribers and to you and need not be published in the Blog, but you may as you have been part of this since the beginning.

I am doing this because lots of mount boys are in the social chat media and but there is no coercive force that the association was supposed to have provided.

Lack of a dynamic ASAA, thank God it is closed.

Only Kazim Abasali Facebook page is working with 133 followers.

Ladislao

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idmitch@anguillanet.com

29 Jan 2021, 18:57

Hi, Ladislao,

Thanks for the update.

Glad to hear that you will continue to try keeping up with the publications, even if for limited circulation.

Perhaps, you may like to have them published on the Blog for posterity after, say, six months?

You only need to let me know when you would like to have them put on the internet.

The new 2021 Blog has been started, as you will have seen, so it will be no problem at all.

Keep well.

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dmitch@anguillanet.com

Wed, 27 Jan, 05:56

Hi, Ladislao,

Circular No. 1000 is published: https://2021circulars.blogspot.com/

It has been an honour and a pleasure to put them on a Blog over the past 20-odd years.

If you need me to add anything more to the 2021 Blog,

Don’t hesitate to ask. 

It will continue to be a pleasure.

All the best,

Don

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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:

57UN0010RGAMSH, Randal Galt and James Mac Seheult

19SR0001SROFAM, Santiago Robleda and son

57UN0051CRICKET, Isaias Farcheg with a baseball glove

60LK0001LKECHU, Last days at Mount.