Hartley Neita, Contributor

After my father introduced me to the house master at Jamaica College on my first day there, I walked with him to the main gate.

I waited until he boarded a tramcar to take him to downtown Kingston from where he would travel by train to our home in Four Paths. There was a lump in my throat. It was the first time in my life I was going to live away from home, and with strangers, and from what the house master told us, in a regimented life.

A bell, we were told, would wake us at six in the morning, giving us time to shower, and then half-hour later to tell us breakfast was ready. It rang again five minutes later to warn us that if we were not in the dining room by then we have to do without morning meal.

Dominated by the bell

Following breakfast, we went to a common room where we did our homework for one hour under the watchful eye of a master. The bell rang again to muster us in the chapel where day boys joined us for morning matins.

At nine o' clock, the bell rang to mark the beginning of the first class. One hour later, it rang to mark the end of the class and the beginning of the next. At 11:00 clock, it rang again, and then at noon to disburse us for lunch. At one, the bell marked the beginning of afternoon classes, again at two o'clock, and finally at three.

We then went back to the dining room for an afternoon titbit of a bulla and a glass of lemonade. From then until six, we played games - track and field during the Easter term, cricket and hockey during the summer term, and football during the Christmas term.

The bell ended our afternoon on the playing fields, and after a quick shower, the bell rang again to call us to evening worship in the chapel. After chapel, the bell rang again for evening homework which we did until 8:30 p.m. when we retired to our respective dormitories. The bell rang for the last time at 9:00 p.m. for 'Lights Out'.

This bell dominated our lives, and it is no wonder that some of the students gravitated to the Jamaica Labour Party after graduating!

To return though to when my father left me at the school gate, I began walking along the roadway, which curved around the main playing field of the school.

Upper schoolers

As I passed a building which I subsequently learnt was the joint fifth and sixth form building, a cricket ball rolled across the road ahead of me. It ended its roll on a beautifully kept lawn. A voice shouted form the building.

"Bring that ball to me, boy."

I walked on to the lawn, picked up the ball, walked to a boy standing on the steps, his hands akimbo. I handed the ball to him.

"Boy," he said. "How dare you trod on holy ground?"

My face crinkled in a query, "That lawn boy, is holy ground, and grunts like you must never tread on it."

I stammered my apology.

"Come inside," the boy ordered. "Stand on the desk. Sing our National Anthem."

I sang, God Save our gracious King ...

"Now grunt. Do you have a sister?" someone asked.

I replied, I did.

"How old is she? I was asked. I replied she was 10.

"Ten bwoy? What school she goes to?

"Four Paths Elementary School," I said.

"Now hear me good, bwouy. A 10-year-old girl is not a sister. A sister is one who is 16 years old, one I can take to the Carib to see a movie. And a sister is one who goes to St. Andrew High School. St. Hugh's, Wolmer's, Alpha or Immaculate. Not to a country school. You get that?"

"Yes," I said.

"Now leave this hall. And when you pass it next time, do not look inside. If you do, I will have you clean my shoes."

I left in a hurry.