Blushing cannot be controlled (Singapore)

There was a girl in my year at secondary school (St. Joseph’s Convent) in the E class who had, for some reason, become the target of one particular teacher’s ire.

Background: During my school days, a class size of 40–44 was normal and did not impact negatively on learning (unlike in the UK where they constantly complain that big classes mean students are not getting the right level of attention, thus resulting in low standards).  We’d have 200 (give or take) students per grade. Class A would do Maths and Science.  Class E would do Domestic Science (cooking and sewing).  

We Class A students often envied them because we only produced nasty smells in our Chemistry lab sessions (hydrogen sulphide, e.g.) and drew cockroaches preserved in formaldehyde for our Biology classes, whilst Class E students’ Domestic Science sessions produced lovely smells of cakes and cookies, and they got to eat them, too, at the end of the class.  

The general thinking at the time was that Class E = not that good academically.  (This is why, at my Pre-U school, the daughter of a prominent figure was put in Science A, which was a Pure Science class, when she was meant for Science E, which was a pre-Med class, thus necessitating a reshuffle of timetables because Science A didn’t do Biology.)

This poor girl at my secondary school was probably at the bottom of even the E class.  She didn’t seem to get anything right, ending up constantly testing the patience of that particular teacher, who had a reputation for being fierce although she was good at teaching (we Class A students loved her English grammar classes).  This sharp-tongued teacher was always shouting at her in front of the whole class, telling her off for doing this or that wrong.  (I myself had tried to resign from the school netball team because I found her acerbic shouting very upsetting.)

One day, this Class E girl decided that she’d had enough of that particular shouting session, and went for a dead faint.  It was most effective, as the teacher immediately stopped shouting.

Two girls were called over to carry her to the First Aid Room, one picking up her shoulders, the other her ankles.  Unfortunately, the one at the ankle end raised the feet too high, so her skirt rode up her legs to reveal her knickers.  

The girl went bright red — while still “unconscious”.  Unfortunately, the teacher had seen it too.  “Put her down!  Get up, get up!  How dare you try to play a trick like that!?”  The poor girl tried to carry on being “unconscious” for another 30 seconds, but had to eventually open her eyes and get up off the floor.  Extra humiliation.  Poor thing.

(Singapore, 1968)