Rubbish at drawing (Singapore)

 

One of my current Tuesday group Mandarin students is in her early 80s, and very active, going to all sorts of events (exhibitions, e.g.) and classes.  The latest that I know of is painting.

    She’d attended my Mandarin evening classes some 30 years ago, and is now back for my Tuesday group classes, as well as learning Russian.

    She said in a WhatsApp text that she thought painting would be less stressful than learning Russian or Chinese, adding, “Wrong!”

    This reminds me of a geography map drawing exercise we were set when I was at secondary school in St Joseph's Convent.

    The technique that was being taught for this exercise was how to copy something more scientifically and systematically than just judging with the eyes and transferring that image onto a sheet of paper but larger.

    (The technique is:  draw a grid over the image to be copied; draw another grid over the final sheet of paper, but scaled up.  One then tries to reproduce (/ enlarge) each section of the grid proportionately, thus resulting in something that’s closer to the original than just random judging with one’s eyes.  One of my maternal uncle’s friends had produced a portrait approx. 2’x3’ [I seem to remember] of my maternal grandfather, from a passport-size photograph of him, using this method.)

    For the geography map drawing exercise, we were given the map of Africa.

    My homework came back with the comment from the teacher, “This isn’t Africa.  It’s a butter bean!  Do it again.”

(Singapore, 1967?)

Chinese sayings: 26 (愛之深責之切 / 爱之深责之切)

 

愛之深責之切 / 爱之深责之切

ài zhī shēn zé zhī qiè

The deeper one loves, the more cuttingly one reproaches

Old friend Chris and I were reminiscing about our SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London) days.

    One teacher who liked him (fortunately for him, as she had a reputation for targeting one student in every grade) would say the way he wrote the Japanese letter ほ made it look like a bean sprout.  

    My reply:

Quote

Ah, that might have been one of those cases of 愛之深責之切 (the deeper one loves, the more cuttingly one reproaches [or mocks/laughs]).  You can tell from the fact that it's a set phrase that it's common practice.

    My St Joseph's Convent Primary 6 form mistress was a Mrs Enid Byrnes, a Scottish lady who was very fond of me (she signed my autograph book with "To my darling [+ my name]"), but always singled me out precisely because of this.

E.g.,

1. She'd hide my school bag (put it outside the window — we were on the ground floor), and watch in glee as I searched everywhere.
2. She'd drop a small piece of chalk down my back, and watch in glee as I tried to fish it out.  Our school uniform was a white short-sleeved shirt under a dark blue pinafore, belted at the waist, so the small piece of chalk would be wedged in there, trapped by the belt.  She'd then say sternly, "Stop fidgeting!”
3. She'd say maybe I could marry Mario, her son, then during school release time, she'd suddenly look out of the classroom window and say, "Ah, I see Mario walking home from school!" and call out, in a lilting "yoo hoo" voice, "Ohhh Maaa-riooo!" and watch me blush.

Unquote

(London, 1980; Singapore, 1966)

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)