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The verifiably oldest person in the world died recently at age 117. Glancing at the article brought my attention to the fact that the verifiably oldest person ever was someone I once knew.
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At my age, you assume your teachers are all long gone but I had learned recently that this woman was in fact still alive two years ago, though I didn’t know her age.
She died last year, just 25 days short of her 119th birthday.
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According to another of her pupils, this is she, although as it is my photograph, I rather doubt it.
Sister Andre was the headmistress of the boarding school I attended at Kep, Cambodia.
Before I’d been there two weeks I was in trouble. In a letter to my parents I’d said my bed was hard. Just an observation, a statement of fact.
Sister was not pleased.
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Having my mail censored was one of several things about boarding school I didn’t like and surely letters to parents should be exempt?
Years later, my friend Tim travelled to Kep and following my directions, he found the school which was deserted after having been used by the Khmer Rouge and then the local police force.
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Tim took a picture of what had been my dormitory and my bed was exactly like those shown here. We had mosquito nets and the poles looked like a forest. There were two dorms, each with 100 beds.
Cold water sinks all along the wall by the windows and toilets at the far end. I believe there was a single shower and we had assigned times to use them, certainly not every day.
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In the dorms at least we had western toilets but during the day we remained downstairs where the facilities verged on obscene. I’m not sure how often they were cleaned, if ever.
Communal bathroom facilities were probably what I hated most, along with loss of privacy.
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Food was prepared in this facility.
At my previous school in Vietnam, I had adjusted to not having home cooked meals. The problem here was that it didn’t amount to much.
We were supposed to bring extras that were kept in lockers but if you had no one to keep you supplied, you were out of luck.
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Down at the shore there were food sellers and I must have been allowed a small amount of money because I remember buying shrimp cakes. I was not on the edge of starvation, just always hungry.
Although I detested that school, Kep was idyllic and a lovely place to be.
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Sister Andre was often vexed with me. Toward the end of my time there, because of a border dispute, I lost contact with my parents, in Thailand.
With no communication arriving, I had no idea when I would ever see my parents again which was a little troubling to a 13-year old.
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My school work suffered. The good sister seemed delighted to tell me that my results were less good.
Then she “complimented” me on my French, saying disdainfully, I did not have the accent of Paris.
One day, unexpected, a car turned up to collect me and Sister was incensed. Why had she not been told?
Why ask me?
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That was when Sister Andre felt it necessary to tell me that she had known the tommies during the war and that they didn’t have much spine.
What was it about me that provoked a woman dedicated to a religion of compassion and kindness, to be so spiteful?
Deep inside her, this woman was surely very unhappy.
Sad memories, Carolyn, and what puzzles me is why people have children and are not interested in their happiness! Happy or not sister didn’t have the right to treat so abominably children in her care.
Joanna
She may have been embittered during the two world wars but her religion preached forgiveness.
Spiteful nuns? I always thought that was a qualification to be a nun. I don’t envy you being taught by them one bit.
Best wishes, Pete.
At my first boarding school they weren’t so bad. Strangely there was a British nun, the only person there who spoke English but I only met her once as she didn’t teach. The second school was different. At the time I very much wanted to be a part of something and becoming a Christian had seemed appealing but I soon went off that idea.
This sister certainly didn’t have the words “compassion” and “kindness” in her vocabulary – what a shame when you’re working with young children! I have very fond memories of my time in a hostel during my five years in high school – the couple who were our “hostel parents” had great compassion for those of us who would only see our parents only every 3 months for a short school holiday. Today, I still think how much it meant to me to have these people in my life at the young age of 13 (the same age as you, by the way).