Newsletter for past alumni of The Abbey School, Mt. St. Benedict, Trinidad and Tobago, W.I. Caracas, 23 July 2005. Circular No. 194
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Dear Friends,
How about this email from your friend Jeremy?
Can anyone match his prose?? Even Vincent Wayne must be jealous, I am sure.
By the way, Wayne Vincent Brown must be having problems, I have not heard from him since I had an editorial disagreement with him in 2002, and lately his e-mail address has ceased to work??
Maybe this is because of the pre-hurricane period? preparing for the bad weather?
Here is the email that describes what the Mount meant to most of us, good work!!!.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 6/10/2005 3:05:49 PM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Jeremy
Hi Ladislao,
You’re the greatest as usual.
Here is a new email name to you I think;
See if you would like to pop this one up in your next news-letter.
Very Best Regards
Jeremy de Barry
==================================
Extract from eMail in reply to:
Norman Smith
Norman starts with:
Subject: Blast from the past
Date: Wed, 08 Jun 2005 17:05:20 -0400
Jeremy,
It's been almost 4 decades since I've seen or heard from any Mount old boy.(etc)…
I would also like to contact other old friends like Roger Ames and Rafael Echeverria...(email reply body - then..)
Finally, for now; [Sorry Norman - You triggered this one off!]
Two score years, and counting, is a lifetime to many, and the mark to a generation.
We have all done well in our separate ways, scattered as we now are, like pollen in the wind.
We remain forever loose brothers, (You too Rafael) united by our past.
Yes, we were part of a brotherhood.
It was never our choice to be where we were placed, our parents’ patronage ruling our futures.
Obedient to the times, we sullied to the benefice rhythms of the Mount, to have our adolescence squandered over years, for the higher stake of education.
We learnt tolerance, and found brothers for those who had none; or found brothers to add to family, or to exchange for those who were not in sympathy.
We learnt love and hate and discovered our strengths and weaknesses.
Boredom and apathy were never a part of the fabric of that life; there was too much going on all the time; so much to do; and literally, so many hills to climb.
Moments of introspection, should one fall prey to that aloneness or disjuncture, perhaps on arrival for the start of those long terms, could be soothed by glances into the beckoning background hills, or by steering down the slope and across the distant plains; where on a clear day 'You could see forever'.
But not for long in contemplation, least you got caught napping, as violence could career around the corner, and gears would mesh in you head and legs to implement strategies of escape in quick movement; some new, some old, to avoid 'the hedging' or 'the flushing'; and then you were back in the game of Mount.
In the end we hated few, and loved many.
We were deeply moved as friends or role models came to term and moved to depart from this pediment.
We knew for many, we would never meet again.
And then it was our turn.
With few regrets but hearty goodbyes, we would descend down that ever winding road, taking our last glimpses of arches, bee-hives, battered VW busses, bottle works; and scattered through the trees the Abbey, rest house and guest house.
Then the bamboo way past the seminary; and dropping, through the row of cashew trees, the convent, pool and playing field; then it all disappeared round the bend.
Pax.
Over the years, some would return in pilgrimage; either on their own, with friends, or with members of their families.
Reasons aside, to most who made the journey, there were those instants of queasy excitement, that would rise with the upward journey, and subside surprisingly, to tranquillity on arrival.
And then it would slowly hit you.
As you began to explore; every corner, every angle, every shadow triggered cascades of long forgotten moments.
Each space held its own story.
Then a light sadness and a thin puzzlement would arise.
It was too quiet.
Beyond the saddening realisation that an era and a unique institution had passed into the annals of history; were those jolting wisps of imaginings for the sights of cream shirts, kaki shorts; or white longs, blue yellow striped tie and the ubiquitous crimson jumper or blazer with that vivid yellow pocket emblem; the odd white robe, sashes curtaining a wide black belt; and the animated faces.
Always a spin of movement, to a cacophony of chatter in Trini English, ringing Panyol and broken Patois! Mon Dieu!
Those of us who withstood long internment as boarders of The Abbey School, Mount St. Benedict, would only truly realise this privilege that we had shared, as the years of living slowly stacked to rise in metaphoric counterpoint to the height of Mount itself.
Our schooling was in the main solid.
Our activities had made us tough; even the fat ones were no wimps.
Our ever present hunger, and our trademark of withstanding 3 minute cold showers (and to a timely few of us the simultaneous bombasting of Luongo's bass Cantatas); saw us leave the Mount in sinewy good form.
Most left as young men, not quite as Captains of Industry or Movers of Nations, but generally to be persons of some consequence.
Our psychologies were a little warped and biased to the antisocial and loners at first; coming out of that nest was a new learning curve all by itself.
But mildly strictured by a Benedictine benevolence of moral philosophy, together with that wild environment of a multicultural enclave, produced in us an adaptability for survival and an ability to integrate; though painful at times to achieve, that proved in the main, adequate for our lives needs.
We are the Boys from The Mount, that is our mark.
We were few, but what a bunch!.
To those of us who occasion to traverse the East-West corridor of Trinidad, we always take a moment to look North, to that range of tropical mountains, with a whimsical turn of mind to that old home, The Mount; creamily pixillated with hints of red orca, to a background of green, on the crest of the distant foothills.
May your Gods be with you my Brothers.
tojo - 10 June 2005
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here is another old boy, maybe you would like to contact him. Maybe he can print that special ad that you want??
I have had no luck in exchanging emails with him.
CREATIVE PRINTING LTD.
Address: Lot 24A, O’Meara Industrial Estate, O’Meara Road, Arima, Trinidad
Tel.: (868) 646-2661, 646-2646, 646-2536, 646-0796
Fax: (868) 646-2647
E-mail: datavis@tstt.net.tt
Contact: Mr. Richard Knox, Managing Director
Services: Printing
---------------------------------------------------------------------------.
Now back to the Venezuelan Old Boys
From: "jurislipavsky (ABA)"
Date:Tue, 7 Jan 18:26:27 -0400
Dear OLD Mount "Boy"
First: As you can see, I love to call my younger fellow men: "OLD" boys.
Second: I wrote BOY between " " because after all these years BOY is just a "way" of speech.
Third: I must sincerely congratulate you for the excellent work that you have done this past year trying to collect the shattered pieces of remembrances and glue them together in order to build a golden picture of the Mount that we miss, almost as much as the youth gone by.
Fourth: Don’t you expect too much from me, but I would like to be useful in your quest .
I received your e-mail with a picture of class 1958.
Could you send it again?
I am sure we can give you names, origins (ie. where the hell they come from), their whereabouts and so on.
Please send that photo again (my C.P. ate it )
Thank you and let’s hope we can enjoy the New Year.
Kindest regards
Roberto Lipavsky
(0414) 789 1206
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
REMEMBER TO PAY YOUR DUES, 50 WORDS PER YEAR, OR SEND A CHECK preferably from any U.S. Bank, to my address:
Ladislao Kertesz
Apartado 69072
Caracas 1062A Venezuela
For those that prefer this way to cooperate with the Circular and the expense that this generates. It is 52 issues per year.
God Bless
Ladislao
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Photo: class 1958 no, Roberto lipavsky
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Friends,
How about this email from your friend Jeremy?
Can anyone match his prose?? Even Vincent Wayne must be jealous, I am sure.
By the way, Wayne Vincent Brown must be having problems, I have not heard from him since I had an editorial disagreement with him in 2002, and lately his e-mail address has ceased to work??
Maybe this is because of the pre-hurricane period? preparing for the bad weather?
Here is the email that describes what the Mount meant to most of us, good work!!!.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 6/10/2005 3:05:49 PM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Jeremy
Hi Ladislao,
You’re the greatest as usual.
Here is a new email name to you I think;
See if you would like to pop this one up in your next news-letter.
Very Best Regards
Jeremy de Barry
==================================
Extract from eMail in reply to:
Norman Smith
Norman starts with:
Subject: Blast from the past
Date: Wed, 08 Jun 2005 17:05:20 -0400
Jeremy,
It's been almost 4 decades since I've seen or heard from any Mount old boy.(etc)…
I would also like to contact other old friends like Roger Ames and Rafael Echeverria...(email reply body - then..)
Finally, for now; [Sorry Norman - You triggered this one off!]
Two score years, and counting, is a lifetime to many, and the mark to a generation.
We have all done well in our separate ways, scattered as we now are, like pollen in the wind.
We remain forever loose brothers, (You too Rafael) united by our past.
Yes, we were part of a brotherhood.
It was never our choice to be where we were placed, our parents’ patronage ruling our futures.
Obedient to the times, we sullied to the benefice rhythms of the Mount, to have our adolescence squandered over years, for the higher stake of education.
We learnt tolerance, and found brothers for those who had none; or found brothers to add to family, or to exchange for those who were not in sympathy.
We learnt love and hate and discovered our strengths and weaknesses.
Boredom and apathy were never a part of the fabric of that life; there was too much going on all the time; so much to do; and literally, so many hills to climb.
Moments of introspection, should one fall prey to that aloneness or disjuncture, perhaps on arrival for the start of those long terms, could be soothed by glances into the beckoning background hills, or by steering down the slope and across the distant plains; where on a clear day 'You could see forever'.
But not for long in contemplation, least you got caught napping, as violence could career around the corner, and gears would mesh in you head and legs to implement strategies of escape in quick movement; some new, some old, to avoid 'the hedging' or 'the flushing'; and then you were back in the game of Mount.
In the end we hated few, and loved many.
We were deeply moved as friends or role models came to term and moved to depart from this pediment.
We knew for many, we would never meet again.
And then it was our turn.
With few regrets but hearty goodbyes, we would descend down that ever winding road, taking our last glimpses of arches, bee-hives, battered VW busses, bottle works; and scattered through the trees the Abbey, rest house and guest house.
Then the bamboo way past the seminary; and dropping, through the row of cashew trees, the convent, pool and playing field; then it all disappeared round the bend.
Pax.
Over the years, some would return in pilgrimage; either on their own, with friends, or with members of their families.
Reasons aside, to most who made the journey, there were those instants of queasy excitement, that would rise with the upward journey, and subside surprisingly, to tranquillity on arrival.
And then it would slowly hit you.
As you began to explore; every corner, every angle, every shadow triggered cascades of long forgotten moments.
Each space held its own story.
Then a light sadness and a thin puzzlement would arise.
It was too quiet.
Beyond the saddening realisation that an era and a unique institution had passed into the annals of history; were those jolting wisps of imaginings for the sights of cream shirts, kaki shorts; or white longs, blue yellow striped tie and the ubiquitous crimson jumper or blazer with that vivid yellow pocket emblem; the odd white robe, sashes curtaining a wide black belt; and the animated faces.
Always a spin of movement, to a cacophony of chatter in Trini English, ringing Panyol and broken Patois! Mon Dieu!
Those of us who withstood long internment as boarders of The Abbey School, Mount St. Benedict, would only truly realise this privilege that we had shared, as the years of living slowly stacked to rise in metaphoric counterpoint to the height of Mount itself.
Our schooling was in the main solid.
Our activities had made us tough; even the fat ones were no wimps.
Our ever present hunger, and our trademark of withstanding 3 minute cold showers (and to a timely few of us the simultaneous bombasting of Luongo's bass Cantatas); saw us leave the Mount in sinewy good form.
Most left as young men, not quite as Captains of Industry or Movers of Nations, but generally to be persons of some consequence.
Our psychologies were a little warped and biased to the antisocial and loners at first; coming out of that nest was a new learning curve all by itself.
But mildly strictured by a Benedictine benevolence of moral philosophy, together with that wild environment of a multicultural enclave, produced in us an adaptability for survival and an ability to integrate; though painful at times to achieve, that proved in the main, adequate for our lives needs.
We are the Boys from The Mount, that is our mark.
We were few, but what a bunch!.
To those of us who occasion to traverse the East-West corridor of Trinidad, we always take a moment to look North, to that range of tropical mountains, with a whimsical turn of mind to that old home, The Mount; creamily pixillated with hints of red orca, to a background of green, on the crest of the distant foothills.
May your Gods be with you my Brothers.
tojo - 10 June 2005
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here is another old boy, maybe you would like to contact him. Maybe he can print that special ad that you want??
I have had no luck in exchanging emails with him.
CREATIVE PRINTING LTD.
Address: Lot 24A, O’Meara Industrial Estate, O’Meara Road, Arima, Trinidad
Tel.: (868) 646-2661, 646-2646, 646-2536, 646-0796
Fax: (868) 646-2647
E-mail: datavis@tstt.net.tt
Contact: Mr. Richard Knox, Managing Director
Services: Printing
---------------------------------------------------------------------------.
Now back to the Venezuelan Old Boys
From: "jurislipavsky (ABA)"
Date:Tue, 7 Jan 18:26:27 -0400
Dear OLD Mount "Boy"
First: As you can see, I love to call my younger fellow men: "OLD" boys.
Second: I wrote BOY between " " because after all these years BOY is just a "way" of speech.
Third: I must sincerely congratulate you for the excellent work that you have done this past year trying to collect the shattered pieces of remembrances and glue them together in order to build a golden picture of the Mount that we miss, almost as much as the youth gone by.
Fourth: Don’t you expect too much from me, but I would like to be useful in your quest .
I received your e-mail with a picture of class 1958.
Could you send it again?
I am sure we can give you names, origins (ie. where the hell they come from), their whereabouts and so on.
Please send that photo again (my C.P. ate it )
Thank you and let’s hope we can enjoy the New Year.
Kindest regards
Roberto Lipavsky
(0414) 789 1206
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
REMEMBER TO PAY YOUR DUES, 50 WORDS PER YEAR, OR SEND A CHECK preferably from any U.S. Bank, to my address:
Ladislao Kertesz
Apartado 69072
Caracas 1062A Venezuela
For those that prefer this way to cooperate with the Circular and the expense that this generates. It is 52 issues per year.
God Bless
Ladislao
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Photo: class 1958 no, Roberto lipavsky
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Look us up at http://www.theabbeyschool.com, an all class msb web site.
Look at www.paxabbey.com for information on the Monastery, Mt St. Benedict.
For those that want to communicate with the web, use, webmaster@theabbeyschool.com.
Send information to: Ladislaokertesz@hotmail.com if you would like to be in the circular’s mailing list or any old boy that you would like to include. Telf. 0 (212) 263.5346 Caracas.
Use kaviacion@cantv.net or kertesz11@yahoo.com for photos as I leave enough storage space for these.
Please note: you may have missed some of the circulars, if you have not received one every week, do not hesitate to ask for the missing number to idmitch@anguillanet.com
For those that would like to contact me here I include my telephones:
Telf.Office: 58 (212) 263.5346, 267.2416, From: 11:00GMT to 22:00GMT
FAX: 58 (212) 261.0829,
Home: 58 (212) 238.4084. From: 00:00 GMT to 04:00 GMT
Cellphone: +58 (0416) 612.5695
Remember that Venezuela’s time is the same as Trinidad’s, -04:00 GMT.
Look at www.paxabbey.com for information on the Monastery, Mt St. Benedict.
For those that want to communicate with the web, use, webmaster@theabbeyschool.com.
Send information to: Ladislaokertesz@hotmail.com if you would like to be in the circular’s mailing list or any old boy that you would like to include. Telf. 0 (212) 263.5346 Caracas.
Use kaviacion@cantv.net or kertesz11@yahoo.com for photos as I leave enough storage space for these.
Please note: you may have missed some of the circulars, if you have not received one every week, do not hesitate to ask for the missing number to idmitch@anguillanet.com
For those that would like to contact me here I include my telephones:
Telf.Office: 58 (212) 263.5346, 267.2416, From: 11:00GMT to 22:00GMT
FAX: 58 (212) 261.0829,
Home: 58 (212) 238.4084. From: 00:00 GMT to 04:00 GMT
Cellphone: +58 (0416) 612.5695
Remember that Venezuela’s time is the same as Trinidad’s, -04:00 GMT.
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