There was this maths teacher we had in Montfort school for the higher classes, called Mr Macedo, ( he could never get to pronounce my name and the closest he could get, was a switch to badword pathy.)
His wife Mrs Macedo was our teacher for English in the 3 rd standard, to whom most of us in our class owe our literary gifts to, she was later awarded a Good Teacher ribbon roled Honour.
I got a memory of this couple when I saw a movie Titled “wwjd woodcarver”.
Many an Anglo Indian family has left the shores for greener pastures, and these wished to stay as they found the climate of environment good and the people around too.
I never got around maths, so I got special attention with the chalk pieces aimed at me with a flick of the thumb and the mid finger, or a knot of the hair and a click on the head, what ever, the numbers just did not get right when they came through my fingers.
I remember An elegy written in a country church yard, “ Many a flower is born to blush and waste its sweetness in the desert air”.
No flowers are ever a waste, they bloom where they are to bloom, and share their sweetness to those around.