The Chinese Middle School (新華中學) was founded in 1912 by philanthropists Lai Fat Fur, Venpin and Ng Cheng Hin, and closed in 2011 as students opted for western education. My elder brothers and sisters attended Chinese school, this meant they had to forgo western education. Starting around early 1950 there was a huge shift to attending English school, hence my immediate elder brother and siblings below him went to English school. We therefore could not read or write Chinese.
The Chinese Middle School was situated on a large block of land, surrounded by Dr Joseph Rivière, Remy Ollier and Emmanuel Anquetil Streets, Port Louis. The School apparently came under the umbrella of the Communist Party when Mao Zedong took power in 1949. The Nationalist Party, the Kuomintang, out of Taiwan, opened a second Chinese school in 1941, called The Chung-Hwa Middle School (中華中學). There were occasional clashes between proponents of the two schools, particularly around the National Day of the respective countries.
I spent several years of my childhood around the neighbourhood and have a deep understanding and memory of “Shing Fah”, the Chinese name for the Chinese Middle School. After all, my late father was a teacher there and I attended evening classes there for a couple of years, learning and remembering only a handful of Chinese characters, namely “big”, “small” “school” and my own name. I went back to visit the school in 2014, and all that remained was the main gate of the school.
Let me attempt to describe how the school looked like in the 1960’s. The main gate to the school was on Dr. Joseph Riviere Street. As you enter the gate, to the right was a small courtyard with a small house, residence of the school caretaker. In the middle of the courtyard was a large tree which provided shade to the old folks who regularly came to chat with the caretaker, a nice way to spend an afternoon. The guests sat on wooden stool or bench. The caretaker sat on a more comfortable rattan wicker armchair
Adjacent to the courtyard was a Chinese temple, quite small and dingy, with the usual altar on which sat wooden tablets, statue of Kwan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy (I believe) and large incense burner metal bowl for the joss sticks. There was a verandah with six circular pillars in front of the temple main entrance. I rarely saw any worshipper coming in to pray, I don’t know if it was because Shing Fah was a Communist School, and Communist believes no God.
Typical Small Chinese Temple 
Incense sticks burning
Facing the Temple was a basketball court, where I and a host of other kids spent numerous hours playing basketball, football or play catch. Due to unaffordability, an old tennis ball was used in lieu of a proper basketball or football. We always played barefoot and occasional bruises or cut formed part of the routine. Sometimes we fell and the skin of our knee peeled off against the rough concrete surface of the court. We just let the blood dried and clogged, no bandage, no complaint, no crybaby. After a couple of days, the blood hardened into a shell and we kids could not resist peeling the shell piece by piece, like peeling a hard boil egg. At times, the wound got infected and oozed out a thick yellow substance which we washed with water and soap. If available, we applied some mercurochrome. I even had my right toe bent sideway up to forty-five degree many times.
When it came to basketball season, tournaments were played here in the evening, the court lighted with six big flood lights hanging over the court along thick metal wires. Two favourite teams were the “Dragon” out of Port Louis and “Wild Cats” out of Rose Hill. I, of course, cheered for Dragon our local team. Spectators paid an entrance fee to attend, there were no sitting, everybody stood along both sides of the court, packed like standing sardines. We, kids, sneaked in through the gate or climbed over walls to get in.
On one end of the court was a tall stone wall separating the court from the residence of the “Tsakok”, a prominent family of Port Louis. Members of the family always watched the game from over the wall, unobstructed, which I qualified as the best seat of the arena.
The highlight of the evening, apart from screaming fans, was the food stalls that lined the street in front of the school gate, selling favourite snacks – fish ball, meat stuffed tofu, gateau arouille or gato violette (deep fried balls of taro), grass jelly cubes (leong fan), pineapple, cucumber, alouda. My favourite treat was the slice of cucumber painted with a thick layer of mazavaroo chili pepper sauce, followed by a cold alouda. The extremely dynamic hot chili pepper never failed to fire a cascade of sweats down my forehead, over my eyelids down to my neck. This was what took my breath away. The stalls were manned by two young teenage brothers who studied at Bhujoharry College, and I thought they were so smart to cash on this opportunity. In the absence of sufficient street light, kerosene lamps were used to brighten the stalls.
The school ran regular black and white movie show in the basketball court on weekends, mostly propaganda movie about how strong and glorious the Communist party was. We all sat on the ground, under open sky, with great expectation, in front of a large white screen, awaiting anxiously the broadcast of the national anthem of China that preceded the shows. We could hear the repeating cranking sound of the projector as the film rolled out from one reel to another.
On the other side of the basketball court was a wooden stage, with tin roof, where live singing, dancing and drama were performed by students or drama clubs on special occasions such as October 1st China National Day or Chinese New Year. The stage was also used by school teacher for announcements and to lead the students gathering below for daily physical exercise.
Behind the temple was the area where the classrooms were situated, two rows of three or four classrooms, with a large open yard in the middle. Access to the classrooms was by way of a narrow corridor with a gate. When school was over, we would climb over the locked gate and entered the classrooms. The student had individual desk and chair, unlike our western school where kids sat shoulder to shoulder on long desk and bench. The desk had the shape of a rectangular box with four legs. The top cover could be flipped open, so that school materials could be secured inside. Often pen, pencils, rubber, ruler and occasional coins were left inside the desk, and naughty we were, we did not hesitate for one moment to serve ourselves. Luckily, we never got caught.
Further ahead was another area with a couple of more classrooms and one small house served as the residence of the Principal and the school’s administrative office. I imagined now and then that my father spent some time here when he was a teacher of the school.
Adjacent to the administrative office was the private property of a Chinese family, separated from the school premises by a stone wall. Considering the size of the dwelling, we know the family was well off. In the middle of its courtyard was a mango tree and during blooming season, kids could not keep their eyes off the tempting juicy looking mangoes.
One afternoon, I and my best buddy decided to climb the wall on to the roof of the house. Our motives were obvious. While on the roof, ready to pluck the best-looking mango, we saw the school Principal coming our way. My buddy, as if by magic, was down on the ground in a second, leaving me up on the roof hanging high and dry. It was a critical moment for me, a matter of life and death, I was toast. Then, a brilliant idea flashed through my mind. I pretended to be a member of the proprietor household. I sat relaxed on the roof pretending to be enjoying the afternoon and admiring at the family mangoes. Just when I thought that I had fooled the Principal, a resounding sound from below came crashing into my ears: “Hey you, what are you doing up there on my roof”. He was the owner of the house and he had caught me red-handed. In a flash, I was down on the ground floor in front of the Principal. The rest was history.