A day in grade six

A Day in Middle School in the 1960s: Three Eleven-Year-Olds’ Experience

I felt like time passed very slowly, and every day seemed the same. Then, just like any other day, I said goodbye to my friends and walked to the bus stop to go home.

But then, out of nowhere, Rohan appeared with a grin that caught me off-guard.

“Well, look who it is! So long-time no see,” he said mischievously, smiling with a wide grin.

I couldn’t help but feel perplexed by his greeting, knowing we saw each other daily at school. “It hasn’t been that long,” I replied, trying to make sense of the situation.

Rohan shrugged, his eyes still twinkling with mischief. “It certainly feels like it, though, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. We strolled together towards the school’s main gate, chatting about the day’s tests and the history lessons of our class master, Mr Jayamanne.

We were drawn to a vendor selling delicious mangoes as we approached the school gate. Bertram popped in from nowhere, surprising us. He asked us to follow him. Bending down to the vendor, an old lady, he couldn’t resist the temptation and bought a mango for five cents. Before handing it to Bertram, the lady sliced and added a pinch of salt and chillies to the green fruit.

Bertram split the mango three ways, sharing it with Rohan and me. We savoured the tangy taste, cherishing the moment of camaraderie amidst the dull routine of our everyday lives.

The trio waited for the minibus to take me home, but the bus was late. Resting on the school wall, we shared stories of our recent experiences, looking at the road to see if the bus was coming. Rohan was cherishing the mango seed, not letting go, extracting every drop of juice from his portion.

Rohan recounted his adventures during the last school holidays, his daring uncles, and their hunting trips. Then, Bertram stepped in and told us about his little sister’s first birthday party and how he entertained the one-year-old.

We discussed our opinions on the different teachers and how some were boring.

Despite the mundanity of our daily lives, we found joy in each other’s company and the little moments we shared.

The conversation got interrupted when Rohan’s four younger brothers joined us. Bertram’s younger brother, Gerry, also joined us. Now we were eight.

Rohan’s siblings were hungry. We had no pocket money left to buy mangoes for our little brothers. The younger boys were pushing Rohan & Bertram to rush home.

My mini-bus arrived. The boys waiting at the bus stand rushed towards the bus’s only entrance. I split up from my friends. I dashed towards the bus with a five cents coin fare for the bus ride. Bertram, Rohan and their little clans left on foot along the Averiwatte road.

I sat on a window seat in the minibus. When I passed my friends on the roadside, I waved at them, putting my hand out of the bus.

They waved back with big smiles — even the little brothers.

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