Consequences of Learning English part 1 by thadeusz

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I was born in the south of the Netherlands, in a small town named Breda. In those days, most of the people in that region were Roman Catholics. My parents behaved as if they were good Catholics. I was baptized in a big church as Jan Peter, son of Mr. and Mrs. Marvan.

My grandparents on my mother’s side were dead before I was born. I was told that they had been arrested and killed by the Germans because they were patriots and resistants. My grandfather on my father’s side died two weeks after I was born. He died from a heart attack although he was still relatively young. That’s all I know about him. My only remaining grandparent was Narina, my grandmother on my father’s side. After her husband's untimely death, she came and lived with us. I have always known her in the house.

Every Sunday, we went to church all together and I liked that. Sadly enough, when I was 11 my grandmother died of cancer after suffering a lot and asking several times to be euthanized, despite the fact that it was not legal yet. During her funerals, the priest said that she had been granted by God a happy and peaceful life, that God had always provided for her and that since she had had a very comfortable Christian death, she was now in paradise. My father was furious : this did not correspond to what my grandmother’s life had really been, nor to the way she suffered during her last weeks. My father concluded that the Priest was a liar, he told him so and we never went back to Church.

After this incident, my parents let me read all kinds of philosophical books and all kinds of not very religious novels. Father, who was an MD, even said that God did not exist: it was only an invention of afraid people. I listened to him, reasoned by myself, on the basis of the books I had read, and at the age of 12 or 13 I became a real atheist.

I went to the local school where I learned reasonably well but certainly not extremely well. Everything at school was taught in Dutch, my language, except for English and French. One of my weak points was precisely English and this was mostly attributed to the fact that the teacher was bad. In fact I painfully finished my 9th grade. I was neither a bad student nor a really good one, but my school considered that my level was satisfactory, but not more. In fact, my main problem was English and only English. This could be a problem for my further studies since I wanted to become an MD, like my father.

My mother, who went with me to visit the Headmaster on May 12, explained him this problem and the good man suggested a solution:
"In our country, the Netherlands, holidays start at the end of June. This is one month earlier than in Great Britain where they start at the end of July. Strangely enough our holidays end more or less at the same time as theirs, at the end of August. You could thus send your son Jan Peter to a British school during this special month, when British children have classes and Jan Peter is supposed to be on holiday. I can help you to find a school which would accept your son during that one month period."

The Headmaster of my Dutch school chose a school named Tornberg School. He succeeded in convincing me that something as weird as attending classes during my holidays was a great reward for my good results, at least that’s what he said. The day after classes ended in my Dutch school, I left Breda for that school with my mother. My short holidays were due to start on a Saturday morning and … end on the next day, during a Sunday afternoon, as soon as I arrived at Tornberg School. To me, it looked like a great adventure: my first trip to a foreign country.

Father could not come with us: he was on duty in his hospital and my parents considered that it was a too complex first trip abroad for a boy barely aged 13. Moreover, it would be my first trip to a foreign country. Therefore, Mother came with me.

My mother carefully prepared a suitcase with all that could be necessary for my one month stay in Tornberg School and we left by train and then by boat and by train again. It was a very long trip before we reached my temporary school.

Tornberg School was situated near a small village, at the limit between England and Wales on the English side ! What I had not been told was the fact that Tornberg School was in fact a boarding school with a very strict discipline.

We arrived at this school on the Sunday following the end of my school term in Breda. It is only when we arrived at Tornberg School that I discovered that it was in fact a Boarding school and that I would be more or less locked in it for one month. I did not like this complete loss of freedom, but it was too late to change plans, so I accepted this unexpected situation. Moreover it was an all boys school, so I could not even try to exchange with the British girls who had a good reputation among Dutch boys !

I was dressed as usual : jeans, with what I considered a great colored t-shirt. As for shoes, I was wearing my usual Nike. My hair was "Dutch blond" but also fairly long.

Mother and I slept in a local inn and went to my provisional school on Monday morning, very early as mentioned in the instructions Mother had received.

The Headmaster introduced himself as "Doctor Professor Helm". He immediately started to question me about my school results. He had a report from my Dutch school but he wanted more details. My school results were more or less good and my Principal had concluded this report with a sentence of the style "This pupil has met all the requirements imposed for a 9th Grade." But the British Headmaster wanted more details. I was ready to answer all his questions, but my Mother interfered :
"Let me explain to you the differences between Dutch and English schools. We will then be able to examine Jan's school report more easily. But let me first say goodbye to my son: he must be impatient to go and join his future friends".
The Headmaster told me:
"Young man, say goodbye to your mother for one month. Go now with the Assistant Headmaster: he will show you your room and your class, he will also explain the rules of this institution".

Mother kissed me and gave me the suitcase she had prepared. The Head interfered:
"Does the boy have clothes in this suitcase ?"
"Yes," said Mother, "only clothes. That’s what he will need for his month here."
"He does not need these clothes." replied the Head, "He will soon be in uniform."
"He also has his toiletries and his best book," added Mother.
"He will get everything he needs here," said the Headmaster, "and nothing else is allowed inside the school."

The Headmaster called his assistant who he introduced as Professor Colbert, Assistant Head and specialist in "English as a second language". I left the Headmaster’s office with Professor Colbert, while my mother stayed in order to explain our Dutch school system to the Head.

The Assistant Headmaster led me, without saying a word, through a passage blocked by a big grid. He opened the grid using a big and old key and made me enter in what he called the "senior students closed space". After that he closed - and locked - the heavy grid. I guessed that his key was also the only way to get out of this space and I realized that I was now a prisoner in this school !

I was now in a big rectangular playground, full of boys of my age or older, close to a building forming the fourth side of this quadrangle. The boys there were all wearing an elegant uniform. Mister Colbert showed me that "senior students" had long gray trousers. They were also wearing a blue jacket with a wide horizontal burgundy stripe near the bottom of each sleeve and with stripes of the same burgundy color on the edges of the jacket, collar included. On their breast pocket, one could see the school crest made of a T and an S. The Assistant Headmaster insisted that they were all wearing long blue socks and black shining ankle boots. I could see all that and I wondered why the Assistant head was telling me all that. I understood what he said, but my answers came slowly, painfully and were full of broken English, even if I simplified them here.

He then pointed towards the building forming the fourth side of the quadrangle. This building had small windows provided with grids which made it very unpleasant to look at. It gave me a very bad feeling. If I dared, I would say that it gave me the creeps.

The Assistant head opened another closed grid and pushed me inside this building. He told me: "There is only one door to this special domain and boys like you don’t have the key. In case of an emergency, you can always ring the bell next to the entrance, but any false alarm will deserve you a severe punishment."

Mister Colbert explained then:
"Here you will be called Boy Jan: the other students you have seen in this courtyard are called ‘Master’. "
He then added:
"Boy Jan, here you must address me as ‘Professor’ whenever you speak to me and these young men you see in the courtyard, with a great cape and a little square hat, are students in charge of discipline. You will address them as ‘Prefect’ and show that you respect their authority as much as that of your Professors."

He took me then to his office, much smaller than that of the Head of this school and said something I really disliked:
"Like all the other students you will be in uniform. Since you are here for one month only, you will receive what we call a ‘scholarship uniform’: it would be too expensive for your parents to buy a new one. But you must be decently dressed according to our rules."
"But I am decently dressed" was my reply (I am writing my answers in good English for the sake of clarity).
"No, my Boy, you are not: you must wear a 9 grader uniform since you will be with 9 graders only."
"But, I already have my 9th grade diploma."
"This is not the case: otherwise you would not be here. Stop contesting my orders. If you keep doing that, I will have to punish you on your first day."
Well, enough is enough and I told the Assistant Headmaster that I was tired of his comments. I even added:
"I don’t want to wear this stupid blue and gray uniform with its stupid burgundy stripes."
"You will not wear this uniform, it is reserved for boys who are at least in the 11th Grade. You will have another one. But since you are contesting my authority, you will first be punished. You will now get 10 good ones."

I did not understand what he meant and he realized that, so he added on the tone of an order:
"Extend your hands, palm upwards."
I did not understand why he wanted that, but I realized that I better obey his order.


The Assistant Head then took a ruler from his desk and started to hit my palms, efficiently and in a very hard way in order to hurt me. He gave me ten blows, very efficiently, and it really hurt. He concluded:
"This is your first day here, but if needed I will give you stronger corrections, on the palms or on the buttocks, or any other place of your tender body if needed. Next time you must be punished, you will get ten of the cane."

He took me to another office and told me:
"Take all your clothes off, except your undies."
I did no longer dare disobey this strange order which I did not understand.
He gave me a military looking bag and added:
"Take your clothes off and fold them in this bag. Then follow me."
I understood what he wanted very soon after that when he took me to a barber office. He told me to sit on the barber stool, despite the fact that I told him that my parents liked my present haircut. His only reaction was:
"The problem is that I don’t. Do you want to be caned or are you going to obey my orders ?"
I immediately obeyed his order. That was the first moment I realized that I was in a sort of prison for this month learning English.

The barber was a big man dressed in a sort of black uniform, nearly black with a vertical red line on his trousers. He was wearing a strange little hat, like a bell boy hat, on his head. He looked as if he came from India or from Indonesia (we have many people coming from these places in The Netherlands). This barber was completely silent.
Mister Colbert, the Assistant Head, made a sign towards this barber and simply said:
"This boy is now in Grade 9. Give him a short bowl cut."
I did not know what it was, I only knew that I liked my long and floating blond hair. I tried to protest, but the Assistant Head simply said:
"Do you really want to be caned, my boy ?" and I remained quiet.

I did not like the idea since I liked my long blond hair, but I also knew that I was a prisoner of the school now. I thought that a haircut is never fatal and that my hair would soon grow back to its usual length as soon as I was back in the Netherlands. So I obeyed the signs made by the barber after mister Colbert told him:
"This young man will be with us for one month in order to learn some English. Let him look more or less like a real student and not like a long haired poodle !"

The barber made me sit and capped me. I just had time to say "Not too short please" and he started a serious transformation, destroying partly my mane.

The barber first decided that my hair needed to be washed, using lots of shampoo. He then took his scissors and suddenly took all my hair in one hand, pulled and cut most of it with the scissors he held in the other hand. It was painful and I shouted, but that did not move him. He then tried several ways to place my hair on my head and finally he chose to part my hair with the biggest mass on the right. It did not look too bad, but he considered that my hair was still too long and said something to that effect to Mister Colbert.

The barber, upon advice of the Assistant Headmaster, Mister Colbert, then decided to comb my hair in such a way that they all gave the impression of falling from the top of my head. He then took scissors to cut horizontally what according to him was too long. He wanted to give me a short bowl cut in order to make me look like a real 9th grader. He thus cut my hair following a horizontal line far above my ears. Once I moved and that made him make a false move. The Assistant Headmaster simply concluded:
"Cut everything shorter now. And you, my boy, you will get 10 of the ruler for moving your head when you should have remained still."

After that I remained completely still. The chair was oriented towards a mirror and I could see how this barber was carefully cutting my hair far above my ears. He only left a horizontally cut fringe of hair. When he was done with his scissors and when my hair were perfectly of the same length, nearly falling down naturally from the top of my head, the barber started to use his clippers to clean the sides and back of my head which became nearly completely white. He then took a big old fashioned razor to achieve his shaving manually. After that my back and sides were completely white and I hated that, but I did not dare say a word of protest. The only words the barber uttered were the following:
"Now you are going to be clean, my boy."


The Assistant Headmaster came near me and had a look. He obviously approved of what the barber had done from my former mane. The barber told him:
"His hair is not ready yet for this cut. This boy must come back next week and every week after that."

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