Condoms are not balloons

It was the daily assembly with children from ABC to Standard 7 gathered in the concreted school yard. Mr Prince Ferdinand, the head teacher of Nelson Street Boys’ RC School in the early 1940’s held up a strange looking white rubber object at the end of a stick and asked in his deep bass voice, “Can you boys tell what this is?” About half of them shouted, “A balloon.” Some of the really big guys laughed and some like myself could not figure out what it was so we were silent. My brother, Victor, and I would see these things in the drain as we made our way to school from the top of Nelson Street to the bottom kicking a tin can from one side of the road to the next. Now and then someone on a bicycle or in a car would pass.

“Yes, I knew most of you would say it is a balloon. But it is not. Let me put it this way. The American soldiers and sailors are now all over town and these men are fighters who are always doing physical exercises. They perspire and sweat a lot. They wear this object for a certain kind of exercise. When they are finished, lots of germs from their bodies are left in this rubber object.” There were little smiles from the teachers who all stood up in front of their classes for the assembly. My teacher at the time was a lady and I remember her trying to conceal a blush. “Ferdie” as we called him behind his back, went on, “This is a very filthy rubber and must not be touched at all. Yet, some children are taking these things from the drains, washing them out and blowing them up as balloons.” At this point in dramatic style, he brought out two boys holding up enormous balloons.

“These were seized from children in Standard One. They said they found the ‘balloons’ just outside the school gate. Now if you see any one taking up this thing, tell him to leave it alone. If he does not listen to you, tell me about it and he will get the finest benching.” Everyone knew what a benching was. At the assembly, a teacher would bring out the boy to be flogged, explain what the fellow did wrong, then shout the word, “Giants!” Four big boys — usually pupil teachers, would hold this boy’s arms and legs down on a large infant table and the teacher would give him four or six lashes with a tamarind rod on the buttocks. “Also some fellas are begging the Americans saying, ‘Got any gum, chum?’ Only cows and goats chew their cuds! If you see any boy doing that, let your teacher know. It is four of the hottest for that offence!”

The assembly as usual, ended with the singing of the anthem — hundreds of voices in unison belting out, “God save our gracious King / Long live our noble King / God save the King / Send him victorious / Happy and glorious / Long to reign over us / God save the King.” During those war years, the main air raid shelter was underneath Marine Square which is now the Brian Lara Promenade. In the night, when the sirens were blown for the blackout, people rushed to the underground tunnel. In the day, after school, this was the playground for some of us who had great fun playing war games. The story is told of an American guy who asked a gentleman he met in the street, if Trinidad was a healthy place to live. The man replied, “Sure. When I came here I had no hair on my head, I was so weak, I could not walk, people had to lift me up.” The American said, “Fantastic! How long have you been living here?” The man replied, “I was born here, man!”