Nora Kay's Story

Several months ago, during a Wan Hua Alumni Association meeting, we discussed how we could contribute memorabilia, such as photographs, student's documents and memoirs, to the Association's Web site. Henry Lim, the Webmaster, asked us to write articles on our Wan Hua experience. I thought it was something we couldn't do on short notice. Later it dawned on me that I should share my childhood memories of my school days at Wan Hua. Finally, after many weeks, it was completed.

I would like to acknowledge the two people, my husband Ken and Wan Hua Webmaster Henry Lim, for editing my article. I hope this story will inspire other alumni to share their own Wan Hua memories.

My memory goes back five decades. The year was 1955 and we were living in Insein, a suburban town twelve miles north of Rangoon. My father, an immigrant, left China for Burma when he was just seventeen, like many others to escape the tumultuous period that was China. After taking on various kinds of jobs and many years of hardships, he finally settled down. Seeing my father as a hard-working person, my maternal grandparents betrothed their only daughter to him. At that time he was in his thirties and my mother was a second-generation ethnic Chinese. Growing up in the village she was rather “Burmanized.” After years of marriage they were childless but after adopting a month old baby they finally had my sister and me, followed by three brothers.

My parents kept a dry-goods general store where one could get all kinds of sundries: household goods, cosmetics, medicine, etc. Father also held a job as bookkeeper in a wholesale store in Rangoon so he could keep up with market prices and stock up for his own store in Insein. Mother, with some helpers, operated the store. I remember my mother as a hard-working business-minded person who had gained a lot of respect from her customers. Her math was excellent; I remember her tallying up prices of items sold without pencil and paper. She learned to treat simple ailments by dispensing household drugs, ranging from aspirin to penicillin. When she passed away, many of her customers mourned her passing and praised her good virtues.

On the other hand, my father was more of an intellectual. His passion was reading and writing poems and he understood the value of a good education. At that time we were attending a Chinese school located midway between Insein Harbor and Insein Bazaar. It was a good-sized white brick building with a couple of hundred students from the Insein area. Later my father put in many hours of time and a lot of energy, collecting donations from people, stores and organizations. He succeeded in adding a new building to the school. He even served as honorary principal there for a time.

At that time Wan Hua (St. Emilie’s Convent) was a well-known school where one could get a good education not only in English but also in Chinese. For my father who wanted us to learn both English and Chinese at the same time, it was a perfect school in his eyes. And also to help my mother by taking some load off her shoulders, he decided to send us to St. Emilie’s Convent as boarding students.

The year when my father decided to send us to Wan Hua was 1955; I was just eight and my sister was almost eleven. We had many mixed feelings about going to the boarding school: curious, scared, filled with trepidation, sad but happy. We prepared to be sent off to school. First my father bought each of us a new leather suitcase. Then, we collected our personal belongings, toiletries, uniforms, shoes, socks, belts, etc.

Finally, the day arrived. It must have been a Sunday afternoon because the entire family went to send us off to the new boarding school. Never seeing a nun before, I had a strange feeling. The nuns asked a couple of students to show us around the school while my parents were talking to the school officials. Our parents disappeared and we didn’t know when they left. I think that was how the nuns made separation easy for new students and their parents. That evening I held a pole crying for a long time.

The nuns assigned two older students to help us. They stayed with us, helping in every way they could, including making our beds and putting up mosquito nets before bedtime. In the beginning, homesickness overwhelmed us. I cried almost every evening for about a month. I remember a girl, Maria Wong, who enrolled about the same time as we did. She cried out loud on quiet nights when we were sleeping. She called out to her dad, “Ah Pa! Ah Pa!” I later learned that she lost her mother when she was still young and she was raised by her father alone. She was from Waw village, 20 miles north of Bago (Pegu).

Gradually, we adapted to life away from home. Parents were allowed to visit their children every Sunday and students could go home one weekend every month, which we called 'Home Sunday.' In the beginning, my father visited us every Sunday. All of us looked forward to a 'Home Sunday' but only students from Rangoon or nearby were allowed to go home. Many students from farther parts of the country could not. They went home only once or twice a year during long holidays or on summer breaks.

The majority of the student body is ethnic Chinese but there were also Shans, Karens, Chins, Sino-Burmese, etc. Even the nuns were of mixed nationalities. Mother Superior Oliver, the Principal, came from England, Sister Dorothy from Ireland, and Sister Pierce from France. Sister Teresa was a Chinese. The nationalities of Sister Vincent, Sister Cecilia, and Sister Josephine, were not known. Sister Nwela could be a Karen.

One evening some girls stood around Mother Superior asking her to name them with Anglo names. My sister and I were among them and we also asked her to name us. She turned to my sister and named her “Lena” then turned to me, thought for a while and said “Nora.” And from that time on, besides keeping our Chinese names, Hwe Toe and Hwe Lian, we became Lena and Nora.

Living in a Convent meant living with discipline. Everything had to be done according to schedule and every routine had to be carried out in a timely manner, such as taking showers, changing clothes, brushing teeth and grooming. Because of that, some slow-moving students had to curtail their time in the showers or bring along combs before the nuns locked the dressing rooms.

Our dormitory was a big and open floor filled with neatly-made beds covered with identical bed sheets. I still remember that the bed sheets were green with white lines at both ends. Beds had to be made neatly otherwise the nuns would summon the hapless owner back even if she was in class to redo it. The motto “Early to bed and early to rise is the way to be healthy, wealthy and wise” was precisely applied in our school.

We were in bed before 9 p.m. and at six in the morning, we would hear three or four loud claps from the nun signaling us that it was time to rise. At that moment we all would get up, kneel by our beds and start the day with a prayer. After that, we would rush to make our beds, brush our teeth, change clothes and get ready for our school day. Catholic students would form a queue to go to church for a morning mass and the rest would study for about half an hour. Around 7:30 A.M. we would have our breakfast, which usually consisted of rice porridge.

A major complaint of the students was about food. Because the school also had to support some financially-disadvantaged students, they had to make do with the income they received from students who paid. Our meals consisted of one entry and soup. The food was bland and not tasty. So our parents, whenever they visited us, would bring us ‘ngapi kyet’, or chicken curry cooked in generous amount of oil, dried (to keep longer) fried or salted preserved fish, etc. I remember whenever we complained about food, the nuns would say, “I can see you all look plump and healthy.” On holidays, we would have special dinner with some decent food.

When the bell rang in the morning to signal the beginning of a school day, the entire student body would assemble on the playground, neatly grouped by class. Then, in pairs, we would march to our classrooms. We had Chinese-, English- and Burmese-language classes in addition to standard subjects: history, geography and mathematics.

Before classes we all had to say a prayer, “Hail, Mary”. The standard dress code was white blouse, blue ‘jin slip’, white belt, black shoes and white socks. Violation ended up in a fine and there were all kinds of fines levied.

At the end of a school day, school buses would take ‘day scholars’ home. Boarders would spend their free time either engaging in sports, playing games or simply relaxing. Afterwards we had to take care of our personal hygiene and get ready for dinner. After dinner, we socialized with each other for half an hour and then it would be time for study. Study usually lasted an hour and a half; soon after we would assemble to prepare our beds before retiring for the day.

St. Emilie’s Convent is now a ‘state school’ after Ne Win’s military government nationalized all private schools in the sixties. It is located on Mission Road in Ahlone Township, a suburb of Greater Yangon. When we were young, we felt the school was isolated from the outside world. On one side was a big brick wall separating us from foreign diplomats’ residences and on the other side was a boys’ school. The front gate was some distance away from our compound.

We always compared ourselves with prison inmates. Many times we forgot what the outside world looked like because none of us boarding students was allowed to leave the premises. Despite strict discipline and harsh punishment for those who broke the rules, many of us escaped to a nearby Ahlone “zay” (bazaar) to buy food or sometimes just for the fun of getting away for a while. There was a secret opening in the metal fence behind one of the school buildings. I remember sneaking in and out through the opening once with another girl while friends acted as lookouts. Once we got out, we felt like we were 'free' but were mixed with anxiety and panic. When we returned we said to ourselves we were back in jail.

Before the big fire of 1957, the main school building was made of wood and brick. Attached to it was a smaller building which housed an office that we called 'a parlor.' Several classrooms were in the lower level of that building and our dressing rooms were behind the classrooms while upstairs was our dormitory.

There were some big trees in the compound. One of them was a ‘mayan ti’ tree. We used to pick its delicious sweet and tart fruits that fell to the ground in the early morning. Many crows and 'byan' (storks) inhabited the school compound. My favorite place was the garden; it has an idyllic landscape where we strolled with our friends and it served as a good hideout on Sunday afternoons when we had a free time. Living with a hundred or so students in this environment made us feel close to each other. To this day I feel nostalgic whenever I think about those times.

Every evening after dinner and before our study time, the girls would stroll in the school compound in groups or pairs. Some older girls sat around and told us stories. Many times, they would tell ghost stories. Sometimes they would not let younger students join them. Occasionally, we got in and listened to their stories. The ghost stories sounded scary; I remember having a lot of nightmares in those days. Quite often, I was afraid to go to bed at night. A nun told older girls that the school compound was once a cemetery and that she had seen a very tall, white image in the middle of a night. After reciting some prayers, she said that the image disappeared.

At night my sister and I would move our two beds together, rolled up and pinned our two mosquito nets in the middle. She told me one night after returning from the bathroom, she shook the mosquito net to let out trapped mosquitoes, and all of a sudden she heard a moaning sound coming from afar, louder and louder and at the same time she saw a large round image approaching. At that point she ran away and went to another girl’s bed and slept there that night. I was sound asleep at that time. To this day she said she still remembers her experience vividly.

There were times when some girls would try pranks on other girls. In one instance, they sewed other girls’ sleeves together and in the morning many of them were puzzled as to why they could not put on their clothes. Later, nuns discovered the identities of the culprits and they were punished. Yet, I continued to see similar pranks in many instances.

One advantage of attending an all-girl school is that we were more carefree. In class we often traded jokes with our teachers. After schools we played games such as hide-and-seek, bat-n-ball (similar to baseball) and many others. It was a lot of fun.

Besides academics, the school also provided many sports and physical activities. Every year there was a sports competition held at Aung San Stadium (formerly B.A. Ground). Many local Chinese schools participated in the event which lasted a week. We looked forward to that event. The students enthusiastically cheered the athletes. I still remember a few good athletes from our school; some were marathon runners, some high jumpers, javelin throwers, etc.

Another popular sport at that time was basketball. At the boys’ school, Yang Min Kong was a good coach. So were Min Sein and many others. They also coached the girls’ basketball team. We were all crazy about inter-school basketball games and sometimes we skipped dinners just to watch the games.

Every now and then we got to see a movie; on those days everybody was excited with anticipation. The movies were shown at the boys’ school next door where girls would sit on one side and boys on the other. Nuns and fathers sat in the back rows. A couple of movies I remember seeing were ‘Robin Hood’ and ‘The Black Shield of Falworth.’

We had teachers who were well-versed in many subjects or languages. Some of the Chinese teachers were Ms. Sao (Regina Ling), Mr. and Mrs. Sung, Mr. and Mrs. Moy, and Ms. Yui. Ms. Sao taught me a semester. She was very popular among the students and was loved and respected by all. Not only was she a good teacher but also very talented in arts and handicrafts. She taught us artwork such as embroidery, making paper flowers and paper lanterns, Chinese cloth shoes, etc.

Teacher Sao (Regina Ling) was also a good storyteller. We all looked forward to attending her class because at the end of each class, about ten minutes before the bell, she would tell us all kinds of interesting stories, historical events and sometimes about her life as a young girl in China.

One day a big fire broke out that engulfed our main school building. I guess the year was 1957. That day, after dinner as usual, we were strolling in the compound. You could see groups of girls talking or reading. At around 7:00 p.m. we went to the study room, which was in the main building. The nun who supervised us was Sister Vincent. She was a frail and soft-spoken kindhearted nun who was about fifty. I remember around ten or 15 minutes into our study we heard a big commotion coming from behind our classroom.

The girls wondered what the sound was all about. A few minutes later someone screamed out that there was smoke coming out of the dressing rooms. Some of the girls tried to get up from their seats to leave. Sister Vincent tried to calm them down and told us to stay where we were but soon after someone appeared and instructed us to leave the study room immediately.

At that point we all lined up neatly and marched out of the classroom and waited outside the door. And under the guidance of adults we walked towards the main gate and left the school compound. Later I learned that the fire was caused by frayed electrical wiring in the dressing room and during the blaze, many students from the boys’ school tried to help put out the fire. The fire raged out of control and everybody had to leave the compound. As we all marched along Mission Road, I could see huge, red, rolling fireballs and smoke rising into the dark sky. I remember we were scared and some were crying. I felt like the fire was chasing me and wondered if we could ever outrun it.

We were heading down to Ahlone to the home of a Wan Hwa teacher (it could be a student’s home.) From there we were transferred to St. Joseph’s Convent in Kandawlay. There we all settled down for the night in a big hall. It was about one or two in the morning. Before we went to bed, my Dad and the father of a fellow student, Pansy, who was also our neighbor in Insein, showed up in a Jeep and took us home that same night. For the next month or so we did not have school. We lost everything, our clothing, books and belongings. The entire main building was burned to the ground.

After the debris was hauled away, the school reopened and for several weeks we commuted to school by train. Then the upper story of the long classroom building was temporarily converted to a dormitory. A big shed was built to accommodate some classrooms. There were no restrooms upstairs in the dormitory, so a big bucket served as toilet and everyone took turns emptying the bucket.

During that time some big boys would take turns acting as our night guards (kin sount) in the roofed playground next door. I remember at night they would sing and played guitar; the girls enjoyed their singing. Many donations poured in, some from foreign countries. Among them were hundreds of pairs of shoes, many high-heeled, boots, etc. Clothing was piled high; many were from different countries but the styles and sizes were not suitable for Asian girls.

The first priority for the mothers and sisters after the fire was how to rebuild the school. So fund-raising was a major task for them. I remember every classroom had a big can (similar to a coffee can) to collect donations for a new school. Sisters and teachers suggested that if every student contributes a portion of their pocket money every day, quite a bit of money would be collected in a year.

Speaking of pocket money, most of the boarders’ parents would deposit a certain amount of money with Mother Dorothy and Sister Theresa. The parents would instruct them to dole them out to their kids daily. So every morning the Sisters would distribute pocket money to each of us although older students usually handled their own. There were also many fun fairs held to raise funds. Many teachers who were talented in arts and crafts would donate their handicrafts for sale or as raffle with funds going towards the construction of a new school building.

With the assistance of many donors and organizations, the new school was soon under construction, much sooner then we realized. It was a large, white three-stored E-shaped building. I remember every evening during construction, we would climb up the stairs and stand on the top floor - there was no roof yet - and wander around. I do not know how long it took to build it but before we knew it, we were moving into the new dormitory on the third floor. The first and second second were classrooms and in one part were the nuns’ private kitchen and dining room.

Keeping the building spick and span was now more important than ever. The center entrance foyer was marble. Students would take turns polishing it with stone and washing it with water till it had a mirror finish.

In 1960 we moved to Rangoon. That year I finished my Fourth Standard at Wan Hua. My father wanted us to learn more Chinese and enrolled me in Hwa Zhong High School in Kyeemindine, a suburb of Rangoon. In my first year there, I attended Chinese Middle School second year class, where all subjects were taught in Chinese except Burmese- and English-language class. In the evenings, I attended night classes and obtained Standard VII certificate. The next year, I transferred to Eighth Grade Burmese Class and matriculated in 1964. Coming from an all-girl Catholic school, I felt awkward in a different environment.

When we were young, we did not appreciate what the nuns were doing for us. We thought they were too strict and we did not appreciate their sacrifice and the hard work they put in. Not only were they our educators and guidance but also our parents away from home. They educated us and looked after our well-being. They took care of us when we were sick and helped us when we had problems.

Mother Dorothy was the strictest nun since she was the head of the school that instilled discipline in its students. Mother Teresa took care of our daily lives and was close to the students. We confided our problems in her. Sister Celia played piano, taught music and dance, and naturally she was always happy and merry. One would see her smiling and humming all the time. Sister Vincent, an English teacher, oversaw our study after school. She was frail, but gentle and kind. She seldom scolded us. One look from her was enough to cow us. Sister Josephine was responsible for cooking for the nuns. She always liked to talk to us. Sister Nwela, who was cute and the youngest of all the nuns, taught Burmese-language classes. All in all, the nuns and teachers touched our lives. We are forever indebted to them.

My early schooling at Wan Hua left me with fond memories and a good grounding in education. My memories of those days seem like a dream. Every now and then I would bump into a fellow Wan Hua alum, but generally I lost contact with those with whom I spent years at the school.

After immigrating to America, I spent 17 years in Chicago, Illinois and another 14 in Augusta, Georgia. In 2003, I relocated to California and worked a year at Fountain Valley in Orange County before moving again to the San Francisco Bay Area in 2004.

One day, during a RASU (Rangoon Arts & Science University) class reunion party, a friend, who knew that I had attended Wan Hua, told me that there would be a Wan Hua alumni dinner the following week. It was a surprise to me because although I was aware of several alumni associations, it never occurred to me that there is one for Wan Hua. Later she provided me with a number to contact. I called and talked to Felix Chin, then president of Wan Hua Alumni Association. When he mentioned his Chinese name I immediately realized who he was. The girls at Wan Hua used to talk about the Chin brothers and sometimes we would see them at the church. We should be grateful to Felix Chin, Stan Liou, and many others for founding the Wan Hua Alumni Association.