I REMEMBER
A typical Feller room.
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I remember
I will always remember the "Newness" of each fall,  returning to Feller. It was the beginning of a new year. I had a new room on a new floor with a new room-mate. I was in a new class with a new teacher. There were always new students. And, possibly, new romance.
I was a bell ringer one year. This meant that I would get up at six thirty AM and go across the Iron Curtain (what we called the massive metal fire doors which separated the girls side from the boys side) to the landing between the second and third floor on the girls side. There I would be met by a girl with a large plastic bag full of folded up "notes". These I would have to deliver during the day. Some of these notes were torrid. I wish I had kept some. They were such pure expressions of adolescent love or lust.
 
The only one I got that I remember:

Dearest ...
I love you sincerely.
Do you
1. Love me?
2. Like me?
3. Hate me?
Please check one.
Forever yours,

Does anyone remember this?
"So here's to the purple and  white
The loyal and pure to unite
Our hearts will be loyal
to Feller, the royal
Old college in which we delight"
    I remember the sight of Randy Waldron (I think that's the spelling), his hair combed up into a huge Teddy Boy wave and held there by about half a bottle of vaseline, swaggering down the stairs as the line of pupils from Third main went down to class after our "jobs", as he sang to the tune of "Hi Ho' from Snow White: "Hi Ho, Hi Ho. It's off to school we go. We learn some junk and then we flunk. Hi Ho, Hi Ho!"
A student in grade eight we used to call "Chezzy" because our nickname for sperm was "Chez". This guy was a fountain of it. He was legendary for being able to excuse himself from the class, go to the washroom, masturbate standing up at the urinal, and then return all in the space of a few minutes. His bedding was said to be so caked with it that it literally stood up by itself as if it was starched. He had a girlfriend who was twice his size.
Mrs Dufour was the well endowed wife of Mr Dufour, who taught the younger school. She had taken over an evening study session because the regular teacher was sick. Dean Hudson, who was in grade eight with us although he seemed years older than we were, goes up to the front of the class to ask her a question. He puts the book in front of her. She's sitting at the desk. he's leaning over her, pretending to look at the book but actually trying to get a glimpse of her breasts. The class titters. She looks up, wondering what is going on. She looks up at him. He smiles back in feigned innocence. But he can't help but blush. This continues until she accuses him of trying to upset the class. By this time a drop of saliva is drooling down his chin. He shakes his head and accidently hits her in the face with his saliva. She turns red and runs out of the classroom to get Mouldy, the vice principal. All hell breaks loose.
Dean eventually ran away with a girl from my class named Heather. We heard they had gone half way across the country. He was expelled for that.
A boy would come up to you and pinch your nipple until you cried out in pain. And then he would say: "Whistle!" He wouldn't let go until you did. And it was difficult because you were half in pain and half laughing.
There were "Haircut raids" in the middle of the night. A boy who refused to get his mandatory "Beanshave" for cadet "initiation" would be set upon as he slept. Two boys would hold him down as another sheared all his hair off.
We would sneak into someone's room when they were not there and "French" their bed. This meant tucking the top sheet in and the top end, so they could not get in it.
This rhyme I heard from the girls:
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to dust
What's a sweater
Without a bust?
 
A boy was punished for running away. He was grounded, which meant if he went outside he had to stay in front of the building between the principals house on one side and the vice principals house on the other. Where they could see him.  So he paced in front of the school for hours. Back and forth. Every day. His transistor radio held to his ear.
I remember Michel Girodo, who was a head boy on my floor when I was in grade nine,  had an interesting habit of following his sentences with an identification of its literary function. Like: "You really did a good job - IRONY!"  Or: "We're bound to get into a good University  with our Feller education - HYPERBOLE!"

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