Miss Monica Strange, who died a fortnight ago, was an exemplary teacher. She could have been regarded as an ideal school marm. She rejected the arbitrary distinctions of caste, race, nationality, religion. To do good and avoid evil was her credo.
Miss Strange obtained her degree from the University of London in 1940, when World War II was getting into stride. She was the daughter of a teacher, her father being Cyril Strange, a mathematics teacher at Nalanda College in the 1930s.
Miss Strange too wanted to teach, and approached her old school, Methodist College, for a teaching position. This she did not get, and so she turned to her next preference, Holy Family Convent, Bambalapitiya, where she spent her entire teaching life, working with the establishment to guide hundreds upon hundreds of educated ladies, most of whom, in due course, migrated Down Under and to countries in the West. Those surviving may be long past their middle age, if not old, but they would have shed a tear to learn of Miss Strange’s demise.
Miss Strange never married and therefore had time and opportunity to devote herself to her vocation. She lived all by herself in a modest annexe off Lauries Road which, as the years rolled on, became a miniature Mecca for students and parents. She gave those who wanted guidance all the advice they needed, and was happy to see her efforts produce good results.
She taught mainly English and Mathematics. She was like an elder sister or aunt to all her charges. She appreciated mischievousness, seeing it as unbridled energy that could be channelled into something good. She was tolerant and patient to a fault. Never did she utter an angry word. She was quite aware that not all girls are alike. She would say: Quot homines, tot sententiae – many men, many opinions.
She would deal with erratic behaviour or neglect of studies with kind and encouraging words. She believed that proper encouragement and advice was the answer for all schoolgirl maladies. She enjoyed being counsellor, friend and guide to all entrusted to her care.
Her philosophy, as teacher and individual, was to refrain from harming any living thing, and to reply to harsh words with kind, loving words.
On her retirement, because she found it difficult to manage on her teacher’s pension alone, she took in private pupils. Her fees were nominal, and she taught many free of charge.
In her active days, she would be seen riding her bicycle – a tall figure, always dressed in frock, and wearing thick-lensed glasses – cycling along Galle Road, between Bambalapitiya and Wellawatte, her bag of books and whatnot tied to the pillion.
Her wish was that she die unseen, unwept, unknown, and that not a stone should indicate her resting place. Her wishes have been granted. Her mortal remains were cremated and her ashes returned to the elements. She was in her early 90s.
The last time I met her was at the General Cemetery, Kanatte, at the funeral of a Hulftsdorp lawyer.
It may be wondered why I am writing this epitaph. It is mainly to honour a lady who was my contemporary at the University College, Colombo, in the late 1930s. We were in the same class, following lectures on English Literature given by Professor E. F. C. (Lyn) Ludowyke and Herbert Passe (who would become a professor later).
I graduated the same year as Miss Strange, in June 1940 – 69 years ago.
R. L. N. de Zoysa |
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