Newsletter
for alumni of The Abbey School, Mt. St. Benedict, Trinidad and Tobago, W.I.
Caracas, 4 of April 2020 No. 961
------------------------------------------------
Dear Friends,
Here are two videos that were done by Peter Gittens
Here I am enclosing a communication from Peter
Gittens, who is in Louisiana.
Maybe Salvador can contact him personally, Telf.
(504)398-2142.
Also, it would be nice for him to have a call from
Deacon Lionel Roberts who is in St. Petersburg Fla.
-------------------------------------
From:
"Gittens, Peter W." <PGittens@olhcc.edu>
Date: Fri, 8 Nov 2002
15:14:09 -0600
Dear
Ladislao,
Sorry
about the delay in replying to your e-mail.
The
last few days were very hectic and disruptive with a lot of travel to other
cites, which caused me to neglect e-mail correspondence.
My
exit year from the Abbey School was 1961.
It
seems so long ago, that I have forgotten a lot of the people I was in class
with.
Unfortunately,
I have not kept in touch with any one.
When
he was alive, I would run into ERNEST CASTILLO in Toronto, and now and then
someone would mention the name of Robert Elias, and his music.
I
was in class with ROBERT ELIAS.
I
may have some old black and white pictures at my house in London, Ontario.
When
next I am in Canada, I will rummage through them to see what I can find, and
will certainly scan file them to you.
Meanwhile,
thanks for the Circulars.
Sincerely,
Peter
Gittens
(It would be nice to have Robert Elias’ E-mail
address, ed.)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
From:
"Gittens, Peter W." <PGittens@olhcc.edu>
Date: Tue, 29 Oct 2002 10:49:11
-0600
Greetings,
fellow alumni of the Abbey School:
I
attended the Abbey School from 1956-1961.
I
was one of the (junior) seminarians.
I
did not become a priest, but I was ordained a permanent deacon in
1984.
From
1970 to 2001 I worked in Canada in Catholic Education both in the Hamilton and
Guelph
areas.
I
retired in 2001 and moved to warn and spicy Louisiana, only to become busier than
in my previous life in Ontario.
Today
I live in Harvey, Louisiana (a suburb of New Orleans), and work full-time as an
associate professor of Philosophy and Theology at Our Lady of Holy Cross
College in New Orleans, Louisiana.
I
also teach Philosophy at the local Seminary (Notre Dame Seminary) in New
Orleans.
It
was good to view the photos on the web pages, rekindling many fond memories of
some of our "beloved" Benedictine teachers.
Sincere
best wishes to all,
Peter
Gittens.
--------------------------------------------------------------
From:
"Peter Gittens" <pgittens@cox.net>
Date: 17
Jul 22:43 (PDT)
Subject:Fr.
Ildefonse
Ladislao,
Greetings!
Here is a photograph of Fr. Ildefonse.
Sincerely,
Peter
Gittens
---------------------------------------------------------------
From:
"Peter Gittens" <pgittens@cox.net>
Date: 28 Jul 14:45
(PDT)
Dear
Ladislao,
This
picture of Fr. Ildefonse was taken in front of the Seminary.
You
may recall that Fr. Ildefonse was the rector of the Seminary, as well the Scout
Master, and teacher of Latin, Geography, History, and Woodworking.
After
the new Seminary was opened in 1961, Fr. Ildefonse got a Lambretta scooter as
his means of transportation from the Seminary to the Abbey School and to the
Monastery.
In
this picture he is learning to ride his new motor bike.
This
picture was taken either in 1961 or 1962.
Sorry,
I do not have other pictures at the present time.
Yes,
I have been receiving the circulars for the past year on my work e-mail address
which is pgittens@olhcc.edu. Thanks!
Sincerely,
Peter
Gittens.
----- Original Message
--------------------------
From:
"Ladislao Kertesz" <lkertesz1@icqmail.com>
To: <pgittens@cox.net>
Sent: Sunday, July 27,
2003 11:33 AM
Dear
Peter
Thank
you for the photo.
Fond
memories.
Are
there more in that old cardboard box, or album.
What
would be the story for the photo?
I
hate to make up stories on photos, I might not get the feeling through.
Have
you received the circulars?
God
Bless
Ladislao
------------------------------------------------------------
Bernard Johnson
Dear Mr. Kertesz,
I have been receiving
a number of photos & circulars from you on behalf of my husband, but I
should point out that he doesn't use a computer & whenever I show him
various pictures, etc. he says that they were of boys who were at school after
the period he spent at Mount and so he doesn't know them.
In view of this I
would like to ask you please to remove my email address from your list.
With kind regards.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005
2:23:24 AM EST
From: Shaun
<scg1@tstt.net.tt>
Ladislao
Just thought I'd let
you know that a few days ago, one of our Abbey Boys Jean Pierre Tardieu was
killed in an auto accident on the Solomon Hochoy Highway.
He was in a car
heading to Couva where he worked as a Helicopter Pilot for National
Helicopters.
A car heading north
lost control and crossed the highway, smashing into the car.
He died later at
hospital.
He was 45 and was in a
class ahead of me.
The driver was killed
instantly.
It is a very sad loss.
All the Tardieu boys
were swimmers in the Aqualads Team.
Shaun Gianetti
---------------------------------------------
Subject: MSB
news-letter :: notes June 2005
Date: 6/10/2005 3:05:49
PM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Jeremy <tobagojo@trinidad.net>
Hi
Ladislao,
You’re
the greatest as usual.
Here
is a new eMail name to you I think;
See
if you would like to pop this one up in your next news-letter.
Very
Best Regards
Jeremy
de Barry
---------------------------------------------------------
Norman Smith nsmith@filmsmith.net
Subject: Blast from the
past
Date: Wed, 08 Jun 2005
Jeremy,
It's
been almost 4 decades since I've seen or heard from any Mount old boy, (etc)…
I
would also like to contact other old friends like Roger Ames and Rafael
Echeverria...(email reply body - then..)
Finally,
for now; [Sorry Norman - You triggered this one off!]
Two
score years, and counting, is a lifetime to many, and the mark to a generation.
We
have all done well in our separate ways, scattered as we now are, like pollen
in the wind.
We
remain forever loose brothers, (You too Rafael) united by our past.
Yes,
we were part of a brotherhood.
It
was never our choice to be where we were placed, out parents patronage ruling
our futures.
Obedient
to the times, we sullied to the benefice rhythms of the Mount, to have our
adolescence squandered over years, for the higher stake of education.
We
learnt tolerance, and found brothers for those who had none; or found brothers
to add to family, or to exchange for those who were not in sympathy.
We
learnt love and hate and discovered our strengths and weaknesses.
Boredom
and apathy were never a part of the fabric of that life; there was too much
going on all the time; so much to do; and literally, so many hills to climb.
Moments
of introspection, should one fall prey to that aloneness or disjuncture,
perhaps on arrival for the start of those long terms, could be soothed by
glances into the beckoning background hills, or by steering down the slope and
across the distant planes; where on a clear day 'You could see forever'.
But
not for long in contemplation, least you got caught napping, as violence could
career around the corner, and gears would mesh in you head and legs to
implement strategies of escape in quick movement; some new, some old, to avoid
'the hedging' or 'the flushing'; and then you were back in the game of Mount.
In
the end we hated few, and loved many.
We
were deeply moved as friends or role models came to term and moved to depart
from this pediment.
We
knew for many, we would never meet again.
And
then it was our turn.
With
few regrets but hearty goodbyes, we would descend down that ever winding road,
taking our last glimpses of arches, bee-hives, battered VW busses, bottle
works; and scattered through the trees the Abbey, rest house and guest house.
Then
the bamboo way past the seminary; and dropping, through the row of cashew
trees, the convent, pool and playing field; then it all disappeared round the
bend.
Pax.
Over
the years, some would return in pilgrimage; either on their own, with friends,
or with members of their families.
Reasons
aside, to most of us who made the journey, there were those instants of queasy
excitement that would rise with the upward journey, and subside surprisingly,
to tranquillity on arrival.
And
then it would slowly hit you.
As
you began to explore; every corner, every angle, every shadow triggered
cascades of long forgotten moments.
Each
space held its own story.
Then
a light sadness and a thin puzzlement would arise.
It
was too quiet.
Beyond
the saddening realisation that an era and a unique institution had passed into
the annals of history; were those jolting wisps of imaginings for the sights of
cream shirts, karkie shorts; or white longs, blue yellow striped tie and the
ubiquitous crimson jumper or blazer with that vivid yellow pocket emblem; the
odd white robe, sashes curtaining a wide black belt; and the animated faces.
Always
a spin of movement, to a cacophony of chatter in Trini English, ringing Panyol
and broken Patois! Mon Dieu!
Those
of us who withstood long internment as boarders of The Abbey School, Mount St.
Benedict, would only truly realise this privilege that we had shared, as the
years of living slowly stacked to rise in metaphoric counterpoint to the height
of Mount itself.
Our
schooling was in the main solid.
Our
activities had made us tough; even the fat ones were no wimps.
Our
ever-present hunger, and our trademark of withstanding 3 minute cold showers
(and to a timely few of us the simultaneous bombasting of Luongo's bass
Cantatas); saw us leave the Mount in sinewy good form.
Most
left as young men, not quite as Captains of Industry or Movers of Nations, but
generally to be persons of some consequence.
Our
psychologies were a little warped and biased to the antisocial and loners at
first; coming out of that nest was a new learning curve all by itself.
But
mildly structured by a Benedictine benevolence of moral philosophy, together
with that wild environment of a multicultural enclave, produced in us the adaptability
for survival and an ability to integrate; though painful at times to achieve,
that proved in the main, adequate for our lives needs.
We
are the Boys from The Mount; that is our mark.
We
were few, but what a bunch!
To
those of us who occasion to traverse the East-West corridor of Trinidad, we
always take a moment to look North, to that range of tropical mountains, with a
whimsical turn of mind to that old home, The Mount; creamily pixillated with
hints of red orca, to a background of green, on the crest of the distant
foothills.
May
your Gods be with you my Brothers.
tojo
- 10 June 2005
(Good to read twice, ed.)
------------------------------------------------------------------.
EDITED by Ladislao Kertesz, kertesz11@yahoo.com, if you would like to be in the circular’s mailing list or any
old boy that you would like to include.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Photos:
99UN0001FILRIP,
Fr, Ildefons rip
65UN0001FILMOT, Fr.
Ildefons and new motobike
15LK8144FBNSAWFE,
Nathaniel Sampath and wife
65UN16SWIMMING, Kamal
Khan and unknowns
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