13 hours ago
Heart And Soul: Remembering a remarkable teacher whose songs stayed with me
I remember my primary school days with fondness – not for academic success or lasting friendships, but for my class teacher, the remarkable Miss Avis Coelho, a Kirby-trained educator. — This visual is human-created, AI-aided.
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I remember my primary school days with fondness – not for academic success or lasting friendships, but for my class teacher, the remarkable Miss Avis Coelho, a Kirby-trained educator.
She taught every subject except Malay, Art and PE, and led weekly singing sessions. Gathered around an old piano, we'd listen as she played and sang – her voice was lovely, and music class was the highlight of my week. Lyrics in hand, I'd sing with joy, swaying and uplifted.
I had no musical background – no instruments at home, just a rediffusion set playing Cantonese operas for housewives.
Miss Coelho introduced us to songs children in English schools sang – a delightful, unfamiliar world.
Within a year, we learned dozens of songs from her piano book: The Lincolnshire Poacher, Cockles And Mussels, Greensleeves, Danny Boy and more. We also sang African American folk songs and works by Stephen Foster like the wistful Swanee River – far more moving than radio pop songs.
By 1962, anxiety loomed – Standard Six pupils faced the Malayan Secondary Schools Entrance Exam. A pass meant continuing education; failure could mean dropping out. Yet the ordeal passed swiftly – like a nervous child dreading a jab that's over before they know it.
The school's prize-giving and annual concert took place on the final day of term. After exams, Miss Coelho began preparing us – she needed 12 boys for a class choir. Testing each of us individually, she found only 11 she was satisfied with – I wasn't among them.
Still short, she re-tested a few boys. When none met her expectations, she turned to me, asked me to relax and sing again. I gave it my all. She smiled and nodded – I was in.
We performed three songs: the wistful Bonny Banks Of Loch Lomond, the mournful Old Black Joe, and the cheerful Polly Wolly Doodle – a perfect close with its repeated 'Fare-de-well'.
We rehearsed until we knew them by heart.
For Old Black Joe, Miss Coelho chose Peng Kiet – our top English student with a fine voice – to sing the chorus solo: I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low. I hear the gentle voices calling, Old Black Joe.
The day before the concert, Miss Coelho made a last-minute change – we were to drop the word 'black' and sing the piece as 'Poor Old Joe'. She didn't explain, and we didn't ask.
The big day arrived. After a Malay boy's poetry recital, it was our turn. We took the stage in an arc, with Peng Kiet – our soloist – at the centre.
Standing before the whole school, with the headmistress and guests in front, I felt proud. Accompanied by Miss Coelho on the piano, we sang our hearts out and were met with rousing applause. She signalled us to bow – clearly pleased.
Later at the tuckshop, she treated us to tea and curry puffs. Some boys confessed they'd sung 'Old Black Joe' instead of 'Poor Old Joe', as instructed. She simply smiled: 'You all did well – it's over now.'
When we asked about the name change, she sighed.
How could she explain racism, slavery or prejudice to 12-year-olds?
Singing about Black lives, even innocently, may have seemed inappropriate.
'It's alright, dear child – you'll understand when you're older,' she said, before bidding us farewell.
Leaving primary school was a milestone. My time at Brickfields Primary School ended with a concert to remember. As I walked home alone, I thought of the friends I'd never see again and the vibrant, Indian-majority suburb I was leaving behind.
Time may blur those days, but the songs remain. And with them, one lasting lesson – racism has no place in our diverse society.
