Dr Ong Chong Keng

From the Penang Free School Magazine of November 1931 (Old Series, Volume XI Number 4), there was published this speech by Dr Ong Chong Keng, the representative of The Old Frees' Association, who was speaking at the Free School's Speech Day on 21 October 1931. Ong was a medical doctor who later turned politician and sat in the Federal Legislative Council of Malaya, For his very vocal views that the Chinese would be loyal to the future Federation of Malaya, Communist elements ambushed and killed him somewhere in the Perak Road area of Penang island on 31 August 1948. Nine years later on 31 August 1957, Malaya would achieve her Independence from the British. Ong Chong Keng would have been visibly chuffed by that.

About a week ago, when I was invited to be the speaker for the Old Frees, I felt at first that I was not sufficiently distinguished to assume such an important role. But on subsequent thought, I discovered that I possess one great distinction: a distinction which took me a decade of sustained perseverance to earn, and that was, the distinction of having studied at the Penang Free School. (cheers). That distinction of being an Old Free was not the monopoly of a selected few. Our school is exactly 115 years old today. And, as each year, for 115 years, boys passing out of the school into the ranks of the Old Frees, the distinguished company of Old Frees is an exceedingly big one. Indeed, it might almost be said that the sun never set on an Old Free. (cheers). But it is the distinguished company of Old Frees, not the company of distinguished Old Frees, which is a big one. (applause). I am addressing you from that platform - not as one of the distinguished Old Frees, because I am not distinguished, at least not yet, (laughter and applause) - but as one of the distinguished company of Old Frees. 

During this time that I am privileged to inflict my speech on you, I hope to be pardoned if I should show a strong partiality for “those brave old days beyond recall”, and indulge in reminiscences of my old school days. 

I left school one day in March 1923, and as this building was not occupied until 1928, I was one of that last batch of Old Frees who had all our schooling in those old buildings which now house Hutchings School. More than eight years has elapsed since I first became an Old Free, and there is not the slightest doubt that the school has progressed in every direction during the past eight years. Perhaps the great progress was noticeable in the additional facilities now provided for study and for play. 

The school now has a beautiful meeting hall where the boys meet every morning. In the old days the tiffin shed functioned as the meeting hall on those occasions when Mr Pinhorn, the then Headmaster, wanted to address us and to warn us from committing any of the three serious crimes – (1) jeering at our rivals in the Inter-school athletic competitions for the Glugor Shield, (laughter); (2) throwing fruit skins all over the school playground during the fruit season, (loud laughter); and (3) giving vent to our artistic and other less commendable feelings by caricaturing our enemies, usually the masters, on the walls in the seclusion of the closet. (renewed laughter). 

You now have well-equipped laboratories, which you can conduct your experiments in Physics and Chemistry. Those days we had no laboratories and our practical Chemistry was chiefly, if not solely, confined to the mixing together of various coloured solutions in test tubes. Now you have new desks with unblemished tops. The old desks had holes, through which we read surreptitiously those doubtful but exciting classics which had gone, and still went, under the picturesque name of Penny Dreadfuls. 

In the field of sports too, there have been vast improvements. The playing field of today is many times the size of the old one. All the present footballers of the school wear boots, while most of old brigade prided themselves on our invulnerable feet, and played all our games bare-footed. (laughter). The cricketers today present a striking and stylish picture as they go in to bat, complete with cap, gloves, pads, and flannel trousers. Their predecessors wore the thickest sun helmets they could find to give their heads protection from the ball. (laughter) They never had any gloves on, and if they did put on pads at all, they usually put on one only, and more often than not, that one pad was put on the leg farthest removed from the bowler. (loud laughter). 

You may laugh at our backwardness and you may be amused at our primitivity. I have endeavoured to give a few glimpses of what school-life was like in my time. Recollections of pleasant incidents always give rise to a feeling of sadness, of regret that they can now be nothing more than just pleasant memories; and we treasure every little memento which reminds us of those happy days which had been, and every little souvenir which links the present to the past. 

An old boy revisiting his old school take only a superficial, if indeed any, interest in the new building, the new laboratory, and the new gymnasium put up since his day. What he wants to see are the same old building, the same old classrooms, and of course, the same old masters. When he roams round the school, his eyes would want to rove over the school walls in the effort to discover that particular patch of ink smudge for which he was responsible, and for which he received three strokes. 

He would prick up his ears to hear the same old school bell, the tones of which, could he but hear them, would at once recall to his mind that old, almost ancient servant of the school, Imam, who served the school so faithfully and so well for so many, many years. Imam had gone the way of all flesh, and though a snobbish world will not dream of erecting a memorial tablet to the memory of a mere peon, he will always lie enshrined in the heart of every Old Free as the typical example of Loyalty itself.

The heavy hand of death had also removed the most important figure that has ever appeared on the local staff of the school. The number of Old Frees who have sat at the feet of the late Mr Koay Thean Chin must be legion, and the death of one whom we have learnt to regard as a permanent fixture of the school was a great blow to us all. A schoolboy, whilst still attending school, regards his master as a mixed assortment of tyrants and freaks. (laughter). But no sooner had he left school, than the soft haze of retrospect puts a halo round the head of every teacher who taught him.

Mr RH Pinhorn was a terror to us all. Every approaching thump of his foot on the school stairs- it was a characteristic thump to those who heard it – put the fear of death into our juvenile hearts. (laughter). We now know that Mr Pinhorn was a perfect gentleman in every sense of the word. Mr Heng Kok has given you a full account of his services to the school, and I shall not weary you by repeating this year what you heard last year. (applause). 

Mr Hamilton looked so ferocious to us that we christened him the Old Tiger. Whenever we heard hisorder ‘Stand on your hind legs,” we knew that we were in for a grueling mathematical catechism, which was frequently enlivened by resounding slaps on the cheek. Now we marvel at the forbearance and patience which Mr Hamilton showed us, and we likened his slaps unto the kisses of the saint on the cheek of the leper. (applause). 

Mr Eckersall was another forbidding schoolday figure, and his sharp tongue used to lash us like a whip. He taught us mathematics, but I learnt a good many expressive English words from him. For example, I never knew what a “lout” was, until I came under him. He used few words, but he chose them well. (loud laughter). When he wanted to put one of us up on the bench, he merely barked out the one word “mount.” Now, whenever we think of Mr Eckersall, our hearts well over with thankfulness for all the kindness that we have received at his hands. (applause). 

Mr Swaine taught us History and Latin. As a medical man, I have not come across a more potent soporific than Latin, (laughter) and even as a school boy, I was grateful to Mr Swaine for permitting me to slumber peacefully in his class (laughter). What Latin I knew (I know none now) was learnt by my subconscious self. His long association with the Free School was rudely interrupted, we hope not actually terminated, a few years ago. We regard Mr Swaine as the property of the Free School, and we shall deem it a gracious favour if the authorities will return him to us one day, as our Headmaster. (applause). 

Mr Arnold taught us French and Geography. He was always very polite, and his unruffled smoothness was sometimes the exasperation of us all. I was not noted for my punctuality, and one morning I arrived late at Mr Arnold’s French class. He greeted me with these words, uttered with a smiling face and with all the suavity conceivable, “I was afraid that I would not have the pleasure of seeing you this morning. And, if you persist in keeping me in this suspense every morning, I regret that I shall be forced to deny myself the pleasure of ever seeing you again in my class.” (loud laughter). Needless to say, if I ever failed to come early again, it was not for want of trying. Mr Arnold now stands high in the educational world of Malaya, and for every success gained, he has the heartiest congratulations of the Old Frees. (applause). 

What English I know now, I owe to a lean, young Englishman whom we called “Orang Keju.” (cheers). He left us about 10 years ago, but Cheeseman House perpetuates the memory of a name which is synonymous with the progress of the school during the first 20 years of the twentieth century (applause). 

Mr Hamid Khan was another of the old masters who had been taken away from the Free School. His name was always coupled with that of the late M. Koay Thean Chin for honorable mention by Mr Pinhorn at every prize-giving day. He is still going strong, and apart from a slight whitening of his moustaches, he looks today exactly the same as he did 20 years ago. On behalf of all his old pupils, I wish him “panjang umoh.” (applause). 

Two native masters who have taught me, still remain on the present staff of the school. They are Mr Koay Kye Teong and Mr Ng Cheong Weng. It is a source of great gratification to us that they are both drawing super-scale emoluments. These two masters together with a few other native masters of the school provide the only link which connects this Free School of Green Lane with the old Free School of Farquhar Street. 

An old boy who had spent all his school career at Farquhar Street will look in vain for a familiar face in the entire European staff of the present school. “All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.” Father Time has removed a few of them. We cannot help that. The Educational Gods have transferred the rest to other places. 

We are always proud of our tradition. We flatter ourselves that a boy in going through the Free School acquires certain individuality, a certain outlook on life, a certain bearing and behaviour, which is characteristic of the Free School. We believe that every boy who passes through the Free School mill must be impressed with the Free School stamps. But, if the European staff of the school is always changing, if it undergoes a complete metamorphosis every five years, if it is composed of masters whose longest connection with the school is a paltry period of four to five years, when they have boys under them who have been in school for a longer length of time, where is that continuity without which tradition is as empty as a shadow. It is a pity that we could not transplant the old school buildings from Farquhar Street to Green Lane but surely, the authorities can, if they only want to, allow us to retain a fairly constant staff. An absolutely constant European staff, I am aware, is an impossibility due to the exigencies of leave and promotion. 

Our past history of 115 years outshines that of any other school in Malaya and equals that of any other school in the East. We have a unique foundation of tradition and the educational authorities will be failing in their duty if instead of building on it, they destroy it. We studied at the Penang Free School as our fathers and our fathers’ fathers did before us; and this great Free School tradition is as real and means as much to us as the Oxford or Cambridge tradition to Oxford or Cambridge graduates. We consider it nothing short of sacrilegious that this school should bear the venerable, almost sacred, name of Penang Free School, when no attention is paid to its glorious past and no attempt is made to foster its individuality. 

You, boys, are the heirs of this great tradition. You have inherited a ready-made past, more wonderful than any you can have made to order. The responsibility of fashioning the present and to a less extent, the future, lies in your hands. I am confident that you will make a good job of it. In concluding I want to ask every one of you to be proud that you are a Free School boy. “I am a Roman, a citizen of no mean city,” was a proud Roman boast. May everyone of you glow with equal pride when you say “I am a Free School boy, a member of no mean school.” (loud and prolonged applause).