The Early Years (1933-1941)
June 21
These are the stories of my father's life as written by him when he was alive. He left behind a rich trove of stories and I wanted to share a few of them with you.
- Francisco D'Souza
The first eight years of my life were spent in East Africa, mainly in Dar-es-Salaam, capital of Tanzania, where I was born. I was a bonny baby, some 9 pounds at birth.
My mother would often tell me that the Governor's daughter was also in the same hospital where I was born and seemed to like to take me for a walk along with her own baby who was not as healthy-looking as I was!
My father worked in the Customs Department of the then Government of Tanaganyika. He attained what was probably the highest level possible for Asians at that time – that of Grade I Clerk. His was a very active life, and he engaged in all forms of sports including hockey, angling, and shikar.
He took interest in a variety of other things. He was fond of films that had just been invented and introduced to East Africa at that time. He was so fond of them that he had a special uniform made so that he could avail of the special rates available to such personnel.
He seemed an adventurous type of person. Airplanes were still a novelty and when one came to Tanganyika, he did not hesitate to go on a joy ride along with my mother. It must have been an exciting and seemingly dangerous trip in those distant days.
He was a convivial type of person – outgoing and involved in the Goan Institute club activities.
I have few memories of Dar-es-Salaam, and fewer photographs to jog my memory.
I do remember quite well the school I went to – St. Joseph’s - and the inspection of our fingernails that took place before class began. If one forgot to have them neatly cut, one was punished or at least received a reprimand. To avoid this we would, if we had forgotten to get them cut, scrape them on a huge stone in a corner. This was quite painful but effective!
Another vivid memory that remains with me is of the house we lived in – a small flat on the first floor. Below it was a printer’s shop that was also a bookshop. I would scour the environs of the printer’s shop for the coloured paper shreds that were thrown away, and use them for drawing and painting.
From the bookshop, I would insist on getting the weekly comics magazine. I could not read but would pester my sister to read them to me – generally over and over again, which no doubt irritated her no end. But she was coaxed by my mother to give in to my entreaties.
The school was not far from the beach and from time to time, the teacher would take us there during class hours. That was most exciting, and I recall a sand castle that I built with great care on one such occasion. It was a big castle decorated with seashells and other trivia from the beach, and I was devastated when the tide came in and washed away my effort.
We spent a few months in Bukoba on the shores of Lake Victoria, but returned as the climate was not congenial and my father asked to be transferred.
I have a few other stray memories – of my class friend Freddy Cordeiro who later joined me in class in India; of Rolly, our dog who was run over by a car on Christmas day, and of the local servant Yusuf, who looked after me and generally helped around the house.
In 1939, the Second World War broke out and there was the danger of getting involved in the war. There were frequent blackouts, and we used to have dinner in the kitchen. It had just one small window that my father covered with a blanket, folded several times, to avoid the police from seeing the light of the candles that faintly illuminated the room.
In 1941, my father finally took premature retirement for health reasons, and believing that a change of climate would help, decided to return to India.
We travelled by ship – by deck class. Fortunately, there were Goan stewards on board who were prevailed upon to let us use the bathing and toilet facilities of the upper classes. I remember taking along for the journey a cigarette tin full of ground gram and sugar which was generally an ingredient in neureo, the Goan Christmas sweetmeat.
The war was not over, and at night, no lights were allowed on the ship for fear of alerting some lurking German submarine.
We arrived in Bombay and after customs clearance left by train for Pune – a move that was to prove of seminal significance in my life.
- Francisco D'Souza
The Early Years (1933-1941)
Placido D'Souza
The first eight years of my life were spent in East Africa, mainly in Dar-es-Salaam, capital of Tanzania, where I was born. I was a bonny baby, some 9 pounds at birth.
My mother would often tell me that the Governor's daughter was also in the same hospital where I was born and seemed to like to take me for a walk along with her own baby who was not as healthy-looking as I was!
My father worked in the Customs Department of the then Government of Tanaganyika. He attained what was probably the highest level possible for Asians at that time – that of Grade I Clerk. His was a very active life, and he engaged in all forms of sports including hockey, angling, and shikar.
He took interest in a variety of other things. He was fond of films that had just been invented and introduced to East Africa at that time. He was so fond of them that he had a special uniform made so that he could avail of the special rates available to such personnel.
He seemed an adventurous type of person. Airplanes were still a novelty and when one came to Tanganyika, he did not hesitate to go on a joy ride along with my mother. It must have been an exciting and seemingly dangerous trip in those distant days.
He was a convivial type of person – outgoing and involved in the Goan Institute club activities.
I have few memories of Dar-es-Salaam, and fewer photographs to jog my memory.
I do remember quite well the school I went to – St. Joseph’s - and the inspection of our fingernails that took place before class began. If one forgot to have them neatly cut, one was punished or at least received a reprimand. To avoid this we would, if we had forgotten to get them cut, scrape them on a huge stone in a corner. This was quite painful but effective!
Another vivid memory that remains with me is of the house we lived in – a small flat on the first floor. Below it was a printer’s shop that was also a bookshop. I would scour the environs of the printer’s shop for the coloured paper shreds that were thrown away, and use them for drawing and painting.
From the bookshop, I would insist on getting the weekly comics magazine. I could not read but would pester my sister to read them to me – generally over and over again, which no doubt irritated her no end. But she was coaxed by my mother to give in to my entreaties.
The school was not far from the beach and from time to time, the teacher would take us there during class hours. That was most exciting, and I recall a sand castle that I built with great care on one such occasion. It was a big castle decorated with seashells and other trivia from the beach, and I was devastated when the tide came in and washed away my effort.
We spent a few months in Bukoba on the shores of Lake Victoria, but returned as the climate was not congenial and my father asked to be transferred.
I have a few other stray memories – of my class friend Freddy Cordeiro who later joined me in class in India; of Rolly, our dog who was run over by a car on Christmas day, and of the local servant Yusuf, who looked after me and generally helped around the house.
In 1939, the Second World War broke out and there was the danger of getting involved in the war. There were frequent blackouts, and we used to have dinner in the kitchen. It had just one small window that my father covered with a blanket, folded several times, to avoid the police from seeing the light of the candles that faintly illuminated the room.
In 1941, my father finally took premature retirement for health reasons, and believing that a change of climate would help, decided to return to India.
We travelled by ship – by deck class. Fortunately, there were Goan stewards on board who were prevailed upon to let us use the bathing and toilet facilities of the upper classes. I remember taking along for the journey a cigarette tin full of ground gram and sugar which was generally an ingredient in neureo, the Goan Christmas sweetmeat.
The war was not over, and at night, no lights were allowed on the ship for fear of alerting some lurking German submarine.
We arrived in Bombay and after customs clearance left by train for Pune – a move that was to prove of seminal significance in my life.