Circular No 495

Newsletter for alumni of The Abbey School, Mt. St. Benedict, Trinidad and Tobago, W.I.
Caracas, 30 April 2011 No.495
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Dear Friends,
Here is the last essay that the Circular got from WVB, sorry that we broke up, as he wanted me to publish politically ideas which are outside the Circulars scope.
Please look the CLASS photo below, need confirmation.

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Kingston, Jamaica, 23 of February 2002.
Dear Friends, here is your circular No. 15, this time by Wayne Vincent Brown, enjoy it!!!

'A HAPPY WANDERER'

A couple weeks ago, I read in the paper that Percy Granville Wilson, aged 75, had died. I read it with the small, sad, 'Well, that's that' feeling one gets on hearing of the death of someone whom one once knew well, but with whom one has since long lost touch. I also read it with faint surprise. The 'PG' I knew – so long ago! – could never die.

When first I read of his death, I didn't think I would write this: PG'd been gone from my mind so completely for so long. But as I thought back to the time when I knew him, 35 years ago, I was taken aback by how clear and detailed were the memories of him that returned. Perhaps it's like that with anyone who was once important to us. We only think we forget them.

I met PG in '58 when he came to coach track at the Abbey School, Mount St Benedict, where I was a student at the time. 'The Mount' was a private, predominantly white school, but – as we've since grown used to seeing in Britain and the US – its handful of non-white athletes enjoyed a success quite disproportionate to their numbers. Between them, in the age group above mine, Millard Howell and Anthony Lucky (now Judge Lucky) ruled the track with an iron fist; and while in my own group Manuel Prada, a mixed-race Venezuelan, and I were sometimes separated or demoted in the placings by Bayshore's 'Turtleback' Galt, we were two of only five or six non-whites in our class.

At various times there were other fast kids who were white – Stanley Grosberg, who later ran the sprints at the Texaco Games, Richard Gransaul, Richard Farah – who, before he fell out of a mango tree and broke his leg and wound up having to have it amputated, would call for room when running a bend on grounds no family newspaper would ever print - and that was the composition of the unruly squad which PG arrived to coach.

To me, he arrived out of nowhere; for I had never met anyone quite like him. A tall, beaming, hectoring character with a hoarse martial bawl, and (the result of an accident) either one or two fingers missing from one hand, PG simply arrived one day and swarmed all over us, berating, heckling, encouraging, congratulating, sprinting from one end of the field to the other to bawl at us (for PG never seemed to walk anywhere, he always sprinted, or at least cantered). His presence quickly dominated the playing field. It was hard to remember a time we'd trained without PG.

He was the first real coach we'd ever had, though prior to his coming various track-inclined parents, including one who'd been quite gifted in his time, had filled that role. And because PG ran with us – and because there quickly sprung up between him and us a competition that was deadly serious, yet ultimately quite safe, since PG, we knew, was on our side – we soon gave him that fealty which every kid insensibly gives to the man or woman who first causes him to 'dig deep' and discover depths he hadn't known he had.

So PG became our track father. We made jokes about him behind his back, of course, but they weren't ill-meant or contemptuous – not anything like the ridicule we heaped in private on those teachers and/ or priests whom we thought deserved it. PG had, for example, a minor speech impediment and couldn't pronounce certain fricatives. He'd say 'werff' for 'worth,' or 'berfday' for 'birthday,' things like that. And so, soon, the quip went out: 'The Lord said to PG, 'Come forff,' but he came fiff.' That kind of thing.

PG had been a quarter-miler and was still inordinately proud of his running action. 'In my heyday,' he would tell us, till we were sick of hearing it, 'I had a 9-foot stride. I still have it; look!' – PG cantering off, calling back to us, 'Look at dat! Look at dat!' – and today, 35 years later, the image of PG in action is clearly before me as I write this: a deliberate, lunging gallop, head thrust forward, shoulders thrown back, elbows held wide – ah, PG!

For warm-ups we would jog a mile; invariably, at the last, these turned into a pell-mell sprint. For the first year or so, I remember, no one ever beat PG to the line. But we were getting bigger, and he was getting older, and a time came when he would cannily drop out on the last bend and cut across the inside of the track, doing this on the pretext that it allowed him to see us better and bawl individually at us ('Brong, yuh sleepwalkin', Brong! Move it move it move it! Howard, pump dose daddy-long-legs!').

Such ruses weren't quite enough, of course, to protect PG and his ground-devouring stride from the increasing attention of devouring Time; and sometimes this was painful to him. I remember in particular, for my own role in it, an afternoon he elected for some reason to run a quarter, and for a running mate selected Howell.

Now, Howell was a school sprinter of a very high order: someone who, I've often thought since, would no doubt have made it to the Olympics if he'd come along just a few years later. PG put him to run on his outside (Catcalls: 'Hey PG daz not fair! De coach should be on the outside!') and though they ran shoulder to shoulder throughout, it was obvious by the end that Howell was cruising, while PG was (covertly) flat out and all in.

We noted this among ourselves, amused. But then I went too far, calling out, in the pusillanimous feckless way of kids: 'PG! PG! Don't bother try not to pant! Howell buss y'ass!'

I had time to glimpse, dismayed, the quick hurt in PG's face before Prada dragged me away, demanding angrily below his breath to know what kind of man I was – I was 15 – and whether I thought getting old was funny. (PG by then would have been pushing 40.) I understood it for the first time, that afternoon, 'getting old.' For the first time, I both saw and felt it.

'I din' mean it, PG,' I said miserably, returning. 'I was jus' joking.'

And: 'Don't worry about it,' PG said sadly – yet somehow still heartily, for PG was always hearty – dropping a hand on my shoulder. 'You can't help it; you was always a young horse's arse.'

PG, as I said, was different; there was something about him I couldn't place. At the time, I put it down to his policeman's training, and to his Barbadian-ness. I didn't quite know what the latter meant, but I still think they were part of it. PG was 'an educationist,' a man who had consciously learned and practised his running – or so his textbook-perfect stride implied – just as he'd since learned and was practising his coaching; just as, in later years, he learnt and practised his physiotherapy. Yet such learning blended easily with his exuberance and talent, and didn't at all stifle them. And in this he was quintessentially Barbadian, not Jamaican or Trinidadian or Guyanese.

To me, however, the main thing different about PG was something I only understood consciously much later. This was that he was the first black man I'd ever met who treated white and black kids exactly – I mean, exactly – as though they were the same. I don't think this meant he was colour-blind. To the contrary, I think his race mattered to PG; he was a Barbadian, after all. (Many years later, PG was with Crawford in Montreal, and I can just imagine the line his rhetoric took when he sat down with the TT sprinter the night before the 100 to psyche him up.) But once out on the track with us, PG was completely race-impartial. He was 'an educationist,' we were his class; and running was his abiding, great love.

I must have felt this at the time, for I remember being startled when, before a race in which my main competition was Bayshore's Galt, PG drew me aside and said sternly: 'Don't let me down, you hear me?'
'Okay, PG,' I said.

He stared at me. 'You understand what I'm telling you?'

'No, PG. What?'

'Me and you, we are people of colour. You don't let that white boy beat you, understand?'

I went to the line with the startled, bubbly-warm feeling that the coach and I had a secret; that me and PG, we were in this one together, the two of us united against Galt. It was only afterwards that I discovered that PG had likewise drawn Galt aside and told him more or less the same thing: 'Let that little black boy beat you, you never call yourself a man in front of me again, you hear me?' The ol' PG democratically working the racial vein, as only a West Indian, and a certain kind of West Indian, can. 

Like other extroverted, happy men, 'PG' was a merciless competitor; it was how he had long expressed and focussed his pleasure in his own mastery. From him you got none of that 'good boy scout' talk (which would secretly have disappointed us) about participation being its own reward. With PG, you trained to win.

The main part of this unreconstructed competitiveness was of course the physical: at training sessions, PG ran us, his young charges, into the ground. He could get you to do that, to run yourself out, because his heartiness - which was really the absence in him of any meanness, and the high spirits that underlay his hectoring - functioned as a sort of buffer, turning you back upon yourself. You couldn't grudge PG when, feeling you were ready to drop, his martial command came: 'Okay, let's go again!' You could only dislike, blame yourself, for your own exhaustion. It was easier to dig deep, and run.

I remember, one afternoon when PG kept the 'interval' 150's going a lot longer than we were used to, being struck by the fact that, past a certain point, the groans and protests stopped. This was probably nine-tenths due to exhaustion, but I think now the other tenth was not just resignation but something more: a visceral, dawning intimation in us of the hardness of the life that awaited us as men. We ran those last 150's in silence because we were too tired to protest. But we also ran them in silence because we sensed that it was a new thing, and somehow important: the having to do it.

That was the physical part. But running, to PG, was all in all; and so our training had a psychological side. And though I'm not sure which of us this says something about, my most vivid memories of him involve that side.

Once, for example, before an 800 heat (this was in 1960) Bayshore's Galt cannily suggested to me – and I naively agreed – that he and I should demoralise another guy by taking turns to make the pace really hot, in this way to 'pull his stones out.' Accordingly, we led off, and kept going, at such a pace that though we tacitly finished abreast (and with the other guy nowhere in sight) I don't think either of us had anything left, though we both tried not to show it. I was still panting when PG grabbed my arm and led me away.

'What the hell wrong with you?' he began without preamble. 'You gone an' show the man your hand!'
It took me a moment to realize he meant Galt.

'How many times I have to tell you people, a heat is not a race, don't show your hand in the heats! You show the man your hand!'
'I din't, PG,' I protested weakly. 'I was holdin' back something.'

'You was – look, boy, hang your head! Young people like you goin' be the death of Dr Williams!'

From PG we learnt the tricks of the trade: how to spread your elbows on the bend to force the other guy wide, how to twitch your shoulder at the 'set' to false-start the guy next to you. And these weren't taught us in any spirit of mischief or whimsy. PG was a competitor, and demanded such vaguely shady skills of us every bit as earnestly as he demanded that we turn up with our tins of glucose on sports' day, say.

One intercol meet, before the 100, PG drew Prada and me aside. 'That X,'  he said – I forget his name, some kid from south – ‘he's dangerous.' (Translation: 'You all can't beat him.') 'Whichever one of you draws next to him, I want you to false-start him, understood?'

I was a moralistic kid. I started praying at once it would be Prada, not me. So, of course, I got the draw.

Nonetheless, PG had decreed. My heart in my mouth, at the 'set' I jerked my shoulder and, my God, it worked! The kid went, was recalled, hung back in consequence the next time around while Prada, now, got a flyer; and so in that one, against the odds, 'The Mount' finished first and third.

After that, I think I felt for PG something of the remonstrative, sinful-sad love which whores feels for their pimps.

But I also grew up a little.

Another time, I 'broke' in a 400 and hesitated, expecting to be recalled. The recall didn't come, an Eldorado runner flew past me, and I wasn't able thereafter to reel him in. At the finish, bent over, hands on knees, panting and feeling disgusted with myself, I nonetheless caught sight of PG hurtling furiously towards me.

I retained that image of imminent retribution for a quarter of a century. Ten years ago, I put it in a story entitled The Runner Stumbles. 'Sebastian's school mates closed around him and a general furor began; one glimpsed his enraged coach sprinting towards him across the field.'

Our last year at the Mount drew to a close. We were about to part ways with PG when, to my surprise, he suggested that Galt and I should apply for athletics' scholarships to some university in the States. PG not only recommended this, to us, novel idea; he produced the application forms himself and harangued us almost daily to fill them out.

I never got around to doing so (I don't think Galt did either). My elders had already decreed that I would be moving down to CIC for Sixth Form, and in any case, though I'd made good progress on the track and currently held (an abiding, small pride) the East Trinidad under-16 half-mile record, I had seen the older generation of college kids run, Roberts and Monsegue, Howell and the Bastiens, and I knew, secretly but surely, that I was not in their class.

And PG's persistence troubled me. Too young to realize what a feather in his coach's c.v. it would be if two of his charges won scholarships, I didn't understand it. PG, I felt sure, had to know that Galt and I weren't athletics-scholarship material. Then, why was he pushing us to apply? It was the first feeling of wrongness I'd ever had about PG, and it made me inexplicably sad.

And that sadness turned to something else when, abruptly abandoning his scholarship harangue, PG began pressing on me instead his 'personalised training schedule,' which he intimated could be mine for $50 (a substantial sum in those days). I was 16; too old not to see that his salesman's ardour changed the relationship between us, and not old enough to understand that, in this colonial country, the daily lot of most people of PG's and my colour was (often, great) financial hardship. I bought PG's cyclostyled sheets, though I never used them (I think I still have them somewhere). But it was many years before I forgot the hurt of those 'betrayals.' PG, after all, had been my track father.

Sixteen years later, I was living in England when I heard that PG was with Crawford in Montreal. It was the first I'd heard of him in many years, and I remember thinking with wry pleasure that the old PG had 'landed on his feet,' after all. By then, I'd come to think of him – when I thought of him at all – with affectionate amusement, as 'that scamp.' It was the condescending compromise I'd arrived at over the years between my debt to him and its conclusion in hurt.

I had to grow older still before the latter finally faded in the abiding light of the great privilege of self-discovery through which PG's coaching had taken me. And then I understood that his financial fate (which perhaps I exaggerated) was simply the fate of most men possessed in our time by some magnificent obsession other than money. PG's lifelong obsession was track-and-field; and whatever prices he may have paid over the years in its pursuit, in its service, I think now that he was essentially a happy man, a free man.

I last saw him about eight years ago, one morning on Elizabeth St, outside the Ministry of Education. He looked as fit as ever, though he was dapper now rather than imposing, and there was about him a slight air of anxiety which I'd never associated with him before. At the time I was writing this column five days a week, was all caught up in the coming '86 elections, and had gone, in short, as far as I would ever go from the long-lost world of PG and The Mount.

But the things that were once important to us, they never die, they only go into abeyance. And that morning, when PG barked in his old hearty-martial way, 'I see you lashing them every day in the papers, man, Brong! Very good, very good! Keep it up!' I was almost girlishly startled, and – 26 years on! – I felt the sheepish, abashed pleasure of a protégé commended by his mentor.  

Wayne Brown

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Ladislao Kertesz at kertesz11@yahoo.com,
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Photos:
Mount Inside No. 10 page 15
09SC0014REUNIONAJAX, Salvador Coscarart and Leslie D´Ornellas
07EV7457FHICKN, Father Hilderbrand Green and Christopher Knowles
73UN0002CLASS1973???, Need names and CLASS year

Circular No 494

Newsletter for alumni of The Abbey School, Mt. St. Benedict, Trinidad and Tobago, W.I. 

Caracas, 23 April 2011 No.494

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Dear Friends, 

In this Circular I am not including individual letters that you have sent in the last weeks, as this month´s material is long.

It is interesting to keep track of history of the Mount. 

The only part that is not clear to me is the attempt of building the Monastery on the mountain peak, past White Stones. (Would that be MT. TABOR?) 

I still remember seeing the foundations of the building in 1956, of course there remained little and was covered with trees. 

I have the impression that historians confuse the old site with the present one. Can anyone help??? 

Now here are excerpts of the old Circular No.14.

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Dear Friends, 

How did you like last week’s circular No. 13??? Surprised!!! Wait and I am sure you would be surprised at the next writer, to be sent as circular No. 15. 

Now some good news for class 1960. Gabby has spoken to Yuyu on the phone two weeks ago when Louis was in St.Lucia? I have done so myself on the 9^th, when I called his home and was answered in French but thanks to lesson 1 and 2 that we received at the Mount the connection was successful. He was surprised at being called by his nickname and told me about Gabby and informed me that his computer is down but now I am sure he is going to repair it, maybe by now it is ready. 

I have not checked the Web for the news but for those that have not done so by now, I can testify that he is very well and he commented that two years ago he left regular work and is doing what must of us would like to be doing, fishing!! in the balm Caribbean. (with pretty girls all around his boat!!!., lots of Vat 69 or whatever rum they have in Guadeloupe) the parenthesis are my comments. 

Friends remember that I need the e-mail address of your personal MSB friends so that I may send them this Circular.!!!

Also if you would like to find a long lost friend, especially here in Venezuela I would be glad to help. 

Another event that happened at the Mount:

Those in the big boys dorm must remember their rooms, most of us got there in Form IV, and were given the inner rows and when moved to Form V we finally got a window and could control the fresh air??, I had a window on the North side when there was a move to redecorate the cubicle, each of us was asked to choose a colour from a book, I chose mine which was finally painted a pastel brown. I remember that one of the cubicles was red?? But I do not remember whose cubicle it was, except that the room looked to the South. All this happened under Fr. Eugene´s reign (terrorific, please raise a hand those that think it was so)?? 

Here I am continuing the, “who is who”, thanks to Roger Henderson, By the way I lost contact with Nylon two weeks ago. Maybe someone can help?? 

5. Joe Azar is a multi millionaire, currently in Portland Oregon. (baby joe´s sent the information of his whereabouts). Gabby maybe you can call him, there are several Azar´s in Portland, Oregon. 

God Bless 

Ladislao 

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Angelo Bissessarsingh's Virtual Museum of Trinidad and Tobago - A Report on Mt. St. Benedict 

LAZ, 

I don't know who wrote this, but he / she seem to have done a great job of research.

So far as I can tell, this is the most complete / accurate account of the establishment of MSB I've ever seen.

Perhaps you'd like to send this out to the guys.

Nigel 

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Written around 1970. 

THE COCOA ESTATE OF ANTHONY VINCENTE GOMEZ 

Mt. St. Benedict is a national landmark.

In the old days when making a trip to POS was an excursion for us southerners, it was a sort of roadie game to see at what point on the Uriah Butler Highway one could spot the familiar red roofs of the monastery perched high on the verdure of the Northern Range.

Years later when I lived in Santa Margarita in St. Augustine, I would sit on the porch in the evening and listen to the peal of the bells at six.

On one of my many visits to the Mount in the 1990s, a holy brother with whom I was arguing comparative theology told me that he thought I would make a fine priest (the good monk obviously was not a shrewd judge of character). 

THE REST OF THE ACCOUNT IS TAKEN FROM THE ABBEY’S OFFICIAL SITE: 

A suitable place was needed for the venture, not too distant from town or village, yet sufficiently secluded so as to ensure to the monks the fullest possible freedom for the observance of their rule. 

On the morning of January 17, 1912, Feast of St. Anthony the Hermit, the Abbot had said Holy Mass in the Parish Church of St. Joseph, the ancient Capital. 

Returning to the Sacristy, an elderly gentleman of Spanish descent was introduced to him as Mr. Andrew Conrad Gomez.

He was the proprietor of a small estate in the hills above St. Joseph, and insisted very much that the Abbot should come and visit his place.

Not to disappoint the poor old man, Dom Mayuel accepted the invitation. 

Traffic was not heavy on the Eastern Main Road, in 1912, and a half an hour’s pleasant drive brought our visitors to the village of St. John.

There the road came to an end and the buggy was left.

The ascent had to be made on foot.

After a stiff climb, a small hut was reached, occupied by an East Indian. Named Kisto Barcoa, the factotum of the estate.

The hut measured some fifteen feet by nine feet and was built of mud.

It had a thatched roof and the interior was divided into two small compartments.

Beneath the floor there were cocoa drying trays.

The view took the Abbot by storm and conquered him.

Dom Mayuel was impressed by the solitude and solemn stillness of the place.

He was enchanted by its natural beauty, and refreshed by the coolness of the water.

The Abbot had found HIS SITE.

By June 28th 1912 transactions were completed and the property of Mr. Andrew Voctoriano Conrad Gomez passed over to the BENEDICTINES.

On September 27 1912, the first monks departed from Bahia for Trinidad.  

They were:

Reverend Dom Ambrose Vinckier,

Reverend Dom Paul Dobart,

Brother Anthony Feldner.  

The founders of the first Benedictine Monastery in the West Indies and Central America.

They arrived in Trinidad on the morning of October 6th 1912 on the Vauban. 

It was Rosary Sunday and the three Benedictines received a truly Benedictine hospitality from their Dominican hosts.

In a letter of introduction presented to Archbishop Dowling by Dom Ambrose, the mission was called Our Blessed Lady of Exile, situated on Saint Benedict’s Hill.

These titles were officially bestowed upon the new foundation by the Abbot founder. 

Shortly afterwards, however, the name Mount St. Benedict was adopted by the monks on the suggestion of Archbishop Dowling.

Ever since the nineteenth of October 1912, the Benedictine property in the hills above St. Joseph has been known as Mount St. Benedict or simply the Mount. 

Two more monks were to arrive by the end of November and Brother Anthony set out to prepare a little ajoupa for them.

No definitive work was undertaken before the arrival of Brother Joseph Kleinmann and his companion Brother Donatian Marcus, on November 27, 1912.

One room of the ajoupa was arranged as an Oratory and contained a most primitive alter, two carriage lanterns serving as candlesticks.

The other room was the Community’s dormitory.

A large mango tree nearby, served as reception room, kitchen and refectory.

All furniture was of the most primitive kind imaginable: empty packing cases serving as table, chair, bed and cupboard.

Visitors were not wanting; nor were they in anyway deterred by the inaccessibility of the place.

They found their way all right, for at first curiosity brought them there. 

Everyone wanted to see what monks were like, how they could subsist in such miserable surroundings and yet be happy and receive everyone with a smile and a kind word.

The language was still unfamiliar to the missionaries, but a strong mixtures of French, Portuguese and German, together with a smattering of English satisfied all and sundry.

All visitors went away greatly impressed and edified, firm in their resolve to return as soon and as often as possible.

In their kind-heartedness, they brought fowls, eggs, rice, coffee, and even pieces of furniture and kitchen utensils.

The clergy too showed their interest in the new venture.

His Grace had already visited the property previous to the arrival of the monks. 

The Very Reverend Father Henry Vincent Casey, Vicar Provincial of the Dominicans and Editor of the Catholic News kept his readers well informed of all the movements of the monks.

The Holy Ghost Fathers visited the place with the Parish Priest of St. Joseph, Reverend Father James Mc Donnel, C.S.Sp. and Reverend Father Leimann, C.S.Sp. took a photograph of the ajoupa which was afterwards printed on postcards under the caption:

Benedictine Beginnings.  

February 11th 1913 brought reinforcements in the persons of two solemn professed clerics: the brothers U!rich and Fridoline Fromhertz, and Mr. Gustav Frommhertz, an oblate brother postulant.

A third solemn professed cleric, Dom Maurus Varriera de Alancar, a Brazilian, arrived on February 23rd and was accompanied by two postulant lay-brothers: Messers. Adrian van Tongeren and Everard Mokveld (the present Brother Gabriel).

The little community numbered now eleven members and it was time to look for some more accommodation.

A fairly large workshop was built of round wood and galvanized sheets; this was to house the machinery.

An annex was made to serve as an oratory.

This last structure was of the simplest kind. 

The ajoupa, which had rendered such good services, was now promoted to library and classroom for philosophy.

The reporter of Port of Spain Gazette of May 25th 1913 writes: 

“We were taken to the library, a thatched roof ajoupa, where already there is quite a valuable selection of books including St. Thomas Aquinas incomparable works, Janssens works, the Catholic Encyclopaedias and some other leading works of theology and philosophy.

Here, we were formally introduced to three students of the priesthood, who are pursuing their course of studies at the monastery.” 

Together with the last arrivals came also Dom Mayeul on his second visit to Trinidad, which was to last one month.

He returned once more in November 1913.

He indicated the spot where the temporary chapel should be erected, and studied the plans for a better road - a carriage-driven road this time - so as to get easier access to the monastery.

The temporary chapel was completed early in August 1913.

The first mass was said therein on August 10th and on that same day a postulant lay-brother was received into the canonical novitiate under the name of Brother Gabriel. 

November 1st Dom Sebastian Weber and Dom Bertin Behaese joined the little band of workers in Trinidad.

Dom Sebastian had been proposed as assistant to the Parish Priest of Arouca until the latter’s departure for Europe, which was fixed for January 1914, when Dom Sebastian would act in his place.

He took up residence in Arouca and did active parish work for some time, devoting his spare moments to the study of English and Hindustani.

Dom Bertin, an ardent preacher, speaking French and Portuguese fluently, was stationed at the monastery, but his name appeared frequently as the preacher of great sermons in the Rosary Church, where French sermons were then in vogue.

The only arrival during the following year was Brother Raphael Goemare, on the Feast of St. Benedict, March 21st 1914.

The Stations of the Cross were canonically erected by Dom Mayeul on January 18th 1914. 

At the same time, there took place also the solemn enthronement of the life-size statue of Our Holy Father St. Benedict, which is still in our Abbey Church.

It arrived on January 7th by the S.S. Venetia from Hamburg.

In May 1914, the Apostolic Delegate of the Brazilian Congregation the Right Reverend Laurence Zeller, visited the Monastery and suggested the erection of a guest house for pilgrims, who were coming daily to the Mount in greater numbers.

While the contractors were busy building the Guest and Rest Houses, the Brothers were constructing a large refectory and chapter hall running parallel to the Church. 

The year 1915 began with the arrival of two simple-professed clerics: Brothers Willibrord Luiten and Odo van der Heydt. (January 1st.).

Later that same year seven more members came to Trinidad from Bahia.

They were Brother Odilo van Togeren, simple professed and Mr. Robert Boxruth, choir postulant (May 30th); August 10th - Dom Charles Verbeke, Brother Hugh van der Sanden, simple professed, and Mr. Anthony Callaghan, choir postulant.

The last contingent arrived on September 10th bringing Dom Anselm Romano and Brother Wilfred Broens, a simple professed. 

The first house with any pretence of durability was constructed in 1916 and partially finished in 1917.

Upstairs there were thirteen rooms intended for the Brothers.

Downstairs accommodation was provided for workshops such as: a tailoring department, painting shop, bakery and printery.

In consequence of a canonical visit, the new foundation was granted the status of a conventual priory by a receipt of the holy see, march 6th 1915.

It was dedicated to our lady of exile. 

The Right Reverend Mayeul de Caigny, having asked to retire in 1923, the Holy See sent a Visitor Extra-ordinary in the person of the Right Reverend Dom Maurus Etcheverry, O.S.B.

On invitation of the Lord Abbot Primate, the newly appointed Prior, Very Reverend Dom, Hugo van der Sanden went to Rome and during his sojourn in Rome, sought affiliation of his monastery to another Congregation, as communication with Brazil was becoming increasingly difficult.

The Trinidad Community accepted Provisional Affiliation granted them by the Belgian Congregation in May 1925.

Following upon a favourable report of a Canonical Visitor, the Right Reverend Dom Chrysostom de Saegher, who came to Trinidad in 1927, the General Chapter (upon the definitive incorporation of) in December of that year, decided upon the definitive incorporation of the Priory of Mount St. Benedict with the Belgian Congregation.

This decision was fully approved by the Holy See, in December 1928.

At the same time the Trinidad Government granted the community the right of corporation with perpetual succession

In 1947, the Monastery, having made wonderful strides was raised to the dignity of an Abbey.

The monks in conclave, under the presidency of the Right Reverend Lord Abbot Theodore Neve, O.S.B.;D.D.., Head of the Congregation, elected the then Dom Adelbert van Duin, O.S.B.;Ph.D; I.C.D., as first Abbot; he received the abbatial blessing on 16th June 1947 from His Grace the most Reverend Dr. Finbar Ryan, O.P.;D.D.:M.A.;L.L.D. Archbishop of Port of Spain.

This was a memorable day in the history of Mount St. Benedict: that the people of the Island were pleased at this event, was clearly demonstrated by the crowds that arrived to witness the great function and filled the small church to overflowing; all the Chief Catholic Clergy, numerous important personages, and well wishers of all classes; messages of congratulations poured in and many journeyed from distant parts to offer their felicitations in person. 

Dom Placid Ganteaume. the first local vocation for the monastery was ordained in 1926.  

Dom Maurus Maingot, another local, joined the Benedictine Community together with Dom Placid.

Both of these eminent sons have now gone to their eternal reward.

The other early local vocations are Dom Basil Mathews, professed 6th August, 1930, ordained priest 21st December. 1935, and Dom Bapt. Osborne, professed 25th December 1933, ordained priest 27th July, 1939, both of whom are still with us.

At present thirty percent of the Community are locals. 

During the many years from the foundation of the monastery to the present day, there has hardly ever been a lull in the building and other activities, first, under the wise direction of Dom Mayeul de Caigny and, later that of Dom Hugh van der Sanden, to whose perspicacity and driving force, supported by the able advice of his Council, was due a succession of important developments.  

We are fortunate to have as Architect and Builder one of our own monks, Brother Gabriel Mokveld, who meticulously carried out the plans and personally superintended all building, including the building of the present Abbey.

The first public act of the newly elected Abbot was the laying of the foundation stone on 11th July 1947.

The new Abbey Church and the greater part of the present living quarters of the monks were completed in 1952.

The guestrooms of the monastery were constructed in 1954, and the first Rest House, by now inadequate to meet the needs of the increasing number of pilgrims, was replaced by the present structure in the same year. 

In 1961 the kitchen and refectory of the Abbey School, along with the library and auditorium were built by Bro. Gabriel, who is also responsible for building the Holy Shop and pilgrim’s parlours, which now constitute the south-eastern wing of the Abbey, completed in 1963.

The building of the tower, made possible through the generosity of a benefactor, was begun in 1964, and is to be capped off soon.

The road, which was fast deteriorating, was resurfaced in 1965, thus making it possible for everyone to enjoy a comfortable drive to and from the Mount. 

Visitors and old-boys who still remember the pre-1967 sports field notice at once the difference in the much bigger field on which the junior boys now have a section all for themselves and which should be an incentive for them to take a greater interest in sports, including swimming at the Abbey pool, lawn tennis, basket and volley ball. 

St. Bedes Technical School, opened in January 1967, completed the Mounts building project for the 1960s.

The early seventies have so far been taken up with general repairs and maintenance of the huge complex of buildings that go to make up MOUNT ST. BENEDICT  

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From what you have read, no news from the ALUMNI, sorry for this. 

Ladislao Kertesz at kertesz11@yahoo.com,

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Photos:

Mount Inside No. 10 page 14

60VH0001JBA, Jerry Bain with his racket.

60UN0001CLASS1960, Latest correction.

HUMMINGBIRDSILVER, Medal given to P.G.Wilson