Sydney “Foggy” Burrowes Taught Us French

Sydney “Foggy” Burrowes

On my first day at KC I noticed that French was on the time table and wondered why. Surely, I would never go to France or to anywhere else where French was spoken so why bother to waste our time. It so happened that Foggy Burrowes was the French teacher. My first thought was that he was an unlikely character to teach French. I soon realized that he was going to teach us much more than French. In fact, by the end of the first month I knew much more about the history of KC than I knew French.

It seemed to us that Foggy knew all that there was to know about KC. We even guessed that he knew the names of all forty nine boys who attended KC on that historic day in April 1925. When it came to sports and to the athletic achievements of KC boys his knowledge was encyclopaedic. He told us anecdotes upon anecdotes, stories upon stories about KC boys. He knew all the greats and their achievements. He knew Collie Smith, Easton McMorris, DB Beckford, Lennox Miller, Richard Russell and Paul Nash, legends all. He not only knew them and could quote their stats but he also knew little personal stories about them.

One of his favourite anecdotes was about one eventful Boys Champs when the “Pretty bwoy” (his words) who was anchoring KC’s four by four or medley relay team stopped in the middle of the race to pick up his handkerchief which had fallen to the ground with the disastrous result that three or four other boys ran past him as KC lost the race and the Championship. Based on Foggy’s vivid recollection of the event I was sure that he never spoke to that athlete again.

When the French classes actually began I was one of those who felt the full wrath of Foggy’s stick. One day he called me up to his desk. “Lazarus, come fourth!” he thundered. He asked me if I had studied the French vocabulary which he had set as home- work after the previous class. I told him that I did but he apparently did not believe me. “What’s cheese in French,” he asked. “Fromage,” I responded confidently. “Yes, but is it le fromage or la fromage?” he asked. I had no idea, because up to that time I had not yet grasped the importance of le versus la in the French language. How could a word like cheese have a gender? “La fromage,” I whispered. Wham! He stomped me with his stick on my right instep. Thanks to my newly acquired Bata shoes I hardly felt it but instinctively I looked down to see if there was any external damage to the shoes. That was when he caught me with the right uppercut to my chin. “It’s le fromage, not la fromage,” he corrected. “And never look down.”

Other boys went up trembling and in morbid fear. A few got the stick to the knee cap while others got it to the shin. Despite the obvious pain that some boys were in no one dared to cry. To cry in front of thirty five boys was to be branded a sissy or a girl child, epithets that would stick like glue to any unfortunate soul who shed even a solitary tear.   

Most French classes began with a little history of KC or with a challenge for us to do something for KC. It was as if Foggy’s mantra was, “Ask not what KC can do for you but rather what you can do for KC.”  So it was that one day he asked us if there were any swimmers in the class. About six boys put up their hands. Patrick Chang was one of the six. Unknown to us, and to Foggy, young Chang was really a fish dressed as a boy. (He went on to lead KC to four consecutive championships and was the most dominant school boy swimmer of the day) Foggy explained that he wanted to build a swimming team so that KC could win swimming for the next five years or so. The swimmers were invited to training at the Stadium Pool on Saturdays and non swimmers were also invited to a learn to swim class. I went not because I could swim (I couldn’t) but because it was a chance to get out of my house on a Saturday morning by telling my parents that I was going to try out for the swimming team. After about five lessons I quit because I, and probably the coach, soon realized that it would take about five years to teach me to swim.

Foggy taught us French, history of KC and more. He taught us to love KC. Despite his teachings we felt that no one could ever love KC as he did. Foggy had that fire in the belly, that absolute passion, that je ne sais quoi. In addition, he was a great motivator, and mentor and an inspiration to many of us.

Years after leaving KC I had reason to visit France and Haiti and other countries where French is spoken. It was only then that I came to realize why French was on the time- table in first form and why Foggy was adamant that I should know that the French word for cheese was le fromage and not la fromage. And of course thirty years ago I would never have predicted that one day I would be living in bi-lingual Canada where I could claim a premium on my salary, if only I knew French!  

by Dr. Cedric Lazarus

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