The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
With the passing of Carlton I Bruce, the Kingston College family has lost one of its stalwarts. Indeed, it would not be an overstatement to say that Jamaica has lost one of its greats.
Patrick Dallas
Mr. Bruce was not only an excellent teacher, but he was also an administrator extraordinaire and a first-class disciplinarian. In administration he employed his skills in delicately managing scare resources in an environment where there was always the added pressure wrought by the demands of contending and conflicting demands. As a disciplinarian, he believed in swift and appropriate punishment to dissuade against repeated transgressions of the laws, and certainly subscribed to the school of thought that one should not spare the rod and spoil the child. I will return to this later…
While Mr. Bruce’s disposition to discipline may the subject of much controversial debate – especially in today’s world which is so much different from that which existed only 30 years ago – what is not debatable is that Carlton I Bruce was responsible for guiding and shaping the development of several generations of Kingston College gentlemen.
I first met Mr. Bruce when I entered Kingston College on the 6th of September, 1969, fresh from Aberdeen, St. Elizabeth, and still inflicting bruises all over my arm from pinching myself to confirm that I was not just lost in reverie, but that I had actually made it to KC and had, thus, become one of the chosen few. That first morning assembly in the old Melbourne pavilion – like many others – was presided over by the colossus who introduced himself as Mr. Bruce and our principal for the next two years – at least, for most of us, he noted, as he pontificated on the maxim of only the fittest surviving.
If you were well-behaved for most parts, then morning assembly would be the place that you encountered Mr. Bruce most often. If you were not so well-behaved then you would also have encounters where you are facing him, cane in hand. Needless to say, I fitted into the former category, and I can still remember Mr. Bruce taking charge and leading morning worship. No doubt he had great confidence in his singing, and I can still hear the strains of “Immortal, invisible, God only wise…” being bellowed out by CI Bruce. He was lord of all he surveyed, and I can still picture him laying down the law against a backdrop of a chimerical burning bush, while he explained why as Kingston College students we were a rare and superior breed. He understood realities of life, and even now, I can remember him telling us, “Boys will be boys, but the use of a weapon of any sort will be instant expulsion!”
Mr. Bruce, however, became my special friend. When he learnt that the financial situation at home could not guarantee me a lunch every day, he took me to the canteen supervisor, Miss Joseph, and instructed her in his inimitable no-nonsense way that she should ensure that I get a hot lunch every day. And he did more than that. He became a mentor, and determined that he would play a role in ensuring that I became the best I could. In this regard, I quickly, and at my own volition, plead mea culpa. Any dissonance between what Mr. Bruce thought possible and what I have actually achieved is entirely my fault and I exonerate him of any blame.
A poll of most of the gentlemen (and others) from my era will no doubt indicate an incredible uniformity in our opinion of our most enduring memory of Mr. C.I. Bruce as our principal at the Melbourne campus, in the days when we only had First and Second Forms there. And the winner is… No, wait a minute; that is a whole story in itself.
It was a normal school day, and the bell had gone to signal the end of the lunch break and the re-start of classes. For several budding Manning Cup stars and a host of pretenders, however, the bell was merely a necessary annoyance reminding them that they were still in a school environment. Indeed, these players arrogated unto themselves the right to decide on time added on (for interruptions due to the odd fight and scuffle), and were, presumably, exactly in this period of play when an indignant Mr. Bruce, nose flaring from an attack of incredulity, appeared at the edge of the field. With his customary rapid and expansive clapping of his hands, he signaled his presence, his disapproval and his disbelief of what he was witnessing, all at once. On noticing the arrival and demenour of the reluctant spectator, a chorus went up like a Mexican wave around Melbourne Park, warning “Bruce ah come, Bruce ah come!” Meanwhile, the on-field pursuit had quickly metamorphosed into a sprinting match embracing all the cardinal points, with a few inventions to boot.
The rapid escape from his clutches and the sheer numbers simply overwhelmed Mr. Bruce, who then sought to ascertain the names of the boys who were on the playing field as well as those who had the temerity to address him in such a manner devoid of the respect he deserved.
Although this was long before the cynical dictum of “informa fi dead” had bore its insidious way through to entrenchment into Jamaican society and taken its sinister stranglehold on our culture, it was still always going to be unlikely that Mr. Bruce would succeed in soliciting the names of the transgressors in this manner. I am sure he knew this too, and, not surprisingly, had also secreted a Plan B up his sleeve.
Suffice to say, there were no surprises. Everyone knows that volunteerism has its limits, and on that fateful day there were no volunteers to aid Mr. Bruce. Omertà held firm, and Mr. Bruce was not furnished even a single name. And so he moved with alacrity to enact Plan B, code-named “Shock and Awe!”. As Mr. Carlton Bruce took it upon himself to give us a practical lesson in collective responsibility, he proceeded to mete out corporal punishment to the entire lower school!
The fact that this one-man army could sustain his assault across all First and Second Forms is indeed testimony to his determination and stamina. We were in Form 2A at the time, and we all considered it an easy wager that the First Form Campaign would take its toll and render Hurricane Bruce a spent force by the time it crossed the narrow strip of land to get over to the Second Form block. How wrong we were! And therein Bruce - oops! I really meant, Mr. Bruce – taught us yet another lesson: all wagers carry a risk; avoid gambling.
As nearly everyone learnt that day, Mr. Bruce was quite fit; and did he rain down the strokes of the cane! When it came to my turn, Mr. Bruce merely touched me twice in my palm with the cane, noting aloud “Dallas, I know you are a gentleman and I am sure you were not one of those misbehaving, but unfortunately, you have found yourself among hooligans, so you will have to be punished with them.”
I daresay, Mr. Bruce, was spot on in his characterization of both me and my classmates. I am sure, too, that he thought he was doing me a favour by not caning me in the same manner he had struck out on the “hooligans”. That, however, turned out to be one favour I could have done without. Mr. Bruce had hardly left our classroom to turn his attention to our colleagues in 2B – where it was rumoured that the entire class had already battened down with layers of newspapers stuffed in their trousers - before I was being labeled “Bruce Baby” (read Bruce’s baby). And, even now, those erstwhile hooligans have made sure that I never forget the moment when Mr. Bruce had spared the rod.
To my former classmates in 2A who are still not gentlemen, I humbly submit that you cannot lay the blame at Mr. Bruce’s feet. He did try. He taught us how to help ourselves. He taught us how to help each other. He taught us how to survive. His end goal was always to shape us into gentlemen, who would take up leadership roles in forging a better Jamaica as our legacy for the generations to follow.
Thank you, Mr. Bruce. I wouldn’t be the same person without you.
As I look back on the life of Carlton Bruce, I wish not to mourn his passing, but to celebrate his life as my teacher and mentor. If teachers are architects of the mind, then Carlton Bruce stands out as a master designer with a rich portfolio.
Thank you, Mr. Bruce. We honour your lifetime of service to shaping young minds. We honour your wisdom in planting saplings in fertile hearts that will bear fruit for years to come. We honour your dedication to Kingston College and Jamaica. Your spirit lives on!
Au revoir, mon ami.
Requiescas in pace, Magister.
Fortis forever!
