Literary Education

It was seen in the last chapter how we provided for the physical training on Tolstoy Farm, and incidentally for the vocational. Though this was hardly done in a way to satisfy me, it may be claimed to have been more or less successful.

The last chapter showed how we provided physical training at Tolstoy Farm and, along the way, vocational training. Although the training hardly satisfied me, it may be said to have been more or less successful.

Literary training, however, was a more difficult matter. I had neither the necessary resources, nor the literary equipment, besides which I had not the time I would have wished to devote to the subject. The physical work that I was doing used to leave me thoroughly exhausted at the end of the day, and I used to have the classes just when I was most in need of some rest. Instead, therefore, of my being fresh for the class, I could with the greatest difficulty keep myself awake. The mornings had to be devoted to work on the farm and domestic duties, so the school hours had to be kept after the midday meal. There was no other time suitable for the school.

Teaching academic subjects, however, was more difficult. I lacked both the necessary resources and the literary skills. I also did not have as much time as I wanted to devote to the subject. My physical work left me completely exhausted at the end of the day. I had to teach the classes just when I most needed rest. So, instead of being alert for class, I could barely keep myself awake. Mornings had to be devoted to farm work and household duties, so classes had to be held after the midday meal. There was no other suitable time for school.

We gave three periods at the most to literary training. Hindi, Tamil, Gujarati and Urdu were all taught and tuition was given through the vernaculars of the boys. English was taught as well. It was also necessary to acquaint the Gujarati Hindu children with a little Sanskrit, and to teach all the children elementary history, geography and arithmetic.

We spent at most three class periods on literary education. We taught Hindi, Tamil, Gujarati and Urdu, using the boys’ native languages for instruction. We also taught English. The Gujarati Hindu children needed to learn a little Sanskrit, and all the children needed basic lessons in history, geography and arithmetic.

I had undertaken to teach Tamil and Urdu. The little Tamil I knew was acquired during voyages and in jail. I had not got beyond Pope’s excellent Tamil handbook. My knowledge of the Urdu script was all that I had acquired on a single voyage, and my knowledge of the language was confined to the familiar Persian and Arabic words that I had learnt from contact with Musalman friends. Of Sanskrit I knew no more than I had learnt at the High School, even my Gujarati was no better than that which one acquires at the school.

I had taken on the task of teaching Tamil and Urdu. I had learned the little Tamil I knew during voyages and in jail. I had not gone beyond Pope’s excellent Tamil handbook. All I knew of the Urdu script was what I had learned on a single voyage. My knowledge of the language was limited to familiar Persian and Arabic words I had learned from Musalman friends. I knew no more Sanskrit than I had learned in high school. Even my Gujarati was no better than what one learns at school.

Such was the capital with which I had to carry on. In poverty of literary equipment my colleagues went one better than I. But my love for the vernaculars of my country, my confidence in my capacity as a teacher, as also the ignorance of my pupils, and more than that, their generosity, stood me in good stead.

These were the resources I had to work with. My colleagues had even less literary training than I did. But my love for my country’s languages and my confidence in my ability to teach helped me. So did my pupils’ ignorance and, even more, their generosity.

The Tamil boys were all born in South Africa, and therefore knew very little Tamil, and did not know the script at all. So I had to teach them the script and the rudiments of grammar. That was easy enough. My pupils knew that they could any day beat me in Tamil conversation, and when Tamilians, not knowing English, came to see me, they became my interpreters. I got along merrily, because I never attempted to disguise my ignorance from my pupils. In all respects I showed myself to them exactly as I really was. Therefore in spite of my colossal ignorance of the language I never lost their love and respect. It was comparatively easier to teach the Musalman boys Urdu. They knew the script. I had simply to stimulate in them an interest in reading and to improve their handwriting.

The Tamil boys were all born in South Africa, so they knew very little Tamil. They could not read or write its script at all. So I had to teach them the script and the basics of grammar. That was easy enough. My pupils knew they could beat me at Tamil conversation any day. When Tamil speakers who did not know English came to see me, the boys acted as my interpreters. We got along happily because I never tried to hide my ignorance from my pupils. In every way, I showed them exactly who I was. So, despite my enormous ignorance of the language, I never lost their love and respect. It was comparatively easier to teach the Muslim boys Urdu. They knew the script. I only had to encourage their interest in reading and help them improve their handwriting.

These youngsters were for the most part unlettered and unschooled. But I found in the course of my work that I had very little to teach them, beyond weaning them from their laziness, and supervising their studies. As I was content with this, I could pull on with boys of different ages, and learning different subjects, in one and the same class room.

Most of these young people could not read or write and had not attended school. But in my work, I found I had little to teach them. I only needed to help them overcome their laziness and supervise their studies. Since I was content with this, I could manage boys of different ages and studying different subjects in the same classroom.

Of text-books, about which we hear so much, I never felt the want. I do not even remember having made much use of the books that were available. I did not find it at all necessary to load the boys with quantities of books. I have always felt that the true text-book for the pupil is his teacher. I remember very little that my teachers taught me from books, but I have even now a clear recollection of the things they taught me independently of books.

I never felt the need for textbooks, though we hear so much about them. I do not even remember using the books that were available very much. I saw no need to burden the boys with lots of books. I have always felt that the teacher is the pupil’s true textbook. I remember very little of what my teachers taught me from books. But even now, I clearly remember what they taught me without books.

Children take in much more and with less labour through their ears than through their eyes. I do not remember having read any book from cover to cover with my boys. But I gave them, in my own language, all that I had digested from my reading of various books, and I daresay they are still carrying a recollection of it in their minds. It was laborious for them to remember what they learnt from books, but what I imparted to them by word of mouth they could repeat with the greatest ease. Reading was a task for them, but listening to me was a pleasure, when I did not bore them by failing to make my subject interesting. And from the questions that my talks prompted them to make I had a measure of their power of understanding.

Children learn much more by listening than by reading, and with less effort. I do not remember reading any book from cover to cover with my boys. But I shared with them, in my own words, everything I had absorbed from reading various books. I believe they still remember it. Remembering what they learned from books took effort. But they could easily repeat what I told them. Reading was a chore for them, but listening to me was a pleasure, unless I bored them by making the subject uninteresting. The questions my talks prompted also showed me how well they understood.