THE CHILDREN.
The lives of the children of the East are surrounded by a number of
time-honoured rites and ceremonies of an imposing but superstitious
character. The infant is a priceless gift from the beneficent
gods, and its life must be ordered in accordance with the curious
superstitions invented of old by the legendary deities of its
forefathers. The infant is at once a source of pride, for it is a
mark of heavenly favour, and of hope, for it shall, if good luck
befall it, hand down its father's name unto another and a later
generation. Whatever ritual has been devised aforetime as tending to
bring long life and prosperity unto the new-born child, must therefore
be observed with great pomp and careful attention to minute but
important details. And lastly, the Oriental child causes its parent
to reveal certain features in his character that otherwise lie hidden
and unobserved. The fiercest Hindoo is the most tender-hearted of men
when his little loved one lies sick; the fat, stolid, wooden-headed
Chinaman becomes a lively youngster himself as he tosses his crowing
chuckling babe aloft; and the genial, gentle Siamese is never so
winning as when caressing the hope of his house. Siamese children
exhibit in their earlier days the best qualities of their race to a
very high degree.
The Hindoos instituted ten "samskâras" or rites, the due performance
of which, was supposed to ensure to the child freedom from all
evil influences. Now the original Siamese as they travelled south
from the slopes of the Tibetan mountains, came into contact with
the Hindoo civilisation and religion, and adopted therefrom their
religious beliefs and many of their social customs. Owing to the
absence of reliable written historic records in Siam itself, the mass
of the people have long since forgotten where and how most of their
ceremonial practices originated, but the learned amongst them have
little difficulty in pointing out both their primary source and their
latter-day modifications. The ten auspicious rites that encompassed
the life of the Hindoo child, began with its birth, and ended with
one imposing pageant more important and far-reaching in its effects
than any of the nine that had preceded it, and marking very definitely
the end of the period of childhood. One month after birth occurred
the ceremony of shaving the first few hairs of the new-born, and
about the same time, a rite somewhat similar to that of christening
was observed, when the child received its first but temporary name.
These two ceremonies still exist in Siam, but six of the original ones
have disappeared. Amongst those that have thus been lost are the rite
of ear-boring, which occurred about the third year and which still
survives amongst the Laos and the Burmese; the rite of training the
child to eat rice; the rite of teaching the first footsteps; the
rite of speaking the first words; the rite of first putting on the
loin-cloth; the rite of taking the first lessons in swimming, which
was reserved for princesses; and lastly, the rites of shaving the
top-knot and the subsequent investiture of the sacred thread, which
form the final links in the chain of ceremonial practices devoted to
the little ones.
It is obviously impossible therefore to pretend to give any adequate
account of the people of this land, without first treating of the
life and character of her children, on whose behalf the favour of the
spirits of good are so frequently and carefully besought by their
anxious parents. Considering the number of ritualistic observances
that have occurred through successive generations, with the object
of obtaining for the young the good-will of the angels, it might
reasonably be supposed that if the numerous prayers had been in any
way effective, by this time the present generation of children should
be enjoying untold benefits, and should be leading lives far superior
in their freedom from ordinary mishap or pain, to those of children
not similarly descended. It would puzzle any observer, however, to
discover in what way they are more tenderly cared for by the celestial
dispensers of desirable things, than are other children. They cannot
be described as differing in any very essential particulars from their
little brothers and sisters in other lands. It is true that they have
not the keen perception of truth, the chivalrous sentiment of honour,
or the dogged industry which are common to some extent to most
European children; but they have a respect for the aged, for their
parents, and for all those set in authority over them that might well
be copied by the democratic children of the West. In their behaviour
towards their parents and their priests they stand as excellent
exemplars of reverence and obedience.
The respectful manner they adopt in their dealings with all who may
be presumed to control them, renders the work of any teacher in Siam
a moderately light one. Insubordination or impertinence is unheard
of. The oft-debated question of corporal punishment is here solved
by the character of the children themselves. Schools can be managed
without canes, hard words, or severe punishment of any description.
Discipline, the first and chief goal that the European teacher strives
to obtain, is here produced by merely wishing for it. The term
"kroo" or "teacher" is a title that commands respect from parents
and scholars alike, and they invariably use it in addressing him
on all occasions and in all places whether public or private. The
only teachers for years were the priests, even as the majority are
to-day, and it seems as though in transferring the office of pedagogue
from priest to layman, they have transferred also a portion of that
atmosphere of reverence that is ever associated with the priesthood.
The Siamese in this respect may be said to have reached a higher level
than their whiter brethren, inasmuch as they recognise in an outward
and visible manner, that the teacher of religion and the instructor of
the young are both engaged in the same grand work of mental and moral
progress.
Siamese children, especially the little girls, are exceedingly pretty,
rivalling, if not excelling, all the other beauties of the East, Japan
included. They are very merry, continually contented, easily pleased
and most unselfish in their dealings with one another. Their almost
absolute lack of selfishness is one of the most pleasing features in
their very lovable characters. The boys at school lend their property
to their fellow-scholars with the greatest readiness. Watches, knives,
pencils, and other schoolboy treasures circulate sometimes to such an
extent that one is inclined to fancy they must be common property;
and, greatest test of pure good-nature, they even lend their bicycles
to each other.
They are, however, early tainted with the national vices, vices that
flourish more particularly in hot climates and luxurious soils. It
will be wise, however, to make no attempt to describe these more
mature characters until some one can lay down a code of moral virtue
which shall be absolutely applicable to all people at all times. It
will be safer to consider only the younger children at a time of life
preceding the period when sensual enjoyments begin to enchain both
mind and body.
Upon the birth of the child, a big fire is made by the side of the
mother, who at this time forsakes her bed and lies on a long narrow
flat board. A fruit supposed to possess protective properties is
scattered round or under the house, and a cord is twined round the
exterior of the dwelling, which has been blessed by the priests and
which also serves the same purpose of keeping off those evil spirits
who would otherwise enter and carry away the life of the child. The
interior of the room is like a furnace, and it is to be feared that
under these conditions, the evil spirits that haunt the sites of
defective ventilation do only too often accomplish their fatal object.
For three days, several old women attend the mother and make offerings
to the powers whose influence is beneficial. This they do by making
three balls of rice and then throwing them in three lucky directions.
It is said that every new-born babe bears as its first name the word
"Dang", which means "red". If this be so, then the mother or nurse
speedily turns her attention to the best means of rendering the term
singularly inaccurate, for instead of allowing the child to retain
its original and natural colour, she immediately rubs it all over
with a yellow paste whose chief constituent is turmeric powder. The
baby presently appears as if it were suffering from a very severe
and expansive attack of jaundice. This process of 'yellowing' is
popularly supposed to keep away mosquitoes. It is not confined to red
babies, but cats and dogs may often be seen who have received the same
treatment. It is a common sight to see a couple of toddling yellow
children engaged in teasing or amusing an equally yellow specimen of
the canine or feline family.
For several years no clothes are worn, so that their health is never
injured or their comfort marred by unsanitary garments. They are
frequently adorned with massive gold or silver bracelets and anklets,
and wear a little silver shield fastened in front of the body by a
string of beads passed round the loins. The shield is merely an
ornament and plays no indispensable part in their metallic apparel,
for when it is once lost, it is seldom replaced, though the string of
beads may persist for some months afterwards. The amount of wealth
possessed by the poor in the shape of ornaments must be enormous, for
almost every child bears somewhere on its body a heavy piece of gold
or silver.
Until the child can walk it passes its life under the same system of
treatment usually accorded to human beings at this tender age. It is
nursed and petted by its mother, talked to, made a fuss of, presented
to uninterested visitors, and generally tormented by the same excess
of demonstrative affection which mothers of every colour lavish upon
their own offspring. At a very early stage in its existence it is
transferred with solemn ceremony from the wicker basket in which it
has lain since its birth to a cradle peculiar to Siam. The cradle
consists of a strong oblong rectangular frame-work at the top and a
flat narrow board at the bottom. The two are connected round the four
sides by a network made of strong twine. It is suspended from the
rafters of the roof by four strong cords. It is swung, not rocked,
and the mother or sister of the babe will sit tailor-fashion on the
floor for hours at a time contentedly chewing betel-nut, or chanting
monotonous Siamese Gregorians in a low plaintive tone, at the same
time swinging the cradle gently to and fro by a long rope. When the
baby is taken for an airing it is carried by some female member of the
household, who places it on her hip and supports it with one arm.
This method of carrying the child is said to be a healthy one for the
baby, but it must be a fairly unhealthy one for the nurse, who has
always to walk at an angle with the ground, suggesting the appearance
of the Tower of Pisa, while the baby is wedged, cross-legged, between
the firm pressure of the supporting arm and the bended body.
Passing over the period which elapses between lying in the cradle
and learning to walk, we next find these little Eastern street-arabs
following their own sweet wills in the roads and alleys or on the
canals of their native town or village. They are perfectly free
and independent, and are given up to the educative influence of
Nature in a way that would have satisfied Rousseau himself. The boys
still remain unclothed; they scamper along the roads, driving young
bullocks; sit on the backs of tame buffaloes as they plough the rice
fields; steal bananas; climb trees for cocoa-nuts; smoke enormous
cigarettes; paddle their own canoes; never bother their heads about
getting home in time for meals; lie down in shady places to rest;
never read books; do not know the inside of a school, and spend the
whole day according to their own ideas of amusement. If they want to
play, they play; if they desire to sleep, they have but to lie down
in the first convenient spot, when they attain the desired condition
with a rapidity that is to be greatly envied. Gloves, ties, collars,
neat pockets, untorn coats, unsplit boots and other abominations never
cause the Siamese boy a moment's anxiety. If he wears any hat at all,
it is a nice light roomy sort of structure discarded by its original
owner several years before, and in such a condition of decay, that an
occasional fall into the water or mud does not affect either its value
or its usefulness.
At a later date he begins to wear clothes. He dresses like his sister,
wearing a cool airy garment consisting of a single long strip of cloth
of some bright colour, fastened round the waist and draped about
the legs. It hangs loosely about the knees and resembles a pair of
knickerbockers. There are no buttons, tapes, pins, or suspenders, and
he requires little training in the art of fixing his single garment so
that it will remain permanently in the required position. He wears no
shoes or stockings, the use of such luxuries being restricted to the
upper classes. The upper half of the body is left bare, except when,
in accordance with a fashion of very recent date, a white linen jacket
is worn. All girls wear either this jacket or else a coloured scarf
wrapped tightly round the breast. The smarter ones wear both scarf and
jacket, but amongst the lower classes, the majority of the women leave
their bodies uncovered above the waist after the birth of the first
child. All ranks of society are passionately fond of finery, and adorn
themselves as well as they can possibly afford. The native rings are
set with native stones, but the workmanship is very rude. When money
is not available for the purchase of jewellery, flowers are obtained.
As their clothes possess no collars with button-holes in which the
floral decorations can be placed, they stick them behind the ear.
A day's life with one of these children is spent after the following
fashion. He rises at early dawn and goes at once to the nearest water
to bathe. He has no acquaintance with soap, but pours abundant water
over himself with basin or bucket. The refreshing operation finishes
with a plunge in the stream, after which he either lies down, or runs
about till he is dry. A breakfast of rice, salt fish, and fruit, eaten
from brass or earthenware dishes, with his fingers, is the prelude
to the day's enjoyment. He next devotes all his energies to getting
through the day. He accomplishes the task set before him by alternate
intervals of sleep or play. He is a faithful disciple of Isaac Walton.
A bit of stick and a fibre of rattan are sufficient tackle with which
to capture a few fish out of the thousands that swarm in the waters.
At low tide, when many of the canals are mere valleys of mud, a whole
tribe of children descend into the slimy deposit, and push coarse
sieves into the mud in the attempt to catch prawns. The captured
creatures are placed in stone jars. When weary of the sport, or when
the jar is filled with prawns, they vary the nature of their amusement
by pelting each other with mud. It is simply snow-balling transformed.
They stand about in the slippery mess, and make little pellets of soft
mud. These they fling at each other with an aim remarkable for its
invariable accuracy. When sufficiently tired and dirty they get away
to the nearest water, take a turn or two, and then come up to dry.
They delight in witnessing extreme activity in other creatures. A
cock fight or a general battle amongst the pariah dogs is a source of
great amusement. At night they search for crickets. When they have
collected a large number they place them, two at a time, in small jars
made of mud and baked hard in the sun; the two crickets are urged to
engage in warfare by the skilful application of small pointed pieces
of wood. The battle which ensues evokes their hearty appreciation.
They catch fighting fish, feed them with mosquito larvæ, and then
train them to fight. After a proper course of training the fish become
extremely pugnacious, and will even make fierce attacks upon their own
images as seen in a looking-glass placed by the side of the bottle
in which they are imprisoned. As a general rule, Siamese youths are
keen spectators of anything of a combative character. And yet amongst
themselves they are extremely peaceful and unquarrelsome. Supposing
them all to be sent to school, it may be safely predicted that there
would be fewer fights in a whole generation of scholars than an
English school knows in a year.
Uncoloured pictures have no charm for them, for an ordinary drawing
in black and white is utterly incomprehensible to them. All native
drawings, with their strange disregard of the laws of perspective,
are executed in colours. They do not instantly recognise photographs
of the streets and buildings with whose appearance they are
perfectly familiar, and they will as often as not view them upside
down. The power to appreciate black and white is, however, merely
dormant, as is shown by the fact that the few children who attend
the Anglo-Vernacular schools speedily learn to take an intelligent
interest in the drawings and reproductions of photographs published in
the English illustrated papers.
They are very clever in the art of making bouquets and weaving
garlands of flowers. On festive occasions, the houses are festooned
from end to end with long rope-like strands of small blossoms fastened
together with wonderful skill.
On every head a little tuft of hair is allowed to grow in the centre
of a shaven crown. This is removed at a certain period, with an
imposing and important ritual.
They make excellent scholars, for they are very bright and
intelligent. Only a mere handful of the population attend any
school regularly, but all those who hope to obtain any Government
employment must at least learn to read and write. Those that do
attend the schools learn to draw accurately and neatly after very
little practice. They need no teaching with regard to modelling in
clay, their representations of elephants in particular being beyond
criticism. All ordinary school subjects are rapidly acquired by
them, and they are adepts in the acquisition of a foreign language.
They learn to read, write, and speak English in the Anglo-Vernacular
schools in about three years, with great ease and fluency. Many boys
will speak in English concerning the common events of their daily
lives after a few months' tuition. They are helped in this matter by
their wonderfully retentive memories which enable them to remember a
large number of words and idioms.
There is no "esprit de corps" in any school, unless it is cultivated
by the master in charge. It can be easily developed up to a certain
point for just the same reason that the adoption can be ensured of
certain rules and maxims in the schoolboy's code of honour, not so
much on account of the intrinsic value of the maxim or the rule
itself, as because it has been put before them as a European custom.
It is therefore to be imitated if they wish to appear "up to date."
In speaking to their teachers, no matter what their relative ranks
in life may be, they invariably use that form of the pronoun "I"
which signifies that they consider themselves as occupying a lower
position than the person spoken to. They abhor long holidays, but like
to take odd days by fits and starts whenever they feel so inclined.
Unpunctuality is a common fault unless firmly opposed. Cricket and
football have been introduced at one of the schools and have become
fairly popular, but the climate is really too hot for such vigorous
forms of athletic activity ever to flourish except amongst a few
enthusiasts.
Inquisitiveness is politeness, and it is rather bewildering to the
English teacher new to his work, especially when he is constantly
questioned as to his age, the price of his watch, the amount of
his salary, or the date when he last had his hair cut. The school
satchel does not seem to have become popular, most scholars carrying
their belongings tied up in a Manchester-made handkerchief. Boys
of the higher classes are attended by their servants, who carry
these articles for them, and at times, even carry the owners also.
In the intervals of playtime they smoke. Each boy carries his own
tobacco-pouch, matches, and tobacco, and is an adept at rolling
cigarettes. They are thoroughly unselfish as regards the disposal of
their smoking material, and a cigarette will be circulated amongst a
group of friends, each one taking a whiff or two and then handing it
on to his neighbour. If the weed is unfinished when the school bell
rings, they calmly extinguish it, stick it behind the ear, penholder
fashion, and return to class.
They are affectionate, cheerful, respectful, delightful fellows to
play with or work with, and offering to the observant master many
interesting examples of the gradual development of mind and character
under a rational system of teaching.
[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD.]
In a land where superstitious practices abound, the children are
sure to have more than an ordinary belief in goblins and ghosts.
The belief in divers supernatural beings of evil or good intent is
powerfully implanted in every adult mind. In the case of the children
every natural phenomenon, every event of their lives is to them under
the control of some invisible spirit. They have a profound belief in
their marvellous fairy tales, and many of them never grow out of this
extreme condition of credibility during the whole of their existence.
They cling to their mystic interpretations of natural phenomena, with
such force, that in the schools that have been recently founded, the
attempts to teach the elements of natural science have been made
under rather disheartening circumstances. The children are perfectly
certain that thunder is exactly what their name for it denotes, "the
sky crying." There is a horrible giant of great strength and furious
temper who leads a very quarrelsome life with a cantankerous wife, and
when he grumbles and growls at her various iniquities, the echo of
his voice comes in cries from the sky. When in fits of violent anger
he hurls his ponderous hatchet at his spouse, it strikes the floor of
heaven, and a thunderbolt falls. When the broad flashes of lightning
play at hide-and-seek amongst the dense black masses of cloud during
the wet months of the rainy season, they say a woman is flashing a
mirror in the air, or according to another interpretation, the angels
are amusing themselves by striking fire with bricks. The falling stars
are produced when frolicsome spirits in their sportive moods pitch
torches at each other. When the giant crab comes up out of his hole in
the deep parts of the sea, he bears up the waters on his back, and the
tide flows; when he retires again, it ebbs. Sometimes the angels in
heaven all take it into their heads to have a bath at the same time,
and as a consequence they splash the water over the sides of the bath,
and the rain falls. Another theory states, however, that the rain is
caused by a huge fish a thousand miles long, who with his mighty tail
furiously lashes the waters of the deep. The most poetical of all
these superstitions is that which ascribes the origin of the winds to
the voices of the babies who have departed this life.
Not only children, but thousands of the grown-up men and women hold
firmly to these beliefs in spite of all the scientific explanations
that are given to them. Quite recently a debate was held at the
Bangkok Literary Institute on "What is the shape of the world?" The
ecclesiastical portion of the audience, who were mostly natives,
fought tooth and nail for the flatness of our planet, and though
one or two of their own countrymen argued very forcibly against
their notions, when the final vote was taken there was quite a large
majority opposed to the theory of "round like an orange." One of
the teachers was giving a lesson to his class one day on this very
subject. His scholars promptly informed him that the world was flat.
He further learned that it would take two hundred years to travel
round it at the rate of two hundred miles a day, and that somewhere
within the circumference of this pancake-shaped planet there is a
mountain called Mount Meru, which is eight hundred and forty thousand
miles high, bearing upon its summit the realms of heaven. He explained
that the world was round, and was greeted by the remark, "Why, that
can't possibly be, for if the world were round the water would all
roll off." As there are no scientific terms in the language, and as
all attempts to explain why the water did not roll off would have been
utterly beyond the comprehension of the young minds of his scholars,
he was rather non-plussed. He did his best, however, and believed
that, by his earnestness in pressing home his point, he had at last
made them accept, even if they did not understand, the fact. By way
of recapitulation at the close of his lesson he asked one who had
shown intense incredulity, "What shape is the world?" The boy stolidly
replied, "The teacher says it is round."
In their fairy tales they demand episodes of the most marvellous
character. An Englishman once read to some Siamese boys the story
of "Jack the Giant Killer," thinking it might interest them. To his
great surprise they listened with the greatest indifference to his
narrative. On being questioned as to whether they liked the story
or not, one boy replied, "It isn't fierce enough;" and further, by
way of illustrating what he considered satisfactory in this class of
fiction, he related how a Siamese hero met the whole of his enemies
banded together against him in a deep ravine. The hero went towards
them single-handed, and just when the assembled foes were calculating
upon a triumphant victory, he quietly took up the mountains to the
right and left of him, in the hollows of his hands, brought them
rapidly together, annihilated the multitude with one stroke, and then
unfatigued, replaced the mountains upon their bases once more.
In some cases their superstitions exert a very real influence upon
their actions. There are many people who would never dare to utter the
words "tiger" or "crocodile" in a spot where these terrible creatures
might possibly be in hiding, for fear of directing the attention of
the beasts towards themselves. Another illustration may also here
be given. One of the students in training at the Normal College for
teachers, was absent for some time. On his return, the principal
spoke to him, calling him by the name he had previously been known
by. He at once requested that his old name should not again be used,
and gave a new one. On enquiring the reason, it was found he had
been absent through illness. While lying sick at home, an angel had
appeared to his mother in a dream and had warned her that if her son's
name were not changed, he would die, as the name he then possessed
was an unlucky one for him. His name was immediately changed, and he
recovered. At the same time, his cousin lay ill in the same house,
and the angel gave a similar warning with regard to this boy's name,
but the prophetic voice was in this case unheeded, and the child
died. As there is no registry of births or deaths there is practically
no trouble in altering a name, and in fact, such alterations are of
frequent occurrence.
A few years ago the Siamese Government organised an Education
Department, with the intention of establishing an adequate system
of Primary Education, which was to be followed in due time by a
system of Secondary Education. Up to that time the only schools were
those in connection with the monasteries. In these schools reading
and writing were taught by the priests. Though their methods were
illogical and their curriculum narrow, it must never be forgotten
that most Siamese men can read and write their own language, and that
the country owes a deep debt of gratitude to these monks who did
their best according to their own theories. These schools must in the
future be the starting-points for any system of education that would
pretend to exercise any influence throughout the country. The work of
the Education Department, as far as progress or reform is concerned,
has been, so far, in connection with the establishment of a Training
College for Teachers, the founding of four Anglo-Vernacular Schools
for boys, one of which is a boarding-school, and a boarding-school for
girls. These have been organised and controlled by Europeans and are
fairly satisfactory. Attached to the Training College is a Practising
School, which is the only good Vernacular school in Siam. It owes its
present excellent condition to the three Englishmen who have had it
successively under their charge. But undoubtedly the most successful
educational institution is the school for girls. It has been more
than usually fortunate in possessing a staff of teachers possessing
brilliant intellectual attainments, great professional skill, and a
deep living interest in everything that tends towards social progress.
Unfortunately, the Vernacular schools have not yet come under European
influence, and they still preserve their antiquated methods. Only
about seven or eight of them are directly under the control of the
Education Department. They possess no furniture, and the children
sit on the floor. In one school, the head master has provided a
number of old soap and biscuit boxes to act as desks. There are no
registers or other records. There is a "code" which contains two
standards. It takes a boy from three to four years to pass the first,
and comparatively few ever attempt to pass the second. The teachers
in these Government Vernacular Schools are not priests, though the
schools themselves are usually in some part of the temple grounds.
It is to be hoped that in the near future the Government will decide
upon a thorough re-organisation of these schools, for, when they are
properly taught and controlled, they will be very powerful for good,
the bright and intelligent character of the scholars rendering all
school work eminently successful.