The Botafogo Brats
The 13 year old Misssy M is on the front row, last on the right.
Twenty five years ago this month, my dad took us all to live in Rio de Janeiro for a laugh. There are lots of stories I could tell about our year there but first of all, I want to tell you about the school we went to. Because it was a hoot.
The British School of Rio de Janeiro is in the Botafogo region of Rio, hence the nickname given to the pupils of the “Botafogo Brats” and it was an absolute shambles.
It was the most run down, woodworm infested fleapit ever to exist…and this is in a city that is surrounded by shanty towns (or favelas, as they are known). I don’t know how much it cost for a kid to go there, but whatever it was, it was too much. Yet my time there was one of the happiest ever.
The school was run by a probable fugitive called Dr Lewis taking advantage of the lack of extradition treaty with the UK.
This man was remarkable for a number of reasons. He had the most pendulous earlobes I’ve ever seen on a man, he spat foamy spit at you when he talked, he had a face like a bullfrog, and his background was shrouded in mystery. Had he ever taught before? Was he actually a Doctor? Is that spit infectious?
Apart from his headmasterly duties, he taught every class in the school Divinity. I use the word “taught “ very loosely. His lessons consisted of two things. One regurgitated lesson was about the Parable of the Good Samaritan; the other was the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Even now I could recite his rambling lessons verbatim. But what was a particular scream was that twice a year everyone had to sit a Divinity exam.
“Oh I wonder what the questions will be…” we would guffaw as we went into the exam room. Everyone passed that exam.
Mr Lewis was also remarkable for knowing Great Train Robber, Ronnie Biggs personally. My parents once went to a school run concert for all parents and they swear that one of the turns was Ronnie Biggs singing old Cockney Knees Up songs accompanied by Dr Lewis on the ol’ Joanna. Chas and Dave eat your bearded hearts out!
Other fleeting memories include the music teacher, Dona Anna, who was American and completely daft. She once gave us all percussion instruments and asked us to shout out a syllable each time we belted out a beat. She did not take into account that 13 year-olds are evil little bastards.
Despite being a fluent Portuguese speaker, this woman didn’t cotton on to the fact that our little improvised 3 beat ditty of “Vi-Foo-Der” (or Vai Fuder) had the whole class loudly chanting the Brazilian Portuguese phrase for “Fuck Off”. The sound of in- sync drums and rhythmic expletives echoed throughout the school corridors. Ahhh… happy memories.
Several of our teachers did not speak English despite being employed by a British School. The PE teachers were Brazilian nationals who would bellow Portuguese at you until you understood or pretended to understand. They were like toned, be-shorted prison wardens.
Given that fifty percent of our timetable was made of up Sport, we spent a lot of time in the snake and ant infested scrubland that the school used as a playing field with these lovable tyrants. I learned more about ant infestation, snakes, volleyball and basketball than I did anything else that year and I loved it. You would play your little heart out in 48 degree heat for fear of begin screamed at in a language you didn’t understand.
I have never won any school prize in my life, but that year I won the prize for Sport. This was hilarious as I am not a natural athlete by any means.
Coming away bewildered from the prize giving, I went up to Dona Filipa the PE teacher and said “Porque?” (why?).
She simply said in the only English I ever heard her say, “You try”. God bless her and her draconian teaching methods!
There’s a lot more I could say about the British School of Rio de Janeiro in the year of 1982, but the best thing was this; 1982 was the year of the World Cup. The Brazilian bus drivers, janitors and support staff would not work on the day of a Brazil game, so the whole school unquestioningly shut down. You’ve got to love a country that shuts down on the day of an international game. I have never rooted for a team so much in my life. The more Brazil played the more time we had in the swimming pool.
Sadly, they didn’t win the World Cup that year, but I still support the Brazil team every World Cup (except when Scotland are in…but that’s not happened a lot recently), because I know that all the Brazilian school kids are getting a day off.
And how cool is that?
