Major Days for the Morris Minor (and also for The Doctor, my bicycle and me!)

Major Days for the Morris Minor 

(and also for The Doctor, my bicycle and me!)

~ A Childhood Memoir by Tony Fernandes ~

As I grew up in Goa during the 1950’s and 1960’s it was quite common to see American and European cars on the roads. Although no one in my family owned a car, I was very happy to receive an occasional ride in a Morris Minor that belonged to none other than our well-known family physician.

The Morris was quite a popular car among other 'foreign' cars in those days - fine medium-sized piece of English automotive engineering of that era. They were seen in many colours: black, dark blue, grey or white, and were mainly privately owned by landlords, doctors, lawyers and merchants.

As a young lad I ran errands for many neighbours' households in the village other than for my own. One of such errands, on many occasions, was to fetch a doctor to the village in an emergency. Sometimes I would be summoned by a neighbour at a short notice for a quick brief: name of the town, name of the doctor, street address and directions, not forgetting to let the doctor know that’s it is urgent and that he has to come as soon as he possibly can. And they were lucky that I would readily oblige.

One of these doctors who often visited our village had a clinic in the town of Mapusa, Bardez - a district in North Goa - a distance of about 2 km from our village. And, of course, he happened to own one of these fine cars of yesteryear – the ‘Mighty’ Morris Minor of yesteryear.
Having made it to the doctor’s clinic on my bicycle, the first thing I would do was to make sure I locked my bike. Then briefly speaking to the nurse with a request for the doctor’s visit, I would wait outside for the doctor to conclude examinations of his remaining patients in the clinic, if there were any. Leaving my cycle there after making sure that I locked it, I would ride along with the doctor giving him the directions.

It was customary in those days for the errand runner to carry the doctor’s medical kit bag as a courtesy, walking and leading the way from the car to the patient's house, and I must say I humbly did my duty. As for me, it was a great experience doing that. For a brief 3 minutes’ walk to the house, from the winding road that ran through the village, I felt as if I was actually the doctor. I momentarily also got carried away in my thoughts: “Some day if I ever decide to be a doctor, then someone else will have to carry this bag” I thought.

After examining and having been convinced he had successfully diagnosed the illness of ‘The Goan Patient’ the following is what the doctor would usually say to the folks of the household in Konkani: “Bienaka re. Tum zatolo boro. Rexeth boroun ditam. Hem vokot, hea burgeak Mapusa thaun adduni. Ani tuka koxem dista tem maka faleam sangun dilea puro.’ (Here a translation of what the doctor said: ‘Don’t worry. You will get alright. I’m writing a prescription. Tell this lad to buy this medicine on his way back from Mapusa. And tomorrow let me know how you feel.’)

Having said this, the doctor put the sphygmomanometer and stethoscope back into the bag, washed his hands with new soap set aside solely for his use on the window sill while I poured water on his hands. The doctor smiled and wiped his hands on the clean towel. Suddenly my thoughts wandered off, thinking as though I was in the village chapel doing the duties of an altar boy before coming back to reality.

As a courtesy the doctor then asked about the general health of the rest of the family members before heading for the door. Simultaneously, it was time for me to pick up the doctor’s bag and accompany him to the Morris car. Meanwhile he was kind in inquiring as to how I was doing in school.

After getting a 'jolly good ride' in the well-kept 'Morris Minor' to the doctor's clinic, I would unlock my bicycle and quickly pedal to the pharmacy and hand over the prescription to the pharmacist (a.k.a. 'compounder'). I would wait till the medicine was ready, and watch him cut out notches that indicated the doses on a strip of paper and paste it on the side of the bottle.

Sometimes, along with the benefit of enjoying a ride in the doctor’s Morris Minor in running this errand, there was also a major reward for me in accomplishing this task. A cold drink or a ‘falooda’, sometimes tea and patties or a 'limboo-soda' (fresh lemonade) in the interim period while the medicines got ready. Then I happily hurried back to my village on my bike, reaching home safely with the medicine bottle intact, at times as the sun set over the hills of Canca, Verla and Parra. Wishing the patient a quick recovery, brought to an end yet one more major day for the Morris Minor, the Doctor, my bicycle and me.

Tony Fernandes

Owed to Abba

ODE TO ABBA

 (A Garland of ABBA Songs)

(by Tōnferns)

Owed to ABBA

She was a Nina,

Pretty Ballerina,

a 'Chiquitita', a 'Dancing Quee'n, 

She said ‘Take A Chance On Me’

And I replied 'Why Did It Have To Be Me?'

'Knowing Me, Knowing You'

‘Does Your Mother Know’ ? I asked

She said, no, 'It’s The Name Of The Game’

‘I Still Have Faith in You’

And ‘I Can Be That Woman’ she stated

But was that ‘Just a Notion’, I wondered.

‘I’m a One Man, One Woman’ you know? I replied

She said, 'I Have A Dream' Tony 'Fernando'

‘Lay All Your Love On Me’ she added 

I’ve a dream too, I confided,

We both then said "I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do"

'Super Trouper', she went on,

‘Andante, Andante’, take it slow.

I thought she was ‘Slipping Through My Fingers”

So I sent her an 'S.O.S.'

'The Way Old Friends Do'

I said 'When All Is Said And Done'

'I Let The Music Speak'.

And then we both joined in chorus;

We sang 'Mamma Mia' 

'here I go again, how can I resist you'

My my, just how much I've missed ya.

In the end the Winner Takes It All

She Thanks You For The Music 

Saying Honey Honey

Hasta Mañana until then.

Tony Fernandes

Pottery in Crayon

POTTERY IN CRAYON

Tony in an Austin 1100 Mk II

BACK IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS

 - TONY IN AN AUSTIN 1100 MarkII -

Dubai 1970 - Austin Mark II - 1100 cc 4 door sedan - 4 cylinder inline transversely mounted engine - 4 speed manual floor shift gear 4F+1R - Petrol, single carburetor, front wheel drive, wide track.

This vehicle, my first - the Austin 1100 Mark II - was a real marvel - one awesome, simple and convenient form of transport, and a practical piece of engineering - front wheel drive, transverse engine, standard track, typical big steering wheel and easy to handle, with all round visibility and high maneuverability, and wide doors for its size. It seated five passengers including driver, with space for luggage behind the rear seats with a spare tire to boot. 

Launched in 1962, it was Britain's best-selling car from 1963 to 1966 and from 1968 to 1971, built by the British Motor Corporation (BMC) and, later, British Leyland.

I enjoyed driving this vehicle immensely. Simply loved it. Drove it several times packed with seven guys in it. Had great fun driving to work, evening after work for a drive to Jumeirah, to Khawaneej, to the beach and picnic spots to Sharjah, Ajman and Umm al Quwain with my friends around Dubai. 

These cars were popular in the late 1960's until the mid 1970's. It was a time when seat belts were not mandatory. 

Seen in the background of the picture is Khan Creek, a typical Arab fishing village, where we often went for a swim during holidays, in between Dubai and Sharjah.

Austin 1100 Mark II, I miss it. Yes, I still do. 

Sunset in crayon

When I used to DJ in my younger years, my name surprised some people (particularly those who do not know about Catholicism, Christianity and Portuguese colonization in India), who often asked: "TONY!?! Is that your REAL name?" and then while pointing to my head-phone rack I would respond: 

  "Y-NOT?"

The Lord's Prayer - Our Father - Pater Noster in Latin