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To our Dearest Mr. Dominic Lee

Content

Prologue

1970’s

1980’s

1990’s

2000’s

Students’ Words

Epilogue

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Prologue – June Teng

The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires. To many of us, it is hard to imagine spending our entire career with a single organisation. That is what Mr. Dominic Lee has done. Teaching at Good Hope School was the first job he landed after graduation. There, he has devoted his working life teaching English Literature for 37 years and as Vice Principal for eight years, patiently nurturing hundreds of thousands of Good Hopers. Though it is not easy to fully express our deep gratitude to Mr. Lee, some of his students attempted to do so with words, drawings, pictures as contained in this booklet. Mr. Lee, we hope you will enjoy reading all the contributions from your past students. On behalf of the Past Student Association of Good Hope School, may I wish you a happy retirement and many more fruitful years in the time to come.

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The Many Faces of Mr.Lee

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The 1970s

Those were the days……

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Mr. Lee joined the school in 1976.

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The1970s

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The class of 1980 (Form 7) celebrated mid-autumn festival with lanterns and mooncakes with Mr. Lee. - From Karina Lam

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The1970s

As time goes by……

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The 1980s

Graduation: from F.5 to F.7

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The1980s

1982 Last School Day

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The1980s

Shirley Yeung and other past students gathering at Mr. Lee’s home.

Celebrating Mr. Lee’s birthday

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The1980s

The 1990s

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Staff photo from 1996-97 School Anchor

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The1990s

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A poem written by Mr. Lee, and was given to a student, Pearl Yeung, in 1990.

Hope With its inaudible key Despair will enter the house, Like a woman, no stranger, Somewhat near and familiar. She’ll lie down beside you, And with her cold frame will erase you, And you’ll start to feed her desire; Yourself dwindled into a slave. Despair is more cunning than Hope And wears the face of the wise; But here is depraved, grasping – She is cold and calculating. Instead of children, warm and alive, She’ll bear you only phantoms, And imprison time Like a drowsy fly in amber.  

As Hope’s wicked stepmother She’ll mock at her, Rearrange everything – thoughts, things. The legally wedded wife, Wiping her tears with her tiny fist, Hope will leave the house like an orphan With a dirty bundle – Where she is no longer needed. She’ll go out in the wide world, She’ll travel through forest and fields. And late at night you’ll wake up In your icy lover’s embrace. Search for Hope, the Innocent, Search for her on every station platform, By every precipice and bonfire. Kill Despair, the old hag. Rescue Hope in the end. For, Hope is the only faithful sister.

The1990s

The 2000s

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Mr. Lee in GHS 45th Anniversary Dinner

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The2000s

Past student, Porcia Leung, with Mr. Lee in Golden Jubilee Celebration

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The2000s

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From Seeds (2006)

What does Mr. Lee think?

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In the summer of 2008, Mr. Lee led a group of students to Shantou for a service trip, teaching village children English. But more than a service trip, we also had the chance to sight see, experience local culture and most importantly, get to know Mr. Lee outside classrooms!

Learning about palm-reading.

Cooking Chaozhou sweet dumplings after dinner!

Touring in Shantou

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2010 Leadership Training Camp for the Central Board – Adventureship

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After 36 years of serving GHS, Mr. Lee received the Long Service Award.

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This section comprises several students words and works to Mr. Dominic Lee who would express the passion and gratitude and would like to salute to Mr. Lee for his patience and love.  

The Students’ Works

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A Tribute to Mr. Dominic Lee

Mr. Dominic Lee is one of the most respected teachers in my life. He challenges orthodox thinking and never fails to inspire young people’s mind with the pursuit of truth and meaning of life. I remembered vividly once Mr. Lee led the class in the discussion of whether “the pursuit of happiness” is one’s “purpose of life”. Many of us said yes, because what we do essentially; no matter it is for fun, for study advancement, career development or for courtship is to make ourselves happy. Mr. Lee did not give us an answer. The only thing he pointed out is that “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness” is the basic right that everyone enjoy as stated in the Declaration of Independence of the United State in 1776. In another word, if the purpose of life is the pursuit of happiness, it would just be the pursuit with the “unalienable rights” that human kind is born with. The real question behind this discussion was what should be one’s purpose of life. Mr. Lee has demonstrated his with “sucking the marrow of life” and “live life one day at a time to its fullness”. I am glad to have met Mr. Lee as a teacher and mentor of life early in my teenage. I took this spirit on to the study of medicine and then now to the field of science and research, teaching of medical students and research scientists. I hope I could inspire students similarly as once I was taught by Mr. Lee. By Dr. Katy Leung Ying Ying

54 53    The School’s a Stage The school’s a stage. And all the teachers and students are merely players. Now your exit is just entrance to another wonderland. You certainly have played many parts. You are a magician. You’ve turned a bunch of whining schoolgirls, unwillingly to school, into civilised and educated ladies, eager to learn. You are a mentor. You do not teach by authority, but by inspiration which stimulates our interest to learn and appreciate the beauty of literature. You are a dear friend, You care your students, and even sing with us with your manly voice and dance with us with your robotic steps. Last scene of all, shifting into the lean and slippered pantaloons, With spectacles on nose and shrunk shank, Sans alarm clock, sans pressure, sans bubble reputation. But with all the seeds you have sown, Now reap with joy, with hope and with good health! – Kit Tse (7th June 2013)

To my most respectable teacher Mr. Dominic Lee

56 55 Dear Mr. Lee, I have heard about your retirement, I can't believe this - time flies. I can still recall the time you taught us in the classroom. Also the time you gave me and Kitty a tuition at home. When I was in sixth form, you were guiding us with the drama festival. All you said to me was, ' try not to overdress as you are supposed to be a widow'. You gave me plenty of space to develop my acting instead of telling me what to do. With your kind guidance, I had the good memory of winning the best actress. I am sure you must be one of the most popular teacher in GHS. You never raised you voice, always listened to us with patience. Without your teaching, we won't be able to achieve so much in our life. I hope you can finally 'set free' to enjoy your life after retirement. I wish you all the best and hope to see you again in the GHS functions. Thank you for being kind to my whole family. Best wishes, Ruth Mizoguchi

Letter from a student

Class out on the Grass “Let’s have a picnic! Let’s have our next lesson on the lawn!” One of us exclaimed. Such a request would have stood no chance normally, but in 7A classroom stood Mr. Dominic Lee, who not only accepted our request, but also brought nibbles along. So there we were, all armed with a copy of Life of Pi, seated in circle on the lawn outside the library on 21st November 2008. Students at the Science Wing looked at us in awe; perhaps they too wanted to take a break from their “dry, yeastless factuality”, I thought. Our lesson shot past as Pi attempted to tame Richard Parker in vain. We dragged our feet back to the classroom afterwards, and inevitably left Pi on the bookshelf as we graduated one after another.

58 57 But as years went by, I can still remember this particular class vividly (I can even remember the taste of the Jammie Dodgers we shared that day). Literature is never a subject confined to the four corners of the set readings, just as learning should have never been limited to the mere boundaries of a classroom. In Mr. Lee’s class, we learnt about anything and everything. World History, Chinese Literature, Philosophy all intertwined in our course and Mr. Lee equipped us with knowledge necessary to survive not just a public exam but our life journey ahead. I have never used sin-cos-tan formula in my life ever again, but what I have learnt in Mr. Lee’s class I have continued to benefit from. Another request we had made was to have Mr. Lee write a poem for us. The first stanza of “To My Class of 2009” goes “In this room you sit with rolling eyes,/ From this room you leave with faces high;/ Days go by, what you will leave behind/ Are kept in our memories fine.” It is with a proud heart that I confirm that all these memories are well kept in our hearts where God’s grace forever dwells. On behalf of our class, Mr. Lee, thank you! Maisie Ko Class of 2009

Many a Hoper would recall the sight, His head bowed in pensive reverie, Battered copies of the classics tucked tight, Stained cups attest to his love for coffee. He once steered us through flights of fantasy Of heroes and lovers entwined by Fate; The power of rhymes and allegory Breathed life into the realms poets create.

 

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Verse may wither and prose lose its appeal, Yet visions begin where the story ends; Passions endure on the Stage that reveals Greater irony than in tales pretend. Acts of gentle raveling I thank thee, For a script was enkindled within me. Lau Rebecca Ngok-Yan(Class of 2004)

Cigar Memories on Coffee Lips

62 61 Perhaps it was curiosity; perhaps it was my sheer desire not to seem cowardice – I took it from his hand, doubtfully examining the dampened head. “Do I smoke from here?” “Yes, just like how you smoke a cigarette. But don’t inhale it into your lungs.” I carefully held up the cigar in my mouth; and slowly, I drew in the smoke. - “You should quit smoking. It’s bad for you.” An assertive female voice broke through the long-kept silence in the classroom – a darkly lit dance studio unassumingly lying at the back of the school hall, isolated. He shook his head, reluctantly, as he placed his tainted coffee mug onto the yellow, dusted teacher’s desk. “Cannot,” he said. I was watching, quietly, as I had always been, otherwise I would have been sleeping. His coffee must have gone cold, I thought, being brought all the way from the Vice Principal’s Office to the Delia’s Wing. 10 minutes of walk, at least, judging from his usual andante walking speed. The coffee was dark, very dark – I would not even call it brown – so dark that I could feel the bitterness on my tongue merely by looking at it. As I breathed out my first cloud of cigar smoke from my lips, the cold bitterness alongside a spicy smokiness of the tobacco suddenly became familiar

You want one?” He asked, as he put a cigar between his two thin lips with his left hand, the other looking for a lighter from his many pockets. I hesitated. “No. I think I’ll pass.” He pouted his lips, “alright,” while circling the cigar around the tiny bluish flame over his rusted copper lighter. “Want to try?” His eyebrows rose, handing me the cigar from his month, with the head darkened by saliva.

64 63 I did not know how to start; therefore, I went to a bookstore one Sunday, bought myself a copy of Ernest Hemmingway’s The Torrent of Spring, and taught myself how to write a good short story. Of course I could not find anything from the book: I was not constructing a story from scratch. I was just reconstructing a scratched story. Failing to get inspiration out of an all-time English classic, I walked out of the coffee shop, which consumes nothing more than a tiny corner at a backstreet in Causeway Bay, and smoked a cigarette. I returned to my seat, ordered an Americano, and took out my outdated issue of the Poetry Magazine. I casually flipped through a few pages. Then, a poem caught my eye. It was David Ferry’s Coffee Lips. He was balancing the world on the tip of his witty unknowing nose. I felt like I was falling down someplace else than anywhere there. I took another sip, and tasted the same old cold bitterness and spicy smokiness in the isolated classroom air. Quiteria Leung (Class of 2009)

“Would you like to write something for Mr. Lee’s retirement?” showed up on my phone. It was Bonnie, the only girl who was awake for English Literature class if I fell asleep. In fact, I had never done my count; but it would be meaningless. Even if there were some others being awake, their ears, minds, hearts, brains,… every single part in a body which you can associate with the word “soul”, were most likely asleep. At least this was my impression. He said we were like a blank sheet of paper. He said it with a complicated look which I could never decipher. His lips were hiding beneath a row of neatly-trimmed toothbrush moustache. I could not tell if he was smiling, or sneering; but the facial muscles that stretched from his cheeks down to his chin were seemingly tense, as if he was speaking with tremendous effort. Neither could I find a trace of emotion from his eyes. Through his metal-frame oval-shaped eyeglasses, his was looking at something somewhere in the classroom as he spoke; when I turned around, hoping to locate the object that caught his eyeball, all I could find was air. Later I learnt from a behavioral psychology book that rightward eyeball movements signal non-dominant hemisphere auditory processing. Mr. Lee was recalling something. He was constantly recalling something. -

Literature is my Utopia. Helen Keller once said, “Literature is my Utopia.” Having received business education in the past three years, it became my natural instincts to examine the validity and practicality of this statement. Is Literature really one’s Utopia? One of the set texts for HKCEE is the Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. It is a dystopian novel – a grimly future for humanity subjected to conditioning, consumerism and control. Dystopia – the opposite of Utopia. In one class, Mr. Lee talked about ta somewhat eccentric poem, Mushrooms, by Sylvia Plath. She was acclaimed a great poet in her twenties, but she committed suicide at the age of 30. Many poets and novelists are subject to the same fate. These are logical counter-arguments. But I believe that many of Mr. Lee’s students, myself included, would agree with what Helen Keller has said. Mr. Lee instills the power of Literature in us – and it has accompanied us in our life journeys. “The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.”

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It is a source of serenity amid calamities. For me, the remedy to stress is a poem from Touched with Fire, the poetry textbook. It is a flight from reality, taking safe refuge in the worlds constructed by imagination. The power of imagination – as Theseus from the Midsummer Night’s Dream has said: How so, do we reconcile the dystopian, dark and destructive nature of Literature with the statement? Mr. Lee’s poem, Hope, provides an answer to this. My interpretation is that Literature is a passage to Hope, a resurrection from Despair. I wonder if Mr. Lee would also agree with what Helen Keller has said. Literature always seemed to put him into a trance. His passion for literature is seeped through his monotonous speech. I genuinely hope that through making this booklet – Mr. Lee can understand how much Literature means not only to him, but also to the many students he taught throughout the years. Mr. Lee, we truly thank you. Bonnie Chiu (Class of 2009)

A rediscovery The night was dark outside the windows of the bus as its thundering engine moved it briskly along the highways. It was one of those days when I often worked until very late at night. Dark and empty street corners were swiftly passing by while some other images were churning in my head – meeting rooms, colleagues’ faces, people talking, tables, documents, coffee cups, computer screens…Memories of events, places, people and conversations in the day time were intertwined with layers and layers of emotions. Wait a second. Why did I seem to understand how they were feeling? Where did all those emotions come from? They had not been experienced with my family, friends or past acquaintances before. The search continued, and took its way back to my long forgotten past until it finally reached a room. That was the place where I was opened up to a huge resource of different facets of human nature – beliefs, love, pride, honour, greed, prejudice, sorrow, fear, betrayal, foolishness…That was the classroom when I attended my English Literature lessons.

 

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There was only thankfulness in my heart. I knew that my life would not have been as rich and colourful had I not been opened to the wonderful worlds of the great playwrights, poets, novelists and writers. My deep gratitude goes to Mr. Dominic Lee, my dear English Literature teacher, for having so brilliantly connected many young minds with the worlds of contemporary and ancient writers, helping us see the tremendous varieties of human nature and understand the people around us. Thank you, Mr. Lee. Best wishes for your retirement! Virginia Chi (F.7 Graduate, 1982)    

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Epilogue – Mary Lee

My Father is a teacher. And I have always been told that he is a good one. Like most young girls who idolise their fathers, I never doubted it (until I am quite grown up). But it is true that as early as I can remember, our house was occasionally thronged with big girls whom I was told were my Father’s (devoted) students. They sent him gifts that were hilarious – once he received an ash tray that if you pressed somewhere a voice would say ‘No Smoking’ (my Mother was enraged because Father apparently took the bad habit to school); there was also this Lu Xun ceramic figurine (it is a fact universally acknowledged that my Father resembles Lu Xun – the figurine even has a cigarette in his hand) with a makeshift twisted wire for his glasses. Even if I were the most cynical child in the world I would not be able to say that these spontaneous visits and ridiculous gifts were bribes. His work at Good Hope School was equally enigmatic. He would dress up in a navy overall to help in the backstage during the school’s annual concerts, while we would wait anxiously among the glamourous audience for him to emerge on the stage at the very end to receive a thank you gift, looking more like a mechanic than a teacher of English. According to my Mother, he even broke his head while playing ping pong with his students. As I grew older, I began to meet students from Good Hope School, and from them I learned many more wonderful things about my Father, including the claim that he drank coffee in class (what debauchery!).

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Despite all that, I could not but be mesmerised, and among his library of impenetrable books smelling of old attic, his typewriter, heaps of test paper and answer sheets I began to dream my teacher dream, marking my picture books with a red ball pen enveloped in the odour of correction fluid. Though very soon I realised, despite testimonies of our likeness, that I possess no such gift as my Father’s. My experience with teachers (other than my Father) brought only dismay and disillusion of teaching. I believed that both teachers and students are better off left alone on their own devices instead of tormenting each other, and I still do. But I might be wrong. How can I not be, faced with so many praises of my Father as a teacher? Perhaps this is a riddle I will never solve. From the day I had a Father he has always been a teacher, and I have never imagined a day when he will cease to be one. As inconceivable as it might be, his retirement from teaching is approaching, and I sincerely hope, that suddenly devoid of an audience, my Father will at least be consoled by the truth universally acknowledged, that a teacher in possession of a good reputation must always be remembered fondly. Mary Lee, eldest daughter of Mr. Dominic Lee (22 June 2013)

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