Harding Hall Nostalgia
– Can We Ever Forget It?
Which Bishopite wouldn’t remember Harding Hall, named after the then Bishop of Bombay, John Harding, and associate some memory with it?
Every boarder, teacher, and visitor left a trace—memories of assemblies, Prize Days, socials, and quiet, reflective moments—that still linger.
Adjoining the office and the basketball court, Harding Hall was an impressive building, standing as a silent witness to decades of school life.
In 1981, when I first joined Bishops, I rushed to the Principal’s bungalow and found Mr. Roberts, the towering figure of Bishops, having breakfast. Known for his impeccable discipline, fairness, and sharp wit, he commanded instant respect from both staff and boys alike. Yet beneath his formidable presence was a warm, thoughtful man who genuinely cared for the school and its students.
I also met Mrs. Roberts very briefly that morning. She was gentle, motherly, and quietly efficient, directing Harry to bring tea and biscuits with a soft smile. As Head of the Primary Section, she was deeply respected and well loved by both pupils and staff. Her calm, reassuring presence added warmth to the bustling bungalow, a perfect complement to Mr. Roberts’ commanding stature.
I was offered steaming tea and home-baked biscuits at the dining table by his butler, Harry—a quiet, short, white-haired man whose warmth and dedication were unmistakable. Men like Harry were part of the living legacy of many old boarding schools, often followed by sons and grandsons continuing their work. Harry’s silent presence, carrying tea or a tray of biscuits, held generations together with warmth that needed no words.
After this brief pause, Mr. Roberts took me to Harding Hall. In about 30 minutes, he shared the essence of the school, walking me through the hall and pointing out its treasures. It felt like traveling through the soul of Bishops—years of achievements, memories, and traditions captured in honours boards, photographs, and memorabilia.Honours boards displayed the names of Head Boys, Captains of Games, and ISC/ICSE toppers. Photographs, some decades old, captured school groups, class groups, and sports teams.
Many faces I once knew have since passed on. Photographs of former Principals, including the legendary Mr. Lunn, graced the walls—beloved by generations of boys for his fairness, wit, and quiet wisdom. His presence was iconic, and even decades later, alumni still remember his warm guidance and the respect he commanded without ever needing to raise his voice.
I often wonder how much of the memorabilia—the photographs, shields, and flags—has been preserved. Hopefully it has not been discarded. Perhaps a dedicated room in the new building would allow alumni to revisit the legacy—a suggestion I have made before.
When I became Headmaster in 1987, one of my first tasks was restoring old frames and photographs, carefully reinstalling them on the boards, and creating a board listing all Principals over the years. Old flags, carefully framed, reminded us of the school’s proud heritage.
The small stage witnessed boarders setting up panels and curtains for Prize Day and handling sound and lights. Their dedication became part of the school spirit.Prize Days were among the biggest events. The maroon blazers glistened under the morning light as boys walked proudly across the stage to receive awards—some of which were over a century old. I still remember the glint in a boy’s eyes when he received the Gentlemanly Qualities cup, weathered by a century but shining brighter than ever in that moment.
Assemblies took place every morning. Boys trooped in, masters lined the sides, and Mr. Roberts would often arrive five to ten minutes after the boys had settled, his black gown flapping slightly as he walked in. The moment he entered, there was pin-drop silence, a mix of awe and respect filling the hall. The routine—a Bible reading, prayer, hymn accompanied by the grand piano, and announcements from the large red register—was familiar. Staff quaked if Mr. Roberts was in a foul mood. And the boys? Some cast furtive glances to St. Mary’s Hall next door, hoping—usually in vain—to spot some girls. Even the bravest staff felt the weight of his presence, yet all who knew him remembered his fairness, integrity, and unwavering commitment to the school’s values.
Harding Hall was lively for sports too. Table tennis and badminton were played with enthusiasm, the hall buzzing between assemblies, exams, and other functions.
It was a place of both discipline and delight—a hall where serious learning and playful energy coexisted.During Founders Week, when old boys returned, Harding Hall had a magnetic charm. Many made a beeline for the hall, tracing the honours boards, pausing at photographs, and quietly recalling their own school days. Old boys made a beeline for Harding Hall, hands tracing the honours boards, eyes lingering on decades-old photographs, hearts full of nostalgia.
Harding Hall also had a mischievous reputation—Mark Reading Day. Bright students enjoyed it; weaker ones dreaded it when Mr. Roberts read their marks, scolding them for wasting their parents’ money. Yet it worked—failures were few. Every time the roll number was called, hearts raced—fear and pride mingled in the air like electricity.ICSE examinations were conducted here as well. Desks were arranged meticulously, boys lined up outside, walked in silently, and took their places—a scene of disciplined anticipation.
And then there was the Social with St. Helenas—the heartbeat of the school year. The Social was more than a dance—it was a universe of music, laughter, and fleeting romances. For one night, Harding Hall transformed into a universe of music, laughter, and fleeting romances. Nervous glances, polished shoes, last-minute adjustments of ties and dresses, and the scent of excitement lingering in the hall created memories that lasted a lifetime.
I worked at Bishops from 1981 to 2001—as a teacher, housemaster, dormitory in-charge, and eventually the first Headmaster. There were First Assistant Masters before me, but I was the first to hold the title of Headmaster—how many of you know that? That too is part of the school’s history.
Those were glorious years of teaching, learning, and growing.Harding Hall was more than a building. It was a repository of memories, achievements, and emotions. Prize Days, assemblies, exams, mark readings, socials, sports, and countless routines—everything passed through that hall, leaving echoes of laughter, discipline, and learning.
The honours boards and photographs weren’t just decorations—they were storytellers. Each name, each image, whispered tales of triumph, laughter, and sometimes mischief. And quietly moving through the hall with trays of tea or warm smiles, Harry and the other staff were the invisible threads holding generations together.
Harding Hall, akin to a heritage structure, may have been pulled down for a modern building, but its memories remain vivid in the hearts of thousands of Bishopites. It lives on—not in bricks and mortar, but in the laughter, achievements, and spirit of those who walked its floors, including quiet, devoted souls like Harry, the gentle, motherly presence of Mrs. Roberts, and the countless alumni who carry its memories wherever they go.
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