Saturday, 4 July 2015
Primary 4
Miss McNee was our teacher in Primary 4. I remember almost nothing about our class time except for one embarassing occasion when George Bundy and I were caught trying to pass love letters to Margaret McQueen. Miss McNee made us stand out in front of the class and read our notes out aloud. I still cringe when I think of it today. Harmful to a growing lad.
Out in the playground it was a jungle....survival of the fittest. Think back to your own childhood and the age and size differences between classes. A boy of nine or ten was a giant to an eight year old. I loved football and cheekily stole the ball from one of the Primary Fivers and began to dribble. Big mistake! I was immediately flattened and left lying in the wake of twenty or thirty older lads now chasing the ball on the other side of the playground! That was a steep learning curve.
The summer holidays came and went. In the wonderful imaginations of young kids (before the days of cellphones and internet.), old sticks in our hands became machine guns, rifles, rayguns or roman swords as we reenacted our versions of history around the town.
We were so lucky in Dunblane. There were marvellous places to play. The Laighills had a football and a hockey pitch. I never saw anyone playing hockey but the pitch was great for football although there was a tendency for the ball to end up in the river. In those situations it was the poor sod who kicked the ball in that had to fetch it. There was a dam in the river just above the mill and the dam pool was a favourite spot to swim. On warm summer days whole families would come down and spend a day by the water.
In 1961, the population of the town was around 2500. The building boom had just started and that meant even more places to play. Halfbuilt houses witnessed dreadful carnage as brave british commandos pushed evil germans back towards the Reich, or at least until we were called in for our tea.
When school started again, we found ourselves in Miss MacKay's class. She was a lovely woman. Many years later, when I worked for a year in the post office, she came in for her pension. Despite the fact that she hadn't seen me for more than twenty years, she recognised me right away. She looked over to Mike Taylor, then back to me and said how glad she was to see two of her boys.
Miss MacKay's class was our last at the school on the Braeport. The new school had been finished and we were soon to transfer to it. No more gymnastics in the old church building at the foot of the Braeport, no more music lessons in the Institute.
Over the horizon beckoned a new future. A school dining room, inside toilets, bigger playgrounds....everything was new. Our future looked bright but, as in september 1939, storm clouds were gathering. This time however it was not war that threatened but a terror much worse.........Miss Hunter........................
Out in the playground it was a jungle....survival of the fittest. Think back to your own childhood and the age and size differences between classes. A boy of nine or ten was a giant to an eight year old. I loved football and cheekily stole the ball from one of the Primary Fivers and began to dribble. Big mistake! I was immediately flattened and left lying in the wake of twenty or thirty older lads now chasing the ball on the other side of the playground! That was a steep learning curve.
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| Yours truly: back row 6th from the left |
The summer holidays came and went. In the wonderful imaginations of young kids (before the days of cellphones and internet.), old sticks in our hands became machine guns, rifles, rayguns or roman swords as we reenacted our versions of history around the town.
We were so lucky in Dunblane. There were marvellous places to play. The Laighills had a football and a hockey pitch. I never saw anyone playing hockey but the pitch was great for football although there was a tendency for the ball to end up in the river. In those situations it was the poor sod who kicked the ball in that had to fetch it. There was a dam in the river just above the mill and the dam pool was a favourite spot to swim. On warm summer days whole families would come down and spend a day by the water.
In 1961, the population of the town was around 2500. The building boom had just started and that meant even more places to play. Halfbuilt houses witnessed dreadful carnage as brave british commandos pushed evil germans back towards the Reich, or at least until we were called in for our tea.
When school started again, we found ourselves in Miss MacKay's class. She was a lovely woman. Many years later, when I worked for a year in the post office, she came in for her pension. Despite the fact that she hadn't seen me for more than twenty years, she recognised me right away. She looked over to Mike Taylor, then back to me and said how glad she was to see two of her boys.
Miss MacKay's class was our last at the school on the Braeport. The new school had been finished and we were soon to transfer to it. No more gymnastics in the old church building at the foot of the Braeport, no more music lessons in the Institute.
Over the horizon beckoned a new future. A school dining room, inside toilets, bigger playgrounds....everything was new. Our future looked bright but, as in september 1939, storm clouds were gathering. This time however it was not war that threatened but a terror much worse.........Miss Hunter........................
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