Tuesday, 11 August 2015
The New School
And so to the new school as we knew it. I can't remember if we moved from the Braeport at the beginning of the term or midway. Perhaps one of my avid readers can inform me!
On the day, we left the old primary school and walked in a long column through the town. We could see the head of the column going up over the railway bridge while some of us were still in the town. Then along the Doune Road and, finally, into the new school.
Living just around the corner in Cromlix Crescent, I had followed the construction with great interest. Not from an engineering or architectual viewpoint you understand but more of the "Where are the biggest puddles?" or "Where would the best bike scramble route be?" kind of interest.
What a difference from the old school. There were bicycle sheds and, not one, but two playgrounds! The whole building was so impressive. The amenities were first class with fully outfitted wood - and metalwork rooms and the gym.
That, of course, brings me to the tragedy of 1996, Enough has been written already without me dwelling too much on the subject. All I will say is that when I heard the news here in Copenhagen, I was stunned. I watched developments on CNN without any emotion. It was first when I went to bed to try and sleep that it hit me. My thoughts took me back in time to the boys changing rooms where we larked about before going along the cold corridor and into the gym itself. I could almost hear the sound of our gymshoes on the floor and the echoing sound of our young voices in that large room. I cried for those poor wee bairns. That could just as well have been us 30 years before.
Outside the school were the playing fields. In my time at Dunblane Primary, before going to McLaren High in Callander three years later, we never played football there. Something to do with a drainage problem, I think. There were plovers' nests out there though.
Our school football home matches were played on the hockey pitch at the Laighills. When our class were old enough to be the team, we played in green jerseys with black shorts. We weren't the most impressive side in West Perthshire. We usually got hammered by everyone and their aunt, but we did have our moments. Playing away to Doune we were losing 4-0 at halftime. Our goalie, Ewan Simpson, was being teased and distracted by a group of girls behind his goal, subsequently giving up four goals to the home side. (Almost certainly a dastardly plan by Doune Primary!) I took over for the second half and played a blinder. We still lost 4-0 but now had a new hero, me! Unfortunately for my ego, the fame didn't last - the following week we played away at Deanston and yours truly let in 8, yes, eight goals. The new Frank Haffey!
We continued to be beaten both home and away until, one day we came to the Queen Victoria school to play their second eleven. Playing on a pitch with a gradient that could be likened to Dumyat, we were drawing 2-2. With one minute to go I got the ball in midfield (or, as we called it then,'the middle of the park'). I passed the ball to Ewen MacMillan who jinked past a couple of their players and delivered the ball to Neil Stewart on the edge of the 6 yard box. He shot. Their goalie dived, fingers stretching after the ball. To no avail! The ball was in. GOAL! 3-2 to Dunblane Primary.
Never was a goal welcomed and celebrated so much by a bunch of young lads. Roy of the Rovers, Gorgeous Gus and all the rest: eat your hearts out. We made our way back to school, through the Laighills and past the mill. All Dunblane could see our smiles. We had finally won a game
On the day, we left the old primary school and walked in a long column through the town. We could see the head of the column going up over the railway bridge while some of us were still in the town. Then along the Doune Road and, finally, into the new school.
Living just around the corner in Cromlix Crescent, I had followed the construction with great interest. Not from an engineering or architectual viewpoint you understand but more of the "Where are the biggest puddles?" or "Where would the best bike scramble route be?" kind of interest.
What a difference from the old school. There were bicycle sheds and, not one, but two playgrounds! The whole building was so impressive. The amenities were first class with fully outfitted wood - and metalwork rooms and the gym.
That, of course, brings me to the tragedy of 1996, Enough has been written already without me dwelling too much on the subject. All I will say is that when I heard the news here in Copenhagen, I was stunned. I watched developments on CNN without any emotion. It was first when I went to bed to try and sleep that it hit me. My thoughts took me back in time to the boys changing rooms where we larked about before going along the cold corridor and into the gym itself. I could almost hear the sound of our gymshoes on the floor and the echoing sound of our young voices in that large room. I cried for those poor wee bairns. That could just as well have been us 30 years before.
Outside the school were the playing fields. In my time at Dunblane Primary, before going to McLaren High in Callander three years later, we never played football there. Something to do with a drainage problem, I think. There were plovers' nests out there though.
Our school football home matches were played on the hockey pitch at the Laighills. When our class were old enough to be the team, we played in green jerseys with black shorts. We weren't the most impressive side in West Perthshire. We usually got hammered by everyone and their aunt, but we did have our moments. Playing away to Doune we were losing 4-0 at halftime. Our goalie, Ewan Simpson, was being teased and distracted by a group of girls behind his goal, subsequently giving up four goals to the home side. (Almost certainly a dastardly plan by Doune Primary!) I took over for the second half and played a blinder. We still lost 4-0 but now had a new hero, me! Unfortunately for my ego, the fame didn't last - the following week we played away at Deanston and yours truly let in 8, yes, eight goals. The new Frank Haffey!
We continued to be beaten both home and away until, one day we came to the Queen Victoria school to play their second eleven. Playing on a pitch with a gradient that could be likened to Dumyat, we were drawing 2-2. With one minute to go I got the ball in midfield (or, as we called it then,'the middle of the park'). I passed the ball to Ewen MacMillan who jinked past a couple of their players and delivered the ball to Neil Stewart on the edge of the 6 yard box. He shot. Their goalie dived, fingers stretching after the ball. To no avail! The ball was in. GOAL! 3-2 to Dunblane Primary.
Never was a goal welcomed and celebrated so much by a bunch of young lads. Roy of the Rovers, Gorgeous Gus and all the rest: eat your hearts out. We made our way back to school, through the Laighills and past the mill. All Dunblane could see our smiles. We had finally won a game
Hi Alan, I enjoyed that. Want to know my two main memories of you? Going to your house from the new primary school to listen (quite often) to your Beatles singles and EPs, and - a couple of years later - going with you to Glasgow on several occasions to see the Gers. We'd take either public transport, which could be risky, or travel with a supporters' bus. The atmosphere of the old Ibrox could be electric, but I probably spent half the game looking over my shoulder to keep an eye on those rough Glasgow kids, and the men who drank beer from a can, then peed in the can, deposited the can on the terracing, then kicked the can over when a goal was scored. Mental!
ReplyDeleteAll the best mate, Tommy McClymont