Tuesday, 22 October 2013

My Wee Pal,"Me", the BBC, Democracy, the "Most Powerful Man" in Britain, and a Gable End in Leith



   I was watching the TV last night and a BBC reporter on the six o'clock news,  while commenting about a new investment programme to create even more nuclear based energy, referred to David Cameron as "the most powerful man in Britain,"   and here was I not thinking that along with every person who has the right to vote in this country, I was the most powerful person in Britain? I mean that's what the politicians and the media like to tell me to think when they are talking about free speech and letting me know what a great privilege it is to live in a "democracy" like ours. Up to now I've always really tried to believe this last noble bit of their message.



Sunshine on Leith : pictures of some of the people whose labour made Britain powerful.

   Perhaps you'll say that in accepting this vision I was just being too much of an unweaned bairn not to see that the world of media and politics is busy being fed by and feeding off the members of its own small clique, while they give each other bigger and bigger helpings of power and wealth. You'll tell me I can hardly expect them to have time to be concerned about being of service to my fellow citizens and me, even though, according to the romantic myth of democracy they dole out to us,  each one of us has equal rights. True of course until that is we turn up with tuppence and they turn up with a tenner.  Well I just can't swallow their fake food any more.











Friday, 11 October 2013

18 years of age : old enough to vote and die but certainly not to drive




The United Kingdom  government  -  which these days doesn't very much like many of the citizens it is supposed to serve - is thinking of not allowing young adults to drive until they are 18 or 19 years old and even then they may not be allowed to hold a full licence. Government ministers are due to publish their proposals in a Green Paper following a report by the Transport Research Laboratory.

Of course everyone wants to see a reduction in the number of road accidents with their potential for destroying lives and this should be addressed by looking again at the way driving is taught. Nonetheless questions of  equal rights and equal privilege are raised when a government declares an intention to withdraw a privilege from a certain section of our citizenry. This appears to be what is happening with the proposal to prevent 18 years old adults holding a full driving licence. Should the voices of these adults be heard before any legislation is prepared ?

I imagination these are the same 18 years old adults who are old enough to vote, who for two years have been old enough to get married and who are old enough to be killed when serving in the United Kingdom armed forces. 

Apparently the statistics show that the plan to ensure young adults are well and truly off the road is valid and reasonable. Did you know that drivers between 17 years old and 24 years old cause 20% of the serious accidents on our roads ? The rest of us cause the other 80%  so we'd better watch out or the government may catch on to that. I'd be devastated if I wasn't allowed a driving licence until I was 69. Still maybe it would really be fair enough -  since the likes of me have been causing 4 out of 5 of all road accidents. 

Finally, a message to young adults :  I would warn you not to protest about these proposals. You know what happened when those badgers moved the goal posts.


Sources 

No driving licence until 19?  Richard Wescott, BBC on 10.10.13 at   http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/24481574
 Driving test age rise considered for teenagers, BBC 11.10.13 at 



Comments

John Stein writes :


I read with dismay your piece on driving licenses for young people.  My personal experience here in Louisiana, where kids were able to get learners permits at the age of 15 (they require a licensed driver in the car), was that kids who started driving earlier learned to be responsible, while kids whose parents didn't let them get a license until later, like the age of 18, went right out and had an accident very soon after getting their license. 
I'm not convinced that waiting helps.  I think teaching responsibility and safe driving is the better way to go.  The younger they are, the more likely they are to learn.  At 15 (they could get a full license at 16), it is a REAL privilege.  Only a few years later, it becomes a right.
But, just my opinion from a different place and a different time...



Monday, 23 September 2013

Friday nights started at Frankie Davie's


Friday nights started at Frankie Davie's Café just after school with an ice-cream soda in winter, or a bowl of strawberries and ice cream in summer : the compliments of my Grannie Jackson. I used to think this was my treat because I was very special. My younger sister never came with us and my youngest sister was still a toddler. My mother put me right about this some years later, letting me know I was a very exhausting laddie and she wanted me “out o’ the road” so that she could spend some time with my sisters.  My Daddy never approved of my jaunts with Grannie, frequently reminding my Mummy how “ Your mother is turning my son into a spoilt brat.”  Nonetheless from early 1955 until late 1957 this sweet 4 o’clock indulgence marked the start of an end of the week ritual for my Grannie and me.


At a quarter to five when I had cleared this 'paternally frowned upon' confection out of the way, Grannie and I left the café and took a tram from the terminus in front of Lochee West Church, at the back of Liff Road School. The tram swung and bumped us all the way down to the Nethergate where we got off and paid a visit to a sweetie shop where Grannie bought me a quarter pound of boilings which I sooked and crunched my way through for the next two hours. Grannie always tried to insist that I sook them but I couldn't resist the temptation of gambling even further with  my teeth's long-term health and so after an initial sook I crunched them anyway.  When she saw me do this Grannie feigned to skelp me and would say, “N’ dinnae tell yer Da Eh bocht ye’ them or he’ll murder us.”

Once in receipt of the sweeties we'd go to the Palace Theatre which was just by and behind the Queens Hotel near the place where Dundee Contemporary Arts now stands.

We were at the theatre to watch the six o'clock performance of the variety show, which took place there twice nightly from Monday to Saturday. In exercising my memory back those 50 years and more, I enter a 10 years old boy's mind for detail which demands me to inform you that as well as the nightly performances there was a matinee performance on Wednesday afternoons. Wednesday was half day closing for the stores in Dundee and the matinee allowed frustrated shoppers and those who served in the shops of Dundee an extra opportunity to see the show. I know this because I had asked Grannie what a matinee was.




When we got into the theatre we'd go to the box office where Grannie bought us the cheapest tickets which gave us seats up in the gallery. I've heard people call the gallery of a theatre "the Gods" and certainly being up there felt like being an all seeing god. Usually we were the only people in the gallery and from where we sat it felt to me as if we were unseen onlookers who were secretly spying on everything and everyone.  It was thrilling to be looking down on the stalls, the orchestra pit and the huge shiny dark red damask curtains that hid the stage. We were always early and I enjoyed watching as members of the audience  arrived in ones and twos to take their seats in the stalls.

A few minutes before the show was due to start the members of the orchestra would appear from what seemed the bowels of the earth and climb up into the orchestra pit which itself was at a lower level than the stall seats in the auditorium.  I use the word ‘orchestra’ in a loose sense since most weeks the orchestra's complement was a very old female violinist, an even older male piano player of considerable girth and a younger male drummer who had slicked back Silvikrinned or Brylcreemed black hair. For the shows headlined by the bigger stars such as Jimmie Logan, Johnny Victory or Lex McLean the orchestra appeared to grow with the addition of a trumpeter and sometimes a trombonist. 

Once they'd got to their places the musicians seemed to fidget around to settle into their playing positions before beginning to tune their instruments  in a desultory way until, without signal, but with a precise urgency, each player took up a poised attitude:  the trumpeter with his trumpet to his lips, the violinist sitting upright with her instrument under her chin and her bow suspended in the air ready to brush the strings, the pianist, both hands poised in the air staring intently at his keyboard  and the drummer leaning forward holding still his cymbal.  The chatter of the audience decrescendo’d to anticipatory silence.  The auditorium lights went down and momentarily plunged us into darkness. The cymbal smashed and the  orchestra struck up with "Happy Days Are Here Again" as the stage lights came up and the curtains rose and there in the spotlight was a troupe of dancers, the Moxon Ladies, kicking up one leg after another in unison. The magic had started and the show rollicked on for almost two hours through a series of performances by  jugglers, acrobats, a duo of balletic dancers, a middle of the bill comedian, a magician, a solo female singer, a male crooner  until finally the star of the show, usually a comedian like Johnny Victory would do his main turn. Often the show was interspersed by comic sketches acted out by the star and some of the other performers. For the grand finale the dancing troupe would return and each of the performers would in turn take their bow all to the tune of "There's No Business Like Show Business" and we in the audience would clap our hands in applause until the curtain came down. If there was a big audience the applause would continue for a while longer and the stage curtain would rise again and the entertainers would take another bow. We'd continue clapping until the curtain was lowered again but that was that. The orchestra fell silent and the artistes did not re-appear. Grannie told me they never did more than one curtain call for the early show because they needed a rest before the second performance went on at about 8.15 pm.

 Afterwards Grannie would take me to the Deep Sea Fish Restaurant nearby where she'd have a fish supper and I would have a dressed white pudding supper. Just to let you know, a plain white pudding was fried without batter on it but a dressed one was fried with batter. 

A Dundee institution : The Deep Sea Restaurant

After this feast Grannie would take her 'stuffed to the gunnels but well entertained' grandson home on the tram back to Lochee. From the terminus we'd walk up to Clement Park. She'd knock on the door and I went in and would go straight upstairs to bed. Grannie would never come in if my Daddy answered the door. If my Mummy answered the door she’d usher Grannie into the kitchen for a cup of tea and tell her to “hud yer wheesht, Ma, Chic’s in the living room.”  My Daddy would be listening to the radio or watching the television there.

After an ice-cream soda, strawberries and cream, a quarter pound of boiled sweets and a dressed white pudding supper I was, as my Daddy invariably predicted I would be, sometimes sick. When that happened he would say to my Mummy, “Never again,” but there was always an again even after the last tram left Lochee for the Nethergate in 1956. From then on Grannie and I went 'doon the toon’ on a number 20 bus until in December 1957 our Friday evenings came to their end when my last train left Dundee for England.

 The site of the tram terminus : photograph of Lochee West Church on the only day it rained in August 2013 .


Friday, 20 September 2013

Down and Out in Coventry, April 1941 and 1968



"Where were you at the bomb blast
when the cathedral bell tolled its last
and the inner bishop said, 'You're bound for Hell' ?"

"I was in mother's womb before I fell."

Wednesday, 28 August 2013

Of Badgers and Men



     It is interesting that leaders of western democracies seem to want to kill people in the middle east. They always say they are doing it for the good of the inhabitants of the countries they attack and yet after completion of their military campaigns they leave each country in a worse state than it was before their intervention. After exercising their "kinder, cleaner machine gun hand" our democratic leaders leave behind them a trail of chaos, violence and fear.  This is true of Iraq and Libya and soon it will be true of Afghanistan. Many would argue that it is already true. Now it seems that the people of troubled Syria may require our leaders' special kind of supportive gesture.

     I disapprove of the Assad regime and it may well be responsible for a deadly poisonous chemical attack upon some of its own people and if this can be proved to be the case then a decision upon action which insists that justice be done, preferably diplomatically rather than militarily, might be considered.  And so,  it's difficult to understand why the leaders of the western democracies are unwilling to wait for the UN investigation team examining evidence of the use of chemical weapons in Syria to file its report.  This impatience does not rest easily with democratic principle. It is as if they are saying, "It is more expedient for us to shoot to kill now and answer Joe Public's questions later." 

     Well here in the UK our political leaders have not yet been able to give themselves permission to rub out those of their citizens they don't like, so they have diverted their aggression toward badgers who they are gunning down because they may be a cause of the spread of bovine tuberculosis - though the scientific evidence for this is far from convincing. 

     Those responsible for leading the cull of the badgers say that if shooting the badgers takes too much time, then, in the name of efficiency, they will turn to using poisonous gas to speed up the process.



Postscript

8 pm August 28th : the Labour Party has forced the UK prime minister David Cameron and the  coalition government he leads to climb down from its intention to initiate immediate military action against  Syria. No further decision will be taken on this issue until the UN investigators have completed and presented the report of their investigation. Good news for the time being but sadly no good news for the badgers. 

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Primary school kids had it coming to them : government plans to shame the 11 years old who have failed us.


The deputy prime minister, Nick "student loans" Clegg, and the schools minister, David "faulty expense claim" Laws, both members of the Conservative led United Kingdom government announced today that, while putting back a little of the big bundle of dosh this government had previously taken from children's services - of course at a time when it was morally imperative to prioritise easing the plight of the needy rich  -  they are now to introduce a new policy for primary school education. This policy will ensure that every 11 year old's school performance will be published to let us know which of them are slacking and are therefore likely to become nasty welfare skivers and which of them will be very clever and become  toadies to a disgraced political and financial system and so make sure that we will all, very sensibly, doff the cap to, and remain in debt to, the powerful few.


Why oh why do some  deluded people still think  kids deserve a childhood ?  And,  don't these kids know that there are very important people in Westminster whose arms are twisted behind their backs by even more important people with "global" financial interests that those self-same politicos have so astutely allowed us to become indebted to?  Can't these youngsters just grow up, like now, like today, like learn their responsibilities ? See how I'm even trying to use their kind of talk to help them understand how crucial Mick "the PM's pompous prying prefect" Gove  knows this to be?  Like, like they don't get it when Mick tells them  for a fact that their conning of the 13 times table by rote will solve all the nation's problems? Don't they like understand that all over the globe those countries whose children know their 13 times table are more economically powerful than us and like if we don't sort it out soon we're going to fall further and further behind in something or other ? Come on kids !  get a grip and stay cool !

And that's why folks I've felt it necessary to bring this new government announcement to your notice. The announcement was made by David Laws just after prime minister's question time on July 17th, 2013  and I thought I would take a lead from the prime minister, Dave "has anyone got a fag?" Cameron, and use his  unique method of selective quoting. So I provide here for anyone who might read this, some excerpts from the new education "initiative."


"low bar"
"raise the bar"
"Floor Standards"
"below the floor"
"higher floor"
"lower floor"
and again "lower floor"
and again  "lower floor"
and again and again and again and  again  'cos we are from 
"lower floor."


Source The government announces plans for higher standards and a bigger premium for primary schools

ps The government notice which I cite here seemed to disappear about 5 minutes after this blog was posted. Oh ! no !  GCHQ  or, even scarier, OFSTED  must be on to me ! Maybe I can get asylum in the corridor of a Russian comprehensive school.

Glossary : a "fag" is an English colloquial term meaning cigarette and by sheer coincidence and sadly not by any smart aforethought on my part it is also a word which refers to a junior boy at an English public school - like Eton College - who acts as a servant to a senior boy. 

Monday, 24 June 2013

Failing and shameful OFSTED lets down students and schools


OFSTED's shameful announcement last week of its negatively biased judgments on schools in seaside towns and in rural areas was a cheap shot to sustain for itself government support for an education inspection system which is driven by what the political classes and big business interests judge to be a good education. The latter is an education which discourages imagination and free thinking in favour of jumping through hoops and conning by rote.   It is a system configured to provide the powerful with people prepared to toe the line, in the same way that many of the heads of our diminishing number of state schools do, for fear of being labelled as being in charge of " failing schools."

I do not for one moment believe these schools are failing their pupils but perhaps the problem for our schools in rural and littoral situations is that they are less well financially endowed than other schools. They may be the schools which can't afford to pay fat consultancy fees to off duty OFSTED inspectors so that they can carry out a MOCKSTED before an official inspection. So much for a random system of inspection. Yes folks, this actually happens. A system which should be random  can actually be rehearsed beforehand if your child's school can afford it. 


School in rural setting


So determined are some schools in attaining the targets set for this narrow form of education, that many children can find that rather than getting on with their education week after week in a calm, creative and industrious way in the company of their teachers they are now becoming the most observed people in the country. Imagine this. No don't imagine it, because it actually happens. Schools where the senior management of a school and its governors fall into line with the martinet regime favoured by our political masters set up programmes such as : week one, teachers and classes observed and assessed by senior management of the school ; week two, two days of MOCKSTED when off-duty OFSTED inspectors give the school an unofficial going over; week three, governors come into the school to observe and assess the teachers and the classes ; week  four, official OFSTED inspection takes place. The long term result of this : anxious teachers and so anxious children. 



School in seaside setting 


In relation to its recent proclamations, OFSTED failed to show basic human respect to the pupils and the teachers of the schools upon which it pronounced its dubious and probably spurious judgments.  OFSTED knew that its "conclusions" would cause headlines which would be upsetting and damaging to both pupils and teachers of these schools, but hey, why bother about a little thing like that when you can guarantee that OFSTED  is creating headlines that will delight a punitive education minister and a punitive government and allow OFSTED to spread its tentacles into other areas, like, for instance, the NHS. 

Monday, 3 June 2013

An adult rants : lay off our youth, we - or I - are (am) the real problem.




Now before anyone begins to mouth off  that I’ve become too adolescent-centred let me  say that adults can say, do, and, not do things which can be considered very good for young people and so also for themselves. I think the self- same adults can also say, do or not do things that are an injustice to young  people.  Too often adults give young people a bad press. This was confirmed for me when recently I read a report in my local newspaper about a public meeting in our Town Hall which had been called to discuss a general concern about street crime.

Don’t get me wrong; destructive and violent street crime disturbs and frightens me as much as the next person, but on reading the newspaper report it became obvious within the first few sentences that the meeting considered young people to be the principal villains when it came to street crime.

Naturally,  epitome of good citizenry that I am, I was not at the meeting, and to be fair, the report seemed to suggest there was a consensus in the meeting that young people should not be stereotyped and that only a minority of young people were involved in delinquent behaviour. Nevertheless it appeared that for many at the meeting delinquency on the town’s streets could only be put down to youth. 



Street crime : not happening

One of the reasons wheeled out to explain this problem was that there was not enough organised activity available for youngsters and so with nothing else to do they go out on the streets and rampage. There is usually some truth in old chestnuts but adults who totally fall for this one are in serious denial. They have consciously or unconsciously blocked from their memory what it is to be young.


Hasn’t it always been the case that for some young people to be involved in organised activity like the scouts or to be a member of the youth club has been cool, while for others, perhaps those of a more solitary nature, belonging to such organisations has always been uncool? That a substantial number of young people do not join in the activities of a youth organisation does not necessarily mean there is a shortage of resources, neither does it mean that  youngsters who do not join organised youth activities are more likely to be street criminals.

We forget too that like us before them, teenagers either quietly or more obviously, are embarking on that often embarrassing and painful search to find an adult identity. As part of this process youngsters need in some way to break away from their parenting figures and sometimes they do this by rejecting what adults provide for them.
These rejections can be painful for adults. Few of us can be perfect parents, and this is a time when both generations, parents and youngsters are meeting new experiences, and so mistakes are made, but parenting adults have a vital role in allowing enough space for  a youngster's quest for adult identity to take place.  At the same time as keeping our young people as safe as we possibly can we should ensure that young spirits are not broken. Adolescence is a time for using  the mutual trust that has built up through the childhood years to allow the risk-taking that necessarily has to take place as young people grow into adulthood.

This is why it is so regrettable that our idea of the adolescent period is largely centred on the behaviour of young people, rather than being seen as a time of re-negotiating personal positions between two generations. If there is a relationship problem between two generations, then the older generation has to take some (and in my view, most) of the responsibility for it, since after all it is supposed to be wiser.  So, when, as we walk up the High Street of our local town or city,  we see or hear something which suggests to us that the behaviour and values of our young people are deteriorating,  we should be more open and tolerant in our thinking when we ask what has caused this “deterioration.”
My particular generation, those people who were teenagers in the late 1950s and early 1960s, were the ones who believed they had revolted against what we thought was the repression, (particularly of emotional and sexual matters) suffered by our parents’ generation, and so it seemed we should offer our children greater freedom of expression.

Street crime may have happened

In any such social developments there is a down side as well as an up side. It is all too easy for us to forget, when we complain about the foul language of some young people nowadays, that from the late 1960s and early 1970s, in the spirit of freedom from repression (some called this “ becoming permissive”), our generation allowed for the first time sexual intimacy, sexual swear words, violence and sexual violence to be increasingly viewed on the cinema and television screen.

I happen to think that there are more positives to having less censorship rather than increased censorship, as long as the problematic issues which arise are discussed sensitively between generations, and between parent and young person. I do not think these discussions occur often enough or when they do they tend to turn into adult rants (like this know-all one you may still be reading now).

More worrying is that when we adults lay the responsibility for increasing anti-social behaviour in our society at the feet of young people, we conveniently forget our part in cultivating a social environment in which anti-social behaviour can flourish because we have failed to take on our full parenting responsibilities.  We do not always work very hard at being positive role models for our youngsters. All too frequently, we leave this to social networks, the internet, television and computer games, the youngsters’ peers groups, and other adults. At the same time we deny the paradox that those very acquisitive, aggressive cultural role models and values - which we adults, from the righteousness of our moral pedestal,  condemn as powerful negative influences on our young - are in fact the values of a political system and marketing and media industries which we,  directly or indirectly, in our clamour  for greater financial wealth,  have allowed to develop and flourish.
It is not helpful to deny that there are serious problems facing young people in our community or that there are some youngsters who are behaving in a way which harms others and themselves. But shouldn’t adults reflect on ways to solve these problems by first acknowledging a significant responsibility for their creation, rather than passing the blame on to young people, or indeed on to their teachers, youth workers, social workers and the police? Isn’t there a need to recognise and accept the necessarily perennial inter-generational problems involved in the process of growing up? Adults have a responsibility to contain these problems but also to accept them as a normal part of life.


Wednesday, 29 May 2013

Three Dundee FC directors resign, no Texan dollars but something to be proud of : DFC Supporters' Society, a group with integrity and courage.



Congratulations to Dundee FC Supporters' Society for standing up to the Texan investment group's attempt to bounce it into accepting its offer. Why is it that  people who claim they have the interests of an institution at heart when they are seeking to take it over so often tend to set unreasonable deadlines. Well, I could be wrong but I think this usually happens when someone is trying to buy something for a good deal less than it's worth. If this Texan group really did have the interests of  Dundee Football Club at heart why couldn't it wait for the due processes to take place ? After all who is the attempted takeover group's frontman John Nelms anyway ?  Why should the Dundee FC Supporters' Society jump to his bidding ?

I wonder too why the three directors of the board, Mr. Colvin, Mr. Martin and Mr Crichton, who have decided to resign over the Supporters' Society decision were unwilling to take more time to consider the takeover proposal more carefully. Don't they think it would be worth waiting to see if the Texan group really wanted to takeover the club rather than purchase it for a snip ?

By the way, I went to the Hibs match on May 18th at Easter Road where I thought the team were not as impressive as they had been in the scoreless draw on the last occasion in January when the sides met at Easter Road. On that occasion Dundee, adopting the positive tactics Barry Smith encouraged the team to play,  were unlucky not to win. It was at that game we could begin to see the potential of the approach the former manager had been working so hard to develop.

There was as usual great support from the Dundee fans in Edinburgh though unlike last time I was the only Dundee fan having a pint at the Artisan Bar after the match. Certainly there were no board members there this time. Perhaps the whiff of Texan dollars was drawing them elsewhere.



No DFC VIPs in the Artisan Bar this time around


Monday, 20 May 2013

A story of the Dux Medal, Liff Road School, Lochee, Dundee, 1957










Yes, I was a Dux medallist at Liff Road Primary School. My achievement may not have been as meritorious or as heroic as it sounds. I'll explain all about that a little later. It is true I had been a high flyer throughout my primary school years. In my last two years at Liff Road School my class was Primary 6a and finally Primary 7a. Our class teacher was Miss Cameron. I was good at mental arithmetic - always the first to put my hand up and click my fingers, stand up and edge down the aisle between the desks to draw Miss Cameron's attention to me  when she posed mental arithmetic problems for us. 

"What do 23 half crowns make in pounds, shillings and pence ?"

"Miss! Miss!  £2 - 17s - 6d ! Miss." 


 For anyone born after the decimalisation of our currency this was spoken as two pounds seventeen shillings and sixpence. I never found out why the symbol for a penny was "d",  but as you'll discover I was not at that time very good with codes or symbols.

"If  3 oranges cost one shilling and threepence how much would 7 oranges cost?" 

"Miss ! Miss me, Miss, me Miss ! two shillings and eleven pence, Miss."
 In numbers this was written as 2/11 and in common usage you'd say "two and eleven." 

I not only made Miss Cameron aware of my prowess in mental arithmetic. I always got full marks for spelling tests and I was excellent in my grammar lessons and particularly at sentence analysis. For instance, I would always spot a very useful truth like "this is a subordinate adverbial clause of time qualifying the verb 'travelled' " as well as other such exotic 'grammartalia'.


Keen as I was to impress Miss Cameron with all my work,  I was also a fidgeter and a whisperer and a sender out of love notes to girls. Custom, and I think shyness, had it that these notes were never sent directly to the object of  one's romantic affection but were circulated around the class so that others could inform  her or him that she or he was loved by the sender. My notes were like this....  





and later



and also I sent notes out to spin the idea that this love was mutual. 




I drew in the heart to show that this was a note that could only be written by a girl. 

All these extra-curricular activities of mine got on Miss Cameron's goat to the extent that she felt impelled to give me the belt about three times a week. I was quite good at looking tough when taking the belt and managed to stay expressionless except for the slight involuntary lifting of my left foot at the very painful moment of impact between the strap of leather and the palm of my hand. Another boy, IB, who got the belt about twice a day and who was reputed to be the second best fighter in the school always noticed my tiny sign of weakness and without exception he would shout out  that I was "a cowardy coof !" Given his fighting reputation I never argued the point with him.

Thinking back about the punishments we received, the teacher our class had before Miss Cameron,  Miss Gilchrist,  who taught us in Primary 4 and 5 had a different  disciplinary method. I always remember Miss Gilchrist as being very old. She was a stocky, quite powerfully built woman whose grey hair was always cut short and she wore a wrap around Paisley pattern overall which was the uniform of women of a certain age at that time when they came to do their domestic chores. Her method of controlling the pupils in her class was singular. She would put any of her pupils whom she thought recalcitrant  face down and fully horizontal over her knee  and skelp them five or six times on the bottom with her right hand. When she'd finished administering her particular kind of corporal punishment she'd say, (and she  spoke always in Scots with a Dundee accent), "Woe betide ye if ye dare tae dae that again for Eh'll gi'e ye a bare bummer !” Perhaps fortunately for the sake of all our dignities I can't recall it ever reached the stage of anyone getting a "bare bummer."  On one occasion IB had  his "doup skelpt" by Miss Gilchrist and he threatened to bring his father to school to sort her out.

She retorted, "Eh, an' Eh'll bring meh faither here tae sort yours oot!"  This stopped us in our tracks. Even IB, the second best fighter at the school, was gobsmacked. We were all, everyone of us in the class room that day, awestruck that someone as old and as fierce as Miss Gilchrist  could have a father. What kind of fearful monster would he be?

Having said all this I can't really remember anyone complaining to the authorities about Miss Gilchrist. I  don't think there was one of us in our class who had any thought that she was  unduly cruel.  I think we respected her. We would not have been able to put this in words but she had our respect because she, more than our other teachers, had experience of, and understood, the kind of life most of us were living in the Lochee community. Much of the time she spoke the Dundee Scots that we spoke out in the playground, on the streets and with most of our families.  We accepted her and the things she did, though even for those times these seemed a little bizarre. In punitive terms her "doup skelping" may have been less painful than being strapped though no doubt it was much more embarrassing.  I have to say that during the following years  I was belted regularly by Miss Cameron, but I had always managed to avoid Miss Gilchrist's punishment. This may have been because I was better behaved than I was eventually to become, and I have a suspicion that this was partly so because I could not bare (oops, Freudian slip)....... I mean I could not bear even the thought of the indignity of having my bottom whacked in public. 

On my journey from Primary 1a in 1950 toward Primary 5a in 1955 I had almost always been at the top of the class. Then in 1955, just about the time my youngest sister was born, BD joined  the school when her family moved from Fife to Dundee where her father had been appointed as the head gardener at a famous park and estate on the outskirts of Dundee. BD, you  may recall was to become the subject of most of my love notes, though I always retained a soft spot for HH. Like me BD was left-handed but unlike me her birthday was the 5th of May for I remember us writing the date 5.5.55 in our exercise books on her 10th birthday. BD was very bright and I found I had to share my place at the top of the class with her. 

The academic year 1956-57 was a big year for Primary 7a because it was the year that we sat for the "quallie", our qualifying examination, the results of which would decide whether we went to what was called a senior secondary school like the Harris Academy or the Morgan Academy or whether we went to a junior secondary school like Logie or Rockwell. The latter two schools were excellent in their own right and many of my fellows were attracted by them because they could leave school at the age of 15 and get into the world of work and wages sooner, whereas there was an expectation that those of us who went to the Harris or the Morgan would be staying on at school until we were 17 and some might even go on to university.  Being from an ambitious family I was pushed to go for the Harris Academy and I had been indoctrinated enough to think it was a good idea myself.  

The "Quallie" had three phases. First there was an Intelligence Test, second there was  an Arithmetic exam which was followed by an English exam. I didn't finish the intelligence test. It flummoxed me. One question was, 


"If  §@$  reads as 'cat' what does the following read as?   @§$ "
The answer I now realise was "act" but my mind responded by protesting "If we already have adequate letters to spell out "cat" why do we need to be introduced to these new ones?" This complicated things too much for me and so I had a failure of imagination. My grey matter would not allow me beyond the barrier newly installed in my mind.  I was blind to the code. As for the Arithmetic and English examinations I knew as soon as I had finished them that I had done very well.  

A few days later Miss Cameron was looking at me in  a strange and it seemed frustrated way. She spoke out what I believe she meant to keep as a thought. “ 69, 69 : how could you get a score of 69 in an intelligence test ?”  She didn’t say anything else and neither did she mention it again  but I knew that what she meant was that I had failed the Intelligence test. I am aware now that you cannot fail an intelligence test, it is meant to be a measure of a person’s intellectual insight. I guess  my IQ score of 69 tells you all you need to know about me.

In any case I waited with trepidation for the result of the “Quallie” and wondered who would be the recipient of the Dux medal. I  hoped against hope that by some miracle it could still be me. 


A day before the Dux medal was to be awarded to the successful pupil it was announced that this year there would be two Dux medallists, a girl and a boy. The winners were BD and me.






In August when I arrived at the Harris Academy dressed in my brand new maroon blazer with cord trim I found that  the first year pupils  were split into six classes from 1A, the brightest end of the spectrum through to 1F, its less scintillating extreme. BD was in placed in 1C and I was placed in 1E.  This did not necessarily mean that BD was only averagely clever because most of the pupils placed in 1A and 1B had been at the Harris Academy primary school  and may have had a certain advantage in preparing for the “quallie.”  That BD had been placed in a class that presumably was more able than the one I was in  left me to wonder if the boy’s Dux medal had been awarded  to provide me and my  parents with a consolation prize or whether it was genuinely a decision to reward both the best girl and the best boy. "Maybe," I thought, "I wasn't the true Dux medallist."

It doesn’t bother me now. I’ve got over it but it is interesting that I remember it as if it all happened yesterday.


Of course,  I couldn’t be anything other than pleased by BD’s triumph after all….




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Jan Shelley, (nee McCurrach)  writes:



I have just read an article on a Dundee Memory site by Charles Sharpe. It transported me back to my primary days as I too was awarded the Dux Medal in my final year at Liff Road. 





Jane's Dux Medal..


...awarded for Session 1963-64



I could almost smell my old school as I was reading. Wonderful!  I also passed the "Quallie" and attended Harris Academy for six years.

I suspect Charles is one year older than my brother Kenneth McCurrach who also attended Liff Road school.

Thank you for the journey back in time.

October, 2017

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Charles Sharpe comments:

After further research I have found that there had been previous occasions when both a boy' and a girl's Dux Medal was awarded  but I still have doubts about mine.

January, 2015

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Jeremy Millar writes:

 I was 10 years later but the culture was very similar in Stoneywood primary. Our heidie had been a desert rat and when, I presume he was bored, he would dismiss the class teacher and tell tales of his wartime exploits. I too was belted for being 'clever'. The d in £sd stands for dinarii the Latin for penny. Thanks to google and not a classical education!

May, 2013


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