This Story’s a Belter by Gary Robertson
I think one day in 1972 shaped my firm belief that the time spent at school does not constitute the best days of your life.
What does it say about your 3 score years and ten if the best time you ever had was when you were herded around like sheep, every adult you met told you what to do and you were too immature to understand proper relationships?
Don't get me wrong I didn't hate school; hate is too strong a word. I regularly dreaded going but there were things I enjoyed and I did feel it got better as I got older. That might be down to the fact that by the time 5th and 6th year come round pupils are allowed to spend part of their time out of the school!
In 1972 I was just 5 years old. The first classrooms I attended still had milk delivered every morning in tiny bottles and I am sure my memory isn't playing tricks when I recall we had slates which we occasionally used to draw on.
Starting school was a big deal. It is for every child, I'm sure, but I hadn't gone to nursery so this was my first taste of a regimented life and I struggled to cope in the beginning.
I wasn't used to having to sit in the same place for hours and although I was respectful of adults I didn't feel in awe of them or the authority they had over me. I was getting used to this new, alien, situation in a Victorian school building which had enormous ceilings and huge windows. All the more so when you're around 4 feet tall. Every day one child was sent to ring the bell to herald playtime or lunch and I remember having to climb on hot water pipes to reach the windowsill where the handbell was kept.
So back to that day when my negative view of school life became fixed. I don’t remember the exact date but it was summer and as usual all of the children were running around the extensive green areas inside the walls that marked out the border of the grounds. A new sandpit was being constructed in one corner and there were signs around it telling youngsters to stay back. At that carefree age I decided, along with a couple of pals, to ignore the sign and play in the sand. That decision led to our downfall.
We were spotted by the headmaster – a man on the verge of retirement who was a scary figure. He looked like something out of the 1950s. We were marched into his office and I remember shaking as he opened a large cupboard and revealed a family of belts. In those days it was still lawful to use the tawse. His collection started with a very long leather strap and ranged down to what looked like a baby version, sadly just the right size to bring pain to the hands of 5 year olds and tears to their eyes. My shaking got worse as he loomed over me, belt in hand.
It was the one and only time I ever got the strap at school but the memory, unlike the physical pain, hasn’t passed. I think the reason it has stayed with me so long is the sense of injustice at the harsh punishment handed out for just playing in sand. As an adult I also have a belief that taking a leather strap to the hands of a naughty five year old is not the best way to instil discipline.
Mind you it was the one and only time. I’m not saying I was always the best behaved child in the years afterwards but I always made sure I didn’t get caught.
Gary Robertson presents Good Morning Scotland on BBC Radio Scotland
