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REGARDING which part of
a man's life is most important there is still considerable disparity of
opinion. Whatever period mav be described as man's most significant years,
the fact that schooldays are of vital consequence cannot be refuted by any
man. It was during the eleven years which I spent at Stewarton School that
the roots of my worldly existence were developed. Whether or not my life's
labours will bear any fruit depends now upon the weather of Fate and the
course of future circumstance. One thing, however, is certain : during the
years I attended that school my classmates and I received every care and
attention that it is possible for a teacher to bestow on his pupils.
Having experienced the ingratitude of the gross outside world in my search
for a job, I now appreciate more fully the encouragement which the
Headmaster and Staff of my old school gave to their pupils in order that
they might develop to the fullest any talents which they might have the
good fortune to possess.
THE INFANT
CLASS.
It was in 1922 that I was taken up to the school by Andrew Miller, an
older scholar and playmate of mine. I see us all now, the newcomers, most
of them accompanied by their mothers, standing in a row before Miss
Mache's desk for the purpose of enrolment. Despite Miss Mactie's
gentleness, and her own mother's consoling presence, one of the girls, I
remember, wept throughout the whole proceedings. Throughout that forenoon
the girl persisted in her lachrymose ebullitioiis, much to my
satisfaction, for I felt myself now for the first time in my life really a
man. Experience has since taught me, however, that it takes more than
tears to make a woman and dry eyes to make a man.
The great treat of my first year at school was the visit of Santa Claus to
the Infant Classes on the day before the Christmas vacation. Tension
filled the class throughout that morning at the expense of our youthful
studies. The " Ah, Eli, Aw, Oil, Oo " sing-song went flat. We mis-spelt
words like " to " and " pot," but what else could be expected ? Before the
arrival of Santa Claus the late Dr. Watson, then School Convener, came in
to add dignity to the memorable occasion, I must confess that the presence
of the Doctor, and of Mr. Waddell, the Headmaster, filled my classmates
and me with awe, but these two austere personages soon dimmed into
insignificance when the door of the room opened and in stepped Father
Christmas. After greeting us in suitable fashion Santa gave each of us a "
poke," the contents of which consisted of pastry, sweets and an orange. It
was without doubt a great day. We were to learn at a later date, with
something of a shock to our youthful innocence, that Santa was none other
than Mr. John Yuille garbed in cloak and mask.
A CHORAL
TRIUMPH.
Another red-letter day in my school career was that on which our class
attended the Musical Festival at Ayr. Our teacher, Miss Burgess, who was a
great favourite with the pupils, used to coach us every morning for months
before the event. In addition to this the Headmaster used to test our
vocal merits daily. He might, I think, be called (saving the mark) " the
Singing Dominie," for I know of no teacher who has devoted himself so
whole-heartedly as he to instruction in that pleasant and cultural
subject. Both he and Miss Burgess were very exacting,- but their efforts
were nowise in vain, for we carried off First Prize at the Festival. Miss
Burgess gave each pupil in her class a fine Chocolate Easter Egg to
celebrate the event. Perhaps it is on that account that the occasion is so
well remembered.
A SCHOOL PHOTOGRAPH.
As I write these scattered impressions I have before me an old class
group. Like a bottle of wine its value increases with age. So highly do I
now value it that I have penned a few lines in its praise.
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THE AULD CLASS
GROUP.
Puir ill-used photo in my haun',
You tak' me back
ten years bygone;
You mak' me think
and muse upon
Time's changing
power:
Alas ! for no man
he will staun',
Not e'en an hour.
That's me there in the hindmaist raw,
As stiff's a
stookie like to fa',
A pit-on smile
across my jaw;
For me it's rare,
I've on a shirt
as white as snaw,
E'en brushed my
hair.
That's Gillies, glowerin' at my right,
The Bonaparte of
every fight;
His cantrips sent
the teachers gyte,
And, since the
tawse
On his hard haun'
each day did smite,
Our chief he was.
That laddie in the second raw,
A lad mair gleg
you never saw,
Ave at the
countin' and fitba',
His name was
first ;
His face here
keeks oot ower us a',
Determined,
pursed.
Upon the third line here displayed,
What change a few
brief years have made;
One girl in her
green grave is laid,
Ere she can learn
How bitter is the
world ahead,
How hard and
stern.
Alang a bit I see a few,
Wha are a' married women noo,
But, though it's
strange,
there's naething
new,
Their ma's
before,
Had photos ta'en
in front of, too,
That same school
door,
What thoughts this photo brings to me !—
Sometimes a
memory filled wi' glee;
Sometimes a tear
that dims the e'e,
Or vision soft.
The coming race in reverie,
I conjure oft. |
SCHOOL FOOTBALL.
One of the greatest events in the school's history', I believe, took place
during my time. It was the introduction of sport into school life. Before
I was in the Qualifying Class two enterprising teachers, Mr. Scrimgeour
and Mr. Milford, formed a School Football Eleven. Concerning the
inauguration of the Football Team I must relate an incident at my own
expense. In order to give all the lads a game the teachers picked a number
of teams and held matches in the afternoons. At the, first and—1 must
add—the last match in which I figured, the duty of taking one of the
corner kicks happened to devolve on me. Eager to make a good show, I
rushed at the ball so furiously that I missed it completely. Thus was
staged by debut and exit from the soccer field.
These rude football teams were the forerunners of some elevens which
proved a credit to the school. In lfl30 the Stewarton School team won the
Kilmarnock and District Schoolboys' Cup. The members of the team have all
left the school now, but their play is not forgotten. It was a fine
example of co-operation, skill and true sportsmanship.
Yes, Stewarton School, I am proud to have been one of your pupils. I spent
many happy days within your walls, and I was truly sorry to leave you. It
is to you that I have written these lines:—
ON' LEAVING
SCHOOL.
Now that I'm left the
school and rudely hurled Into the midst of this confusing world: The old
paternal words at last ring true That schooldays were by far the best lie
knew; But to those words the scholar pays no heed, Until, too late he
finds them true indeed. When belts that bit and Latin's boring hour All
mitigation had in Memory's power, And playground games come soaring back
to view, With teachers' tales and all the classmate crew, The nicknames
queer, the master's hidden belt, The drawing freaks, the science room that
smelt, And, near the end, the first sweet calf-love glance Cast o'er the
book whene'er we got the chance. These make me grieve such days did e'er
expire. But hence be thou, Ingratitude's desire, God bless you, little
place where I was taught, Thy grown-up sons respect you as they ought.
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