Misssy at 8 (far left) Junior Misssy went to visit her school today. She starts proper in August.
Me? I hated Primary School. I think that’s maybe because I went to a total of four different schools in the course of the seven years. Just as I stopped being the new girl, I went to another one and was the new girl again. I would love to say that this was because my Dad was wanted for political activism like Judd Hirsch in the film, “Running on Empty” and we had to move about to avoid the Feds. But, disappointingly, that was not the case.
Card carrying Scottish Nationalists might have to put up with a bit of slagging in the 1970s but to my knowledge none of them ever had to have face-changing surgery, identity reassignments or go on the run. They just had to embarrass their kids on polling day by driving them to school in a car covered in flags, rosettes, posters and loud speakers so that their kids wanted to go on a witness relocation programme afterwards. (But that's a whole other post).
Another reason I probably hated primary school was that I was chronically shy as a kid. This is something that people who know me now laugh about, as I’m a bit shouty and “let’s do the show right here” these days. Back then, I was more whispery and “Oh don’t look at me, there’s someone else doing a show over there”.
Looking at old school report cards, the key words are “quiet” and “conscientious” , which is teacher talk for “I can’t remember who the blazes this kid is, but they can’t be any trouble or else I would at least know who they are.”
Meeester has similar reports, yet he is Foghorn Leghorn these days.
All this is certainly putting paid to that old quote: “give me the child until seven and I'll show you the man”
If I were to be like the seven year old Misssy now, I would not be telling you all this, as I would be firmly behind my Mum’s skirt pretending you weren’t there. You might try to coax me out with sweets, but I can assure you, I would be having none of it.
So as Junior Misssy’s first day at school grows closer I wonder what’s in store for
her. She’s vastly different from me, so the next seven years should go fine. I am even looking forward to getting a couple of notes home saying that she was caught setting fire to something or was setting up illegal poker games.
Indy, however, was built from the same blueprint as me, but when teachers tell me he’s conscientious and quiet, it doesn’t bother me.
The quiet kids are just saving their noise up for later.
* * *
So first day memories then folks. You know what to do.
Mine are:
1. Sat with two kids I didn’t know and we all shared our crisps so that we each had a bag with three different flavours. One other girl was wearing her green cardigan under her pinafore.
1. Sat with two kids I didn’t know and we all shared our crisps so that we each had a bag with three different flavours. One other girl was wearing her green cardigan under her pinafore.
2. Wouldn’t let my mum walk beside me on the way to school, as I wanted to go myself. She humoured me and stayed several paces behind like she was a wife in some hardline Arab country and I her domineering husband.
3. The teacher was called Mrs Potts, which has to be the best Primary One teacher name ever.
4. Was told to look out for my Uncle’s name on the School Dux board by my gran, but didn’t know anything about ducks or indeed how to read. She is still going on about this achievement 30 years later. I think she wants it written on her tombstone, “Loving Mother to a son who was the Dux of the School”
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22 comments:
You might be different, but your smile is the same! I can't remember much from primary school -- I too attended many schools (11 in total)-- I think this has something with my inability to remember details.
My primary one teacher was called Mrs Strupmeyer. And she looked it.
I liked my first school, but memories got worse from middle school (9 - 13 yrs) and upper school (13 - 16 yrs) onwards.
I have blogged about it quite a bit already (Growing Up A MisFit and Growing Up Poor, and David Darling Parts 1, 2 and 3).
I spent three years at upper school being persecuted for (1) my size, (2) my poor second-hand clothes, (3) the general gawky way I looked with mousey hair, glasses and braces, (4) a stupid teenage crush (viz: David Darling).
I am so looking forward to completing my Ugly Duckling to Swan transformation once I have lost all my weight, got my teeth fixed etc -- it might be 25 years too late (I'm now 40) but better late than never !!
my primary 1 teacher was called mrs williams and she was a dragon. my memories of primary 1 consist of sitting with my legs on my chair, trying to avoid the stream of pee, dribbling along the floor, from the boy next to me!
Clarissa: I suppose it is the same! I'd like to think I've moved on fashionwise, though!
Loth: Nope Strupmeyer wins. Did you go to school in the Tyrol?! the Hills are Alive...etc!
Goodbye: Will pop over and read those. And good on you for making the decision. There's a great blog being run by three excellent bloggers called "A Lard off my Mind" where they talk about losing weight. It's great becuase it's all shared stories and very funny. I would imagine you'd get encouragement/laughs from that. If you haven't already.
Gillian: Yeah, everyone remembers the kid that peed. Ours was Eric. Poor Eric- he was too shy to ask to go to the loo. And this was P5. Would like to think he's in showbusiness now.
I too went to four primary schools, but I can't remember much about my first day at the first one. It wasn't much of a change rally - a big crowd of us knew each other from playgroup that was in the same grounds as the school, so it was really just a change of rooms and teacher for me. My P1 teacher was Mrs Long, another great name for five-year-olds to laugh at.
Apart from that, my other P1 memory is of segregation - I was the only child in my class who could read when they started school, so while everyone else was learning, I was taken to another teacher to practice reading books.
I hated primary school where I was bullied mercilessly for talking "posh" and being bookish. I was also dux, which did little to endear me to anyone. Anyone who says your schooldays are the best of your life is a liar in my book.
1. Wet myself as a result of being to stupid to ask if I could go to the toilet. I had to put sand from the fire bucket on the mess and sweep it all up with a black dust pan and brush that seemed at the time to have belonged to a giant.
2. Blew a snot bubble out my nose by accident then got all anxious when a kid who saw me do it insisted I do it again or he'd tell a teacher. I couldn't. He was a little bastard.
3. Snuck a fairy from the top of a music box into my duffel coat pocket. The missing item was noticed and there followed fairygate. I owned up and was chastised in front of the class as the worst thief since Dick Turpin.
4. Got into massive trouble with the head for picking up and playing with an old jug that older pupils were using to collect and measure rainfall.
5. Moved to a new school and got picked on for my accent until I beat the shit out of one kid who goaded me. Big trouble but that was the end of me being bullied.
I'm happy to say though that like you and Meester I've moved on since those early years. I always use the toilet nowadays whenever I need to go.
My primary one teacher was Miss Crawford (ancient spinster type). She constantly had her lips in the "whistle" position which made her look annoyed all the time. She was annoyed all the time. I remember being lambasted in front of the whole class. My crime? I had worn four badges that day (not spotted by my harassed mother). Miss Crawford's empathy and understanding of children can be judged by her comment, "How dare you come to school like some latter day Herman Goering?"
In the words of Billy Connolly, "five I was"
Ahh . . the good old days!
The joys of rushing into John Menzies to get a new pencil case, maybe even with a protractor with which to stab a young chum. A brand new Rucanor sports bag, soon to be covered in felt tip pen. An itchy blazer, fashioned from a nasa-like material called 'barathea'. Warm beetroot cut into little cubes. Bottles of tepid milk, and buckets of sawdust in case you couldn't keep it down.
If only I could go back to olde Langlees Primary School and Mr Docherty. A teacher who featured in the Daily Record a few years ago for employing a technique called 'the back-breaker' to enforce discipline.
Best years of my life.
I do of course mean a compass. A protractor was a half-moon shaped thing that was only good for throwing, Frisbee like, at someone across the class.
I absolutely loved primary school and was usually the teacher's favorite, not sure why but I had a pretty sunny disposition back then. I was also a loud mouth from day one and am still a loudmouth.
And it is such a relief that your dad was almost as embarassing as my austrian mum.
I can't really remember much about my first day, to be honest. I do seem to recall several kids whining and crying because their mothers had left them, and thinking "Oh, for fuck's sake" (or the four-year-old version of that).
My teacher was a fucking bitch, though. Mrs Findlay was her name, and she was totally old school. She must have been in her fifties by the time I got there (1981), and she was clearly none too pleased that you couldn't smack around the kids anymore. When she was trying to teach me how to write "p" on the blackboard, the old crone actually shook me violently because I got confused and kept in drawing "b".
Apart from that, primary school was a relatively happy time. I did get bullied quite a bit but for some reason the hardest girl in school and I became best friends in P7, so I got left alone after that! Yay!
Jock: My mum claims actually that I could read and write before I went to school, but frankly I don't really remember and I'm not sure if I believe her. She had two other kids to look after and is a housework addict, so I don't know how she found the time to home-school me as well.
Alex: What a great list. Snot bubbles cannot be done on demand..I've just tried.
Rab: "How dare you come to school like some latter day Herman Goering?"
That's hilarious- was your teacher Maggie Smith?
Inchy: Yes, what WAS that cubed beetroot all about- did ANYONE ever eat it?
Emma: My dad put us through hell in the name of an Independent Scotland. In our own small ways, us kids are martyrs.
Slutty: Nice strategy- pal up with the hardest kid. My brother did that in secondary school and sailed through. His mate wasn't a bully, just a very big kid you wouldn't mess with.
I went to Primary School at New Gilston Primary School. My teacher, Mrs Dobie was one of two teachers, who along with the dinner lady/cleaner made up the school staff. My class was two people, my self and Pat Lees. What I remember was that she was an impossibly good artist. It was a source of great frustration that her first day drawing of her house actually looked like a house.
I was unusual in that I lived in one house and went to one primary school and one high school, which I made up for later in life by going to seven institutes of higher education and 37 different living arrangements in five countries since then.
Ah Missy- you media star you!
http://www.sundaymail.co.uk/news/editors-choice/2008/06/15/we-want-you-to-join-scotland-s-biggest-blog-78057-20607261/
Colin: I reckon only being to one school and one secondary must make you extremely well adjusted. But how did you play football in the playground with only one other wee guy?
Rab: In the words of Tucker Jenkins in granger Hill, "Flippin' 'eck!"
Thanks for sending me the link!
My lady, simply being mentioned in the same breath as your good self is an honour indeed!
Watch the hit counter rise! (or not, probably)
Inchy: re hit counter. Will be interesting to see if it makes any difference. But given that they printed my URL wrongly, I doubt it too. Still it was a nice surprise.
The Daily Record picked up on one of my posts last year. I had written a song about Kelvin McKenzie and through that they had featured my blog in the paper. Rather than simply put the blog address in the article they put the whole nine yards of the link. I got I think about an extra 150 hits.
Talking of which, what has happened to the Scottish websites site? It looks like it's year zero!
Big Rab: I can't say I've noticed any hits yet...which as I said may be down to the wrong URL being posted. But I am just so chuffed at being in the paper my Gran has bought since the year dot! Fairly made my day. As for Scottish Top Websites: I know! What the blazes is going on there??? Their messed up stats make it look like only two people read all of the Scottish websites.
Rab: Oh I hadn't even looked today til now- what the f? It's broken!
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