Isabel Morrison

Going up to Airdrie Academy in 1957, aged 11, from a village primary school, I felt overawed and underprepared: some of my classmates had already done a bit of French and decimals! However, thanks to some fine teaching (and hard work) I managed to survive and made the rather odd choice of Greek as my specialist language in 3rd year. There were only two of us in the class so we did really well, especially under the guidance of Mr Simpson, who had terrorised all of us in his Latin class in S1.

I was never very sporty, and being bussed to and from the school meant that after-school activities were limited but I joined the Drama Club run by Mr Inglis and Miss Sneddon, which had very exacting standards. A more relaxed activity which I became a member of was organised by Mr Liddell and Mr Train – the Debating Society, where in 5th year I became aware of the boy in the year below me who eventually became my husband – and who sees to all my computer needs!

 

I was on the School Board at the time of the Great Asbestos Scandal of 1995, when the school and the parents fought to get the stuff removed from the affected building – in other words, the original school. Those departments which had to pack up and move out during the clean-up operation had our consolation in the “huts” we were moved into: state-of-the-art classrooms with masses of storage space and, eventually, the poshest of portaloos! In fact the headmaster of the time, Hugh McCallum, joked that they had to prise my fingers off the doors to get me to move back!

 

Throughout my teaching career I have been a dinosaur, a technophobe, and a total klutz as far as computers are concerned; but I had the cavalry come to my rescue in the shape of John Kerr, Ian Dalton, and Jackie, Theresa and Janey in the office, who made sure that all my forms (especially registration – thanks, ladies!) were completed correctly.

 

The end-of-year bun fight was always looked forward to. I remember one in particular: Ian McLaren, aka the Doc, aka the Deputy Head, had been more than generous in dishing out the dreaded “please takes” to those of us in the English Department. We were getting so fed up that we kept these nasty wee slips as evidence (for what? a grievance procedure?). On the last day of term we attached our own personal please-takes to T-shirts which we wore proudly as we sashayed in for our tea and cakes! Ian had the grace to blush.

 

Over the years I have regaled friends and family with stories about classes and pupils – too many to even begin recounting here. There was much affection and laughter, respect and a solid work ethic on both sides of the teacher’s desk. This has led to many encounters with former pupils in all sorts of situations: shops and supermarkets, restaurants, weddings, airports, hairdressers, doctors’ and dentists’ surgeries, and, on one memorable occasion, on South Street, St Andrews.

 

And why did I become an English Teacher? Well, in that amazing first year, aged 11/12, I had a crush on our English Teacher, Mr Jimmy Mason, and all notions of being a journalist or an air-hostess were replaced by wanting to be like him in the only way I could: being a teacher of English in a secondary school.

 

It was exceptionally lucky that I spent almost all my teaching career in Airdrie Academy.