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emories of a childhood in wartime Leith. The trials and tribulations of the period, allied to the camaraderie of the community in facing up to an uncertain future made a lasting impression on John Stewart.
I was aged eleven years at the War's end and my primary schooling at Dr Bell's was drawing to a close. My qualifying examination (quali) was due early in 1946.
The result of this would determine which secondary school I would attend. The higher the pass mark, the better chance of being accepted by a senior secondary school.
At this time David Kilpatrick's catered only for a three-year course of study whereas the Royal High School, Broughton Secondary, Trinity Academy and Leith Academy all offered education up to and including the sixth year.
Apart from the High School and Trinity, the other two had recently abolished fees. I passed my exams and in fact was the Dux pupil of the year, gaining the highest marks.
My prizes were copies of R L Stevenson's novels Kidnapped, and Treasure Island. This entitled me for consideration for admittance to the school of my choice. I opted for the Royal High School.
Alas, my parent's application for a bursary was turned down. It was calculated that their combined incomes precluded this. Considering that my father was a semi-skilled, brass-moulder and my mother worked in a work's canteen, this would seem to be a bit harsh.
My second choice of Leith Academy was granted and in August of 1946, I presented myself to the school all decked out in my school uniform of blue blazer and grey shorts with the mandatory tie. All these were bought at the local co-operative society.
Foregathered in the school gymnasium, the new intake were then allotted to their new classes. I was assigned to class 1a2.
School shoulder bags were still the recognised method of carrying books, but these were soon to be replaced by ex-army gas mask satchels. So many of these were coming onto the market as a result of the recent War.
These bags were often used for makeshift goalposts in an impromptu game of football on the nearby Links.
Secondary school was a complete change from the primary where you had only one teacher that remained with your class for years. Now I had a different teacher for the numerous subjects in my general course.
These teachers presented many different challenges. Some were so easy going that attending their classes were a joy. Others were so stentorian that you were frightened of crossing them lest you were belted.
Mr Little fell into the former category. A huge man with a full growth of wiry black hair and moustache, which were showing traces of grey, he presented a formidable sight with his black school gown draped loosely about him. He often reminded me of the schoolteacher character in the boys' weekly Hotspur magazine, Mr Smugg (Smuggy).
He taught Latin. I could never figure out what use the old language of Latin had in my day. Only later did I find out about its relevance to the English tongue. Try as I might, I was never ever a successful pupil in this.
When asked to translate Latin prose into English, I would splutter out a very literal response. 'Oh my giddy aunt' Mr Little would gasp in exasperation.
Mr Little's tolerance at this and other's who were equally as bad as me was admirable. However even he had his limit. He was not reluctant to administer punishment by means of the leather belt. Towering some two feet over most of us, I don't think he ever struck us as hard as he could have.
However, there was another teacher who took great delight in corporal punishment. He was Mr Garrigan.
Mr Garrigan was our mathematics teacher. He had two leather belts that he named Aunt Matilda and Emily the Snake. Emily was cut away at the end to represent the forked tongue of a serpent. This belt was painted to look like a snake.
When he called you out to receive your punishment, he gave you a choice of belt. Unfortunately, he would invariably choose to use the one that you had rejected. This would seem too obvious and choosing the one you would not prefer usually resulted in him going along with the choice. You could never beat him.
Standing before him, you had the discomfort of him lashing at his desk as a rehearsal. The whiplash put the fear of death into you. Supporting one hand with the other, the pain as the leather struck flesh was excruciating. He allowed you to blow on your hand before continuing with the punishment.
Returning to your seat, not knowing whether to cry or laugh, you would notice the looks on your fellow classmates faces. Some were grinning. A grin would sometimes come over my face, I don't know why.
If Mr Garrigan noticed this, he would demand I return to the floor. 'Obviously not enough' he would say and would administer a further dose.
We were ever so happy when he retired after our first year.
John Stewart, 2001
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