Sunday, 5 April 2015

Easter Weekend: The Isle of Mull and photographs





 Easter Friday

Two magnificent  eagles soar in the Mull sky.

We hear the 1800 ferry to Mull was cancelled due to high winds. We were lucky.
 
Saturday

It is almost totally still and calm; and indeed a mist is wrapped around the morning landscape.



Sunday

The drive to Craignure is through idyllic weather. There the ferry is sailing serenely out to Oban.The mountain tops of Glencoe gleam white with snow in the sunshine. We buy marmalade. Back at home two twin lambs have just been born and stand unsteady in the field.

The evening sun is magnificent







Easter Monday

We walk to the village of Bunessan and back, with some shopping in between. About 4 kilometres in all.
























Sunday, 22 March 2015

Family and weddings



Friday 6 March 2015

I an oldie and my (famously) young wife head out from West End Glasgow for a wedding celebration party. We are en route for Lewes and Brighton.

We have no kids of our own; but we do have quite a swarm of nieces and nephews, whose marital arrangements vary. Niece Katie got married in New Zealand some weeks ago.

                                               Wedding: New Zealand-style


She and Scottie are hosting a wee party in Brighton tomorrow night and the parents of the bride are hosting a lunch in Lewes tomorrow. I double check that that is indeed in Lewes as opposed to in Lewis (They are a mere 1000 kilometres or so apart from each other). At my age I do get occasionally confused - not helped at all by two young brothers, one of whom confusingly lives in the one and the other totally confusingly in the other. It is a little like working out which Hyderabad or Bukhara or Belem one is heading for: plenty scope to confuse the very old and (indeed) the very young.


We review what we have packed. I have taken my best suit ; it has inevitably only been to funerals in the recent past (Now upgraded to a minor role in the 21st century film 'Three Funerals and a Wedding'). And an outspoken waistcoat. Joan has an outrageous "jumpsuit".

In the most ultimate of the statements that can be made today by a child of the 1960s ,  I have packed drugs -  for high blood pressure, high cholestoral level, asthma and smoking cessation. O tempora  O mores, as we used to say in the Latin class in my school.

Airbus to Gatwick. It is initially turbulent but otherwise OK. Having been watching Wolf Hall recently, we settle for a Bloody Mary each (Yes, she was indeed Henry VIII's oldest child). Gatwick is more or less fine, although, as with Lahore and Karachi, always an airport more suited for departures than arrivals.

Train very civilised and we meet brother Al at Lewes. There is a fine log fire at his house. Brother 3 aka Mom (and wife Margaret) arrive later in the evening.

Saturday 7 March 2013

Lunch  on Saturday is at a very civilised  restaurant (As many of you will know, the words "civilised" governs much of life in the Brighton area).

Lunch is presided over by the parents of the bride:-


Lunchtime hosts: Alasdair & Sherry



No Smith occasion would be suitable without a male Smith getting into full oratorical flow. 

Father of Bride, Alasdair, speaks. Mother of Bride, Sherry, monitors


He is mercifully brief.



Bride Katie & Groom Scottie


The evening do is in Brighton and has a "lindy hop" World War II theme in music, dance and several dresses.  Hosted by bride and groom,

I recognise the occasional Glenn  Miller number.


Joan, Iain and waistcoat, Katie the bride



Three lucky ladies: Margaret, Sherry, Joan.  Each married to a Smith.

The three even luckier Smith guys. 
Yes, before you ask, it is indeed the middle one who is the youngest and most trendy of the three. 


Sunday 8 March

Breakfast and family snaps (Margaret stays behind the camera and takes the pics):-

Iain, Al and Mom: at rear; Joan, Laura, Sherry: at front.


We go for a wee walk and call in to meet Jewel, our aunt from Lewis (Yes: it is that Lewis) . Jewel's son Jonathan and daughter-in-law Catherine have added to geographical family confusion by living in Lewes; and all three were at yesterday's lunch . I first met Jewel and Jonathan I think quite a few years ago in Stornoway, perhaps about 1955 or so, when Jewel was perhaps 20 years old and Jonathon was perhaps 20 weeks. He has aged a bit since then; but not Jewel.

e-mail exchange:


Katie/Scottie/Sherry/Al

This afternoon we finally came to earth with a bump (literally) when our Gatwick Airbus descended into a slightly windswept Glasgow.
Our many thanks to you all for your various contributions to a most memorable and extended occasion. We had a great time.
Iain will probably write a little log before the memories fade; and Joan will circulate some pictures.
 
Joan and Iain

Scottie and Katie come back:-   

Dear Iain and Joan,

It was great to see you, really glad you could come!  I'm still processing the whole occasion, twas a bit of a whirlwind...Definitely a wonderful weekend in many different ways for both of us.  We still haven't had a chance to open presents yet!  Looking forward to seeing photos.



Much love,

Katie
xxx

Thursday, 5 March 2015

Isle of Mull


Isle of Mull

 

Thursday 26th  Feb

150 kilometres drive from Glasgow to Oban. Some spectacular snow showers whip down from the white mountainsides on to higher passes of the road; but the winter tyres on our Audi deal with that.

The 45 minute sailing from Oban to the Isle of Mull is, as always, spectacular. Out past Kerrera -where, 850 years ago, King Hakon and the Vikings assembled their battle fleet of long ships for their final – and unsuccessful - onslaught on the embryonic Scotland; passing the Southern tip of the Isle of Lismore: a Livingstone  from Lismore was a spectacular casualty 100 years ago in an uprising against British imperialism in what is now Malawi; and finally sailing in under the brooding walls of Duart Castle, from where the MacLeans once presided over Mull before selling out to the Duke of Argyll.

Image result for lismore
Lismore


 
Image result for duart castle
Duart Castle
Crab claws from Oban are dinner for Tonya: she purrs in contentment. We settle for peat-smoked haddock. As is traditional in the Highlands of Scotland, it is accompanied by pak choi.

 

I read the Stornoway Gazette. There is an obituary of the 90-yr-old Norman Smith of Lionel Ness. I recollect some notes I made about him six months ago:-

 

Do you remember our father's friend Norman Smith (brother of Alan, who had the shop in Lionel)? He ran the Decca navigation system station on the Lionel machair. Eventually of course GPS made the Decca multi-station system obsolete: but, for some 30 years or so from about 1955 (although its origins were much earlier), it was magic : for ocean liners and the mercantile marine; for deep-sea trawlers; even for stratocruisers, Comet 4s and 707s; and (latterly) even inshore boats, including leisure craft. It dominated (perhaps monopolised) electronic navigation systems (especially maritime ones) in Western Europe and then more widely; and, to a lesser extent, in North America. Essentially it was powerful and sophisticated transmitting system with loaned i.e. rental de-coders (that is how Decca made their money). It was essentially one-way (as GPS is)- but -unlike GPS-  with two-way communication, of great power, for inter-station communication by senior operatives - and for those whom the senior operatives chose to indulge.

 

One evening, perhaps about 1955, I was visiting an old lady (whom I think in retrospect was probably Norman's aunt); and she said "For the first time in the many centuries we have been going to Sulisgeir from Ness to catch the gugas, we have a system in which we can talk to the boys in Sulisgeir." She tuned her radio to a particular setting (not middle- wave, I seem to remember). At 6.00 p.m. Norman's voice came across 'Calling Sulisgeir: do you read me? Over.' A stream of electronic beeps and buzzes came back. Norman : 'So you are well. Your only problem is that the lead-acid accumulator battery charge is getting so low that you can only transmit to us in Morse Code. That is OK. Over.' And so the conversation went on: English language, with a bit of Gaelic, on one side; Morse Code on the other.

 

The peasants of Ness (as the Sunday Times once infamously described them) were in the forefront of technology.

 

 

Newsnight has a piece on the Aral Sea, a true environmental disaster of great proportions, deprived of water by vast irrigation schemes up-river from the Sea (mainly to irrigate cotton fields, is my recollection). Graham and I spent 2 days there on a work trip in 1999 or so. At the time I wondered why so many people there were so obviously ill. Salt poisoning seems to be the answer: agricultural land is contaminated with poisonous levels of sodium chloride from the dried-up sea.

 

Friday 27th Feb

There is a substantial westerly breeze coming off Loch Assapol as I wheelbarrow logs from the garden shed into the house. A few weeks ago, the task would have left me breathless; but a six-week exercise regime has toughened me up. So has 4 weeks of non-smoking. Or, as my GP put it yesterday, “It is probably decelerating your decline.”  My “smoking cessation” counsellor Samina (a Glaswegian with parents from Mirpur) has been excellent; although on the couple of occasions when she suggested some “wine cessation”, I firmly resisted the suggestion.

 

With a zero-G phone signal (although we do have a landline) and temporarily defunct broadband (taken out by a lightning strike a few weeks back), my technological options are severely reduced: reading books (some of them even in paper form, some on my Kindle); TV; writing this blog; and exercise. And later today we plan to walk the four kilometres or so to a village hostelry where we think there will be a “wi-fi hotspot”.

 

 Read the newspapers. I think of an ideology embraced by millions, some of whom were ready to kill for it. An ideology hated by almost all in the USA; and, at least in its more extreme forms, by most of Western Europe. An ideology into which, to the horror of many, it was found that some UK university students had been indoctrinated, some of whom then slaughtered many people. The deadlier of them were more credible because they were such personable ordinary and pleasant people. The ideology was not Islam but communism; the university was not Westminster but Cambridge; the leading killer was not Emwazi but Philby.

 

After some in-house exercises, we exit at 1500 hrs for the wi-fi “hotspot”. The breeze is stiff, but it is more or less dry. Less than an hour later we arrive at the hostelry: shut until 1700 hrs. We decide to walk a little further; to an ancient pier that served the village until the 1960s and is still used for fishing. Some black crows flit around in the air. But then an exquisite heron arrives, one of the most famous and distinctive of Scottish sea birds. It sits in the sea for some time, and then makes a languid and heavy-beating exit from the scene. As we walk back towards the main part of the village, there is an altercation between a heron and two crows in a wooded area. (Later Gordon tells us that that particular area has a considerable number of herons in permanent residence- who defend that territory with some tenacity.)

Still no action on the hostelry front at 1645 hrs. I walk to the village shop and talk to Glen about the minister who preached in the church next to Glen’s shop in 1933-1941. As I walk back there is the very rare excitement of seeing the local (and part-time) fire brigade swing into action.

 

The hostelry is open; their wifi is impeccable in access and speed. So Joan and I catch with e-mail and Facebook and BBC news and weather forecasts (“this afternoon in Bunessan is cloudy and windy. At 1900hrs, rain will arrive”). But the hostelry still serves beer and wine as an adjunct to its electronic services; and is filling up with a combination of locals, some Polish workers engaged on a local building project and a couple of tourists.

At 1900hrs or so we exit: just as the predicted rain arrives, dead on time, sweeping in from the west. We battle our way home. Tonya greets us mournfully “Where have you daft humans been? You are not getting any younger, you know.”

 

I put on a monster fire with the logs barrowed in in the morning. Joan cooks. Tonya eats some crab meat and she and Joan catch up with “Pointless” on TV while I do a little writing and editing.

 

 

Saturday 28 Feb. 15

 

Today is an archetypal Hebridean winter day. The wind is not particularly high but it is constant; the rain is not particularly heavy but it is constant. Some sheep stand morosely in the field by the house.

 

The long-awaited hub/router arrives. I am tasked to install it, but first I barrow three loads of logs to the house front and stack them in the porch .

 

The afternoon is spent on installing the new “Hub” and editing and printing a new version of the biographical sketch that Murdo and I have written. Alexander was minister here in this Bunessan village 1933-1941; and I have retooled our story. Deliver it to the patriarch of the village (Glen) and go for a pint. Driving home the rain is still relentless: last season’s lambs shelter against a dry-stone wall.

 

Fuel the fire with logs and coal briquettes .

 

We are to have scallops (from Oban) and roast chicken (from Sainsbury’s) for dinner.

 

It has been a day of failure. I have done only 30% of my exercises; I have read only a few pages of AN Wilson on the “post-Victorians”; I have had no outside walks; I left Joan to deal with a valve failure in a downstairs toilet that resulted in serious water ingress on the floor. But, I guess, I have re-installed wifi and broadband and the supplementary electronic extension one needs in a 200-yr-old Scottish manse with thick walls; I have built up a good in-house stock of logs (wooden non-electronic logs that is - as opposed to my, equally wooden, electronic efforts). And Tonya, faced with the choice between the main lounge (its fire, Joan and the execrable “Voice”) and my study, prefers to sit contentedly on the carpet in my “study” while I tap away at the keyboard. 

 

The rain is off; the wind has died down; darkness has descended on the land.

 

At 10.00 pm, a new storm comes in -with some ferocity. I check the forecast: predictions are of wind speeds of perhaps 50 kph, with gusts up to 100kph. That is OK.

 

Joan (in bed with smartphone ) and I (at the computer) exchange notes on the weather:-

 

 

On Sat, Feb 28, 2015 at 11:40 PM, j.forrest3 <j.forrest3@ntlworld.com> wrote:

Oh my!! I do not think we have had such fierce winds for a long time. Tonight it was hard to even open the front door.  So I happily cooked, ate and watched The Voice . We stoked the fire and then went to bed. We dealt with: no broad band and a leaking toilet valve which has resulted in a very wet toilet floor. Several slates off the roof from the last storm so I wonder how many more off by tomorrow morning. Tonya has gone into semi-dormant mode as expected from a smart cat.  The wind is increasing as I write and Calmac has issued an Amber warning for tomorrow.  Xx

 

 
I reply:-
 

In the village of my childhood, to which I hope to induct Sam and Robert soon, they would have said "Obh obh: there is a stiff breeze tonight." What the cailleachs and the bodachs of Ness would have made of "The Voice" or of broadband is not known. Calum Kennedy was the "voice" and "broadband" was investing the fortune of two pounds (£80 today) to speak at the New Year to one's émigré daughter or son in Montreal or Toronto or Sydney.

 

And the cat would have indeed been semi-dormant: but outside in a wee nook in the peat stack or in the barn. Only the collie dog would have snoozed indoors by the peat fire.

 

And those with travel plans would have been secure. Between Stornoway and Kyle of Lochalsh 1947 to 1970, David MacBrayne's "Loch Seaforth" was cancelled only once. It is the modern high-sided and top-heavy car ferries that find the breezes tricky.  Iain

https://ssl.gstatic.com/ui/v1/icons/mail/images/cleardot.gifIain

 

 

Sunday1 March

It is drier, sunnier and less windy. A scattering of optimistic crocuses raise their yellow heads above the surface of the lawn. The sheep next door are positively cheerful.

 

A boring day, but I amuse myself with a note on Facebook to a pal visiting Reykjavik.

 

‘The last, and only, occasion I was in Reykjavik was some time ago. Two weeks earlier I had been to Staffa- where Davie Kirkpatrick from Iona explained it was thought that the delightful Staffa puffins come and sit beside humans because of the survival value of proximity to humans i.e. being protected from other predator birds.

 

‘My Icelandic host listened to my story with great patience and said "Icelandic puffins have no such illusions."

 

‘Given that both of us were dining on roast puffin, I could see what he meant.’

 

There is a very encouraging note from Professor Jim Hunter about a draft story on which Joan and I have worked. It inspires me to two or three hours of work polishing up the paper for (initially) private circulation.

 

 

Monday2  March

A beautiful afternoon “Let’s go for a walk”, say I. “Give me 15 minutes” says Joan. 15 minutes later, snow sweeps in from the west. I resort to books, indoor physical exercises and Sudoku. We light a big log fire as an insurance against what promises to be a cold evening.

I talk to one of my brothers on Skype.

 

Tuesday 3 March.

It has snowed overnight and the ground is white. The barbecue table will be under-used:

 

 
The wind rises. As we leave the house a text comes in to Joan: main ferry Craignure-Oban (predictably) cancelled.  There is an alternative so we keep going; pausing only to let some semi-tame ducks waddle across the road.

 

We have a twenty minute ferry crossing from Mull into the very picturesque Ardnamurchan peninsula (“a wild, remote yet beautiful place full of wonderful scenery”). The drive is spectacular and sleet whips down from the white-shrouded mountain-tops, but without settling on the road: in any case we have winter tyres on the car. Not for the first time, it reminds me of the Murree valley in winter-time. We descend to sea-level and pass the road to Strontian: my spell-check insists on calling it “strontium”, and this is indeed where the element strontium was first discovered.

 
Image result for ardnamurchan
 

We take the short ferry trip from Corran; and now we are on mainland Scotland, albeit still some 140 kilometres away from Glasgow. We climb up the road in Glencoe and now the snow is settling on the road and drifting in the wind. A car is upside down off the road; there is a grim beauty about the scenery; and there are plenty deer grazing, as best they can, near the road. I drive, Joan takes photographs.



"Cruel the snow...."
 



 

After Glencoe, it gets easier. We arrive home after six hours of driving and ferry sailings. No problem.

 

Glasgow 4 March 2015








Wednesday, 28 January 2015

An educational story


JL Robertson: an educational story

Iain Smith

 

John Lindsay Robertson was born in Stornoway in 1854, one of twin boys. His mother was from Montrose, his father was a “Ship Master” (1861 census) and “Ship Owner” (1871 census) from Stornoway and they lived in a 3-roomed house at No. 17 Kenneth Street, subsequently migrating to No. 29. So Robertson belonged to a reasonably affluent family. He was educated at the local General Assembly School i.e. one of the church schools that preceded the 1873 foundation of the Nicolson Institute in Stornoway.

 By the 1871 census he is still living at home aged 17; and is a “pupil teacher”. “Pupil teacher” generally indicated a student staying on at school beyond the usual school leaving age of 12 or 13 and possibly intending to become a certificated but non-graduate teacher through a course in a teacher training college. This was a common and quite well-funded route for both males and, increasingly, females in mid to late 19th century Scotland. “Pupil teachers” were paid up to £20 per year, over £2000 at 2013 prices; and many of them at 18 were then awarded bursaries to attend college.

Some pupil teachers however, always males, used this as a route to university; and this appears to have been what Robertson did. By 1871, Scottish universities had become increasingly rigorous in their entrance standards, and it was to be 25 years or more before these standards could be met by study in Stornoway or indeed in much of rural Scotland. So Robertson seemingly at some point migrated to a mainland “higher school” (perhaps Inverness Royal Academy or Aberdeen Grammar School or the Royal High School in Edinburgh). He then attended the University of Edinburgh and graduated with distinction in Arts (MA) and then in Law (LLB). He packed a lot into the decade of the 1870s.

 In 1880 (aged 26) he became an HMI (i.e. Her Majesty’s Inspector of Schools) - “Her Majesty” was of course Victoria rather than Elizabeth. We know that inspectors at the time were recruited on the basis of academic distinction rather than experience in school teaching. Much to the dismay of the main teacher union, then as now the Educational Institute of Scotland, some school inspectors of that era had no school teaching experience at all.  Whether Robertson himself had briefly been a schoolteacher after graduation is uncertain but he had of course some years of experience as the apprentice “pupil teacher”.

In 1888, the local school boards of Barvas, Lochs and Uig in the Island of Lewis and ten others, all in the Highlands, were in financial difficulties, largely through low attendance and poor payment of tuition fees; and they applied to the government for special assistance. This was granted, subject to government having some administrative control. It was JL Robertson who was appointed the administrator of the scheme; and he was promoted to Chief Inspector of Schools (HMCI).  

As Professor Bone describes

Robertson was a Stornoway man who, though quite young as an inspector, was admirably suited by background, temperament and energy for the responsibilities now entrusted to him. He had a shrewd understanding of the attitudes of the Highlanders and, by an unusual combination of tactfulness and audacity, he brought them to accept the Department’s policy. The attendance figures were raised sharply and, though strict economy was practised, educational advances were made in the schools by the broadening and brightening of the curriculum. ....... it was generally admitted that he was just and sincere, and within a few years the position was becoming satisfactory again with the return of the boards to a position of solvency.
By 1890 the three Lewis boards were indeed balancing their books and the others followed at various stages. School fees in elementary (primary) Board schools were abolished in 1890. They then relied, as their local authority school successors do to this day, on a combination of government grant and local rates. 

Thereafter JL Robertson’s main responsibilities were as chief district inspector for the Highlands and Islands.

Across Scotland, attention had come to focus on what we now call “secondary education”.

In 1892, the first state grants for secondary education appeared (10 years earlier than in England) and were used to build up schools in smaller towns as well as to strengthen existing ones……. They formed an effective national network able to prepare both for the universities and for business careers.

This was partly fuelled by the government’s foundation in Scotland in 1888 of the Higher Leaving Certificate. It quickly became, as with remarkably few changes it remains today, the major benchmark for university and college entrance. There was considerable agreement that secondary education should be expanded, especially for bright but poor students; but great controversy as to how. In a complex debate, the central decision was between the School Boards developing their own “higher grade” provision as opposed to the existing secondary provision of “endowed schools” and “higher schools” e.g. Kelvinside Academy, Inverness Royal Academy, Glasgow High School (which were independent of the Boards) remaining under individual control but receiving government grant to fund “deserving” poor scholars or to expand their provision.

In essence both sides gained. Govan School Board on one side was particularly prominent and proactive with the foundation of no less than five “higher grade” schools. Hillhead High School (founded 1885) and Hyndland School (founded in Partick in 1887) are still-functioning memorials to that. On the other side, existing independent secondary schools also received government grant to expand their provision; some of them (e.g. Inverness Royal Academy, Aberdeen Grammar School and Perth Academy) are today simply part of the state-funded system.

In the Island of Lewis, there was no existing secondary school to expand. The Nicolson Institute had been founded in 1873 by endowment and gifts and had quickly become a Board primary school. Building on moves initiated by his predecessor (the now somewhat maligned Forbes) a new Rector WJ Gibson in 1894 took over the creation and expansion of a secondary department; and bursaries “on the advice of Mr JL Robertson HMI” were awarded for the best incoming students. Hence Donald Maclean of Bragar and Robert Maciver of Stornoway became in 1898 the first Nicolson Institute students to go direct to university.  JL Robertson as District Inspector was also instrumental in the Nicolson Institute acquiring and expanding its dedicated secondary building on Francis Street in 1898.  Portree High School and Kirkwall Grammar School began to follow the same route only a few years later with the support of Robertson. So across Scotland even in remote rural areas some barriers to university access were coming down: and WJ Gibson and JL Robertson were key players in this.

But formidable barriers remained. It was certainly not an accident that the predecessor of Donald Maclean and of Robert Maciver as a Nicolson Institute dux (Dina Macleod) had to settle not for a degree but for a sub-degree qualification, the delightfully titled “Lady Literate in Arts”: Scottish universities began to admit women undergraduates to degree courses only in 1892, and initially the numbers were small. We also know from Maclean census data in Bragar and from Professor Robert Maciver’s autobiography that the fathers of Maclean and Maciver were both prosperous merchants; and this was almost certainly a factor in the educational progress of their sons.  Poor working class boys and certainly girls from remote rural areas in Scotland did not, with rare exceptions, go to university in the late 19th century.  The stories of the exceptions (e.g. the church-sponsored Rev. Alexander Macdonald, son of a crofter from late 19th century Swordale) have contributed to a mythology.

If Gibson and other headteachers at school level and if Robertson and a few other chief HMIs inspectors at school district level had played a big part in opening up opportunity, another Scot, one Andrew Carnegie, then made a further intervention in 1901. 

One can think of Carnegie as a 19th century Donald Trump. He has a better claim than Trump to Scottish ancestry and, at least in his later years, a more secure record in philanthropy. In 1901, Andrew Carnegie decided he would give about a quarter billion US dollars (at today's prices) to Scottish universities. But, never himself having been near a university, he took some advice and decided it should go into a trust which might be expected to generate a spending power of about £50,000 a year to pay tuition fees for poor students. £50,000 per year is about £2.5m a year at today’s prices.

 

The Carnegie Trust says today

 

To put this in context, it should be stressed that, contrary to what is suggested, access to university education in Scotland has not always been free. On the contrary, fees were charged by the universities (originally by the professors directly) which represented a significant barrier to access, and there was no provision for subsistence. There was hot competition for the small number of available bursaries……. It is precisely because student fees constituted such a serious barrier to entry for the ‘qualified and deserving’ that Carnegie was first persuaded to consider this endowment.”

 

By 1904, half of all Scottish university undergraduates were benefitting from the Carnegie endowment. The sons, and indeed by then the daughters, of fishermen and crofters and labourers and shoemakers had found another source of support. It was hard enough for Robertson, Maclean and Maciver, all sons of prosperous families, to have made their ways to university in the 19th century. But in the early 20th century, Carnegie made a further difference in opening up paths to university for a wider group.

 

We have tracked for example the 1900s school careers of the great, if tragic, John Munro from Knock school (son of a fisherman) and the almost equally great Murdo Murray from Back school (son of a shoemaker), both examples of rural primary school students from poor backgrounds who accessed secondary education in the Nicolson Institute and subsequently became university graduates in the 1910s. Munro was a teenage prodigy in writing Miltonic verse in his second language of English; no mean Gaelic poet; a war hero; and dead in wartime France before he was 30 years old. Murray was a war poet; a school teacher; an HMI; and -in his elderly years in the 1950s- a Gaelic chronicler of his long-dead school pal Munro.

Success in secondary school provision across Scotland had however put financial pressure on government: for primary students progressing to secondary schooling attracted a high government grant for the School Boards. So Robertson and the government in the 1900s insisted that 13/14-yr-old students in primary schools passed a newly established “qualifying exam” to access secondary education provision: this was an institution which, if not quite as long-lived as the “Higher Leaving Certificate”, blighted the lives of many of us until well into the 1960s.  

A perusal of the school log of Shawbost School in the 1900s suggests that Shawbost was doing poorly in “qualifying exam” results:  so one can understand why William T Ross the then Shawbost head fell out with JL Robertson; and for his pains was exiled to Scarp School for the residue of his career - a Hebridean equivalent of being sent to Siberia. 

Other rural schools in Lewis, like the Knock and Back Schools of Munro and Murray, were doing well in this new regime.  Government reports for the years 1910 to 1914 extolled what had happened in developing secondary education in Lewis as a prime example of the superlative nature of government education policy: some public relations hype in the governance of Scotland does not change over the years.

In 1912 JL Robertson was given an Honorary LL.D. by Edinburgh University. A generation or more later (1952) , Professor Robert M Maciver, the Nicolson alumnus who had profited from the route to university opened up by Robertson and Gibson, received a similar honour from Edinburgh; as, a further generation or more on from that (2008), did another son of the Hebrides, Matthew Maciver, Chief Executive of the General Teaching Council for Scotland. Matthew Maciver had in the 1960s been an undergraduate holder at the University of Edinburgh of a JL Robertson bursary.

 In 1912, Robertson was also more widely influential in Scottish social development. He was a member of the small and high-powered Dewar Committee:  

The report presented a vivid description of the social landscape of the time and highlighted the desperate state of medical provision to the population, particularly in the rural areas of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. The report recommended setting up a new, centrally planned provision of care that within 20 years transformed medical services to the area. This organisation, the Highlands and Islands Medical Service …….. acted as a working blueprint for the NHS in Scotland.

In 1915, Dr JL Robertson became Senior Chief Inspector. i.e. the top HMI in Scotland. In 1919 he was awarded a CB (Companion of the Order of the Bath). In 1921 he retired. He subsequently gave a £5000 donation for educational purposes. From a man whose maximum career salary would have been £900 per year this was not an inconsequential sum: it is over £210,000 at 2013 prices. A residue of this money, sadly eroded by inflation, remains today with Comhairle nan Eilean Siar.

Records held by Tasglann nan Eilean Siar in Stornoway  say of Robertson:

When he died in Inverness, six years after his retirement ………. his popularity was clear in the extent of the activity surrounding his funeral; when his body was returned to Lewis the flags on the island were at half mast and all businesses were closed at noon. All schools throughout Lewis were closed and ‘the senior boys of Nicholson [sic] Institute headed the funeral procession, which included the Lewis Pipe Band, the Brethren of the Masonic Lodge, the Provost, Magistrates and Councillors of Stornoway and members and officials of all the other public bodies’. In addition, ‘there was a very large and representative attendance of the general public, including people from all parts of the island’. Sir George Macdonald, the Secretary of the Scottish Education Department, extolled his virtues and said ‘Few men in our time have laid their native country under so deep an obligation as he has done’.

It is unlikely that many Scottish educational luminaries of today will receive such a send-off.

Back in the 1870s Robertson had faced five barriers to university access for Hebrideans, many of which also applied elsewhere in Scotland:-

1.     One had to be male.

2.     One had to stay on in education beyond the age of 13: and forego the wages available to teenagers, notably in the (relatively lucrative) fishing industry of the time.

3.     One required access to a school which was teaching to University entrance standards: the Island of Lewis and the Hebrides had no such schools.

4.     Someone had therefore to pay the mainland school tuition fees; and the associated costs of travel, food and lodgings.

5.     Someone had to pay university tuition fees; and the associated costs of travel, food and lodgings.

John Lindsay Robertson surmounted these barriers in the 1870s: he was male; he had affluent parents; and most certainly he was talented and hard-working.

He then played a significant national role with others in lowering these barriers for subsequent generations.

He should be better remembered than he is.

 

(Among the many sources on which we have drawn, we especially acknowledge:-

TR Bone (1968)  School Inspection in Scotland 1840-1966  Edinburgh;

D Macdonald (1978) Lewis: A History of the Island Edinburgh

Nicolson Institute (1973) Centenary School Magazine Stornoway


 

 

 

(Iain Smith is a part-time writer of Lewis origins.)