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 |
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.
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
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.
Lismore |
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:-
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
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
Iain
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.
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.
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
Tasglann nan Eilean Siar (2014) at http://ica-atom.tasglann.org.uk/index.php/dr-j-l-robertson-bequest-3;isad )
(Iain Smith is a part-time writer of Lewis
origins.)
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