(C) Primary School in Northern Ireland

'Out of my comfort zone’,‘the outsider’, 'back to square one’,‘Rash Decisions and their consequences’,‘three steps forward,two steps back’,‘limitations’;‘travails of a malcontent’,‘Never at peace’,‘on the move’,‘The defeat of boredom’

Just to give the reader an idea about my personality these have been some of the titles I have thought about for writing about my life. I want to give the reader some idea of where I m coming from right at the beginning. As an 'educator' it is particularly the decisions that are made by the powerful in education that have fascinated me. And so the stories I tell have are often about the decisions made by myself and others that have affected my professional and personal life. Sometimes the two were interconnected.


Primary school

Born in 1952 in my fifth year I went to Primary school in a quiet suburb of Belfast. It was almost rural and I used to walk every day –it was about half a kilometer. I was scared of the walk because I had to pass by the 'sand-pit'. (a piece of waste ground)on my way–and the sand–pit contained an evil creature called 'The Earthquake' a most er invented by the older students to terrify the younger ones. I visualised the earthquake as a long sleek sandy coloured monster –rather like an elongated Puma.

It is worth noting that nowadays it would be impossible to walk to school because of the fear of paedophiles. Have we really advanced as a civilisation?

I don’t remember much about the school except that it was extremely boring. Even at that age I was bored by school. Little did I know I was going to spend the next fifty years in schools in one form or another. I was above an average student I suppose –but certainly not in the top tier. In year 5, I remember finding it impossible to get 'bonus' marks for my homeworks in Mr M's class.

Everyone else seemed to get them and it really annoyed me. From an early age I was very competitive. It annoyed me so much I succumbed to the temptation to cheat in order to get a bonus mark. We had to write a poem for homework and my Mum basically wrote it. A few days later I was working in class and Mr.M had given us some work to do so he could sit behind me and mark. He was directly behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.Mr.M,like all male teachers in those days -never addressed me personally -except on business matters to do with schoolwork. “This poem is terrific Donald–did you write this yourself?”

‘Yes Sir” I lied cheerfully- and I got my bonus mark! It was so easy! But it was a bad habit to learn early in life.

My best friend was “hairy’ H and my crush was Margaret R. I can still remember her freckled face perfectly. she never spoke to me and i never spoke to her. I was happy with my fantasy of her and did not want to spoil it. I hoped she had a similar fantasy about me.

Although I was definitely too cowardly to be a troublemaker,I had some early brushes with authority in which I came off worst. One morning just before the bell rang for roll-call a fight developed close to where I was standing.

As the Irish love to fight, immediately the combatants were surrounded by a circle of admiring fans cheering them on with 'Roll-up, Roll-up, big fight!'.

I found myself at the back in the outer ring observing with obvious curiosity, but not much enthusiasm, the progress of the fight. Unfortunately for me I was directly in the line from the Headmaster’s office to the fight. Mr. V appeared with his lieutenants and after breaking up the fight sent the two combatants to his office for disciplinary measures.

Fair enough! But as he was turning to accompany the miscreants to their painful fate in his office, he suddenly stuck out his arm and grabbed me.

You too!

I was stunned but followed him dumbly to the office. I was dealt with first. He was angry and turned to me first with a black and menacing look.

'Hold out your hand, boy!' He was shaking. 'Thwack!' his cane stung my palm.

'That is for watching a fight. Now go back to class!'

I couldn’t contain my tears as I entered my class. More importantly I could never understand the humiliation. What had I done to deserve it?

I never even thought of telling Mum and Dad

I met Mr V about thirty-five years later socially. He was an acquaintance of my father and mother. He didn’t remember me of course. He had a huge, menacing set of teeth-like piano keys. He seemed sinister and had an obsequious air about him like an undertaker.

Mr. V was a pillar of the local Presbyterian community.