(Listen to this first: youtu.be/fOiuDAPHxCE)
My teacher in p3 and p4 was called Mrs Dickson. She was very old and had been enticed back after retirement because they couldn’t fill the teaching slot in the village school. It was a composite class with 3 year groups in one and I remember lugging in to the stage above when they were being taught maths so I could attempt to answer all the tricky ‘sums’.
Mrs Dickson was a keen gardener. We grew lettuces, radishes, carrots and spuds. And then ate them. I also did a lovely cross stitch of a castle and the Loch Ness monster. They hung on my bedroom wall until the day I left for university. She even introduced me to the surreal comedy genius that is Spike Milligan via his poem. ‘Sardines’. For years I actually thought I had written it myself.
One day, when she was hearing Gavin Davidson’s reading group, Mrs Dickson made a sudden anguished cry and slumped heavily over her desk in pain. She whispered the name of the P.E. teacher and David Johnston had the sharp wits about him to run out and get her. Mrs Dickson had suffered a heart attack. Thankfully, she didn’t die, but I don’t think she returned to class. At least, I hope she didn’t.
But the best thing about Mrs Dickson was Monday mornings. Every Monday morning would start with the wheeling out of the old Joanna, the dishing out of the wee red books and a rousing social chorus of hymns and psalms. I loved it.
Early… with Mrs Dickson.
Nothing beats a good old singalong. Okay, it wasn’t quite the ubiquitous Chas n’ Dave but it was bloody marvellous fun. Did it make me a diligent Protestant page boy? No, I’d already walked out of Sunday school in bored protest the year before. But it set the class up nicely for another week of 1980s’ Scottish education. Thanks, Mrs Dickson.
GERTCHA!
(This was in the charts that summer too…)youtu.be/_kzpHzUJCd4
Along the promenade we spend some money
And we find a spot on the beach that’s simply sunny
The kids will all enjoy themself digging up the sand, collecting stones and winkle shells to take back home to nan
Image: here
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