The Gift of Education
There’s a small fishing village in Banffshire called Sandend, or- as the locals call it- Sanine. It’s a picture-perfect Scottish coastal village with a gentle sweep of low-rising fisherman’s cottages curving round its sandy shore, small fishing boats swaddled behind the enveloping arm of the sea wall that protects them from the North Sea squalls and storms. It’s a ruggedly beautiful place.
This is where my grandfather was born and brought up. The son of a fisherman- the eldest of four siblings and the only son- he lived with his family in a small one-bedroom cottage up one of the alleys off the main street, packed in like mackerel.
It was expected that he would follow in the fisherman’s bootsteps of his father- and his father’s father before that- and become a fisherman in turn. A life at sea beckoned. As a young lad, he’d spend his holidays on the boat learning the fisherman’s craft, and, as he approached his 14th birthday, he readied himself for leaving school and joining the other men- young and old- of the village who made their living from the sea.
A local Headmaster, however, had other ideas. He saw that this young sandy-haired fisherman’s son possessed a raw, fierce intellect and a natural affinity for his studies.
So he paid a visit to my grandfather’s parents- my great-grandparents- and, sat in their small fisherman’s cottage, urged them to allow their son to continue with his education. He had talent, he told them. Potential.
I believe in you, he told my grandfather.
They had little money, but the Headmaster had secured a bursary for my grandfather at Fordyce Academy, a local school where he would be able to continue his education through to 18. Reluctantly they agreed to let their only son carry on at school, a decision that would have been tough for them, but one that radically altered my grandfather’s prospects and changed the course of his young life forever.
A grafter, he strained by paraffin lamp each night over his books, walking or cycling each day the two miles there and back to school. To help pay for the extras- such as uniform and books- he’d work during the weekends and holidays on the boats as a cook, preparing thick broths and stews for the fisherman to sustain them on their long – and often dangerous- fishing voyages at sea.
He repaid the faith that Headmaster placed in him by finishing his time at Fordyce as Dux, and was subsequently awarded a scholarship to the University of Aberdeen to study Classics. He would be the first person in his family to go to university and, in fact, was the first person from the village ever to go to university. It was an accomplishment that his family- and the whole village- was rightly proud of.
The Second World War interrupted his degree, but having served in the Navy, he returned to Scotland to complete his studies. Upon graduation, there was no doubt in his mind about the career he wanted to embark upon: teaching. It was his way of giving back, of repaying the faith placed in him by that Headmaster and giving the gift of education and knowledge to other young men and women from the area. He served in this way his whole life, teaching first at Robert Gordon’s College in Aberdeen then latterly at Gillespie’s in Edinburgh. He possessed, by all accounts, a rare gift for teaching, and his Latin and Greek lessons were legendary: illuminating, enlightening and entertaining in equal measure.
I have much to thank my grandfather for and, in a week in which we’ve celebrated National Thank a Teacher Day, I felt compelled to take the opportunity to share his story, for he was a huge influence on my life and an inspiration for me as I embarked upon my own teaching career.
He was passionate about the transformative power of education- viewing it as a precious gift- and as a Classicist revelled in the beauty of words. He was a cracking storyteller and would have myself and my brothers in stitches as we pleaded for him to speak to us in his native Doric, a deliciously playful dialect that used to drive my somewhat more refined Edinburgh-bred granny round the bend as he humoured his grandsons by spraying us with sea-salty phrases from his Sandend youth: “Foo’re yer deein?” (how are you doing?); “I’m fair trauchled” (I’m exhausted); “Dinna fash yersel” (Don’t trouble yourself).
Some of my most vivid memories are of him reading books to us- wonderfully dramatic and entertaining renditions- our favourite being Joan Heilbroner’s Robert the Rose Horse where we’d egg him on to deliver the rose horse’s sneezes with increasingly elaborate extravagance. Granny wasn’t keen on that, either!
I can trace my own love of reading, writing and drama to those formative years sat on his knee listening to him read to us, tell us stories, jokes and anecdotes, his twinkle-in-the-eye sense of playful humour a delight we devoured. Books for him were wonderful treasure-troves of riches, whole worlds to discover and explore, vast oceans to dive deeply in.
In my teenage years, he always liked to hear me play piano or tell him about the latest book I was reading, delighting in listening to me talk about school, gently encouraging me in developing interests and talents, telling me, or sometimes just showing me, I believe in you.
He died many years ago, but lived long enough to see me take up a first teaching post at Loretto School in East Lothian, not far away from where he himself finished his own teaching career. He made it known to me just how proud he was that one of his grandsons had followed in his footsteps and would serve in the same way as he had. That summer, before I started as a young 24 year old teacher, I received a gift from him: a teacher’s gown from the London outfitter Ede & Ravencroft, a not inexpensive item of clothing, but one that he wanted to buy for me. A gown passed on from grandfather to grandson. Teacher to teacher.
He saw teaching as more than just a job, more than a career. To him, it was pure and simple: it was service. His life transformed by the faith placed in him by that Headmaster in his youth, he was determined to give back and, in turn, transform the lives of others. If he could influence just one young life in the same way as his own had been transformed, then he’d have done his job. I’ve no doubt he will have done much more than that.
A life of service with a singular determination to do good for others, it is an example that I have always sought to emulate and follow, serving others and sharing with them the gift of discovery that comes from a richly varied education.
On Speech Day at Oswestry School this year, I will wear the Gown that my granddad gifted to me, the first time that I will take to the stage as a Headmaster wearing that Gown. I know it would have made him immensely proud to see his grandson stand on the platform at one of the oldest schools in the country- the captain’s hand on the tiller of a great 615-year old ship- and I know he would have encouraged me to use that platform for good. And as I stand there in front of a packed auditorium of parents, pupils, staff and governors, I’ll imagine him whispering in my ear in his soft Aberdeenshire brogue, I believe in you.
And I, too, will say the same to those who sit before me, the young men and women who – each and every one- have the potential to go on to great things, have the potential to transform lives, have the potential to set sail on great voyages of their own.
And those young men and women- who have all been through so much over the past years- they continue to inspire; they continue to amaze; they continue to shine. I want them to thrive, each and every one of them, and as Headmaster, I want them to hear from me those four simple, transformative words:
I believe in you. I believe in you.
Peter Middleton 