Earnest Encouragement by Ronald Mackay
The proud towers and crenelations of our Morgan Academy stood reassuringly firm. Golden sandstone flushed by the sun against a cloudless sky -- infinitely more azure than during the summer vacation recently ended. Though secretly glad to be back, we pretended otherwise. Feigned world-weariness, our teenage minds imagined, added to a maturity we sought.
We were about to enter the hallowed “higher grades”. Now, as 16-year-olds, we were granted the privilege of congregating before classes began, by the stone balustrade in front of the school, distanced from the playground where younger, less mature pupils romped. Self-conscious, we 5th-year boys would punch friends’ arms and swap summer stories. Yards apart, our 5th-year girls would compare trimmed uniforms and trade confidences. We knew how exposed our new waiting spot was to the scrutiny of arriving teachers and the passing public. Accordingly, we subdued our behaviour thereby learning one of life’s great lessons -- that privileges, even small ones, are accompanied by responsibility.
Before the outside world claimed us, our two final years at school demanded our unflagging diligence. Perseverance was among the keys to a future that might bring us into chartered accountancy, law, insurance or quantity surveying; accepting a post with the Civil Service in London, joining the merchant navy or the armed forces as an officer, or to being admitted into a Scottish university. In pursuit of success, we were blessed with the encouragement of parents, few of whom had enjoyed the opportunities available to us. We knew that a bright future lay in our own hands. We might blame only ourselves if we failed to embrace what was offered or if we refused to sacrifice in the short-term for immediate but less lasting rewards. We had internalised the lesson taught to us by parents, teachers and church that along with free will came the responsibility to exercise it wisely.
***
“A new geography teacher!” Word spread. New teachers brought surprises.
“Man or woman?”
“Man!” Disappointment! Male teachers were stricter, some merciless.
“From Stornoway!”
“Island of Lewis?”
That tight chain of islands off Scotland’s West Coast bred stout-hearted, Gaelic-speaking folk with a vestige of Viking that added exuberance to Celtic gravity. We knew how intrepid Lewis-men climbed 50-meter cliffs to harvest as an essential food, young gannets from nests on precarious ledges.
“His name?”
“Macleod.”
“A stickler for discipline!”
“Aren’t they all!” We revered our teachers as harsh but fair.
The bell for classes rang. In orderly pairs, we filed inside.
***
Once inside our new classroom -- girls to one side boys to the other -- we jockeyed for a desk alongside a preferred friend, placed schoolbags at our feet, and waited.
We waited. And waited.
Whispers rose and fell. Teachers arrived only after we were seated in silence. We waited some more. Apprehension grew.
Suddenly, through the bevelled glass door, a dark, figure loomed. The door was thrown open. A grim man strode in. Was he looking at none of us or at all of us? Thirtyish, tall, black hair of the Gael, physique of the Viking. Inscrutable.
Apprehensive we waited. Until a teacher announced that the class had begun, we might not move or make a sound. The Morgan demanded of its pupils, self-discipline and respect, the firm foundations of learning.
We waited some more. The unknown teacher stood firm, looking at none of us but at us all simultaneously. Tweed suit, white shirt, a tie we recognized as Aberdeen University. A black gown testified to his Master of Arts degree.
We barely breathed.
Slowly, deliberately, he removed his gown and hung it on a hook behind the door. Over his left shoulder hung his Lochgelly, the leather strap used by teachers to chastise the wayward. It could be drawn suddenly and used to immediate effect. Twenty-four inches of firm leather, two inches wide, a quarter inch thick, narrow at one end, the easier for the teacher to grip. At the business end it split into the forked tongue of a serpent the more effectively to inflict pain. Pain revived respect, mended manners, and reminded the remiss that inattention was imprudent.
In trepidation we sat, knowing not what we were about to witness but certain of its inescapable significance.
With care, he placed the leather strap full length on the table. It lay firm and flexed like the serpent it was, ready to strike.
Wordlessly, he removed jacket from heavy shoulders and hung it gently over his chair; removed cufflinks; rolled up shirt sleeves -- left, then right.
Twenty-two pairs of eyes watched; bodies breathless.
To Scots, rolled shirt-sleeves meant business. The clock’s second hand staggered through Roman numerals.
Golding our gaze, he broke two inches off one end of a fresh stick of chalk and set this stub upright on the edge of the table adjusting it until it satisfied his needs. There it stood white and solitary like a lighthouse announcing danger.
Slowly he raised his Lochgelly and with a movement so sudden it made us gasp, he swung it down on the stub with all his might.
CRACK!
Startled, twenty-two teenagers cringed.
Slowly, calmly, he lowered his face to within an inch of the table. With a sudden single PUFF! a cloud of chalk dust rose into the air. Where barely a second before, a bright, white, cocky stub had stood cocky, nothing remained. Nothing at all.
Wordlessly he stood erect, unrolled his shirt sleeves, fastened cufflinks, shrugged first jacket over shoulders then gown. With studied care, he tucked his Lochgelly over his shoulder. Out of sight perhaps, but never again for us out of mind.
In confident letters, with the remaining piece of chalk, he wrote:
Roderick Macleod M.A. Aberdeen.
Ness, Isle of Lewis
Outer Hebrides
Ness, Isle of Lewis
Outer Hebrides
Finally, facing twenty-two ashen faces, he spoke. "I am Macleod. You will address me as Sir!”
Silent, we sat in awe.
“I will teach you physical geography. You will learn.” His eyes made personal contact with each of us in turn.
“Do - I -make - myself - clear?"
In unison, twenty-two heads nodded their understanding.
“This term, you will learn how the natural features of continents and oceans, of our atmosphere and climate, affect the distribution and behaviour of all plant and animal life.” He paused. “Including ours.” He paused again. “Let us begin.”
Ronald's class, Morgan Academy in 1950
Rector Peter Robertson - no ingratiating smile. Education was a serious business.
Morgan Academy crest and motto
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Morgan Academy 5th Year students 1959
Ronald and his elder sister visit the Morgan Academy in 1998
Morgan Academy today - educated generations of Scots
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