Cenizo Journal Winter 2018 | Page 24

SCOTLAND – Childhood Memories by Jim Glendinning I was born on a hill farm in Scotland before World War II, the third of four children of Noel and Arthur Glendinning, a sheep farmer of many generations. Dad was the youngest of 12, who graduated with a BSc from Glasgow University and took over the family farm. I sometimes look at a pic- ture of the whole family taken in 1901, dressed up and staring solemnly at the camera. Far removed from me, in years and place. The farm is located in the Borders region of southern Scotland, home to the Border collie. The hardy hill sheep (Cheviots and Blackface) thrive on the grass which 60 inches of rain produce annually. The area experienced some hun- dreds of years of turbulent history before the English and Scottish Crowns exerted authority. The local families, with names such as Scott, Armstrong, Maxwell and Elliot, engaged in constant cattle rustling (“Reiving”) across the border. By the 17th century James VI of Scotland banished many of these families to Northern Ireland (“The Ulster Plantation”). Growing up on a farm made for a healthy life, tending chickens, helping with the harvest (my father also rented a farm for cattle and crops), and later with the lambing of the ewes in the spring. I was never happier than gal- loping my pony round and round a paddock in front of the farm house. 24 My initial schooling was at Lockerbie Academy five miles distant in the town, which in 1988 became known around the world for the Pan American Flight 103 crash. Two wartime memories stand out. The Scottish First Division took over our farm for pre-D Day training in early 1944, a hugely thrilling sight for a seven-year old boy, who was allowed to ride on a tank. Other soldiers (Prisoners of War from Germany, Italy and Ukraine) worked on the farm, standing in cold, muddy fields picking turnips and other crops. After the war, we continued to correspond with the German POWs, with whom we got on well. The end of the war saw the return from a German POW camp of our uncle who had been captured in North Africa by Rommel’s troops. He was an officer, so had been treated relatively well. He looked gaunt, but fit. But he never wanted to discuss his captivity with us eager kids. A cousin also returned, as a war hero. He had fought behind Japanese lines in Burma, part of General Wingate’s campaign. I was to meet this cousin, James, 50 years later during one of my tour groups to Scotland, a quiet-spoken, thoughtful man far removed from the image of a jungle fighter. By now the war was over, and a period of national austerity started. I was unaware during this period of growing up, how British politics and society were changing. The Labour Party caused a huge upset when they were elected in 1945. The government nationalized major industries that affected the country for the next 40 years. Our local farming industry was not greatly affected, with guaranteed prices for sheep and a vibrant dairy industry. Memories of that period, 1940 to 1950, are comforting and benign, with occasional thrills: the first trip abroad in 1951, with an aunt and cousin to Switzerland; being made Head of School (age 12 at my preparatory boarding school); seeing “Oklahoma” in London in 1947, a mind-blowing Cenizo First Quarter 2018 riot of song and dance in the grey world of post-WWII England. I grew up as a young English/Scottish lad, enjoying a stable home life and benefitting from a good education. At core, I felt Scottish. This is where I was born and all around me were signs of how Scotland was differ- ent. To this day, the sound of bagpipes stirs something within me, something deep and satisfying. To a lesser degree I felt part English. My mother was English and the schooling I had was oriented towards the English model. By age 13, I was ready for the more serious stage in my education. In 1951 I entered “public school” in Edinburgh, following my brother, David. An independent boarding school for boys, aged 13-18, this proved to be a much stronger chal- lenge than my preparatory school. The “public school’ system came from the English model (places like Eton) and was very much intended to produce leaders, with discipline, sport- ing competitions and strict teaching standards as the key. The school was set in 300 acres not far from the centre of Edinburgh, and clearly visible from all sides. It was founded in 1854 by a successful Edinburgh businessman and philan- thropist as a school for boys from needy families. The main structure was of chateau-like appearance with tur- rets, gargoyles and a towering spire, with houses for boys’ accommodation scattered around the grounds. Discipline in the residential houses depended on the younger boys doing jobs (eg polishing shoes or cleaning study rooms) for the older boys. The older boys, known as prefects, also had the authority, with the house master’s permission, of caning younger boys who had committed errors. Cold showers, even in mid-winter, and sleeping in dorm beds with the window open to North Sea winds further rein- forced the spartan feel of the place. My initial challenge, having just arrived with a group of other scared and wary newcomers, happened on a Sunday. On Sunday we had to dress up in a suit with jacket, shirt and tie. The problem was with the starched collar, which came separate from the shirt and had to be connected with a stud going through the button hole in the front of the shirt. It took some time to master this technique with deft fin- gers. In the evening before going to bed we ate porridge, recited a prayer and sang a hymn. Boxing was required for everyone, and long runs were a staple diet. Our rugby team excelled and, during the five years I attended, never lost a match. We were being trained as future leaders of the country. The problem was that the old British Empire was largely disintegrating before our eyes as more and more countries became independent. Still, we received a privi- leged education and many in our num- ber went on to achieve fame. I might mention Tony Blair, as the most famous politician from Fettes. But his reputation at Fettes was never high, and has overall sunk lower in recent years. Studies were not ignored. Classes took place in large, bare classrooms with hard benches. Teaching was dogged if mainly uninspired. I chose French and German, and took nation- al exams on those subjects, and passed. I also took Russian with a view of join- ing the Intelligence Corps in the continued on page 27