Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

Despite all the times I was whacked at the Isis School, I have to say it is the only school I enjoyed attending. The teachers treated you like a ‘person’, unlike the state schools I attended. Many of the teachers liked teaching and the atmosphere amongst the pupils was much better than what I later experienced at a state grammar school. In fact, it was a lot better than what I had experienced in my last year of primary school under Mrs. Bonse. 

Like what my mother used to say when describing pleasant memories of her childhood summer days on the Isle of Eigg in Scotland, “They always made you feel welcome.” This was the feeling at the Isis too — a pleasant bonhomie among the pupils and a feeling of being made welcome by the teachers. 

The old school building and its grounds also contributed to the ‘free’ feeling, especially during playtime. School wasn’t just classes, but also exploration and being free to do what we pleased. 

I have many more memories from the Isis School and when I was living in Culcheth – but all good things must come to an end; thus, I will put an end to this account here with a little anecdote about when I had moved to Billericay in Essex, and my best friend Twizzle wrote me a letter. I had been living in for some weeks, where I was attending grammar school in a neighbouring town at that time. It was just about the latest and sad news that the Isis School would be closing down soon because they didn’t have enough pupils.

I left the letter on my dresser in my bedroom. The next day, when I returned from school, my mother came storming towards me waving Twizzle’s letter in my face.

“What’s this?” she demanded.

“It’s a letter from my friend in Bolton – Twizzle,” I replied. 

“I don’t want you to ever talk or write to that horrid boy ever again – do you understand!?” she bawled out.

“He’s not horrid,” I replied.

“What’s this then?” she said, ripping open the letter and pointing at a sentence with her forefinger.

I read the sentence. It said, “Have you slept with any girls yet?”

I had read this particular sentence the day before, but didn’t understand why I should want to ‘sleep’ with girls, so just let it go by.

“What’s wrong with sleeping?” I innocently asked.

She ripped up the letter, throwing it in the fireplace in the living room, and then stomped off into the kitchen.