Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

In Rhoda’s 1962 Diary, we talk about Valentine’s Day and my parents’ money woes pertaining to our schooling.

February 14: St. Valentine’s Day

This refers to a Valentine’s card. To be quite honest, it is amazing that my parents managed to keep the romantic flame alive after more than twenty years of marriage! I felt they were such an ill-suited couple. But this was during those days when divorce was difficult and socially looked down upon. And neither my mother nor my father were flirtatious types, so they were stuck with each other for ‘better or worse’.  In the 1950s, it was mainly film stars that got divorced – like Elizabeth Taylor who was married eight times! 

February 15

School fees were usually paid per term. If I were to make a guess, this must have been worth about £1200 today, or about £2500 a year. All in all, this was an added family expense, but not that costly (but I don’t know how much my father was earning at this time). 

But the ‘family budget’ was probably ‘under pressure’, due to the mortgage, five kids, new car, and so on. I don’t think my father wanted me to go to the Isis private school, as this was just an added expense. So, it was probably my mother’s idea. 

One day, my mother told me that my father wanted to ‘talk’ to me alone in the kitchen. My father never ‘talked’ to me, so this sounded pretty serious! To cut a long story short, we sat face-to-face across the kitchen table; our faces were only a few inches apart, so his ruddy features were ‘in my face’, and not least the acrid smell of his pipe-smoking breath penetrated my nostrils.

In stern tones, he said something of the following: “You ken wur aff tae pay a lot o’ muny tae send ye tae a private schuil, lik’ yer eldest brother Sandy. Bit ye hae tae promise me tae wirk ‘n’ sweat lik’ a n***er! Kin ye dae it?”

This conjured up quite a frightening image in my mind of sweating like a negro slave on a Southern plantation and being whipped by my masters (the teachers) if I shirked the work. At the same time, the seriousness of my father’s voice seemed to imply that our whole family’s existence depended on my slave-like abilities to succeed on the plantation (the school). So I didn’t really have much choice but to agree. 

Comically, my father’s ‘lecture’ had scared me, so I actually worked very hard at school for the first six weeks (‘like a slave’). However, I was the kind of boy that needed constant follow-up, so I soon forgot that I was a ‘slave’, and reverted to my normal mode of ‘Jack-the-Lad’ who was only interested in kissing girls and doing as little work as possible, while creating a hard time for teachers – getting in fights, and so on.

I was helped in this endeavour by my best friend Philip Disley who won the outright gold medal for fighter and seducer of girls! He had only two interests in life, smashing his fist into the face of other boys, or getting his hands into girls’ knickers!

My parents were not skilled pedagogues, so they forgot to ‘follow-up’ their son. However, despite my pugilistic and amorous adventures, I did quite well at the Isis School due to the good teaching environment, amongst other things.

I excelled in maths and history, and some other subjects. But this was mostly due to the excellent teachers – Reverend Morgan in maths. I forget the name of the youngish history teacher. I came top in history! My school reports have disappeared into oblivion, which is why I can’t find the names of all the teachers, and all the exam results.   

The Isis School

As mentioned above, my eldest brother, Sandy, and I, both attended a private school, the Isis, which was located in Sharples, Bolton, Lancashire. 

I have included a photo of the school here; but this photo is taken before the school was established; the building was originally an orphanage, called Eden’s Orphanage. 

I will include one-third of the school photo here as well; I have written in more detail about my life at the Isis School in my childhood semi-fictional autobiography, Boyhood Recollections (2022). So I won’t write more about it here.

In the school photo, I am in the top row, sixth from the left. My best friend, Philip Disley, is the blonde boy to the right of me. To the right of Philip is Morrell, the African-American, and the smartest boy in the class. But he was too ‘serious’ and ‘smart’ to be interested in fighting and girls like me and Philip.

The well-built boy in the middle of the front row with the big smile, blonde quiff and glasses was Dave Cunnylik, who used to wear tight trousers held up by a belt adorned with a large Indian buckle, which he needed to keep his ‘bulge’ under control.

This no doubt fascinated his female classmates, as he managed to make three of them pregnant at the age of 16. Thus, Dave was the great ‘idol’ of my friend Philip, who we called Twizzle. It was thus his ambition to emulate Dave, or even surpass Dave’s exploits!