Around the Rowan Tree, Day 12

“An attractive bunch, I thought, and I had them dressed in inexpensive but neat shorts and teeshirts and jerseys of my own knitting

However, when the children began to filter to the new comprehensive schools in Perth, Ronald and I recognised a changing world in which, because of threatening widespread unemployment, passing exams, gaining a paper was becoming important.

“They can’t all be farmers,” Ronald would say. “This farm won’t support more than one the way farming is today. I do wish we could do other things from the farm. But what? I’m sure there is potential here.”

Our exhorting them to learn perhaps came too late. We had set up a state of independence in their minds. We had also, however, told them that there was nothing they couldn’t do if they really wanted to.

I had been told this by my mother from an early age and I was female. I was never told there were things women couldn’t do, so never had hang-ups about male domination. The only trouble with our children was that they didn’t want to do anything very much.

As far as they were concerned all the necessary politics of life went on in the Errol school bus that took them to Perth. Mostly the boys’ biggest ambitions were to leave school and become lorry drivers, farm workers or gamekeepers. They wanted to leave, get on with life, get a job. But we did insist that our boys got as many exam passes as they could. Then, they could always go back to education at a later date if they found they needed to.

Incensed

I haven’t mentioned the girls in all this but, then, it was a boy’s world. Mahri-louise grew up a quiet, pretty little girl but not very clever at school. In fact, the first teacher (unfortunately not a good one) reported that she was unteachable.

This was in the days before we got the new headmaster and there was no help or hope from the old one. I happened to know a young teacher, just left college, who couldn’t wait to become a teacher. The summer before she started work, she came out to teach Mahri, tried every method, found what was most suitable for her and taught her to read.

However, Ronald was so incensed at the uncooperative attitude of the village school at that time that he insisted she went to a private school.

“We’ll put her to Craigclowan,” he said. “We’ll afford it somehow.” And so Mahri-louise at the age of six had to catch the bus at 8 o’clock for Perth. She was happy there with the extra attention, and learned.

Kathleen, the youngest, was a completely different sort of girl. Red-haired and lively, she just seemed to grow. I hardly remember her childhood. Being brought up largely by boys, she became like them and wouldn’t have dared tell tales on any of them, how they skived off school or got into trouble.

She grew up with the same rebellious nature; lessons? What were lessons? But she enjoyed her schooldays, was outgoing and unafraid of the world.

Object

Holidays were always taken in June. “It has to be that month,” Ronald would tell me. “I must be back for the hay.” “But it’s still school term,” I would mildly object. “Farmers can’t run their schedules by school terms,” he replied. “Besides, they’ll be off shortly and in the last few weeks of school, as far as I can see, there’s not much work done.”

The new headmaster never objected. “Holidays are as important as school days,” he would tell us. “I don’t mind as long as they’re at school for sports day.” So holidays were taken between the beginning and end of June.

In the first year after returning from Canada, come June Ronald got restless. “How about a holiday?” he suggested. “But can we really afford it?” I quibbled.

“No, but we’ll have one just the same. Perhaps only four or five days in a Highland hotel, somewhere not far away. You know how the kids don’t like travelling too far, get impatient and start squabbling. But even a place 12 miles away would seem extremely different country to them.

“Distance isn’t important. At this time of year also, we ought to get something a little bit cheaper and perhaps easy terms for so many.”

And so we landed in a hotel in Loch Rannoch. I shall never forget that first holiday after our hard years abroad when holidays had not even been a consideration. It was only for four days but to us it seemed a lot longer.

The place was so different even though it was no more than 50 miles from home – a rambling lowceilinged country hotel with its mixture of grandeur and simplicity. The broad stairs ran down to the large red-carpeted hall at the bottom of which stood an enormous Chinese bowl, beautifully-patterned in blues, reds and golds and used for holding every kind of walking stick you can imagine.

The large dining room boasted white-clothed tables, gleaming cutlery and glasses.

There was a scattering of older people staying at the hotel, mostly couples. One couple, rather younger than the others, every mealtime tried to put on the style, always immaculately and correctly dressed and speaking in loud posh accents. They had obviously been the centre of attraction, the focal point of the dining room.

However, when we came along this was no longer the case. They were shifted to the side and two tables were put together for us in the centre. I could not help enjoying this to a degree. I was proud of my children.

There were five of them then. Richard was the oldest at seven and though rather unruly at home, they were well-behaved when out. An attractive bunch I thought, and I had them dressed in inexpensive but neat shorts and tee-shirts and jerseys of my own knitting.

Achievement

I felt a sense of achievement that other people, older people should enjoy our children and Ronald and I were pleased when we got praise for them.

Outside was sheer delight, the mountains, the loch, the narrow winding road with sheep wandering everywhere, unwilling to move for the passing car.

Inside and out there was the faint smell of woodsmoke. When it was sunny, a long lane of sundiamonds danced off the loch. When the rain came it was gentle, the wind was soft and all the faint smells of woods and wild flowers would subtly permeate the air.

Ronald hired a boat and took the boys fishing. I was left with the two wee ones, Mahri- Louise and Grant. I had time to play with them or walk for a short way up the quiet Highland road and snatch a conversation with another holidaymaker.

I had no housework to do and no meals to prepare. For several years this was the sort of holiday we took.

More on Monday.