Before the dust had time to settle

to reminisce about their early days in teaching. Here he presents their

chalkface memories

FRANK PIGNATELLI, director of education,

Strathclyde region:

I LEFT St Mungo's Academy in 1965 with less than impressive

qualifications, after which I spent a couple of years on the buses. I

went back there to teach modern languages. The first words of welcome

from the headteacher, a Marist brother with a nervous disposition which

caused his head to twitch, were: ''Not the Pignatelli that left in

1965!'' Because of teacher shortages you could choose your school at

that time. I recall the advice I was given at St Mungo's by a science

teacher, ''Daddy'' Kelly (a nickname which distinguished him from his

namesake at the school, ''Farmer'' Kelly!). He said: ''If you ask an

official question you'll get an official answer.'' In other words, get

on with the business without asking anyone what to do. That's not good

advice nowadays.

The most difficult thing I found in the early seventies was going into

a school which had been academically selective, and was quite brutal and

macho in its use of corporal punishment. By extension the most difficult

thing was belting by proxy, as a head of department or assistant head. I

tended to use the belt sparingly. As a new teacher, the first question

you were asked was: ''Are you article 39 or charter five?'' There was no

common salary scale, and the question was to distinguish between honours

and ordinary graduates. You never came to school without a suit and, of

course, you wore the academic gown. I have absolutely no doubt that the

quality of education is as good as in the past and that the

relationships between pupil and teacher and teacher and teacher are an

awful lot better.

BILL McLAREN, the voice of rugby:

I SPENT about 35 years as an itinerant teacher in wee country schools.

I remember going to Kirkton near Hawick. There were only about 14 pupils

in the school, aged between six and 11, and there were three sets of

twins. I remember we used to do our gym in the bike shed because there

was no room in the classroom. I also remember a 10-year-old girl at

Bunfoot in Hawick coming up and saying: ''Mr McLaren, my mum says you

wear a wig on TV. I invited her to have a howk at my head and she almost

tore my scalp off.'' When I started out I went to eight or nine schools

in a week, all by public transport. Children in these days, particularly

country children, were much better behaved and keener to learn. When I

first taught heads were very strict lads. I learned that you had to

carry out your word with youngsters. I found that children respected you

for that. I don't think that, discipline wise, we are maybe just as

strict as we used to be. Maybe that's a pity. I always felt it was a

mistake to ban the belt, not because people liked using it, but it was a

good sanction. Where there was a slight feeling of responsibility among

young parents being on the wane, schools should maybe have said we will

need to compensate for that. I don't think they did. I think it's been

to the detriment of general discipline. But maybe I'm too old fashioned.

ROSE GALT, depute registrar of the

General Teaching Council:

SOME people say they never learn anything at teacher training college

but I learned two things. The first was never to over-estimate your

charismatic, fascinating, and pure dead brilliant teaching abilities. No

matter how spellbinding you are, if a head comes round the door asking

for help to move chairs 35 hands will go up, and there will a shout of

''me for the jannie!'' The second was this: ''You are about to enter a

profession full of whingers and moaners. Join them or get up off your

backside and do something about it.'' I determined to do something about

it.

My first job was at Albert Senior Secondary in Springburn, Glasgow and

my recollections are pertinent to my job. My treatment as a raw

probationer in April 1960, after a shortened period of training because

of teacher shortages, was awful. The principal teacher of English gave

me no help. When I arrived he said to me: ''This is your table, room,

and syllabus'' and left. It was a seminal experience in how to treat

probationers. I can still have nightmares about those few months. I

spent the whole of the next summer looking for a job. Happily the rest

of the staff were great and by the time I returned after the holidays he

had left. Things took off from there.

RICKY ROSS, Deacon Blue mainman:

AS the new English teacher at St Columba of Iona in Maryhill I decided

to warm the kids up and get to know them with a little questionnaire. I

chalked five questions up on the board and explained to the class that

it would help me to get to put names to faces if I knew what they were

like. The categories were simple ones. I asked them to write down their

names, things they enjoyed doing, things they hated, stuff like that.

There was one kid whom everyone in the staffroom later warned me about.

Having got to the ''things I hate'' category, he asked me ''Sir, how do

you spell Protestants?''

FARQUHAR MACINTOSH, former chairman of

the Scottish Examination Board:

MY first experience of teaching was at my old school, Portree High in

Skye, in 1948 when I was still at university. I stood in for my old

teacher of Gaelic who was adjudicating at the Mod. My first school was a

pretty tough one, Greenfield junior secondary in Hamilton. Most of the

children came from miners' homes, and its only claim to fame which I

could discover was that Jock Stein went to it. I found it a tough first

three months. My Highland accent was quite novel to them in deepest

Lanarkshire and they were used to rather rough handling but I was never

one who was very keen to use the belt. It took about three months to get

adjusted to the job.

People who haven't experienced the first month or so of teaching

haven't much idea of how draining it can be, even when you are young and

fit. I found it very demanding. It was partly a problem of maintaining

discipline. The school had about 1200 pupils. Their motivation to stay

on after being rejected by the 11 plus was very low. That's why I've

always been a strong supporter of comprehensive education. I saw what

the division into junior and senior secondaries did for pupils.

JIM MARTIN, general secretary, the Educational

Institute of Scotland:

I DID my teaching practice at Falkirk High and ended up teaching

modern studies there. I had my crit lesson from my tutor at Moray House

with the fourth year non-certificated boys, the class in the school

nobody wanted. I had planned my lesson well. I'd use flashy overhead

projectors and work in groups with the kids. I explained what I was

going to do. I turned round to write something on the board and heard a

raising of voices and a desk being overturned behind my back. Facing the

class again, I saw the biggest guy in the class glowering at the

offender. ''Hey, dae you want him tae lose his joab? Ye heard whit Mr

Watson (their teacher) said. Carry oan, sur.'' And it worked. I don't

know whose face was worse, mine or the tutor's. Who knows, if it hadn't

been for that lad I might never have been a teacher.

WILLIAM McIVANNEY, writer:

I WENT into teaching in the early sixties. The thing that struck me

most strongly was how psychologically risky the job was. I remember

being a student teacher in a Glasgow school. I went to see this guy

about learning teaching methods. It was like a war zone in his

classroom. He was very suave, and said to me: ''Well, Mr McIlvanney,

we're not doing anything very special so you can just go back to the

classroom. Everything's fine here. I'll see you soon.'' There was this

contrast between his suaveness and the chaos about him. Teachers often

have that struggle to hold on to that reality while that's all going on.

There was also a science teacher who had sane opinions about the world

and politics, but he had rigged up a Tannoy system to teach lessons in

the lab. At least he was issuing bulletins, I suppose. The key to it, at

least to teaching English, is if you don't relate to the pupils you are

in trouble. You have to build up some kind of relationship with the folk

in front of you. I left teaching in 1978 and I think it's a lot harder

now. I think there's so much stuff that's supposed to be politically

correct, it's harder to have real human relationships. It's more

institutionalised. I really enjoyed teaching but towards the end I felt

the theorists were massing on the horizon. There was far too much

prescriptive stuff. I don't envy people who have to do the job now. I

think there's less room for personal choice.

MAGGI ALLAN, senior depute director of

education, Central region:

I DID my teaching practice in modern studies and history in what was

the old Woodside High in the West End of Glasgow. One kid set fire to

his desk. That was pretty hairy. Jordanhill hadn't really equipped me to

cope with that. I think I said: ''Well, I think we'll just leave the

class.'' I had a privileged and pretty sheltered start to my teaching

career in King's Park in Glasgow. In modern studies there wasn't much

available in terms of curriculum development and available materials. It

was brilliant practice, but nightmarish. I remember being exhausted for

the first term. The classes were big. There were 40 in O-grade history.

I wouldn't claim in any way that I coped with the individual needs of

all the kids in that class. A lot got where they were by being very able

and very committed.

One thing that surprised me was that I was quite successful at it. I

wasn't a star at Jordanhill but when I took responsibility for classes I

found I could do it. I had a very supportive principal teacher of

history, who recognised the role and place of women. I would be doing

things like introducing group methods. He would come in and no doubt see

a hairy scene but he allowed me to go through periods of trying out

different methodologies. He trusted me to try these things out. I don't

think it's a job you become a star at overnight.

ALEX STANLEY, general secretary of the Scottish

Secondary Teachers' Association:

I KNEW the pupils and staff at Stobswell Girls Secondary in Dundee

because I had done my summer teaching practice there. It was 1969 and I

was the new social studies teacher. I liked my room because the school

bell was outside the door and the jannie had to ring it every period. We

had an arrangement whereby I would ring it for him if he was late. If

ever I got a class I didn't like the bell was guaranteed to go a couple

of minutes early. I didn't get a bell allowance but I twisted the

arrangement to my advantage.

MARGARET MACINTOSH, former head of

Drummond Community High, Edinburgh:

I WENT back to teach at Peebles High where I had been a pupil only

about six years before. I remember I had a dilemma about how I should

address my former teachers. I felt I should still address them as Sir or

Miss although they were now my colleagues. I think I probably didn't

address them as anything. I remember being full of enthusiasm,

excitement, a determination to do the job well, and idealistic, and why

not. That's how you should be. You look back wistfully at the physical

energy you had. I taught English and history and I remember taking kids

on a field trip to the Roman camp. That was quite innovative. The advice

to us was to keep your distance from the children. You could always

relax later but you should start off with a fairly distant approach.

That approach is still around today. I think it's easier to go that way

and loosen up control later, rather than try to regain it if you've lost

it. I wore the gown, of course, which also added to your sense of

authority.

GEORGE CUMMING, SFA development director

for referees and education:

ONE of my first memories goes back to the days of uncertificated

teachers. Not long after I started as a geography teacher at Bellshill

Academy in Lanarkshire we had a Canadian teacher who lasted two periods

then disappeared. He just left a note saying he found teaching at

Bellshill ''fraught with difficulties''. Because of uncertificated

teachers you tended to find discipline problems were more severe with

them.

I remember the principal teacher of PE had to sort out some youngsters

who had taken to throwing eggs in class. He lined them up and frisked

them by patting their clothing very firmly. End of egg-throwing. There's

a lot of similarity between the teacher's and the referee's job. You set

your standards right at the beginning, whether it's a new session, new

job, or the start of a game. It is very important to establish yourself.

Maybe the only advantage the referee has is the red card!

CAMERON HARRISON, chief executive of the

Scottish Consultative Council on the Curriculum:

A NEW headteacher takes up his post with pride, enthusiasm, and

trepidation as rector of The Gordon Schools in Huntly. His 10-year-old

daughter, Fiona, is about to enrol with his colleague at The Gordon

Primary School on the same campus. She is conscious that this is a big

day for her and a bigger one for her father, and is determined to

contribute to it positively. He is shown into her new head's office. He

is kindness itself. She responds appropriately, by vomiting over his new

carpet. She is then sick over the secretary's desk and carpet. Escaping

from the office and its puddles of bile, she commits the most heinous of

offences by making her mark on the clean corridor floor at the feet of

the ultimate power in any school -- the jannie. When I recall this

incident I am impressed by two things: first, the care and concern shown

by the school staff. It is a tribute to them that my daughter was very

happy there. Secondly, the exact parallel with her father, who was

beginning his new school life across the road. It was probably only a

deeply ingrained fear of the secretary and janitor which prevented him

from mimicking her experience.

MARGARET EWING, SNP spokeswoman on

Scottish education:

BIRO pens make excellent barley shooters, as I discovered when I went

to teach at Our Lady's High in Cumbernauld. When I turned to write on

the board I was showered with enough barley to make a pot of broth. It

was quite a frightening experience. None of the little so-and-so's would

say who it was so they all got punishment exercises. I trained in

history and English but I was teaching maths because there was a

desperate shortage. I had only an O-grade so I spent the weekends

swotting up. I was nervous about being caught out by a bright kid. When

the youngsters settled down it was a great school. On the first day,

they test you out. You don't start soft, you start hard, then when you

get the reputation as an absolute bitch or whatever you can relax, but

you need to establish that initial discipline. Oh, I didn't take the

barley home to make soup. Mixed with chalk dust I didn't think it would

be particularly appetising.

ARCHIE FORREST, painter and sculptor:

I TAUGHT art at Greenfaulds High in Cumbernauld and I remember all

these fourth-years standing around, and me fumbling about consulting

this wee bit of paper to establish the aims and objectives of the

lesson, like they'd told us at Jordanhill. ''Right, this is it . . .

you've got to stamp your authority on this lot and bring them to order

with your very first word,'' I remember thinking. So I opened my mouth

to speak . . . and all that came out was this little hamster squeak. I

fumbled with my notes again. Actually, although facing the kids was a

frightening experience, I recall being more worried about my

relationship with the other teachers. Dealing with them was much more

traumatic. It's a personality thing. If you can win the contest with

your personality, teaching flows. I could express my true personality

much more easily with the children than in the staff room. I felt I was

one of the kids, really, and the clothes I wore signalled the fact. Red

sandals, jeans, no tie. The problems that caused. Old teachers accusing

me of ''lacking a professional attitude''. Stuffy teachers -- pah!

JOHN MITCHELL, author of the

Morris Simpson diaries:

THE abiding memory of my early teaching career is the day of my

wandering flatulence. The profession is a bit like royalty in that

respect. Pupils don't believe that teachers perform natural functions.

So it was a source of some concern one day when, bending over the desk

of a third year girl, I found an onrush of wind coming upon me. I

thought I'd controlled it, but it wasn't to be. In a pious attempt at a

cover-up I sidled back to my desk. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the

girl wrinkle a wee rabbit nose, turn it up in disgust, and enquire of

the entire classroom: ''Pfwaww! Whit's that smell . . . ?'' One look at

me and they all knew what it was. A chaplet had fallen from my brow --

and I left teaching soon afterwards. Driven out by a peripatetic fart.