You don't have to read this...
My last boss, Kenneth MacKinlay, was cremated this morning. Ken was a saintly man - a terrific husband. father and grandfather. He never got the recognition he deserved when he was working and - worst of all - didn't get to enjoy the long and happy retirement he deserved. I wasn't at his funeral partly because there's a chance I would meet a couple of the utter bastards who denied him recognition for his hard work and his decency.
Ken is the last of 6 deaths in the recent past that have absolutely floored me.
First was Ian Boffey, my mentor when I was promoted as PT modern languages in Islay High School. Ian visited regularly. He knew the island well because he was a lay Episcopalian minister and often held services at what we called the 'English Church' in Bridgend. Ian loved being in the classroom with me, talked to the kids, listened to what they had to say and gave me sensible advice. I wish I'd listened to him more.
Then there were Chris and Mervyn Rolfe. I met Chris through the international network. This group was crucial to Scottish education. We set up bids for EU and British Council visits for teachers and sent them all over the world to study education. One of my proudest moments was when a secondary head came back from Australia and told me he'd used the name of the international network to blag his way onto a plane with an Australian 'flying teacher.'
Merv was a former provost of Dundee, a lifelong socialist, a decent man and a faithful supporter of international education.
Finally came Alex Anderson and Charlie Hutcheson. I was their driver in our volunteering efforts for Glasgow City Libraries. They were as different as could be.
Alex was an amazingly intelligent guy, turfed out of school at 15 when he should have been getting ready to go to university. He was one of the many talents wasted in Scotland because in his time it wasn't felt working class kids needed an education. I like to think it wouldn't happen today. He did many jobs and probably hated them all, but at least his job in Collins' printing works gave him access to books.
Charlie had been sent to a minor public school in England and ended up working for the BBC in Glasgow and representing members of his union. He was a great union rep. A deep thinker and a hard worker. But bolshie - o boy, he was bolshie!
I can't tell you how much I miss these people. Every one of them was, I'm sure, a pain in the arse to at least one member of the boss class. But they were also clever, well-read and decent.
If the day ever comes when Scotland doesn't have people like this, we're screwed.
Ken is the last of 6 deaths in the recent past that have absolutely floored me.
First was Ian Boffey, my mentor when I was promoted as PT modern languages in Islay High School. Ian visited regularly. He knew the island well because he was a lay Episcopalian minister and often held services at what we called the 'English Church' in Bridgend. Ian loved being in the classroom with me, talked to the kids, listened to what they had to say and gave me sensible advice. I wish I'd listened to him more.
Then there were Chris and Mervyn Rolfe. I met Chris through the international network. This group was crucial to Scottish education. We set up bids for EU and British Council visits for teachers and sent them all over the world to study education. One of my proudest moments was when a secondary head came back from Australia and told me he'd used the name of the international network to blag his way onto a plane with an Australian 'flying teacher.'
Merv was a former provost of Dundee, a lifelong socialist, a decent man and a faithful supporter of international education.
Finally came Alex Anderson and Charlie Hutcheson. I was their driver in our volunteering efforts for Glasgow City Libraries. They were as different as could be.
Alex was an amazingly intelligent guy, turfed out of school at 15 when he should have been getting ready to go to university. He was one of the many talents wasted in Scotland because in his time it wasn't felt working class kids needed an education. I like to think it wouldn't happen today. He did many jobs and probably hated them all, but at least his job in Collins' printing works gave him access to books.
Charlie had been sent to a minor public school in England and ended up working for the BBC in Glasgow and representing members of his union. He was a great union rep. A deep thinker and a hard worker. But bolshie - o boy, he was bolshie!
I can't tell you how much I miss these people. Every one of them was, I'm sure, a pain in the arse to at least one member of the boss class. But they were also clever, well-read and decent.
If the day ever comes when Scotland doesn't have people like this, we're screwed.
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