After having a look in the attic I found these. 

Gilbert McInnes
David Wilson
David Mclean
Ian Lamb
Lesley Campbell
Lesley Mine
David Maclean has kindly sent me the following.

Kevin Digges
Eddie Doull
Stewart Lillie
I hope you don’t mind me putting your photos here – if you do e-mail me and I’ll remove – I’d appreciate an e-mail anyway. 

If you have some of these little photos up in your attics could you scan them and e-mail to me (scan at 150 dpi) – I will add them to this database. I’d like to have a big file of our year here. I will try and get in touch with the names I recognise on the Friends-Reunited’s website.

I had mentioned Miss Gray and Miss Watson on the wee blurb with Friends-Reunited, but what great teachers they were – I have very fond memories. We used to get a revolting  yellow liquid, supposed to be milk at the end of period 2. Two people were sent off to get a crate of the stuff. It was particularly horrible in summer – warm and off ! Miss Gray used to tell us to “Bibite Lac” – I think that’s what she said. In winter it was a bit more exciting because on a frosty day it started to go solid. It took ages then to consume it. In the school I teach in now, here in Invergordon, this would be known as a “skive”.

Or Paddy Young for PE. They were great, strong characters. I still remember Mr Morley’s demos in Chemistry, or poor Mr Scott’s synthesis of sulphuric acid going wrong. Teachers like Miss Shaw, or Mrs MacDonald (Maisie), or Mr Ferguson (Peem) or even Mr Miller for English – he terrified me (could have been the steel tips on his shoes).  What about Mr McNeil for History. Just remembered he belted me ! Gordon MacNeil gave me the worst belting I ever had. It was over not being able to draw a Cathedral – placing the Isle, Naive etc. I was in a daydream and Robin (Gibson) suddenly said to me -“its you, put your hand up” ; like the dope I am, I put my hand up. Mr MacNeil had asked those who couldn’t draw a Cathedral to put their hands up ! He told me to draw on the board and if I made one mistake I’d be belted. Well I made mistakes. Probably my attitude was wrong and I should not have been daydreaming anyway. Well, it was all I could do not to burst into tears in front of the class – I couldn’t write next period !

They were all great. Those who couldn’t draw were put into a class called “Art Appreciation” in third year. We had a teacher, I think he was new, called Mr Dunaby. He had a wee yellow motor scooter and side car. Some senior boys carried it into the school and left it in the courtyard of the New-Building. How he got it back out I never found out.

You, my peers, were great too. Robin Gibson and Gilbert McInnes were the two friends I probably spent most time with. Robin and I cycled out to Loch Tay once and camped there. He was a good cook ! I can remember John Curran winding up a Miss Bain we had for science in first year.  Another time we had a poor student for Latin, possibly in third year, I think, Kenneth Gilmour (is that his name) told him his name was James, but most of his palls called him Jim. When the student started using the name “Jim” we nearly ended ourselves. What maturity ! Miss Gray would have murdered us.

Another great time was at lunch in Mr Smith’s room. George Macleod, Alan Taylor, Peter Fotheringham were there.

I have a passion for motor bikes inspired by Ken Morton (maybe Norton) and Pete Rennie – Ken had a Norton Dominator; Pete was a pal of his and they rebuilt an old Royal Enfield in fifth year. They made a super job of it. They were very good to me, inviting me round to watch the rebuild.

I hated knuckles being clicked and Ian Lamb above was an expert. In French, in second year (I think a Mrs MacDonald was our teacher) he would grab my hand and click my knuckles. He found joints in my fingers, I didn’t know existed. 

Less nice memories are being forced to play football at Scotstoun Playing Fields and being forced in goals – such was my skill. When I’d let yet another ball pass me I got sworn at and called names I still don’t understand. I utterly detest football to this day – one of Hyndland’s scars. In fact I hate all sport. I busted my nose at rugby one day and Paddy Young pinched my nose till it stopped bleeding, assured me it was as good as new, and told me to play on – I thought I was needing casualty. He nearly drowned me at swimming, trying to get me to swim a length – I havn’t managed a length to this day !

Do you remember being hearded in long lines for the end of term service. The girls went by one route and the boys by another. There was the anticipation of the holiday ahead.

It has been great to hear from one or two people after a long, long time. If you remember me – please get in touch. My memory though is like a hen’s.