An old school friend posted a photo of our old school on her Facebook. This school was pretty much the heart of Ross and Cromarty for school-age kids:
I was deeply surprised when I saw the photo. I didn’t – and still don’t – remember how isolated the school was.
For kids from further away, like the isles, they stayed in a hostel on school premises as weekly boarders. They were pretty much a close-knitted gang, in spite of ages, interests and classes. Now and then, the others and I stayed at their hostel during a particularly bad weather spell.
When the school hostel was full, we stayed at random locals’ homes nearby. Usually just for an overnight stay. There was already a hotel, but I’m not sure why we didn’t stay there. Probably to save costs for school? Anyroad, many classmates’ parents and guardians stayed at that hotel, which is how it came to know as ‘the Tearful Hotel’. They almost always cried when it was time for them to leave the their children behind.
I remember staying with an elderly woman who tried to feed me the idea that Jura was the heart of all things evil. She said things like “The whirlie is be seeking thesh mudsy souls. Yours as well, beddie.” Heh. What a daft bat. She was a good cook, though.
There were maybe fifteen houses near the school? Only ones in the area, too, if I remember right. Quite a few locals kept to themselves, but when we came across them, they were usually polite and approachable.
Yeah, I’m honestly shocked at how isolated it looks in that photo. I don’t remember that aspect at all. I suppose it makes sense now I think about it.
Usually, it was a case of take a long walk from home to a designated school bus stop, get into a school bus, snooze or stare out of window groggily during the one-hour-and-half ride (we rarely talked as it was around 6AM), and get out of the bus into the school. Vroom through the day.
Back into the bus, talk or fight with other kids during our hour-and-half ride, get out of the bus into a long walk home. Pounce on my tea. Spend the evening as I please. Off to bed. Next day, repeat. So I suppose that’s why the village and the isolation weren’t quite part of my awareness.
Kids from my area and I didn’t even go to the school during winters because of snow and landslides on the only mountainous road between us and “the world”. During this time, we were home-educated from roughly mid-December to maybe early February.
This issue was resolved when they found a way when I was in my final year at my other school*, by adding a line nearer our home. So my younger brothers commuted by train during a snow season since then. Lucky bastards. But it did mean they would arrive at school at around 11AM and leave school at around 6PM, due to the train timetable.
<– Yes, just two carriages. 
(*For those who haven’t read my old blog: in my second or third year, my parents transferred me to a boarding school — as well as signing me up at a summer-term school — after the Heyer fiasco to correct my learning with a round-the-clock education. :D They had already considered transferring me after the Gaelic fiasco in my third junior year, but the council persuaded them to give the school another chance (it wasn’t school’s fault, though; it was the council’s for deciding to impose the ‘all Gaelic’ scheme on school). Then roughly two years later, the Heyer thing happened. )
You know what pissed me off about this school? The shortest route from my home area to the school would be across the water. If you look at the photo, you’ll see that big brown hill. Our home area is behind that.
So instead of across the water, we had to journey to south for twenty miles, then round a corner, and then down south west for roughly fifteen miles to the school. I’m pretty sure it was roughly thirty-five miles each way, roughly three hours per day in total. If we went by water, it would be roughly fifteen miles with a 30-minute sea ride, roughly an hour per day in total.
Mind you, the advantage to that long busy journey was homework. We did it on the way home, or school, so that we wouldn’t have to do them at home. Sometimes, we bus kids traded our homework. “Do this maths homework, I’ll finish your English essay!” and “Let’s trade this science prep for your sociology prep?” Once in a while: “Hm, buy me a [lunch/drink/magazine/book], I’ll do your homework. Take it or leave it.”
Of course, I heavily relied on Maths and Science kids to help me out. While I understood English, Art (as in, art history) and History, I’m still not exactly sure why they relied on me for Geography. I never understood how I got good grades for that, either. I still don’t feel I understood Geography, but somehow I did. Odd.
Here’s another to give you a better idea of the school area:
That air landing thingy wasn’t there during my time. The school is the one with the white buildings, in between the sports field and a cluster of the grey buildings. That’s all I can remember, to be honest. It’s been what, twenty-five years now? I don’t know. It was a long time ago, either way.
Seeing that photo of the school had made me shudder. It really does affirm how much I loathe being in an isolated area. It’s great for a fortnight holiday and all, but as part of the everyday life? No thanks.
Honestly, I’m still shocked at how isolated that school looked. I mean, I knew it was a bit isolated, but not that isolated. *shudder*