Memories of an Old Boy

The year was 1956, I know not the month, but I was a brand new L1 High School boy. It would have been about ten to nine, five minutes before the first morning bell which would have summoned us to Miss Knight’s classroom. Just as usual, we would have been chatting and running about in the playground adjacent to the west gate of the main building, by the huts. But there was nothing usual about the drama that was about to unfold…

Witness this. A farmer heading down Euclid Crescent towards town with a single tethered bull – this in itself a source of wonderment. But then chaos! The bull managed to slip its noose, losing its handler. And into the playground through the west gate it careered, just yards in front of us. Can you imagine the consternation and the disbelief amongst the primary boys and girls? We scattered to all corners of the playground, yelling and shouting as we tried to escape the path of the rampaging bull.

Thankfully for everyone’s (including the bull’s) welfare the drama was all over just a couple of minutes after it had begun. Whilst we were scattering to all corners, the farmer somehow managed to re-tether the bull with minimum fuss. No rampaging through the playground causing havoc or injury, the bull bound for freedom had cornered itself in the vicinity of the bike shed. Not that I witnessed that, I’d have been halfway down Reform Street! Just about then our teachers would have been making their way over from the Girls’ School to call us to order. They would have witnessed some upheaval but only the conclusion of the bizarre occurrence. We formed our lines excitedly, talking and giggling, still incredulous of what we had just witnessed. Miss Knight must surely have struggled to gain our full attention in the opening lesson.

So why on earth in the year 1956 was there a farmer walking a bull down Euclid Crescent past the High School? Here’s the likelihood. It would have been a Tuesday, Dundee’s Market Day, an age-old tradition over many decades and obviously still occurring in the mid 50s. Large numbers of farmers would make their way to the cattle market in aptly named Market Street, half a mile east from Dock Street. When all the buying and selling was finished the farming folk would make their way back to the City Square where farming news and views would be thoroughly aired before retiring for lunch – Wallace’s Tearooms or the Val d’Or perhaps.

So could the cattle market have been the High School bull’s intended destination? It would appear that to facilitate Market Day there was a field on a lower slope of the Law where livestock could be safely and temporarily kept overnight. Coming down Constitution Road, left into Bell Street then right into Euclid Crescent would have been a direct route. I can but surmise but I can also assure everyone that the bizarre episode of the ‘Bull in the Playground’ was indeed witnessed by this Old Boy.

Fast forward to 1960 and L5. It was the practice then to let the boys and girls out into the playground for ten minutes midmorning to run about and let off some steam. On one particular break we were playing a game of ‘tig’ and I was ‘it’, the nominated catcher. My L5 classmates in evading my touch were playfully taunting me, one boy calling out, “Graham McLaren’s got hair like a spider’s web!” (I did, I had a mop of curly hair!) Five minutes later we’re back in Mr. Ritchie’s class with much whispering and giggling, boys turning around to me and mouthing ‘Spider’s Web’.

So it was on this day that my nickname, very soon to be abbreviated to just ‘Spider’, was born. And for 60 years that’s how everyone has known me, many not even knowing my real name. Even my grandchildren call me ‘Grandpa Spider’. I don’t mind Spider, I’ve certainly got used to it, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t feared by arachnophobes!

The L5 classmate who gave me my nickname was Norman Cathcart who went on to become Head Boy and later practised as a lawyer in Glasgow. I managed to catch up with him at a reunion around 20 years ago. I was still talking to him so reminded him of the story!

Graham ‘Spider’ McLaren, Class of 1968

President, DHSFP Cricket Club