1982: Dumfries and Galloway Standard: Article by A.K.W.
An unknown journalist
‘I have shown you nothing that is not old-fashioned.’
That was John Aitkenhead’s parting shot as he waved me goodbye after a five-hour visit to Kilquhanity School near Kirkpatrick Durham. Although it is only 14 miles from Dumfries it belongs to another world. The roads that lead to it are little more than lanes, abounding in hairpin bends and thick hedgerows. The house – partly early 18th, partly early 19th century – is surrounded by tall trees except the front which faces away from the road to a landscape of gently undulating meadow and woodland. Outside and inside it has the well-used and well cared for air of a family homestead. For 42 years John and Morag have seen to that. With a ‘family’ numbering fewer than 50, staff and pupils, they feel no need to be institutionalised.
‘Education,’ John told me, ‘comes from the Latin ‘educare’, to nourish. It means far more than just schooling. My ideas are based on those of A. S. Neill who founded Summerhill, in Suffolk, in 1920. He emphasised the importance of freedom of the individual and the pursuit of happiness. At Kilquhanity we also emphasise the importance of all the arts as means of expressing the emotions which are peculiar to humans and to no other form of life..’
John added that from the beginning they had farmed intensively Kilquhanity’s seven-and -a-half acres. ‘We did it, so to speak, to improve our cash flow. We don’t play at it. It’s the real thing and the kids love it.’
Another vitally important feature of Kilquhanity is DIY – from the rebuilding of a derelict bullock shed into classrooms and various other projects – to the building of an extensive arts and crafts complex at one tenth of the commercial costs and the construction of the impressive ‘dome’ about which more presently.
But nothing is more important to the school than the weekly council meeting which is another and more subtle, from of DIY. Attending one was an unforgettable experience for me. Everyone from John to the youngest new kid was present for, as John explained, the council meeting is the one event of the week that is obligatory. Judging from the intensity of concentration I wondered afterwards whether that was really necessary. For two hours without a break a multitude of complaints, suggestions, disagreements, and topical subjects were discussed, debated and pronounced upon, and at the end of that time only one of the younger children was showing signs of becoming restive.
The first part of the meeting was firmly chaired by Louis who got a round of applause when he stood down for he was a trainee chairman. Leigh, one of the regular chair persons, took over from him. Both were senior pupils and both outshone many of the adult chairmen it has been my fate to sit with.
There was quite a lot about breakages – a mug, a window pane, a light bulb – the discussion always being directed to determining which person or persons might be to blame and what share of the cost should be apportioned to them. The boy, who by his way, had innocently broke a light bulb found his position more difficult to defend when somebody reminded him that, ‘Last week you broke a broom quite cold-bloodedly.’ There was an appeal for a general search to be made for a hammer that had gone missing from the workshop, followed by a homily from the art teacher about what a dreadful mess could be made by eight or nine people each of whom would have little trouble if they cleared up after themselves.
Then there were ‘undertakings’, the broom breaker undertook to mend it. A big boy who had intimidated a new boy undertook to desist. A ‘strong warning’ was issued to a boy who needlessly carried (and presumably dropped) coal going through the dining room.
Next came a case that provoked hilarity, although I couldn’t help thinking of embarrassing newspaper headlines like ‘I’m going to horsewhip you, Bert, says Kilquhanity girl.’ That’s just about what she did say, though his name wasn’t Bert. Somebody wanted to know whether a girl who didn’t have a horse at school had a right to be in possession of a horse whip. John, putting up his hand like others to catch the chairman’s eye, said this was the first time in the school’s 42 years that horsewhipping had been mentioned.
Could the offensive weapon please be exhibited. The girl was sent for it and returned with a flimsy switch that could hardly have hurt a fly. By common consent she received a stern warning.
Other matters concerned a boy whose alarm clock went of in the wee sma’ oors; a boy who appropriated another’s bicycle; a boy who objected to the spelling of his name in the school’s fortnightly ‘Broadsheet’, a master who sought and got permission to deduct pay from pupils who feel behind on spud-bashing instead of first having to bring the case to the council, the pupil to have the right of appeal to the council.
A second case of mild bullying came up and the guilty party gave the necessary undertaking to desist. John commented that the important thing about these cases was not the violence but how they had been handled. Public undertakings had been given by the two bigger boys not to abuse their strength and the boys who had been bullied knew that the whole school backed them in this matter. By this time I was feeling so much at home that I nearly put up my hand for permission to speak about how much more difficult it was to bring bullies to justice when I was at school and, if they were caught, how much more uncivilised their punishment was.
It was an impressive lesson in practical justice and how individuals should strive to live as members of a group. Anyone who thinks there is no discipline at Kilquhanity is mistaken; the discipline is self-imposed, not laid down by teachers in authority.
Afterwards, over a cup of tea, John told me about himself. He was born 72 years ago in Glasgow but spent much of his boyhood in Ayrshire where he learned about farming, ‘and where I went to the same school, kirk and Sunday School as Morag.’ He went to Glasgow University where he graduated with Honours in English Literature in 1932.
There was an even worse slump than that of the ‘80s and teachers were 10 a penny, so he returned to the university and took and Ed.B. He then taught in Glasgow, Troon, Girvan and Argyll, before obtaining a permanent post at Darvel in the Irvine Valley which he held for four years. In 1937 John and Morag were married. Today they have four grown-up children, two daughters and two sons, the youngest of whom, Gavin, is in the staff at Kilquhanity.
The war brought two great challenges to John. He was a pacifist. Not only did he refuse to go into the armed forces, he could not allow himself to undertake war work like farming or forestry. At one time he seemed to be heading for prison. But the challenge of pacifism led him to that challenge of Kilquhanity.
‘In 1940 we decided to rent this place and set up a Summerhill in Scotland. We advertised in the newspapers for interested parents, capital and teachers. The first two were not forthcoming but we were amazed at the number of teachers who wanted this alternative to the State system. There were enough applicants for ten schools.’
However, Kilquhanity was a safe place and because parents wanted to evacuate their children from the cities the pupils began to arrive. Ironically perhaps, the war accelerated its growth. After the war the number of pupils fluctuated. Sometimes there have been as many as 50, sometimes little more than half that number. This term there are 34, 24 boys and 10 girls. ‘for some profound reason,’ states an editorial in ‘Broadsheet’, ‘we have never been blessed with as many girls as boys . . . maybe one day schools like ours will enjoy equal numbers as well as equal opportunities for the sexes.’ ‘Broadsheet’ incidentally, is in its 21st year and its 400th issue is expected before the end of the session. What other school can equal that record?
As befits a school where the arts are given their proper place ‘Broadsheet’ has always been strong on poetry. After the first nine years a first-class anthology of 50 illustrated poems from ‘Broadsheet’ was published. That speaks well of a school that had the privilege of educating Michael Grieve, the son of the greatest Scottish poet of the twentieth century, Chris grieve (Hugh MacDiarmid).
Kilquhanity has always had international connections. In recent years the pupils have included Americans, two French families, one Belgian family, and three Danish children. At present there is a German girl from Frankfurt at the school. A Japanese friend is Professor Shinichiro Hori at the huge university of Osaka at Yokohama. So interested is he in importing the ideas and practises of Kilquhanity that he and his son are going to spend a term there next year.
Before I left John showed me the farm, his extensive vegetable garden, his own special playground, and the school’s many triumphs of DIY. For me the greatest of these in the Dome, an elegant circular building twenty-sided, with a cupola that is a replica of one in the house. There is seating round the inside for 51 people and more can be accommodated on cushions on the floor. The woodwork throughout is superb.
It has taken four years to build the Dome. The timber for the wall came from a Church of Scotland canteen at the former Dundonald army camp in Ayrshire. From the dismantling of the canteen to the final painting that is now going on the pupils and staff have done everything. And what a superb place it will be for concerts, theatre in the round, council meetings, table tennis and so on.
If everything I saw at Kilquhanity was old-fashioned then I want to be a thoroughbred square if there’s a second time round for me on this earth. A.K.W.
