Cheers to the pupils who’ve done well in their Highers.
Commiserations to those who didn’t get the passes and grades they wanted, but it’s not the end of the world. I’m a great believer in fate and that old saying: “Yer future winna pass ye.” And no way are university degrees passports to success and happiness. Keep an open mind and grasp every opportunity.
I’d only ever two careers in mind – teacher or policewoman. PC Simpson funcied hersellie in the uniform, but especially relished gettin’ a’ the inside details aboot various crimes. Then I found oot aboot overnight shifts and directing traffic and got the heebies. Otherwise, I might have been Chief Inspector Jane Tennison of Lodge Walk…
So an English teacher I would be, passing on my love of novels, plays and poetry to generations of literature-hungry students. (I can hear all you past and present teachers mutterin’: “Aye, that would be right.”) I’d even applied to the College of Education for my postgrad course when the direction of my life was changed at – all very Hollywood – My Best Friend’s Wedding.
Dancing with the dad of our other bestie, he asked what I planned to do. Then came his fateful words: “Have you ever thought about journalism?” Simple answer: nuh.
He was the editor of the EE and told me they were running their first graduate training scheme. As a teacher, I’d get £1,000 year; as a reporter, £1,500. No contest. Mo was into an interview with the two eds and doon to train in Newcastle before you could say: I canna even type.
Prood as a puddick, I swanned into the huge newsroom in the newly opened Lang Stracht, keen to demonstrate my university prowess. My gas fair was fair pit at a peep with the first question the news editor asked: “Have ye got Higher English?” Nodding and about to bla’: “And a 2:1 honours degree.” But he was off, muttering happily: “You’ll be fine.”
Losh, but I fell in love with the job. No boring routine; never knowing what you’d be doing from one day to another; court, council, accidents, golden weddings, happy stories, sad stories. We saw all life in a single day. I even got to schmooze with cooncillors and cops for the inside goss on the latest crimes.
I expected the kids to hang on my every word, fascinated. In fact, a whole load of them looked bored to the gills
Apart from the holidays, I never regretted turning my back on teaching. Sadly, most of those I knew had nothing but moans about the job. Still, I wondered if I’d have been any good at it.
I got a chance to find out when I gave a talk to Bankhead Academy pupils during a careers week. I expected the kids to hang on my every word, fascinated. In fact, a whole load of them looked bored to the gills, gazin’ oot the window, doodlin’ – and I’ll sweer one loon was fast asleep.
In a cold sweat, I started babblin’, lest the hale class drop off. Yet, I must have done something right that day, because one of the quines who stayed awake went on to get a job on the EE and have a brilliant career. Trust in fate.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970