Happy days in primary school at Crieff in the 1960s as milk monitor, a most responsible role; goodness knows if there was such a thing as a school dinner then, for I never had one, being a lucky child, running home every lunchtime with pals to the caravan site where our Mums had grub waiting to be wolfed before we stormed back up the hill again, over the bridge and into Commissioner Street, to shout, chase, race, fall in and fall out in the playground pretending to build a gang hut in the shelter. We were bursting with energy, stuffed with scotch broth, mince, tatties and doughballs, steam pudding, swiss roll and custard. Memories too of colourful teachers who smiled, made us laugh, taught us to read and write, memorise and chant rhymes and songs, some Scots, some Australian, always unforgettable. The way you think Scotland’s meant to be, for everyone. The way it could be.

I don’t know if those teachers 50 years ago had to do the jobs some of their modern colleagues now have - like feeding or washing hungry children who have come to school tired, bleary-eyed, unkempt and dirty. Certainly the nit patrol remains a common task. I hear tell that Scottish schools now, in addition to breakfast clubs, also have washing machines and spare clothes used daily, not only for the odd accident or calamity. Teachers and assistants this century have become a dab hand at surreptitiously sewing on buttons and tacking hems. They also help to mend broken little hearts and ease worried wee minds.