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part in applying himself diligently to his work, as his parents played theirs in meeting the school fees and providing a stable family background.
    These were difficult times for Pop. Having been made redundant from the shipyards, he was still playing in cinemas and theatres in the city, as well as working as a joiner but his income was certainly not enough to support his family and meet the school fees of around £2–10s per term. Alf, who loved his father dearly, would later reminisce about those days in Glasgow. ‘It was a great struggle at that time for poor old Pop,’ he said. ‘He was bouncing in and out of jobs, with absolutely no guarantee of security in any one of them, but he always held down a job of some sort.’
    Although Pop was rarely out of work, it was Hannah, through her thriving dressmaking business, complemented by giving some piano and singing lessons, who was largely responsible for keeping the family finances afloat. Alf Wight was never to forget the support he received from his parents throughout his eleven years of education in Glasgow.
    The building in Cecil Street in which he began his secondary education was a solid, but dour, four-storey building within which was a maze of small, overcrowded classrooms. The problems presented by this lack of space, in a school with more than 600 pupils, resulted in its moving, in September 1931, to another building a short distance away in Oakfield Avenue. Here Alf spent the final two years of his time at Hillhead. In the summer of 1997, I visited my father’s old school. No longer a fee-paying school, it is now run by the Education Department of Glasgow City Council, but this austere red brick building has hardly changed in appearance from Alf’s days there. Inside, the classrooms are still arranged exactly as they were, alongside the once-icy corridors he strode as a boy. The present headmaster, Ken Cunningham, told methat the school was very aware of its connection with James Herriot but, although he enjoyed his time there, Alf rarely referred to his days at Hillhead. Perhaps those days of intense study, combined with iron discipline, did not leave such lasting memories as other more flamboyant periods of his life.
    It was during his years at Hillhead, however, that the young Alf Wight was to develop qualities he would carry with him throughout his life – diligence and ambition, together with a love of literature, sport and music. Above all, he acquired attributes that would be the hall-mark of the father I knew – a keen interest in a wide variety of subjects, enthusiasm for everything he did, and a great appreciation of any good fortune that would come his way.
    He always assured us that he was a poor pupil, but his school reports tell a different story. His final leaving report is marked ‘excellent’ for progress, diligence and conduct. His three best subjects were English, French and Latin, with the dreaded Maths trailing far behind. He was well taught. Hillhead, under the headmaster Frank Beaumont, had a reputation for academic excellence backed up by strong discipline. Corporal punishment, so frowned upon today, was a very effective means of maintaining law and order; the school motto was
Je maintiendrai
, ‘I will maintain’. The trusted ally of the teachers in upholding discipline was the belt, and Alf was on the receiving end of it many times. This is one part of his life at school that Alf remembered well. One of his teachers, ‘Big Bill’ Barclay, one whom he remembered better than any, commanded great respect through his physical presence as well as his teaching ability. He did not need to use the belt too often but when he did it was an occasion to be remembered. Some of the teachers would use the belt without hesitation – the slightest misdemeanour being punished with up to six lashes across the hands and wrists. Three thongs at the end of the thick leather strap ensured that there was a thorough distribution of pain.
    Alf