24 August 03
Reunion Night Picture Gallery

14 July 03
Anyone wishing to travel on the bus leaving from Safeways in Wick, please ring Alan Campbell on 01955603025. 
Still looking for memorabilia, photos, old school books etc. 
Next meeting on 21st July. 
Contact Jean on 01955621625 for details of any of the above.

1 July 03
Early Payment and Bus
Tickets have to be paid for by 8th August please as there are expenses to be met by the organiser.
There is possibly going to be a bus arranged by a group from Wick; more details later.

Lyth School Reunion: to be held on the 23rd of August 2003 At 6.60pm
Final date to apply for tickets 31 July 2003

Venue - Lyth Village Hall

Names and payments to - Jean Bain, 38 Oldhall, Watten, Caithness

Cheques to be made payable to "Lyth Hall Committee"

PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD!

Criteria for inclusion: for anyone who ever attended Lyth School (or its official name, as written on our prize books, Barrock Public School).

Co-ordinator: Jean Bain (nee Sutherland)
Tel: 01955621625
Address: 38 Oldhall, Watten, Caithness.

Email can be sent to Ann  McLeod [email protected] who will pass it on to the organiser.

Anyone with photos or other memorabilia, please bring on the night or send copy/copies to Jean along with any names, dates etc.
Details will be updated as they unfold!

You can also email pictures to [email protected] for inclusion on the web site.

25 March 06
Memories Of Lyth School
Written by Ann M P McLeod (Dunnett) in honour of the only Lyth School Reunion ever held. The reunion took place in the Lyth Community Hall on 23rd August 2003.

A Poem by John Coghill (Skinnet, Halkirk) made up for the Barrock Public (Lyth) School reunion

Boy it’s great til be back wi ‘e good folks o’ Lyth
Where I spent without doubt ‘e best days o’ my life
An’ a big pert o’ ‘at wis down ‘ere at ‘e school
Wi’ George Steven ‘e teacher til lay down ‘e rule.

Well ye started of first in Miss Mow’ds little room
Where ‘e peedie chiels cowned for their mam filled wi’ gloom
They’d be kickan an’ skirlan ‘e awfulest din
An’ it took near a week just til settle them in.

Mind we’d cerry in snowdrops, ‘e first floors o’ spring
An’ she’d pit them in juggies and jarries and things
Then ye all got a slatie for do’an yer sums
An’ ‘e squeak o’ id rattled ‘e teeth in yer gums.

‘E two playgrounds divided by yon muckle dick
More fortifications than Inverness nick
When an odd loon might chance id an jump o’er ‘e wall
Then ‘e wrath o’ George Steven wis vent on us all.

We hed games in ‘e playground we’d play Camalee
On ‘e third shout we took off in wan mad mellee
Ye just skelped cross ‘e fieldie til no chiel wis left
An’ then lay on yer side oot o’ win’ on ‘e gress.

When ‘e winter time came, wi’ a deighty o’ snow
We wid plough in ‘e playground, how straight could ye go
I mind Aldie wis judgan, he measured ‘e plots
An’ young Jamie Oliphant, hed ‘e best lot.

If ‘e frost set in harder, well down in ‘e ground
We wid skate on ‘e quarry, though weel out o’ bounds
Jamie Frachar wid see us, an’ chase us all back
Wi’ ‘e threat o’ George Steven, an’ yon two toed strap.

Can ye mind ‘e school picnic, hid could cause a fuss
When ‘e bairns widna go on til Morrison’s bus
We all crammed in wi’ Jamsie, an’ Danny looked dourer
For every chiel wanted on Dunnet’s new tourer.

We wid set off at last for ‘e beach an’ ‘e san’
Wi’ ‘e peats for ‘e fire in Will Smith’s big blue van
There’s no better run outing, e’er seen til ‘is day
Well, ‘e WRI hed ‘e most o’ ‘e say.

At ‘is same time o’ year ‘e prize giving wid come
An’ John Allan wid visit til see how we’d done
Wi’ Don Henderson Sortat an’ Abrach Mackay
Til dish oot ‘e prizes, a sweetie forbye.

There wis twa or three folk at wid give ye ‘e hump
An’ ‘e doctor wis wan wi’ yon jab for ‘e mumps
I hev seen big rough loons, lookan fair faint an’ pale
For ‘e needle wis blunt as an ould six inch nail.

Mind ‘e nurse wis anither at wisna too good
Aye lookan for lice, an’ she’d poke in yer loog
But we all leked ‘e dentist, a right friendly man
What we didna much lek wis yin pliers in his han’.

Now Lyth’s a fine quate place, without any thugs
No a bit lek ‘e cities, filled wi’ crime an’ drugs
All yon muggers and robbers out ‘ere stealan cars
But Lyth wis ‘e first place til start ‘e turf wars.

Mind when Joe filled ‘e ditchie, round fae ‘e school road
An’ laid down a fine lawn then, wi’ freshly cut sod
But ‘e loons started fechtan wi’ divad’s ‘at night
By ‘e end o’ id Joe’s lawn wis no bonny sight.

Well next morning ‘e headmester wrinkled his broo
Said we’d let ‘e school down an’ id just widna do
An’ ‘e sting in wir hannies, wid fair make ye gasp
Double Alex swore ‘at’s why they called him ‘e wasp.

All ‘at Alterwall loons wis quite quate as a rule
An’ I mind fine when Donnie ‘ere started ‘e school
Man id wisna too safe til rub him ‘e wrong way
For I’ll tell ye no lie, id could spoil yer whole day.

Now id’s no ‘at wee Donal wis wicked or tough
Though he could hold his own wi’ ‘e best right enough
No, a far bigger danger, til yer life an’ limb
Wis yon two older sisters at doted on him.

But ‘e twins Tom an’ Bess were no bother at all
Though I’ve seen poor Miss Mow’d lek til climb ‘e school wall
Once she flited at Betsy, for fallan’ asleep
But id’s Tom at broke down, an’ then started til peep.

Here’s a story I hope ‘ill no pop Ian Bain
When ‘e loons wis all tryan Jean’s favour til gain
So efter much thought she said ‘is chiel ‘ill do
An’ I found mysel right at ‘e head o’ ‘e queue.

On ‘e Saturday I wis asked down for my tea
Wi’ her mither an’ faither and Jeannie an’ me
But I must confess Jean that I fell for your mam
For she melted my heart wi’ her pancakes an’ jam.

Then there’s Jean’s brither James, boy he hed us all fooled
Who throughout his whole youth, said he hated ‘e school
What he does for a living ye never could guess
For he’s still at ‘e high school, a teacher no less.

 I mind back in ‘e fifties ‘e polis man came
Til learn us road safety on bikes, wis his game
He said, “test your brakes, keep your tyres fill o’ air”
But ‘e Barrock Mains boys, they were not treated fair.

When he looked at wir bikes, no a mudguard or brake
Broken seats an’ ‘e tyres in a bit o’ a state
Well ‘e bobbie stood roaran, “ye’r pushan yer luck”
I aye blamed Sandra Manson, for grassan us up.

Who’d hev thought ‘at Joe Manson wid cause a big fuss
Just by leavan ‘e school in a bit o’ a rush
He ran twice round ‘e classroom, then out at ‘e door
An’ he never set feet in ‘e place any more.

But before ‘at Joe Bruce hed a wee turry murry
One night he left ‘e school in an uncanny hurry
When he chapped on ‘e window, ‘e night class wis on
Big Will Smith darted out, an’ he lined him right home.

Ian Campbell an’ Spider were quite a big noise
As they strutted their stuff as Lyth’s first Teddy Boys
Wearan pointed toed shoes, an’ tight trousers so slick
They wid set off til Week on ‘e look out for chicks

Can ye mind when we all started learnan til write
An’ ‘e jotters wis gathered in last thing at night
All ‘e names on ‘e front, wis quite easy til see
All except for one person, who wrote ABC.

So George Steven wis bristlan, “who thinks ‘is is smart”
Well he wisna too fond o’ folk takan ‘e lark
Til try tricks lek ‘at ye wis takan a gamble
But ‘e culprit owned up, he wis Alan Bain Campbell.

Who can mind yon foul liquid called cod liver ile
Just ‘e thought o’ it still makes me suffer fae bile
We all stood wi’ wir spoonies awaitan wir dose
An’ ‘e fumes o’ it waftan right up in yer nose.

Christine Dixon aye claimed ‘at it kept her skin clear
But she wisna quite honest about it I fear
She hed squashed her spoon flat on ‘e edge o’ a stone
An’ took less o’ ‘e stuff than she ever let on.

Did I tell ye ‘e story when I wis attacked
I wis knittan a sock at ‘e time ‘is is fact
When I think o’ id yet I’m still shakan wi’ fear
An’ I’m shakan right now, for she’s no far fae here.

Talk o’ knitting I’m seean her knittan her broos
For she warned me ‘is story wis not til be used
Ye wid never think knitting wid cause such upheaval
Id wis Shirley at prouged me wi’ her knitting needle.

One day young Sinclair Oliphant opened his bag
An’ among all ‘e books he hed stashed twenty fags
Twenty bairns all lit up, boy hid made a fair foug
An’ soon every last wan wis as seek as a doug.

As id happened, ‘at day Andrew Dunnet went home
An’ came back efter denner wi’ not a thing wrong
’E poor cook got ‘e blame, in ‘e kitchen at Keiss
Although Senior Service hed caused all ‘is grief.

But ‘e best night o’ all wis ‘e school Christmas Treat
When ‘e hallie wis packid wi’ no a spare seat
All ‘e singers wis reachan for notes ever higher
An’ ‘e rest o’ us skirlan away in ‘e choir.

Once ‘e tea wis dished out all ‘e bairnies wis set
Sittan waitan for Santa til see what they’d get
Then at last Santa Claus wid appear at ‘e door
An ‘e bairns wid let oot one almighty great roar.

When ‘e presents wis opened, things moved on at once
An’ ‘e seats wis shived back til make room for ‘e dance
Then ‘e band wid strick up, id wid make your feet diddle
Jim Macadie an’ Rob on ‘e boxie an’ fiddle.

An’ in charge of the dancing, e weel lekid chiel
He’d call polka’s an’ waltzes, ‘e odd eightsome reel
Always laughan an’ jokan just fair fill o’ glee
He wis Lyth’s own George Sutherland, acting M.C.

Lyth’s aye hed it’s stars so til finish ‘is sonnet
Think back til ‘e time ‘at we saw Halley’s Comet
It flew right cross ‘e sky wi’ it’s tail shinan bright
What a pity it came here so late in ‘e night.

Well next morning ‘e bairnies wis all kinda chough
An’ two lassies particlarly kept noddan off
Though I widna divulge who endured ‘is mishap
Christine Dunnet and Anne both got half an hour’s nap.

Well my friends time moves on an’ ‘e night’s gettan late
If yer name’s no been mentioned ye’ll ken ye’ve escaped
So now make ‘is a night ‘at ye’ll mind all yer life
An’ here’s til ‘e good folk fae ‘e schoolie at Lyth.