In primary school, we (0) WERE introduced to poetry 1 a punishment. Failing to deliver a composition on 2, I was ordered to memorise 15 lines of Scott. Nineteen forty, that was. In second form, we finally connected with an admirable Scottish class master 3 was a passionate poetry lover. A veteran of the Great War, Mr McLetchie told us that 4 the nightly bombardments on the Somme, he fixed a candle 5 his steel helmet, which enabled him to read poetry. Unfortunately, we were not yet ready for the pretty stanzas of Keats, Shelley or Wordsworth. I mean, "A host of golden daffodils"? Forget it. We dismissed 6 lines as girlie stuff, remote 7 the experience of our own city streets. What we needed as an introduction was an anthology that featured poets who addressed 8 directly in our own idiom, like W H Auden or e e cummings. Looking back, it’s clear that the right words, delivered at the right time, could have opened our minds much sooner.