At the Thanksgiving ceremony, the Rector had expressed his hopes for the future. Little could he have known at that time of the worrying days ahead as Europe drifted inexorably towards a second tragic conflict. For pupils and staff of the late 1930s the normal routine of school life was over­shadowed by the threat of war. As early as October, 1938 the school log recorded the first signs of the coming struggle:

Sunday, October 2nd, 1938 : The assembly of all pupils at 2.30 p.m. today for the fitting and distribution of gasmasks was cancelled by the A.R.P. Committee in view of the improvement in the international situation.

Sadly, this hope of "Peace in our Time" proved an illusion and, less than a year later, the school was to experience the greatest disruption of its history.

Despite the imminent threat of war, the Harris began its 1939 session as normal on August 21st, with an "excellent attendance and with many new pupils enrolled". This air of normality was not to last for long:

Saturday, August 26th : Under official instructions, the school assembled for completing arrangements for the evacuation of children.

Monday, August 28th : All those being evacuated under the government scheme assembled at school at 8 a.m., complete with hand luggage, food and gasmasks, for a trial evacuation.

Thursday, August 31st : Owing to the critical situation, school was closed this afternoon until further notice, and evacuation was ordered for Saturday morning.

Saturday, September 2nd : The school party for evacuation assembled at 8.30a.m. - mothers, pre-school children, school-children, teachers and helpers. Since the rehearsal on Monday, many parents had made private arrangements and, as a result, the school evacuees were fewer than expected - numbering 272. The evacuation was carried through very smoothly, and the train left Magdalen Green at 10.20 a. m. to convey the party to their billets in Oathlaw, Fern, Tannadice, Denside and Brechin.

The staff of the period have vividly recalled their impressions as the pupils were evacuated leaving a school "that had suddenly become empty and desolate, and strangely forbidding". How much stranger it must have been for the children who suddenly found themselves parted from the security of familiar surroundings:

Accompanied, as we were doomed to be for the next five years, by our gas-masks, we found ourselves in new homes and in schools as small as the sports pavilion at Elliot Road. Everything was strange and fascinating; the two rooms of the country school where one group chanted poetry as another did spelling, whilst amid such conflicting forces, another group of young minds struggled with some simple calculation.

Such pupils did not cease to be the responsibility of the Harris for members of staff accompanied each party. David Latto of the English Department, for example, travelled with the secondary pupils to Brechin, where he found himself billeted "in a rambling manse with some ten boys, responsible for their welfare and general behaviour".

For those staff remaining in Dundee, the normal bustle of a school day was replaced by that most unnatural of phenomenon - the stillness of a school devoid of children. In these strange surroundings, the staff determined to play their part in the war effort, the men by forming a first-aid group and the lady teachers by establishing a sewing group to make clothes for evacuees in poor circumstances. An A.R.P. post was set up in the school but the use of the building for teaching purposes was expressly forbidden by the government. This caused a major problem since not all of the pupils had been evacuated, causing the Rector to lament that "there is nearly half of our school population in Dundee at a loose end, ready to run wild if discipline is withdrawn". This problem was partially solved through the kind assistance of householders in the west end of the town:

All our teachers who are remaining in Dundee have now got teaching groups in full swing at private houses. Many householders have generously placed rooms at our disposal pending the re-opening of the school. Groups are being taught daily - from infants to Class VI Secondary. Altogether, we are meeting in fifty different houses in the west end of the city.

Under such circumstances, an orderly and balanced curriculum was impossible and pupils had to arrange their studies as best they could. To many present-day pupils, such a situation might seem more than a little tempting since it offered the chance of evading the traditional hard work of the school day. For most, however, the opportunity of continuing their education, whatever the surroundings, was all-important and the west end of the town soon became accustomed to the sight of groups of Harris pupils making their way, albeit at a leisurely pace, from one house to another.

The success of these teaching groups soon brought an unforeseen problem. The initial anxiety of the evacuees and their parents was to some extent allayed by the unexpected calm of the "Phoney War" and the drift back to Dundee began:

Letters from home brought news of school friends in the town, of classes being held in family drawing rooms. Gradually, we became a little homesick and one by one drifted back to the city and the Harris, where once more we faced the task of adapting ourselves to changed ways and surroundings.

By December, 1939 over five hundred pupils were being taught in private houses, putting severe strain on the school staff and on the patience of their hosts as the inevitable wear and tear caused by large numbers of youngsters made inroads on the normally pristine order of the "front room".

The need to re-open the school was obvious but could not be considered until the pupils were adequately protected against possible air-raids. As early as 30th September, 1939 officials visited the school to draw up plans for the building of air-raid shelters but it was not until the following February that building work was actually commenced. After this, progress was rapid. The first shelter was completed by early March and classes in Art, Music, Science, Technical and Commercial subjects were immediately resumed in the Perth Road building.

This did not mean an immediate return to normal work, however. For one senior pupil at least, the return to school provided some new experiences. Having been accustomed to following a course in academic subjects, her return to the Perth Road building began with a double period of Domestic Science - a subject at that time normally taken by the less academic stream. Such anomalies were soon rectified as shelters were completed at the rate of one per week, allowing the bulk of pupils to return to more familiar surroundings. By 1st April, all of the secondary department and the two Qualifying classes were operating normally, while the junior pupils attended classes in the adjacent premises of Crawford Lodge. Finally, in May, the whole school was at last back to normal working, after a period of disruption lasting for nine months.

The pupils had now returned to familiar surroundings but, inevitably, the impact of war had resulted in many changes:

We found a host of new teachers, for calls of duty had not left the schools untouched. We found classrooms equipped with curtains to black-out the windows. In the playground stood rows of air-raid shelters, small unsubstantial shells against the great mass of the school. Frequently, the now familiar wail of the sirens would break the concentration of the lesson. Guided by numbers clearly indicated in every classroom we would file our way into the playground to take our places in the shelters. We would sing or chatter until the drone of planes faded into the distance and the steady note of the all-clear heralded our return to work.

The retreat to the air-raid shelters became an all too common interruption to the weekly routine but, in the early days of the war, they were far from welcoming structures "with little ventilation, no sanitation and no light". For the infants this must have been particularly unnerving but the experienced staff were able to keep their spirits up with recitations or singsongs. Indeed, on more than one occasion, the youthful chorus would drown out the sound of the all-clear and the infants remained in their shelter long after the rest of the school had returned to their lessons.

Dundee was not a major target for air-raids and, thankfully, the first-aid groups formed in the school never had occasion to put their training to serious use. Nevertheless, news from elsewhere could provide a sobering reminder of the gravity of the times:

September 3rd, 1940 : Word was received that six of our pupils on their way to Canada under the government overseas evacuation scheme were on board the Dutch liner SS Volendam when it was torpedoed by a U-boat on Friday 1st at midnight, 250 miles west of Ireland. All the children were saved and brought back to this country.

Such incidents made the pupils even more determined to play their part in the war effort. For the seniors, this meant travelling day after day to sink anti-invasion posts along the shore at Tentsmuir, or taking their place alongside members of staff on the nightly firewatching patrols in the school. The appeal to "dig for victory" saw the flower beds around the south playground transformed into allotments where pupils tended the less attractive but more immediately important crops of potatoes and vegetables. Such practice was soon put to further use:

School routine has undergone many changes but none was more eagerly welcomed by the pupils than the call to help neighbouring farmers with their potato crops or their berry-picking. I remember returning home with an aching back, but in my pocket four shining florins, the first money I had ever earned.

For the younger pupils, the numerous salvage schemes of the time gave them the opportunity to play their part in the war effort:

School was a hive of activity in those days. Carefully planned posters exhorted us to do all sorts of things of national importance. We collected waste paper, books, silver paper - all of which, through the good offices of the school Guide Company, vanished from the large box in the corner of the hall where it accumulated.

The drive for salvage has, in fact, left a permanent mark on the school premises. The need for scrap metal resulted in the removal of most of the railings on the Perth Road side, a small area around the main entrance being left only after an appeal by the Rector that their removal would place pupils in considerable danger due to the severe drop.

It is hard for present-day pupils to appreciate the difficulties of that time. The normal atmosphere of stability so vital to a school's day-to-day routine had been shattered by the uncertainties of wartime:

First, and most vividly, I remember the atmosphere of restlessness and tension : homes were broken up, father and older brothers and sisters were away, many mothers were in factories and armament works, all mothers were standing endlessly in queues, discipline was difficult, the black-out encouraged delinquency in some and nervous dread in others, older pupils doubted the sense of examinations and of preparation for a career, and longed for the day when they too would receive their call-up and take their place in the ranks.

Such uncertainties were compounded by other problems. The school roll was far from stable since many pupils had left for apparently safer surroundings in the countryside, their places being filled by refugees from Poland, Belgium, Holland, France and from bombed-out English cities. Normal work was made all the more difficult by the ever-present shortages of coal, footwear and clothing, stationery and textbooks. Above all, many of the regular staff were absent serving with the armed forces, making the normal routine of timetabling a near impossibility.

Nevertheless, work had to go on and pupils had to be prepared for their examinations. For most, the war resulted in a slight lessening in exam pressure since the shortage of stationery meant that exams were reduced to twice a year. For the Leaving Certificate candidates of 1941, however, the threat of air-raids brought a less welcome break with normal practice:

March 6th, 1941 : By Dundee Education Committee instructions, the Senior Leaving Certificate exams are not to be interrupted if the sirens sound; instead, roof-spotters are on duty and, on a signal from them that danger is imminent, candidates will go to the shelters.

Happily, such precautions proved unnecessary but they nevertheless provide a dramatic illustration of the uncertainties of the time.

Slowly the situation improved. By September, 1942 the threat from air-raids was less severe and children were freed from their obligation to carry gas-masks to school every day. Two years later, the threat seemed to have diminished even further for the nightly fire-watching patrols in the school were discontinued. This action was, in fact, somewhat premature since the air-raid sirens sent the senior pupils back to the shelters only three days later. At last, in May, 1945 the school log-book recorded the long-awaited news:

May 8th, 1945 : V.E. (Victory in Europe) Day. Following the official intimation that Germany has accepted the Allies' terms of unconditional surrender, Tuesday, May 8th was declared V.E. Day and it and the following two days were general holidays. On Friday, when school re-opened, a Thanksgiving Service was held in the hall.

Gradually the school began to return to its traditional routine. The staff serving in the armed forces reappeared one by one and, by late 1946, all had resumed their posts. One can well imagine the relief this brought to the hard-pressed Rector for the war years had seen almost one hundred staff changes. By 1947, most of the air-raid shelters had been demolished, causing further disruption since the crash of falling masonry in the south playground made teaching in the secondary department a hopeless task. The visible evidence of wartime had been removed - the fine wire mesh over the windows, the black-out curtains, the signs pointing to the shelters - but one sad task remained. Those who had given their lives during the conflict had to be paid due honour.  

The task of compiling a complete list of former pupils who had lost their lives took almost five years and it was not until 25th June, 1950 that the War Memorial was finally dedicated. In a simple but moving ceremony, the memorial was unveiled, revealing the great loss which the school had suffered. Seventy-two names are listed, ranging from pupils educated at Park Place to those who had attended Perth Road as late as 1944. Above their names, a simple inscription told (and continues to tell) the tragic sacrifice they had made:

To the glory of God and in memory of former pupils who gave their lives for their country in the World War.

The occasion was solemn and made a deep impression on even the youngest of those present. For one person, however, the moment must have been particularly poignant. Alexander Peterkin, Rector from 1930 to 1950, had, as almost his first duty, supervised the removal of the Remembrance Board from Park Place to Perth Road. Now, as retiral approached, one of his last duties was once again to pay tribute to the fallen:

To me, their Rector, who knew them all, every one of them, as they went through the school and out into the world, their passing comes with the heaviness of a deep personal loss, for in a very real sense they were my boys and girls. For us, the teachers and pupils of this generation, their memory and the thought of what they meant to this school in the building up of its tradition of high purpose and willing service, and what they would have meant, had Fate so willed it, to the community and to the nation in the years to come, will remain a lasting pride, an abiding inspiration.

Some twenty-five years before, a thirteen-year-old pupil had expressed his hope that "the children of today will not live to be the soldiers of tomorrow". Sadly, the evidence of the Memorial Board on the main staircase and the Book of Remembrance below it show that this hope was not to be fulfilled, and that a second generation of pupils made the supreme sacrifice.