How much does school influence you?

Looking at what happened in my childhood is never something I liked.

I've mentioned the abuse when I first went to school - I haven't gone into what happened from there very much.

I was moved out of the school I was abused in when I was about 7. After lots and lots of various complaints about me, and a stay in a hospital, it was decided that I was under too much stress at the school I was at, and should be moved away. Now I'm not sure about you, but the concept of a 7 year old being under too much stress at school should surely trigger a warning sign.

I was moved to a different school, (Winns Avenue School, Walthamstow, London), and got a social worker for a period (that was just weird, I got to go to a particular place once a week, met with a woman, and all I can remember about the various times I met with her was making sugar mice.)

It was then that the bullying started. I joined mid-year, so all of a sudden this new girl comes into the class. All the initial friendships had cemented, and I was a shy, reticent girl, too scared of mentioning anything about the abuse. I must have had "target" written on my forehead in large, flashing, neon lighting.

So, it started with simple ignoring, I was on the edge of any playground activity, never really invited in. I suppose then I started to be the butt of jokes and pranks. I had been told that I couldn't tell my parents about the abuse, or they'd get angry with me and throw me out. This seemed to get attached to what happened at the new school as well.

After a while it became physical. The person I sat next to in class took delight in continually kicking me in the shins under the table. Despite having bruises all up and down my leg, the teacher told me it wasn't happening. This just let everyone know that I was acceptable to bully.

It got to the point that during play-time I wandered up to a particular bench, and used to lay on it, watching the ants come and go in the cracks between the wall and the ground. I can't remember what I thought, but I know that somehow watching them calmed me. The weren't trying to hurt me.

It was also there where I first tried to stand up for myself. There was this one girl, I can't even remember her name, but she was one of the bullies. She wasn't a main one, I can remember that much. She was more a hanger-on, someone who would watch and laugh, and on occasion take part in. Not the leader, but a willing follower.

She, and a group of others, came up and started the verbal pre-attack. You know the sort. Where they start to taunt you, to get your emotions up. Giving them the chance to allow themselves to believe that what they are doing is acceptable because the group they are in is in agreement.

I was very pissed off that day. I must have been. I didn't wait for them to get to the point of violence, I pre-empted. I remember grabbing the girls top by the collar. Putting one of my feet out, and pulling her towards the wall. She tripped over my foot, lost her balance, and came crashing into the wall face first. She broke her front teeth and got quite a few cuts and bruises.

If you are the person who I did that to, I humbly ask your forgiveness. I know some people who would say that the bully was asking for it, and that I did the right thing in standing up for myself. I know several who say that acting like a bully is wrong, and what I did was just act like a bully towards another person. I know several people who would say "so what". Personally I feel upset that it happened.

I'd love to say that I enjoyed it, and perhaps part of me did. Overall, however, I felt that I had somehow managed to fall down to the level of the bullies. I felt bad about what happened, and I still do.

I can't remember what the teachers did, but I don't think it was much. I seemed to get the opinion that bullying was acceptable, that the teachers didn't really care provided it didn't happen during the actual lessons, and that they wouldn't look out for anyone. Perhaps that is not what the situation was, but I can't remember much.

However, your time in a school comes to an end, and you move on to another one. And some of the people move with you. I was a target in one school, and enough of the people who felt they could take advantage of that move with me that I became a target in the next school.

The bullying I suffered at William Fitt school was extreme. I am sure that many people have been bullied, and that many young lives are scarred by it, but I'm also not sure how many people have almost been killed by a fellow school-person, then heard that person brag about it to their mates, and have the teachers only response to move the bullied person out of the way of the bullies.

During my time at William Fitt, I was thrown to the ground and kicked by a group of children until they ran away laughing at least twice, I was lifted up against the railings while a boy slapped my face for about 2 minutes. I was targeted on my way to and from school to the point that I started to vary my route randomly to minimise the attacks.

A particular school holiday sticks in my mind. At the start of the holiday, the teachers gave the usual spiel. The would not accept any problems, if anyone stepped out of line their parents would be called immediately, and they would be sent home.

So, the first meal of this holiday (think adventure style camp) we were told that we would only have one portion of food. I get my food and sit down where I'm told. I turn away and hear "let's pour salt over her food" and turn back in time to see the empty salt container being shaken over my meal.

Being the person I was at the time, I accepted this as part and parcel of the whole 'school' experience. I'd never had anything other than tricks, pranks, and abuse when I was at school, so I felt this was normal. I went with my meal to the teachers and asked for another one. When I was told no, I pointed out what was done. They looked at the now innocently looking people around where I had sat, and had a brief discussion. I think now that either one of them gave up their own dish, or they all cut their portions, but another meal was provided for me.

The next day we had the wonderful job of digging the cess pit for the week. A group of about 6 of us were set to do it. We were given spades, shows the relevant area, and told to go to it. After a while, the others noticed that I was being the good little girl I had been trained to be (too much stick, no carrot), and started slacking on what they were doing. When I didn't complain there was a discussion "let's let her do it all", and they stopped digging altogether, jumped up to the edge of the pit, and started to talk amongst themselves. This went on for a while until a teacher noticed that the people who were told to dig were just sitting there. They came over and saw me in the hole, digging away, and the others just sat their. I think at this point I was told to stop digging, and the others told to finish the pit. I can't remember.

Another part of this holiday we were given boats to row. I'm sure you understand the concept of row-boats. If not let me enlighten you. You have to sit facing the direction you have come from, not the direction you are going (makes making sure you don't hit a sand-bank difficult). You also have to use the same amount of pressure on one oar as on the other, otherwise steering is very hard. Good rowers are more than able to use different pressure to guide boats well. The girls I was in the boat with were definitely not good rowers. They kept trying to face the way they wanted to go, and were not able to get the whole pull at the same time right. Suffice to say we ended up far to near the shore. At this point the cute boy appeared. Despite having a crap childhood, the pulls of the young heart did not pass me by.

I liked this boy. He was cute, and quiet, and best of all, he'd never hurt me. I can't even remember his name, and I doubt he ever knew the feelings he raised in my young heart. But in one way he was my first love. Given my age most people would say first crush, and possibly that was true. But the actions of the two girls in that boat with me, have burned in my memory, forever putting the feelings I had for that boy in a place in my heart.

They said "let's say Sarah got us here", handed the oars over to me, and proceeded to let the boy know that it was my incompetence with rowing, rather than theirs, which had foundered our boat. Although that was fairly mild bullying; not up to the level of physical violence that I faced every day; it is still the one thing which can bring tears to my eyes these many years later. Making me look small in the eyes of someone I felt affection for; that was the worse thing that happened to me.

A while later, we were canoeing on the same river. I was wearing one of the tight canoe sleeves which make sure the water doesn't get in the canoe. However if you capsize then getting the sleeve off becomes rather important to allow you to get out of the canoe. You can use your oar to push you back up-right, provided you remember to keep hold of your oar, and you have been trained in it - to this day I can't remember what happened to the oar. I can remember feeling my canoe hit from one side, it turning in the water, and me suddenly being under the water, dark, cold, and not having any air.

I tried to keep my composure. I slapped my hands on the boat, as I was taught. I grabbed the piece of webbing attached to the sleeve to pull it off the boat and allow me to get out, and nothing happened. I began to panic. I slapped the boat again, and pulled at the strap - nothing happened. By this time I was running out of air. Everything when blank...

Then I was out of the boat, my hands around the canoe using it as a float. To this day I don't have any memory of actually getting out of the canoe. I can still remember the panic though. Sometimes I get so afraid of water that I don't even want to get in the bath. The next day, I heard the person who was paddling the canoe who struck mine that he had done it on purpose.

Having read the above incidents you may feel that while quite bad, they must have been isolated incidents. I'm afraid I would have to disillusion you on that point. All five of the above incidents occurred in the same week. And what about the spiel the teachers had given? Despite them knowing some of what happened, especially about the latter incident, nothing was done to the bullies. Instead I was moved out of a tent in common with the bullies and put in with a teacher, as that was the only way they could guarantee my safety.

This was the kind of thing I dealt with every day at school. Sometimes it was better, sometimes worse, but it was always there. I started reading as a way of escape. When I was reading a story I was the main character, or watching them. I found the one ring just as Bilbo did in the Hobbit. I was one of the people who founded Isaac Asimov's foundation. I was part of the revolt that happened in the lunar penal colony in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. These, and many other stories, became the real lives I lived, instead of the pain and sorrow of my real existence. Even now when I get upset I escape to a book.

I also started living a greatly varied fantasy life. I was the scientist who had discovered a way to create a shield against nuclear bombs, and rather than allow the nuclear war to destroy the world, I'd placed these shields to save humanity. I was a star ship captain, who was actually a secret hero. I was always the person who sacrificed part of themselves to save others.

So, I have this picture of me, walking to school while reading a book (I don't know how I did it, but I manged to walk to school concentrating more on the book I was reading than the situation around me. I'm partly locking out the outside world to allow me to concentrate more on the book, but also to give me the small element of peace that I might get if I was small enough to be not noticed. I can't say it ever worked, but it gave me some help.

The next school I actually developed something akin to friends. There were people I went round with, who didn't always try to lose me. It was also at that school that my signs of bi-polar start. I was something like 14 to 16. It was also here that I met the worse teacher I had ever known. Others I'd had had done the minimum to protect me. One had actually joined in the bullying. This one tried to destroy me.

Ok, it probably wasn't that bad, but I found him to be the most annoying, angry, upset little man I've ever had the misfortune to meet. We hated each other almost from first sight. I'd love to say it was all on him, but I can't. Looking back, especially at his last comment to me, makes me realise that he found me hard to deal with.

I was bright at school (yet another reason other children didn't like me). I was looking forward to getting more than 4 'O' levels for a start. One of them was in physics. I did maths, physics, chemistry, English language, English literature, geography, history and French. The only reason I did geography instead of biology was because I couldn't face the thought of having to dissect a rat (we used to keep them as pets). The first physics teacher we had probably had a job on the ark. I still remember with great glee that when my mother and father were presented to him as we toured the school together, he pointed at my mother, said "I taught you", and proceed to run to a cupboard and pull out her report cards. Now that's something your mother doesn't want to happen, especially if she was a bit of a tear-away.

A short time into the year, he was replaced (I'm still not sure if he was forced into retirement or not). The new teacher was young, enthusiastic, and came across as he thought he was God's gift. I'm not going to name names, let's call him Sandy. Sandy told me I'd get a C on my physics O' Level. He told my parents I'd fail. He was most put out when I got an A.

At this point my teachers put me forward for 4 A levels. This was a big thing. Walthamstow Senior High was a local state run school in a borough of London. Getting into the 6th form was a big thing. Actually doing more than the standard 3 A levels was very rare. I went for maths, further maths, physics and chemistry. It was also at this point that things got somewhat better due to the pastor of my church becoming the head of the chemistry department in the school.

So, Sandy gets upset I passed my O levels (this is the story from my point of view. I admit it's biased and probably totally wrong in some places, but this is my blog. If you know who Sandy is, or are himself, then feel free to respond if you wish). He seemed to take it as a personal affront.

I get in his class, and he starts to find fault with almost everything I do. When I hand in home-work on time, he apparently marks it down. I checked the records at one point, I was the only person in the class who had never got an A on the homework. After a period I just stopped handing it in. I will admit that, along with all the other classes I took, I tended to be reading a fiction book all the way through the class if I was bored - and I was bored most of the time. The fact that I always got the questions right when asked seemed to annoy him more.

At one point I can remember him in my face, telling me that I shouldn't be taking 4 A levels, and saying that he was going to make me drop Physics - bad move. If you know me, you'll know that I can be as stubborn as a mule.

However I do remember getting my own back on him. And although I shouldn't feel good about this, I can't feel anything apart from the fantastic feeling you get when your greatest enemy slips and falls flat on their face in the mud at the point which should be their best.

The school inspectors were coming round. They were going to be sitting in on some lessons, and the teachers were warned in advance if they were going to be disturbed (I'm not sure this should have happened, but you try and stop teachers gossiping). So we filed into the physics lab, and were duly informed by Sandy that the inspectors were going to come in. The lessons would continue on, in exactly the same way that it did always, and we were to ignore the interruption. This he said standing at the front of the classroom where he always taught from.

So, we were studying the various interactions of the random billiard balls that atoms are represented as, and the door opens. In walks this solemn group of what I remember as two men and a woman. All in suits, holding clip-boards, and with a slightly superior air about them. Sandy moves from behind the desk, welcomes them in, and moves round to the side of the lab.

He sits up against one of the walls, relaxes himself into a "I'm just one of you guy" poses, and starts to ask us some questions on Boyles law. I know they were not fantastically easy, but I also know for a fact that at least one of the other children in the class knew the answer. He asked for the answer, but no-one was willing to put their hand up. He then turned to me and in a partly resigned, partly annoyed voice said "Go on then Sarah."

Let me review the scene. There he was, lounging against the side of the lab. We were sat, rather unusually looking away from the door, and behind us were the inspectors.

The time for my revenge was upon me. The inspectors couldn't see my face, so they didn't see the great big smile I gave that self-puffed up imbecile of an excuse for a teacher. I smiled at him, and in a sickly sweet tone of voice said "have we covered this sir?" It was glorious. He couldn't do anything against me at that point, because the inspectors were there. They were my insurance at that time. I still feel wickedly pleased with myself about that. Saying to me I'm going to drop a class because he didn't like me! Ha!

Anyway, much of the above has come out recently, for one reason or another. However I can't seem to emotionally accept much of it. I seem to have this glass wall between me now and me then which I can't penetrate. I can't even see how me now came to be. I decided that I need to get some counselling on processing these past issues, and I can see that that is going to be a long and nasty road to travel, but I've been there before, I've suffered at the hands of petty minded teachers, and ignorant children. I've already survived the experience once. I'm certainly not going to let it continue to have power over me. All I have to do is find the right counsellor.