This time of year can be fraught for many of us. No – not the annual ‘stay-cation’ where the entire house is packed into the back of the car and we all sit on the M5 for a week – I mean a family member starting a new school.
What seems like a very short time ago I waved my youngest off to her first day at Primary School. At the end of July I attended her Leavers Assembly and we are now preparing for her to go to Secondary School. She is understandably nervous, ‘What if I get lost?’ How will I know who teaches what?’ ‘What if I get bullied?’ I have of course made all the right noises and placated and encouraged at all times but the last one fills me with dead. The school has a ‘No Tolerance Policy’ towards bullying but kids are cruel and the teachers aren’t always around.
My own education was a bit of a mixed bag. My first school was a proper old stately home with huge long corridors, no heating and a selection of resident ghosts. Teachers who wore tweed and were clearly all old and bonkers! School lunches were prepared in the ancient kitchens in huge vats and everything was accompanied by boiled white cabbage that was on the go by 10am. At break times we were released into the substantial grounds were we climbed trees, made dens and played British bull dog or kiss chase. I learnt to play hockey like a demon and the teams were boys against girls so it was mean! I skinned my knees on a regular basis and was patched up by the school nurse almost daily. Those were some of the happiest days of my school life. Then things changed and I went to the local all-girls comprehensive school. At a time when girls were discovering make up and boys, music and magazines, I arrived from my public school education and in full and correct uniform and made myself a target from day one. When my piers were reading Smash hits and recording the top 20 off the radio on a Sunday evening I still enjoyed ‘Judy’ and had no idea what a new romantic was. Break times were spent hiding in the music block so Marina and Abigail couldn’t find the ‘posh kid’ for her daily bashing. In the three years there I dropped my aitches, grafittied my maths book,chewed gum in school (I Know!) and learnt how to fight. I finally gained some respect when I plucked up the courage to flatten the girl who was tormenting me – a day I am sure neither she or I will ever forget.
Then a change of job for my Dad saw a house move and new school at the age of 15. By this time, I was cocky and street wise. Rolled the waist band of my skirt and doodled down the side of my history test. I was called to the house mistresses room and she carefully explained that ‘my type’ were not tolerated and I should have a good long think about my conduct. My essex accent was a source of amusement to the girls with whom I now share a dorm and my stories of discos and encounters with boys caused great shock. But once again I stood out as different and was bullied – in a much more sophisticated manner you understand – but bullied none the less. The outcome I am sorry to say was the same. I took as much as I could take, with the support of a handful of new and equally bullied friends, and one day the dealer became the dealee! A black eye and loss of pride saw the playing field very much more level. I completed my schooling, got reasonable results and am only in touch with one girl from my past. So darling daughter, things may or may not be tough, but you come from strong and experienced stock so to you and all your friends who are starting school together I say hold your head high and never be beaten…. in any way.