Moving School – A Re-telling of a DUP Memoir

Moving school is never easy. The laws of the playground dictate the new kid must pass a series of tests before they can be accepted, or ostracised indefinitely.

The town I left was run by new age hippy types and evangelical Christians. The families were open to change. The playgrounds were soft and the bullies were few. The bible toting teachers were the only thing I had to fear.

The streets smelt of lavender incense and hashish. The people were happy and pleasant. The working class and the middle class seemed to co-habit and intermingle. I had made a few friends and whatever I was, seemed to be permitted.

Then I was moved to a town less than seven miles away. It was in a different county. It felt like a different country. There were no liberals, no lavender incense. They didn’t smoke hashish. They drank and smoked cigarettes. Hashish was something the peasants did.

The new town was a garrison town. Soldiers from all over England settled there. They were queen and country, and they liked order and hierarchy. The poor of the town, of which I was part of, were looked down upon, and there was a ladder of snobbery to climb. The flowers and Buddhism were replaced with medals and conservatism.

I was sent to a school. The kids were dumb. Things I had learnt years ago were fresh to them. I was fat, effeminate, and pale. I had picked up my fathers mannerisms. He was a closeted homosexual. So I behaved like a closeted homosexual. I had the camp gestures mixed with the working class brutishness, and a need to be accepted. I was simmering anger at things I couldn’t understand. I was smart by the standards of the school. The lessons were so simple I disengaged.

The inevitable day came when I had to prove myself to the other boys. They encircled me and began to chant “flubber…flubber…flubber” It was a test. Either I broke into tears, or I fought back. The rage built with every chant. I had no escape. As I turned to see the faces that chanted, I saw one face that enraged me more than all the others put together.

The kid, who got bulled every day for smelling of piss, was chanting with the rest. He beamed with joy, for they stopped taunting him, and turned their gaze to me. He felt like he was one of gang, he was chanting “flubber…fulbber…flubber” with the rest. His new found joy was at my expense. I expected better from him. He should have kept neutral. I had never joined in with the attacks on him. To see his gleeful face chanting along with the rest was enough to open the gate. My rage was free and he was in my path.

I pushed him with all my chubby weight. He flew back and hit his head on a vent. He ran off crying to the teachers. The chanting stopped.

The law of the playground had been restored.

Things changed after that. I had more respect. One kid hadn’t got the memo. He decided to prod me in the soul. He made some comment about me being poor and fat. I can’t even remember what it was he said to me. It must have been enough to open gate again.

The rage took over. I floored him with a punch to the stomach. He fell down on all fours. I kicked his hand out from underneath him. He fell, face to the concrete, dazed. I was about to end him, when a teacher dragged me off.

They teach you that violence is wrong. And I genuinely believe it is. Yet they throw kids into environments not dissimilar from prison yards. The kid is subjected to hostile inmates and hostile guards, fellow students and sadistic underpaid teachers.

The only time I would ever condone violence is at school. If a kid is cornered by a bully, or bullies, they either take a beating or fight back. When you leave school you can avoid situations that result in violence.

The problem is the school system, not the children forced to attend it by law. If you under fund education and leave children to fend for themselves without supervision, they must be forgiven for standing up for themselves.

“You force us into hostile environments then condemn us for becoming hostile”

Somebody said that, I can’t remember who.