On Thursday I went up to watch my son in the St Vincents Christmas carol concert. I guess you'd have to have a heart of stone not to be touched by such a show. As I watched my mind went back 40 odd years to when I was a pupil there. The school was completely rebuilt a few years ago and has fantastic facilities. The children are treated to the most spectacular view of London and I can still remember standing at the 240 bus stop with Dale Malone, trying to spot the Post Office Tower on the horizon. It was newly built then.
My school days were not really that easy a time. Being dyslexic in the 60's was, shall we say, challenging. In those heady days that many hark back to, we weren't called dyslexic, we were called "thick". I didn't start talking till I was 4, for a period I had remedial speech sessions. They didn't really work as I never said a single word.The family were shocked when aged 4 I exclaimed at the dinner table "I wanna piece of cake". My mother shrieked "He speaks". She told me a few years ago that she was stunned when she told Mrs O'Keefe, the lovely old Irish lady who used to clean the house about this and she replied "Oh, he's been talking to me for years". I read that Albert Einstien was also dyslexic and didn't speak till he was 5. His first words were also at the dinner table. He exclaimed "I don't like peas". When challenged as to why he'd not spoken before, he replied "Everything was alright until now".
At school, it was a struggle. I was in the remedial reading and writing classes. Teaching methods were slightly different then. I was called to the front of the class and told to write Train on the blackboard. I spelt out T-R-I-A-N. The teacher said "no, that's wrong" and spelled it out correctly. She then said "now write it under". I spelled out T-R-I-A-N. She slapped me around the face and called me a troublemaker (aged 5). They say corporal punishment doesn't work, but I can honestly say I never spelled train wrong again. One of the disadvantages of being in the remedial set was that you didn't get to take part in any of the Christmas plays or anything else where parents may attend. As I was the youngest of six children and my parents had probably sat through hundreds of such events, they were quite pleased.
Whilst my schooling was failing miserably, I was actually highly successful at modelling. My sister had been cast in a Tizer commercial in 1966 and when we went down, the "little brother" had not arrived so I was cast in the role. I starred in many commercials, the most high profile being Heinz beans, Cadburys chocolate, Galaxy Chocolate and Angel Delight. The Heinz Beans ad won the director a best Directed Advert award at the Cannes Festival. One of my classmates teased me for not being cast in the school play. He was Joseph. I told my mum and she said "never mind, 20 million people watched your commercial on ITV last night". The next day he teased me gain. I said "Your only in the school play, I was watched by 20 million people on ITV last night". He told teacher and I got the slipper for being "arrogant". I was also told I needed to be taken down a peg and so I was banned from playing for the school team (I wanted to be the goalie). I didn't even know what arrogant was. I asked my sister what an "Harrow C*nt" was. She said it was a very rude way of describing someone from Harrow. The next day I spoke to my teacher and said "Miss, you know you gave me the slipper yesterday, you do know I don't come from Harrow". She replied "No, but you are an idiot". For years I lived under the impression that Harrow was a ghetto populated by idiots and people who are not very nice.
One other special joy was that being a remedial, for a while, meant having your school dinner at the remedial table. This meant you got made to sit with a teacher at the table and kids from other age groups, rather than your mates. I remember one christmas, where the remedials were all forced to have more Brussell Sprouts, because we were served last. There were plenty left and the school hated waste. The teacher told us we had to eat them because they were "full of goodness and nourishment and we need it".
In 1969, the Yanks landed a man on the moon. I was fascinated. We all had to do a project on the moon landings. For the first time, there was something I was vaguely interested in. My sister was a teacher and she spent the day helping me, explaining how to put it together. I was really proud of it. I handed it in and the teachers were shocked. My teacher asked "Why don't you always do work like this?". I replied that normal work was boring. After that, they decided that I wasn't remedial, just awkward and lazy.
I showed my own children my old schoolbooks. They were shocked. They couldn't believe how appalling it was. They said "is that how everyone did their work?" I then showed them some of my sisters work (She qualified as a barrister). They couldn't believe how bad their father was. By the time I got to 14, my brian had learned how to cope with it's dyslexia. I actually did OK, getting 9 O levels and 2 A Levels.
So why am I writing this. Yesterday, I listened to the Vanessa Feltz show and I listened to people talking the biggest load of cobblers about the subject of dyslexia. I believe, but I can't prove that my issues with dyslexia are due to issues at my birth (premature with Rhesus factor issues). I also believe that being the youngest of six children gave me a huge advantage over many other dyslexics. I believe that the fact that my parents never put any pressure on me whatsoever and always supported me made a huge difference. I've had a highly successful career in business and music. I know many other highly creative people who are dyslexic and had similar experiences. I will never win a spelling competition (unless you have to spell Trian), my grammar is terrible as I don't understand the rules of the English Language. This hasn't stopped me writing a very successful blog. I believe that part of the reason I got over my problems is because my siblings often helped me with my work. They loved me so they had patience. When I hear of children being denied "extra help" and assistance, schools not allocating extra resources, I get angry. I think of being told to eat Brussels Sprouts because "we need the goodness". The job of schools is to educate children, the more issues they have, the more they need it. If I was an OFSTED inspector, I'd fail any school which didn't have a proper strategy to deal with dyslexia and could demonstrate how it was addressing the issues of individual students.
If you are a parent and you are worried about a child with dyslexia, fight for their rights. Don't be fobbed off. With the right breaks and the right help in life, they could do great things. I doubt that I'd run a studio which has helped launch the careers of several International superstars, if I wasn't dyslexic. I doubt that I'd have the love of writing I have developed, relatively late in life. I doubt I'd see the world through these eyes. I think that my dyslexia is in many ways a gift. It gives me an edge. I'd rather not have had some of the grief it has brought me over the years, but I think that if I wasn't so angry, I'd never had done anything.
By the way, if you were wondering why I chose the picture, which has nothing to do with the story? Well actually it does. I googled "idiots from Harrow" and that was the picture that popped up
I can't let the year pass without a mention of the Man of the Year - David Young, who took on the might of Barnet Council and won. The BBC lists all of the recipients of honours this year - Jensen Button, Status Quo and Patrick Stewart to name a few. All fine candidates, I'm sure, but how many of them have saved a life? How many of them have removed a climate of fear in which hundreds of people were living? How many have shown huge personal courage in their twighlight years. For those of you who don't know of David Young, he's the guy who lives in sheltered accomodation in Barnet and took the council to the High Court when they passed the decison to remove the wardens. Barnet tried every trick in the book, including trying to have his solicitor Yvonne Hossacks struck off (again thrown out by a wise judge). Which leads us nicely to the woman of the year, Yvonne Hossacks. I hope and pray that in some small way this blog has helped them in their fight.
