Rog T's Dyslexia Blog - Who says that your school years are the best years of your life? Part 4 - The fallout and the pain

 Ten years ago, I published a series of three blogs that detailed my experiences of schooling as a dyslexic in the 1960's and 1970's. I have republished them today, as they have turned into some of the most important episodes of this blog. What inspired me to revisit the series is the number of comments that the blogs, especially episode two have attracted. My comments about the education provided by Finchley Catholic High School and its teachers have spurred a huge number of comments about the school and its predecessors Challoner School and Finchley Grammar School. The blogs were written from my perspective as a dyslexic going through a hostile environment. I had assumed that the blogs would really only be of interest to people with an interest in dyslexia wanting a first hand experience of education for dyslexics in the last century. What I have found is that there is a huge well of people who attended my old school who feel desperately let down, for want of a better phrase, by the school.

When I read the comments on blog two in the series, I see a horrific glimpse into a thankfully long gone world. Here is just one comment that gives you some idea of what people had to say "If you left the school in 1969, you might recall a school year, a year or two earlier, when Coughlan's daily 'caning queues' reduced to almost zero? I was subsequently told that Coughlan ensured 'discipline' returned to normal the very next scholastic year!" . Can you imagine a school with 'caning queues' today? In many ways, the comments on blog two are far more interesting than the actual blog. 

Interestingly, when I wrote the blog, my son was at Finchley Catholic High School. When I left, I vowed I'd never set foot in the place again. Yet my son went there. What happened. The most important thing was that the school changed, as did education in the UK. Thankfully, none of my children are dyslexic. After my experiences, I would not wish that on anyone. Even more importantly, none of my children were beaten at school. When I was at FCHS and getting regularly clobbered, I just assumed that if you were a child and you were naughty at school, or if the teachers decided you had been, to be more accurate, you got beaten. I assumed that if we weren't regularly clobbered, we'd all run riot. I was wrong. None of my kids ran riot at school. They had their own challenges, but they never had that sick feeling in the pit of their stomach, where you are sent to the headmaster and you know you will be thrashed. It is bad enough when you've been naughty and been caught, but when you've not and a teacher has randomly decided you are the culprit, because you are a troublemaker, it is difficult to take.

I was a very immature and angry person. My response was to lash out and get even. I did many stupid things and realised that when you get your revenge, it is far better to plan it and execute it in such a way that you get away with it. I have a confession to make here. One I am not proud of. A mate of mine joined me on a mission to break into the then headmaster of FCHS's office in the summer holiday. We trashed it and read some of his files on us. Back then, there was no CCTV. We had a cunning plan. After reading our files, we carefully placed our records back. The files contained all manner of incorrect assumptions and a clear bias against me, based on personal dislike.  The one thing that really shocked me,was that my record stated that I had "homosexual and deviant tendencies which pose a risk to other students". Given that I do not, this was shocking to me. The reason? I'd been sent home for wearing dayglo pink socks that were a punk fashion in 1977. Years later, my mother told me that the head had informed her I had homosexual tendencies. She asked what I had done. He replied "He came to school in pink socks". My mother apparently replied "Elvis Presley wears pink socks and he's definitely not a homosexual". We saw all manner of things that were incorrect about our mates as well. There was a moment where we looked at each other and simply said "How can they write this rubbish". 

We then found the records of people we didn't like, from other classes, and left them out , having scrawled comments on them, indicating that the contents of the file were inaccurate. We figured that the school would assume they were the perpetrators. It was the summer after I left the school. I never knew what the fallout, if any was, but PC plod never knocked on my door. We were very careful to make a mess and only damage the personal possessions of the headmaster. We took great delight in defacing the picture of him receiving his degree, in his gown and cap. We added a Hitler moustache and a few rude words.  We wore gloves on the mission, so we left no trace. . I took great pleasure in trashing the office. It was a cathartic moment. The man had abused me, both mentally and physically. I am now an adult and do not advocate violence and vandalism, but I do not regret doing that.

After the 'raid' we vowed never to speak of it again. We realised that the consequences would be serious, even though we'd not broken anything and just made a mess. I've not seen my fellow perpetrator in decades. What troubles me, to this day, is my lack of regret. I realise that it was most likely the cleaners, etc who had to sort the mess out. I am sure the Headmaster was furious at his picture being defaced. I can't say I'm sorry, but other than that and some graffiti on the wall, there was nothing that wouldn't be tidied up in ten minutes. In truth, I was brimming with anger at the time. I hated the man and felt that it was the least he deserved. It is the only time in my life I've ever vandalised anything. About a week after, I had a terrible nightmare about it. I dreamed that the police had caught me and I was going to court. I was facing a prison sentence and it seemed like the whole school was there to denounce me and express their disappointment in me. To this day, I can remember waking up and feeling terrified. I am not cut out to be a criminal, the dream was my minds way of reminding me such things are not OK.

By September, I was at Orange Hill School. My experience there, as I told in episode three, was positive. I never caused trouble, I never got caned. I even got asked to arrange the music for a reception for the Deputy Headmaster. He confided that when I'd joined the school, they'd been informed I was a troublemaker and not to let me join. He said that he was pleasantly surprised. I explained that it was because I was at a well run school. This wasn't brown nosing, it was the truth. When I had gone to Orange Hill for an interview with the head master, prior to joining, he asked me a series of searching questions. I realised that he must have received my school file. As I'd read this, I had my answers ready. I explained that I had a personality clash with the Head at FCHS and I believed he'd developed an irrational dislike of me. I was able to give a couple of examples. As many of the comments in the file referenced my lack of a good Roman Catholic ethos, I also made a point of saying that he only really liked good Catholic boys from Irish families. The Head master chuckled and said "I get the feeling he certainly disliked you".  Orange Hill was not in any way religious. 

But my dyslexia has never gone away. I still under achieved at Orange Hill. I do not blame the school. Doing A Levels was absolutely the edge of my academic capacity.  Completing exams in the allotted time was simply unfeasible. The problem is, I have to read every question three times. My brain processes the information far more slowly. I get the answers right, but I simply can't complete the papers in time. I always failed to answer a couple of questions. I also had to read back through my answers to ensure I hadn't written things the wrong way around. Add to that the pressure of the environment. These days, dyslexics get extra time. Ignorant commentators claim this is unfair. Why? Exams are meant to measure your knowledge, not your capacity to write it down as quickly as possible.

My schooling taught me many things. Some of them are things that no child should need to learn. I learned that if I was pushed, I was capable of bad things and that I had no guilt about these things. I leaned that people in authority abuse their position. I learned that people in authority, who keep records, get things completely wrong. I learned that if you dig too deeply you learn some very disturbing things. I learned that there are files written about you, which you will never see. There may well be things in them that will affect your life choices.  I have also learned that there are massive omissions in such files. For instance, no mention of the fact that I was dyslexic. I wasn't diagnosed, but competent teachers should have figured it out after four and a half years at the school. There was no mention of any of the good things I'd done whilst at the school. I am a natural organiser and our form had done well in fund raising exercises in our early years at the school. There was no mention of the endless requests for better music provision (although there were comments about delusions of grandeur).

What I have come to realise is that being dyslexic and having an above average intelligence was a very toxic mix in the 1960's and 70's. I was always going to fail educationally, but I had the wit and the wherewithal to thrive. I was extremely adaptive and I am a survivor. When I re-read the three blogs before starting this episode, it brought it all back. The anger, the pain, the sense of injustice. It interests me that the second blog, where I talk about the worst time has attracted dozens of comments, whilst the third, where I get my life together has attracted zero. It seems that the stress and pain rings a bell with a lot of people. It worries me that rising above it receive less interest. 

And here I am. I am sixty two years old and doing fine. I have moved on. Writing those three blogs has helped.