more school recollections.

If I had to give a metaphor to describe Forest school for boys, I think, I would begin by saying that it had both the inner and outward appearance of a wounded soldier that had been given prosthetic limbs; but he or she hadn’t been given any understanding as to how the new integrated with the old.
One half of the school, (The half that contained the engineering, science, art, music and language departments.) had been built during the twenties or the thirties. They were made of red brick and aged stone-filled concrete. Cold thin glass was held in tired rusted metal frames, by cracked grey putty; and most, if not all of the older buildings always stank of old boiled cabbage, and sweet onion sweat. However the English, math, history, geography, and media studies (Though it was called Recourses back then.) were contained in a more modern quadrangle building made of steel framed glass; which still had a clean, new, smell to it. This was connected to the older buildings by a plush new school entrance. Only the PE department, which stood at a right angle next to the refectory, covered both areas; as a new sports hall had built upon the grounds of the old one. In fact, I’d have to say that the buildings were in such stark contrast to each other, they seemed to enhance the confusion that ran through its’ corridors every day.
I started Forest in the September of 1978 and I left in 1983. It was a time of great division and upheaval. The school heads were desperately trying to hold on to old fashioned and traditional values of respect, fear and intimidation. Yet they had to face changes from within by new governmental policies, regarding both the punishment and treatment of pupils. -as well as changes within the curriculum itself- Not only that, the teachers themselves were either deeply dissatisfied and on the threat of strike action; due to pay and/or staffing levels being cut; or scared shitless; as they had no way to discipline a large sway of steadily growing male rebellion; as Punk and then SKA music swept through the classrooms, in steady waves of chaotic rage.
The school was run by a heavy, dower faced man, with red hair who always seemed to me, to be far too dreamy, to be in touch with himself; let alone his school. The deputy head was a different man altogether. He was a tall, lean, military looking man; with a square face, tight wiry hair and an iron jaw. I have to admit he appeared somewhat comical, as he wore his mortar board even during classes; together with jodhpurs and a Harris Tweed coat over a stiff white-collar shirt and tight school tie. When he spoke, his voice had this strained high pitched nasal quality, I had come to associate with wealth and inbreeding. I instantly loathed him; but I couldn’t deny that this was the man who ran the school. For despite his appearance he had an air about him that always seemed to shout the words: “Don’t fuck with me boy.” So he commanded my respect. Naturally, discipline during this time was confusing. It was either savage painful and thorough; or so lapse it simply didn’t take place at all.
The school itself was broken into houses; the names of which were connected with great men associated within their fields of expertise. So, the maths department became Newton house; the English department became Shelly house; -Engineering, Brunel; science, Faraday. There were three others, whose names, I have honestly have forgotten. The houses were controlled by dividing the pupils into halves and then dividing the halves into sets.
It was after the entrance exam, and after we had been placed in our houses and sets that our first assembly took place in the main hall; where we met for the first time, Mr. Wilson.
The main hall was huge. It was surrounded by heavy deep blue curtains; which were faded at the edges. The curtains were kept in place by long rows of large brown plastic moulded chairs; directly opposite the entrance was a huge stage that was also covered with the same faded blue curtains. The floor was wooden and had a thick layer of beeswax coating upon it; which was strong enough to get my nose tingling.
Mr Wilson was a tall man with thick black, greased back hair. I recall that he was tall, but to most eleven year olds all adults are tall. I guess he was about six feet in height. He had a narrow fish like face and a long thin nose; covered with red blotches. His skin was thin and very pale, and he had very pale blue eyes. After we were introduced to him, he also introduced us to four other men. On the left of Mr Wilson was an enormous ginger haired man, with a full beard, known as Mr Walsh. To the right of Mr Wilson was a tall wiry white haired man known as Mr Bentley, a small grey haired, rat-faced man known as Mr Smith and finally a long slender youngish man called Mr. Gregory.
The assembly was comfortable; with chairs to sit on, instead of the floor; and the teachers were not on the stage behind them, in fact they sat in chairs not far from us; it was informal, all gentle smiles and kindness... We were told that as we were new here, there were things that would be different, than to what we had experienced at our primary schools; and to help with the changes these five men had been chosen to help in any way possible.
It ended with Mr Wilson standing up and saying that
‘...if we had any problem, however big or small, we must feel free to go to him, or any of the men here, at any time...’
Looking back, it could be argued that we were being groomed by these men... a modern word to describe the feelings of trust which we, being so very scared and vulnerable at the time, were readily able to give to these men; because of their simple kindness to us.
I soon realised differently.
I had been having a problem with a boy called Alan. He was a fifties throwback, the real rebel with the quiff and the crazy eyes. He had been demanding money from me, and I not having much, went to see Mr Wilson, whose rooms were on the second floor of the more modern half of the school. I knocked and heard a muffled enter, only to find Mr Wilson sitting down, mildly looking up and Mr. Walsh looking flustered. Mr Walsh left the room, slamming the door and making me jump.
‘Yes Boy?’ asked Mr Wilson mildly.
I explained my situation to him, as he sat in his chair looking up at me. He motioned me to sit in the chair opposite, so I did. He smiled and then turned to his desk and opened up the top draw and produced a Gideon new testament. It had a blood red plastic cover; and was about the size of a pack of cards.
‘This is for you...’ He began, as he reached out and handed me the small new-testament ‘...Thank you for coming to me with this grave matter...’ As I took the book from his hand, he gently stroked the back of mine.
I looked up at him nervously. Not sure what was going on.
‘...But if I do this...’ he began.’...what’s in it for me?’
I looked shocked. ‘Sir..?’ Even now I could feel that there was something dangerous and very wrong going on here. I stood up. ‘...Sir...’ I began, ‘...I came to report a pupil to you... a pupil who has been bullying me...’ I could hear my voice nervously cracking.
‘Yes...’ He nodded twice, his ice blue eyes never leaving mine; as he stood up, reached over and touched my cheek. ‘...I know...’ he shook his head. ‘...but like I said...’ he reached over and tried to kiss me.
I violently pushed him away and ran from the room.
He never forgave me for that. Over the next three years I was subjected to both physical and sexual abuse from Mr Wilson; upon the rugby field, I was forced to play without my boots, in the shower I was forced to clean it and then was raped; finally during a religious education class I was humiliated. Mr Wilson was finally caught... though not with me... with another boy... or so I heard on the school grapevine. The reaction of the school was swift. Mr. Wilson was transferred to a school in London and the business was hushed up; all I am left with are the scars. I left Forest school for boys with no education, and a fear of teachers... But I survived. I survive still... For though I can look back and forgive the man... I find it hard to forgive what he did to me.