MY SCHOOL DAze                                    

Many stories are told about people living with dyslexia, coping with their condition, some people reach high positions in good jobs; others develop into university students and find themselves in good careers. My own story was one of success though I struggled to get there, I was determined to get there to reach my goal. This is how I did it.                                                                                                           

At the age of four, I began school at the Willows infant school. This lasted a short period until a new school was built and I was moved to Chadsmead Infant School. Chadsmead was divided into two schools infants and juniors.  I was in a class where a teacher used to shout at the children, my Mother said she must have hated children, especially clumsy, thick children like myself.  She must have thought she was in a class for the deaf; I have always been sensitive to loud noise.  It was probably at this point that my Asthma started; I did lose a lot of schooling through my health.  It was considered that my Asthma was triggered off by childhood stress, which could have been induced by anxiety.   I remember painting pictures of roman soldiers and drawing in books. I was particularly keen on art; this was because it was something that I was able to do. Thinking back it was also therapeutic, and helped me relax and forget my stresses .I always considered punishment at school an unnecessary act of cruelty and humiliation. Some teachers actually seemed to thrive on hitting children, this type of punishment was said to be affective for some, but caused anxiety to others. All it did for me was to cause an asthma attack. One of the most humiliating experiences in early school life was being sent to the headmistress to be punished, she would put children over her knee and slap their legs. Other children used to watch this event through the window and laugh.                                                                              

During my times off school with asthma, I utilised my hours by reading comics, I discovered by looking at the actions on the comic strips that I was able to interpret what was being said.  Most of the cartoons were drawn in a systematic way; this made life easy for me trying to follow the story line. I could decipher what was being said by the actions of the people and their expressions.

This was easier than trying to fathom out Janet and John books.  This is probably why I spell some words the American way, from mad magazines, and other well-known brands of magazines. English comics included the Beano or Dandy, and later the Eagle.                                                                                     

 

At the age of seven, I was aware that I had a major problem with reading, writing and retaining information, my father was strict about educating us and would not allow us to be lazy as he called it. My father was strict, stubborn, very hard working and would be inclined to give his family his last penny even miss a meal for his children to eat. He was also a very intelligent man who never had the chance to go to university and become a surgeon, as he would have liked. Instead he was determined to push his three sons into school and teach us at home in order to give us the opportunity that he never had. Although I understand this now, at the time it seemed as if he was just being strict and not appreciating what I was going through. I would sit for long periods of time looking at my shoes trying to figure out left from right, father tried to teach me to tie my shoelaces, but I couldn't remember the sequence. What a dilemma two ways to go and I would choose the wrong one, its a good job their was only a choice of two.                                                    

 

Junior school was no better, I was placed in a remedial class in a mobile building separate from the rest of the school, and told to copy the writing on a portable black board that rolled, the words seemed to merge and not make sense but I copied them slowly. I was that slow that I used to have to go behind the blackboard and copy the writing upside down when the teacher rolled it rounds. Its no wonder I can now think better standing on my head.  Teachers used to hit me and shout if I forgot something such as my dinner money.             I was repeatedly hit on the head or had my hands slapped with a ruler. My mother used to send me to the shops for a few items, but if I had no list I would forget what I was sent for. Not wanting to displease her, I would buy the closest thing as far as I could remember about the product beans instead of peas was a classic. Often I was sent back to the shop, I tried to concentrate on what was said but still came home with potatoes instead of carrots.                                                                                                                                              

At this point dyslexia was not even considered as a problem, and certainly not recognised as such, therefore no one could say he's got dyslexia and pinpoint the underlining factors that would indicate that I was suffering from this problem. Both my brothers excelled in what they wanted to do, my older brother always wanted to be a policeman ever since he ran away from home and found himself at a near by police station. My younger brother was credited to be bright and eager to learn, and so he was encouraged to progress Father seemed so proud of him, though he never mentioned it, he was not noted to vent his feeling, he either kept a lot to himself or conversed to us through my mother. Mother was the mediator, peacekeeper and tended to calm the rough seas. When my mother went into hospital for a while, I felt lost and helpless my Nan looked after us and a Aunty who was only three years older than me, but who made a big impact on my life, because she taught me an easy way to tell the time.                                                                                      

My father tried to teach us maths such as times tables, and how to tell the time. My elder brother was able to take in knowledge quickly, which made me feel frustrated and caused more pressure on me.  I tried hard but could never retain but for some reason information. My aunty Penny who is four years older than me, discovered that I was ten and not able to tell the time, despite my father and the school trying to help me. She showed me a cake and divided it in half then into quarters etc then she said imagine this is a clock, she explained the meaning of the big hand then the small hand. I was then able to understand and I could actually tell the time.                                                         

 

MY BEST FRIEND RICHARD HOWARTH

I was introduced to Richard in remedial class by Mrs Coalman, she asked me to look after Richard and he sat next to me during this lesson. From that day until we were fourteen years old we became best friends and were inseparable. We shared our problems of school life and acted out heroes from television in the playground ‘The man from UNCLE’ was a favourite of ours I was Napoleon Solo and Richard was Illya Kuryakin. We also liked the Monkees TV series and Thunderbirds. We did what children do today exchange cards of TV programs; this was one of the few times that we met children from other classes in their playground. We were socially isolated by from other children by the school system. We were the lepers in the remedial colony, who only met other children by chance. The teachers were in full control of their own curriculum and exercised their discipline as they wished. It was up to Richard and myself to formulate a strategy of survival, we had conjured up a fantasy world like our playground games to counteract the blows indestructible beings like Captain Scarlet or Superman worked quite effectively. This system continued into Comprehensive school until Richards’s departure in 1970.

 

Richard has remained a friend though we parted in 1970 when he moved to Wales I visited once, then lost touch for a while. Then in 1980s I managed to locate him in Yorkshire we sent each other Christmas cards then spoke on the phone a few times in the 1990s. Finally on 20^th November 2004 we met again after 33 years both older but still close friends it was as if we had never parted.

 

Although I had friends I enjoyed my own company, and often played with small plastic toy soldiers. I continued to act this way into adulthood by going for long walks, or travelling alone to places in this country or around the world.   When I reached twelve years old, I went to senior school, a comprehensive school with high standards, I was placed in a reading group and the teacher said “ Why are you here you can read? “ I was not quite sure how to reply to her; yes I could read but is that the point, was that the only problem I had? No of course not, but I carried on through school regardless struggling through my mock exams and got low grades.                                   

 

One teacher recognised that I had a problem; Miss Kilby offered to teach me after school so that I could improve. My friends used to think that she had an ulterior motive and teased me about these sessions. I foolishly listened to them, stopped going to her and just managed to pass my C.S.Es in 1972. I even had an IQ test at school, I was asked to read a story and relate it back to the examiner. I was unable to remember a single word and could not describe any of the pictures I saw; this showed I had a short-term memory problem.  I read badly and seemed to fail all the tests, due to poor concentration and anxiety.

Miss Kilby won my vote as a good teacher when she took us out as a class and we all entered a café in Lichfield drinking pop and playing the jukebox hits of the time (1969) including Roger Whittaker’s Durham town. She got in trouble for us returning back to school late, though we pointed out it was our fault.                                                                                                                                       

At seventeen my school life was finally over, I had survived but received no medals for bravery. I had a private ceremony by a pool, by ripping up my textbooks and casting them vigorously into the water. Goodbye Netherstowe I said to myself I am free from being bullied, ridiculed and tormented. One friend Keith Taylor once said if you could survive school you can cope with anything, this statement remained with me to this day.                                        

 

On reflection school was not that bad, I had some good times. I liked cooking, art and anything creative. We had a nice art and pottery room combined and a separate art room along the corridor. I remember drawing and painting while listening to music such as Simon and Garfunkel, one art teacher used to let us hear the chart hits of the time. 1971 was a particularly memorable year, the song seemed to express the way I felt at the time Songs like John Kongos ‘ He’s gonna step on you again’ reminds me of school bullying Jonathon Kings ‘ Lazy bones’ the laid back aspect of myself. Tammy Lynn ‘I’m gonna run away from you’ getting away from school.  Greyhounds‘Black and white’ living in racial harmony. And White plain ‘When you are a king’ being king for a day.  It seemed such an emotional time for me, felt so confused, frustrated, angry anxious and in some cases isolated but never knew why.                                                                              

                             WORKING DAYS 

 

My next course of action was college on a pre-nursing course, my father had his doubts about me coping with such a course if I struggled at school surely I would find it difficult at college. However I tried and failed he was right I found the course work impossible and the tutors very unhelpful and frankly sometimes rude. I therefore went to work I tried printing and found myself printing hospital forms to my irony, then I tried woodwork, engineering, farming, shop work and hotel work, but still met problems with dyslexia, I was in a dilemma like a non- stop carousel ride going no where.             One of the symptoms of dyslexia was clumsiness and was I clumsy, I was and still am a walking hazard or an accident waiting to happen.  People used to see me in plaster or with an arm in a sling and say “ Have an accident? “ in which I replied  “ No thanks I‘ve just had one “.  No wonder I became unemployable, I was a walking liability. One employer asked how could have so many accidents in one day? I replied it’s easy I get up early. Even back at school I remember falling through a set of doors damaging my head, or running away from a caretaker tripping and breaking my arm. Infact it was that bad at school that the hospital used to save me a bed for my next visit.            

 

I had been in many places, worked in all sorts of environments, from farms, shops, factories to hotels, leaving devastation behind me.  Not that I’m proud of this, but it is relevant to mention in order to put the story straight.            At twenty-three I’d been at a re-establishment centre organised by the D.H.S.S In order to get me into the routine of work, which was likened by some people to an open prison (with a few strange characters), I spent my time gardening and cleaning the dormitories. Then I got a job in Stratford upon Avon in a hotel and left soon afterwards (probably after knocking a waiter out when I went through the wrong revolving door, he was carrying a series of dishes and delicious trifles. I was then sent to a rehabilitation centre in Coventry to assess what type of work suited me, they suggested clerical work, which I was neither qualified for or could cope with effectively.                             

 

I eventually managed to get a job where my mother had once worked, at a residential home for the elderly. I really enjoyed the work it was so good to help the elderly so rewarding though my clumsiness continued and seemed to get worse. I also travelled to many countries including the U.S.A, Canada, Japan, Most of Europe, Sweden, and Denmark not once did I ever take out holiday insurance.                                                              

 

CLUMSY ME                                                                     

My clumsiness continued as I endeavoured to carry a tray full of breakfast meals to various residents in bed. I began to walk down a flight of stairs and tripped the tray went forward but I held it tight, the problem was all the contents shot off the tray and up the wall, down the stairs and all over me. I eventually landed at the bottom of the stairs, upside down in a very undignified manner.  I called out to a cleaner near by  “Help!� But she had the Hoover on and was singing happily to herself, while the scrambled egg was dripping from my head. Fortunately I suffered no injuries and continued to have accidents regularly. On one occasion we the care assistants were asked by our matron, to participate in some gardening, this was a big mistake. Especially asking me to mow the grass with petrol operated lawnmower, no sooner had I started it up, and it had a mind of its own. It began to move, I lost my balance and was being dragged along the ground. Eventually it stopped when it hit the path and spun onto its side, I was still holding it and found myself in a bush. When I arrived home I was angry and embarrassed I told my Mother the story “I’m a care assistant not a gardener� I said.  Mother just laughed the more I said the more she laughed. She likened me to Frank Spencer a character played by Michael Crawford in a television comedy called ‘ Some mothers do hav em’ I eventually saw the funny side of my dilemma and laughed too.                                                                                                                           

 

Even on holiday I wasn’t safe, I was having a photograph taken in Germany beside the scenic river Rein. I was leaning against a pole posing when the pole began to rise taking me up with it. I discovered it was a level crossing and had to jump down fast.  When I was in India a soldier asked me to accompany him to the airport luggage department, which was outside near the plane. On the way I slipped on the freshly polished stairs, and landed at the bottom of the stairs.  On a flight to the U.S.A I managed to damage two seats.  The first seat was due to a loose arm, I pulled it towards me and it came all the way off. The kind stewardess apologised for the faulty seat and placed me elsewhere, I was trying to get comfortable by adjusting the seat   when I heard a crunch. The seat shot back rapidly causing my legs to fly up in the air and my head landed between a lady's legs.                                                     

 

Many other disasters took place, but I still insisted that I did not need holiday insurance. Infact the only time that I did take out insurance nothing happened. I realise now I will always be clumsy and feel sorry for my long-suffering wife, who picks up the pieces. I had been through twenty jobs before settling down as a care assistant at Nearfield house .My job at this place lasted thirteen years, I only left because I wanted to progress as there was no chance of promotion and I felt I needed to do something that would offer more prospects. I returned to shop work but couldn't settle and I became very depressed again dyslexia was holding me back.                                                        

 

I left home in Lichfield, for Blackpool and worked as a photographer this suited me well I met my wife at this holiday centre and moved to Manchester. I returned to care work at a residential home and both Jayne and I started a family, we married a few years later and I began working at a nearby hospital, this gave me a real incentive to train as a nurse and so I went to college to gain qualifications in order to enter university .I had informed them that I could be dyslexic and received a little support. I obtained a certificate in welfare studies and an N.V.Q (National vocational qualification) in care this gave me the chance to apply for nursing I was excepted but did not inform them of my condition at first because I was embarrassed and felt I would be thrown off the course, I progressed until exam time then I had to confess. I was sent for tests at the universities educational support office and it was confirmed that I have dyslexia. I received a diploma in welfare studies at college while studying at university and graduated from the university of Salford with a diploma in nursing with support from the education centre. I began working as a staff nurse and now have four children who I observe for signs of dyslexia as I would not like them to experience the problems that I had, dyslexia remains a problem today however if you seek the right help life can be much more bearable, I don’t blame my parents, little knowledge was available then, but today people can seek help and progress as far as they wish as long as they know who to approach for help and advice. Your life needn't be in a jar.......                                                               

 

SIXTIES EDUCATION

The sixties were noted to be changing times with radical ideas, education witnessed changes with the rapid expansion of comprehensive schools and more freedom for teachers. The reforms took place under Harold Wilson’s Labour government. According to Gary McCulloch (professor of education at London’s institute of education)  “What people often think of teachers in the 60s is that they had much more freedom�.  While pupils in the 60s still had to sit exams, there was no national curriculum and teachers had much more leeway.

 

The chief inspector of schools in England Mr David Bell stated that the teaching theories of the 60s and 70s were “plain crackers� He went on to say that “too much of the soft centred belief that children would learn if you left them to it�. Mr Bell spoke of incoherent or non-existent curriculums, too many eccentric and unevaluated teaching methods, and too much of the totally soft centred belief that children would learn by themselves. He went on to praise the improvements of recent years.

 

Corporal punishment

The main form of discipline in the 60s and 70s was corporal punishment the incidence of caning or whacking varied from school to school. Some used a stick others a pump or a ruler and it was administered across the hand or bottom. Some teachers used their hand across the head of the pupil or a nice thick book.

In Chadsmead it was a selection of the ruler, cane or a smack round the head or legs, while Netherstowe comprehensive school was the slipper, pump, cane or hand. Corporal punishment was finally abolished in 1987 by parliament this was by a mere one vote. A retired truancy inspector spoke in favour of corporal punishment stating “When I was at school there was as often as not a disruptive pupil who distracted the rest of the class from their work. Once he had been caned the rest of us could get on with our studying. After you had felt the cane, you gained an healthy respect for it�.

In reality people with learning difficulties who may have lost their attention span had blackboard rubbers thrown at them, or children could be disruptive through shear frustration of not being able to understand. The problem with corporal punishment is it was misused and sometimes the wrong people got punished, this to my mind only stopped the disruption it did not solve the problem.  It made me more fearful of teachers and less likely to perform, as it exasperated the problem (now known as dyslexia).