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Bullying stories
Turning a blind eye
My teacher physically bullied me. I used to rest the two front legs of the table on my feet because it made the table tilt slightly, which was more comfortable for me to write. The teacher told me not to, but it had become an automatic response to put the table back on my feet. It was habit rather than disobedience. One day the teacher came over and sat on the desk, which was on my feet, smiling at me smugly as he did so. He stayed there all through the lesson. When I got home I showed my mother my bruised and swollen feet and told her what had happened. She told me not to lie, as no teacher would do that. My mother's reaction hurt me as much as the teacher did. However, the teacher was suspended and left two years later for bullying another child. That child's parents obviously believed her and took action. I would advise any parent to always investigate any accusation - it may be true. My school days were miserable.
Resorting to violence
My school was totally inept at 'resolving' a prolonged series of bullying incidents, which involved, among other delights, being forced to walk down the middle of a busy road on the way home every night (I was nine at the time). Eventually, they brought in the pitiful measure of granting me a five-minute head start on the bullies. At 3.10pm every day - while the rest of the class were winding up various activities, I was high-tailing it out of the school gates and praying that the two girls who pinched, punched and punitively stalked me throughout the day, wouldn't overtake me before I could reach my grandfather, who awaited my arrival at the end of the road. In the end, after almost a year of the most bewildering misery I've ever experienced, my mother finally called time on proceedings by frog-marching me to a confrontation with the two girls, where I beat the hell out of them. In case I failed, my mum was prepared to step in. I don't advocate this method by any means, but it did the trick.
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