| Report for Bob Setchfield | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 1 |
| Rejected stories | 1 |
| Deleted stories | 3 |
| Summary | Mean Boy |
Mrs Baron was evil, vile and would rip you to shreds because the cleaners had knocked something over after you'd gone home.
One ingenious teaching method employed by this beast of a woman was as follows: instead of telling the class to be quiet, she would sit at her desk with her hand in the air in a type of Nazi salute. One by one the children would notice this and do the same. Her logic was that the last child to do it would be the child that was paying the least attention - and thus talking the most. Unfortunately, it could also mean that the child who wasn't acting like a member of the Hitler youth was actually getting on with their work.
Ironically Mrs Baron was barren. She left at the end of the school year to adopt a baby.
One ingenious teaching method employed by this beast of a woman was as follows: instead of telling the class to be quiet, she would sit at her desk with her hand in the air in a type of Nazi salute. One by one the children would notice this and do the same. Her logic was that the last child to do it would be the child that was paying the least attention - and thus talking the most. Unfortunately, it could also mean that the child who wasn't acting like a member of the Hitler youth was actually getting on with their work.
Ironically Mrs Baron was barren. She left at the end of the school year to adopt a baby.
There was a boy called Matthew who was a couple of years above me in secondary school and to describe him as odd would be a great understatement.He first came to my attention while Myself, and other children, were visiting the secondary school for the morning. I was talking to a friend when Matthew walked up to us and without saying a word patted my friend on the head and walked off. I told my older brother about this and he told me that Matthew was a wierdo and to stear clear of him (how I wished I'd listened). When we'd joined the school properly Matthew latched on to me and my friend like a limpet and we soon realised that my brother was right. Apart from his head patting fettish he also collected chimney pots, ran away if you made a crucafix with your fingers in his direction (it sapped his strength)and had a book that he wrote down the names all of the people who wronged him. It had names, dates, places and crimes in it
"Mr X, 10 o'clock, playground, called me gay".
Apparently all this strange behaveour was down to the fact that something went badly wrong while he was having his tonsils out or so the legand went.
Looking back I should have seen the sighns that first day when he patted my friend. He was greasy and ginger and only a madman would have touched his hair.
"Mr X, 10 o'clock, playground, called me gay".
Apparently all this strange behaveour was down to the fact that something went badly wrong while he was having his tonsils out or so the legand went.
Looking back I should have seen the sighns that first day when he patted my friend. He was greasy and ginger and only a madman would have touched his hair.
When I was seven I was beaten up in a secluded part of the playground by two boys from my class. In the grand scale of things it was a pretty pathetic beating, infact the worst part of it was the start when they pushed me against the wall and I bumped my head. As is usually the case there were no witnesses which bad for me since there was no help at hand but it was worse for them as there was nobody there to back up there story. That's why when I was questioned about what happened I was able to turn the accidental head bumping into being grabbed by the hair and having my head bashed against the wall ten times. I even said they counted as they did it.
I can still remember one of the bullies standing with me at the teachers desk while he got a lecture about how delicate the human brain is and him protesting in a ,trying not to cry voice, that he'd only pushed me and the head hitting was an accident. He even turned to me with a pleading look and said, "Isn't that right Bobby?". His face fell when I said no by shaking my head slowly as he'd damaged my delicate brain.
I did feel guilty about lying to my family about it but I in no way, shape or form feel bad about any other part of what happened. It was over twenty years ago and I still laugh about it and I confessed to my family a couple of years ago and now they laugh about it too.
Ha, Ha you had to stay in at playtime.
I can still remember one of the bullies standing with me at the teachers desk while he got a lecture about how delicate the human brain is and him protesting in a ,trying not to cry voice, that he'd only pushed me and the head hitting was an accident. He even turned to me with a pleading look and said, "Isn't that right Bobby?". His face fell when I said no by shaking my head slowly as he'd damaged my delicate brain.
I did feel guilty about lying to my family about it but I in no way, shape or form feel bad about any other part of what happened. It was over twenty years ago and I still laugh about it and I confessed to my family a couple of years ago and now they laugh about it too.
Ha, Ha you had to stay in at playtime.
When I was seven I was beaten up in a secluded part of the playground by two boys from my class. In the grand scale of things it was a pretty pathetic beating, infact the worst part of it was the start when they pushed me against the wall and I bumped my head. As is usually the case there were no witnesses which bad for me since there was no help at hand but it was worse for them as there was nobody there to back up there story. That's why when I was questioned about what happened I was able to turn the accidental head bumping into being grabbed by the hair and having my head bashed against the wall ten times. I even said they counted as they did it.
I can still remember one of the bullies standing with me at the teachers desk while he got a lecture about how delicate the human brain is and him protesting in a ,trying not to cry voice, that he'd only pushed me and the head hitting was an accident. He even turned to me with a pleading look and said, "Isn't that right Bobby?". His face fell when I said no by shaking my head slowly as he'd damaged my delicate brain.
I did feel guilty about lying to my family about it but I in no way, shape or form feel bad about any other part of what happened. It was over twenty years ago and I still laugh about it and I confessed to my family a couple of years ago and now they laugh about it too.
Ha, Ha you had to stay in at playtime.
I can still remember one of the bullies standing with me at the teachers desk while he got a lecture about how delicate the human brain is and him protesting in a ,trying not to cry voice, that he'd only pushed me and the head hitting was an accident. He even turned to me with a pleading look and said, "Isn't that right Bobby?". His face fell when I said no by shaking my head slowly as he'd damaged my delicate brain.
I did feel guilty about lying to my family about it but I in no way, shape or form feel bad about any other part of what happened. It was over twenty years ago and I still laugh about it and I confessed to my family a couple of years ago and now they laugh about it too.
Ha, Ha you had to stay in at playtime.
For a short time at primary school being shit at football didn't really matter. Because we played the game with an Impossiball. For a while it mad us shit players like the sport. That was until the good players cottened onto the fact that they might loose a match to a bunch of bench warmers. From that day on only FA approved balls were used.
The worst match I ever saw was on my first day at school. I wasn't the lack of skill that disturbed me it was the fact the they were using a dead bird as the ball.
The worst match I ever saw was on my first day at school. I wasn't the lack of skill that disturbed me it was the fact the they were using a dead bird as the ball.