Schooldays

Chapter Seven

What can I say and who really wants to know?
We all probably look back at our schooldays through rose-coloured spectacles and think they were the best days of our lives.

So I will whizz you through this period of my life as I dont want to bore you to death.
I was born in East London but grew up in Essex.

I am a genuine Cockney born within the sound of Bow Bells.

My dad said I was born in the same hospital as pop legend Marc Bolan and The Kray Twins.
Does that explain my love of East End gangsters and Rock music?

I was a schoolboy soccer star. A white Pele and Cockney Georgie Best. What did I say about rose tinted spectacles?

Looking back a couple of incidents at school made a big impression on me that have lasted a lifetime.

I remember one Sunday evening walking through the bushes at the back of my local park.
It was a short cut to my house and just getting dark.

I was just Thirteen and came across a gang of older boys from my school. There were six of them all standing around and laughing.
Most I knew by name and some were elder brothers of my mates.

As I got closer I could see what they were doing.
The 6 standing up were keeping lookout and watching while three others were undressing a girl from my school.
They had her pinned to the ground though she wasnt screaming or struggling.

I was shocked and at the same time confused, as I was not expecting to see what I was seeing in front of me.
When I first spotted them I just thought they were smoking or drinking cans of beer.


But the three boys on the floor were undressing this girl. I knew her name, she was Sixteen and one of the best-looking girls at my school.

When I arrived they were just removing her dress and now she was naked. I was only just 13 and although I had seen naked women in magazines, this was the first time I had seen a naked girl in the the flesh.

I was embarrassed and (ashamed to admit) sort of excited at the time - it was a new experience for me - but I was also angry as I knew right from wrong and this definitely seemed wrong.

Part of me wanted to tell them to "leave her alone, part of me wanted to runaway, but I was sort of rooted to the spot and couldnt stop looking.

The leader of the gang - who was 17 said: "Not a word to anyone or else"

And I didnt - and the guilt of not saying anything has haunted me ever since - and I think that explains my hatred for Grimson.

Of course I hate him for stealing my wife, but I hate him even more for violently threatening and verbally sexually abusing my children.

Since that Sunday night over my local park I have always hated bullies, child abusers and rapists.
Looking back I know I should of spoken out - but at that age you dont grass - and some were the older brothers of my mates.

But if I came across the same situation now I would of course do my duty. But in my defence I was only Thirteen at the time.

About five years later I saw the same girl at a party and couldnt talk to her without blushing. I was terrified she would recognise me as the skinny 13-year-old with his eyes popping out of his head.

Even though I was only a `innocent bystander` and not involved in the `attack` I wanted to apologize - but couldnt bring myself to say "sorry" in case it embarrassed her more then it did me.
But part of me will always think I was wrong to stay silent. And I`m convinced it was that incident that explains my pathological hatred for bullies.

I hate them all, political tyrants, rapists, wife-beaters and child abusers.

The rest of my schooldays involved football, girls, fashion, music, drink and drugs.