My New School

This poem, written in free verse, describes my first year at my senior school. I have recently found supporting evidence for my (clear) memories in the diaries mentioned below. Needless to say, I produced my '...worst ever end-of-year school report...'. It seems not to have occurred to those ostensibly responsible for my welfare to drill down and find out why a previously exemplary student failed so dramatically. My second year was equally traumatic for different reasons, but that is a story for another day!

She said I “must get away from” him.
Now, fifty years later
I’m reading his diaries, page by page.
Perhaps I’ll find out soon why
I needed to escape.

My new home, a boarding school,
was ‘character-building’, they said;
perhaps you know the type?

Regimented and authoritarian.
Our spartan, cold dormitories
reeked of sweat-stale boys, or
suffered the wild west wind,
blasting through uncurtained windows.

Our cold and cheerless walls
echoed with the relentless clatter
of shoes on cold, stone floors.
My constant reminder
of the austerity I endured.

Dull and bovine seniors,
Empire-quality demented thugs
beat, harassed and humiliated us,
sometimes naked, under freezing cold showers,
from dawn until dusk.

Under a crippling lack of welfare,
I longed for someone to be decent,
to know me and care.
Once vibrant and curious,
I withered like a fire-blighted pear.

Fear gnawed at my stomach
and tore at my mind.
Often I hid, alone and alert,
ready to flee at unfathomed sounds,
hoping, hoping not to be found.

I’m still reading his diaries;
perhaps I’ll find out soon
why I needed to escape.
Photo: The Author


















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