Part 4. Spare The Rod, Spoil The Child.

As a precursor to the post below, I should explain that the teacher who is the subject of the following passage has been an active part of the education system here in the north west of England up until very recently. I have friends and associates in education that have encountered him in various schools, in fact he appears to have been an advisor / consultant in the county of Lancashire for quite a number of years. I won't reveal more about him, or exactly which area of education he specialised in until you've read the following passage. 

Here's Pt 4.

In his efforts of appeasement, and to lessen the obvious gravity of emotion, astonishingly, he explained to me how many times he carried out this kind of thing and consequently how routine and unimportant it therefore was to him. My job, obviously must have been to apply the same insignificance to my experience of being on the receiving end. It didn’t work. But the one thing I did notice after all this was the softly, softly approach the teaching staff seemed to take towards me for the remaining year, maybe longer.

From then on, although I carried the threat of such assaults within me from one term to the next, other than the odd inference implied in a teacher’s scowl I have no recollection of being a recipient of corporal punishment. 

However, I witnessed many others who were not so fortunate. The towering figure of Mr Birnie had to represent someone, who at the time I would’ve seen simply as a figure of authority who put the fear of God in me, these days I would describe him as a damaged soul with clear and unresolved issues. One can only speculate on the motivation that lay behind the obvious desire to inflict pain and grief with such regularity on the small and defenceless. It was all somewhat ritualistic, carried out with a chillingly calm, calculated, and finely honed methodology that bad dreams are made of. 

A fine example of the integrated teaching style he practiced, that is - the fusion of personal issues and education - was the day on which one of his lessons was about to end; the bell sounded, but seconds before he gave the authority for the class to finish, one unsuspecting student, probably without a second thought, proceeded to close his exercise book and reach for his satchel. Then, something along the lines of, “BOY - WHO TOLD YOU TO PUT THOSE BOOKS AWAY?” resonated and bounced from every hard, shiny surface in that room. The order, “Come here, boy” followed, along with the instruction to collect the slipper along the way. Everyone knew which drawer the slipper was in. As I stated earlier, this was a well though-out strategy, one designed to impose a healthy amount of mental torture, not just physical. After the young man had handed over the very device to be used against him, and had been struck repeatedly until reduced to the desired level of distress, I guess Mr Birnie then could be satisfied with a good morning’s work.   

And that was nothing! … really. He most definitely came into his own when the snow fell - along with the snow, lay his tour de force. The number one rule when the ravages of winter arrived was - “Never throw snowballs in the covered playground”. This covered area was fairly small - approximately 20 x 10 yards; at one end the girls entrance, at the other end the boys - by both entrances sat a row of wide, deep windows with a hand rail, or bar that ran at waist hight along the inside of each.

The synonymity of power with safety was never better illustrated than by the minions (Prefects) that Birnie employed to keep an eagle-eye out for any stray fragment of snow that might find its way into, or even barely onto the margins of this exclusion zone. Perpetrator identified, word relayed back to said teacher, and the fun begins. Well, it’s fun if you enjoy seeing pain in others, and many obviously did. As the criminal was taken inside and made to bend whilst holding the handrail, a crowd would gather outside, and cheer as the blows, and the tears fell. 

Mr Birnie was the Religious Instruction teacher, and if nothing else, he did provide a sound example to me upon which I could begin to develop a view of organised religion. 

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Yes, Mr Birnie was indeed a teacher in religious eduction. He was also one of the most systematically cruelest people I have encountered in my life. It wasn't a case of whether he beat 'me' or not, it was more about what I saw him do to others, and as a result the sickening fear you would consequently carry within from one day to the next.  

In very recent years we've seen a reoccurring scenario, that of the child abuse committed within many religious establishments - taking place at the hands of those who have both achieved positions of authority and whose positions naturally infer a synonymity with godliness and goodness. Personally, I'm quite fascinated by the apparent connection. I would naturally think that placing oneself in such a public position of affinity with the 'Creator' or the 'Messiah' would precipitate nothing other than acts that are supportive, kind and helpful, acts that are anything other than painful for God's children. 

One could easily conclude from the basis of that which has become evident, that the main structures representing the principles, as (supposedly) laid down by God, present more an opportunity, at best, for some to get on in life, and at worse, to find a safe way to carry out various acts of self-gratification.

Don't get me wrong though, I know there are many members of various religious fraternities with nothing other than good intentions, a great many of them using the vehicle of religion to carry out significant acts of charity. But it's just impossible for me, in the context of religion, to ignore the absolute paradox between what one professes to be, and what one actually does.   

Given that contradiction, I have a strong desire to know what Mr Ian Birnie now thinks about the way he dealt with the children placed in his care back then. The pain and the tears that I witnessed from his assaults on young defenceless kids have made such a mark with me that I have written him a letter addressing this subject. The letter is, in my view, considered and polite. But sent to him with a complete copy of the Old School Days article (including the above passage) it should leave him in no doubt as to how much passion I feel. Sent just one week ago, I invited him to write, email or phone me, but as yet I have had no response.