EXPERIENCES AT ST. VEDAST (now St. James) AND THE S.E.S
Posted: Sat Feb 14, 2004 6:09 pm
EXPERIENCES AT ST. VEDAST (now St. James) AND THE S.E.S
AGED 8 - 11 (1975 -78)
Memories of my first school were very happy and free. There was space to
play. Teachers were friendly. I had many friends. I was always top of the
class, and one of the best readers. There was a good balance of sport and
academic work.
My parents informed me when I was in the second year of junior school that I
would be leaving. Although it happened nearly thirty years ago, I remember
it as if it were yesterday. I had to stick my hand up in class when asked
who would be leaving. Everyone was sad and shocked, including me.
I was eight years old when I arrived on my first day at St. Vedast. My first
impression of the school was that it was cold and unwelcoming. I was one of
fifty boys at the start of the new school. We were the guinea pigs in an
experiment of untried and untested ideas. The majority of teachers had
little experience and no qualifications to teach young children.
One early memory related to circuit-training, commencing at 7.30am. We
were taken out by Mr. Barber and Mr. Southwell to a gravelled area, and
made to do press-ups on our bare fists until they bled, and then we had to
continue doing them on the base of the palms until they too bled. These
sadistic "sports-masters" would devise ways of "toughening us up". We would
see them in their macho stance devising the next form of torture, and it was
obvious to us that this was a source of some peculiar pleasure to them. They
made us take off our shoes and socks so they could see who had arched feet
and who had flat feet. The "flat-footers", of whom I was one, were ridiculed
and made to feel inferior.
We were given five minutes to break sweat when doing squat thrusts. Those
unfortunates who did not sweat easily were given a stroke with the heavy
climbing rope on the bare buttocks and, after 10 minutes, another and after
15 minutes another. I was fortunate, I broke sweat relatively easily. My
brother was not so lucky, and he finished up with three heavy weals on his
backside.
We had cadet weekends away at one of the school country houses. In
mid-winter we rose at 5am. It was pitch dark outside and freezing cold. Mr.
Barber and Mr. Southwell were warm and snug in their tracksuits. We wore
thin little T-shirts and shorts and we were instructed to do a cross-country
run. I happen to suffer from Nyctolopia (night-blindness). I kept running
into trees and goal posts, at full tilt. I tried to tell them, but was told
to shut-up, stop being a weakling (one of their favourite words), and get on
with it. I fell into puddles and got completely drenched. On occasions it
was so cold some of us suffered with chilblains. It was a terrifying
experience. It was in every way like being in the army, the difference being
we weren?t grown men who have chosen that way of life and have had medical
approval. That same winter I contracted an ear infection but was forbidden
from wearing a balaclava to keep the ear warm. This resulted in the
infection spreading into the right side of my face where I developed Bels
Palsy, and partial nerve damage.
The next day we were put in pairs and given a compass and an ordinance
survey map. We were taken to a point several miles away and left there to
find our own way back. There had been torrential rain over the previous days
and the fields were like huge lakes. We did reasonably well for about an
hour but then realised we did not know where we were. We were at the edge of
a field that was completely flooded. It was evident that the only way back
was to traverse this field. We stepped tentatively into it. At first it was
quite shallow but it got deeper, and before long the water was up to our
waists. The only way to the other side was to cling to the just visible
barbed wire fence and try to pull ourselves along it. The wind picked up and
the barbed wire began to sway backwards and forwards under our weight.
Meanwhile the water had become a current and was flowing strongly. I was
terrified that I would be swept away. I fell in a few times but just managed
to cling to the barbed wire. 1 don't know how long it look us to traverse
that field in freezing cold water, high winds and rain. Eventually we
reached the other side and we waded out onto a small country road, soaked to
the skin, shivering and blue with cold. Fortunately a local man in a pick-up
truck found us and brought us safely back to Waterperry. The teacher asked
us nothing of our experience. They just told us to go and change and come
back to start the next activity, and that was that.
One day one of my teachers, Mr Howell, during a morning break, accused me of
mixing the brown sugar with the white sugar. He spotted me near the scene of
the crime, and must have thought I was looking mischievous. He said "Come
here *****, and ushered me into a small room off one of the corridors. He
interrogated me as to why I had done this. I, of course, denied that I was
guilty because I was not. After ten minutes of insistence that I admit my
guilt, he tried to beat a confession out of me. He hit me with his open
hand, around the face and the head, about 10 or 15 times. I started to cry
out with pain, terror and a deep sense of injustice, but I would not admit
to something I had not done. My memory of this man is of a large,
overpowering and terrifying ogre.
This beating was sustained only a month after I had recovered from
concussion received as a result of a fall. It was a school that had few
recreational facilities and no grounds. During our short breaks between
classes or moving through the building we would often slide down the
banisters. On one occasion I must have leaned over too far. I lost my
balance and grip on the banister and fell down the stairwell two flights
onto the hard concrete base. I was severely bruised and carried unconscious
to the sick area. My mother was called to take me home. I was quite relieved
that this meant several days away.
There were regular almost ritualistic beatings for petty misdemeanours with
either the cane or plimsol in front of the whole class. To witness my
friends and classmates being beaten was certainly disturbing and perhaps
subtly instilled voyeuristic tendencies. For the recipient it was a
degrading and humiliating experience. On one occasion the teacher beat me in
front of the class, he had caught me throwing a paper aeroplane across the
classroom. He ordered me to the front of the class and took a training shoe
out of the cupboard. He told me to bend over to receive six of the best. He
delivered the blows with all his might. The pain was extreme. I could see no
relationship between the punishment and the crime. I remember another one of
my classmates, D.L. being hit so hard around the head that his eardrum was
broken. Whilst another received regular humiliation at morning assemblies by
the singing teacher, Mr. Russell, in front of the entire school. D.S
unfortunately happened to be tone deaf, but Mr. Russell of course would not
accept this. He forced him to repeatedly try to sing certain notes in tune
even though it was painfully obvious to everyone else that D.S was simply
incapable of obliging. Another one of his punishments for "insubordination"
was being put naked into an ice-cold bath, and being made to scrub himself
in front of the teacher with a large floor-brush.
Teachers were never role models to us. We could not admire or respect them,
instead just live in constant trepidation of them. I later discovered that
none of them were actually formally qualified to teach anything other than
their brainwashed Vedic and Gurdjieff philosophies. The curriculum contained
subjects such as Sanskrit, Ancient Greek, Calligraphy and The Vedic
Scriptures, which were all tied into their larger cult-like S.E.S
organisation. In art classes we were always made to draw by Mr.Barber, as
photographically as possible. Any attempt at individual style or creativity
was immediately stamped out. Indeed, any of us with a more individual or
artistic streak would naturally rebel against such a regime, so those
children were clamped down on even harder. Accordingly those 'good pupils'
more naturally inclined to conforming and towing the line, came through it
all relatively less damaged. It was as if they were trying to produce clones
of well-programmed robots just like they had done with their parents and
other adults.
It was not until years after I had escaped that I came to realise this
organization bore all the relevant hallmarks of a religious cult. For
example, we were forced to attend weekly evening 'philosophy' lectures after
school with all the adult members of the cult. They made us sit in the
lecture room in the front row. One's day had already lasted from 7.30am to
5.30pm, and during the period before the evening class we did our prep and
had something to eat, which was never a hot meal. (In fact there was never a
hot meal in my entire 3 years spent there). By this time I was very tired,
then for the next two and a half hours, with a short break, we were forced
to sit still with our backs up straight, and listen to a lecture on ancient
Vedic scriptures (which is not how these courses were and I think still are
advertised on the London Underground and in newspapers). The chairs were
designed for adults, not children. Our feet were left to dangle in mid-air.
As a result, over the course of the lecture, it became excruciatingly
uncomfortable because when one's feet are not supported it affects the blood
circulation. The combination of this plus total fatigue from the arduous
day, and the fact that we had no comprehension of the subject matter (the
lectures being geared to adults), resulted in boredom and discomfort beyond
belief. Naturally we would begin to nod off. This was always followed by a
short sharp dig in the ribs by one the adults. It was a tortuous evening,
the prospect of which I dreaded every week.
At about the age of eleven, after three years of what seemed like a nightmare existence, I managed to draw on hidden reserves of courage and decided, almost overnight, that I had had enough. Both my parents had also been indoctrinated into the S.E.S. This meant that I was so scared of telling my father of my decision to his face that I had to write him a letter, saying that I refused to go back to that place again and that the only way to make me was to literally drag me there, and if I was to stay there he would have to tie me to the chairs to prevent me from running away. My parents were rarely at home due to all their various SES commitments, therefore all five children were virtually raised by a succession of ever-changing young and often inexperienced aupairs, naturally resulting in even further feelings of instability and insecurity.
There were times when it seemed that there was simply no escape from this nightmare and I started to feel quite suicidal. My mind began to completely blank out or shut down whenever I was in a stressful situation as a kind of self-protection process, and so as not to endure further fearful situations. Aged 12 I suffered a nervous breakdown, this was followed by a marked personality transformation. Once an extroverted, confident, boisterous, popular child, I gradually withdrew into myself, lost all my confidence and became shy, introverted and isolated. Strong feelings of insecurity developed into a full-blown anxiety disorder (of which I am still battling to deal with twenty-five years down the line). Eventually, by the age of sixteen it got to the stage that I could no longer study. For the next six months I tried a change from the public school I was then attending, to a college of further education, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that too much damage had already been done and so my education had to be abandoned.
These are just a few unexaggerated examples of the experiences that were daily occurrences for me and my peers at St. Vedast. From an adult perspective I can now see that it was not just myself that was degraded and stripped of my dignity but also the adults who inflicted the abuse. Perhaps the development of OCD & PTSD was my subconscious mind's way of taking back control over my thoughts and actions, which had been hijacked by these perverted child-abusers. This evil and corrupt sect violated the basic human rights of individual freedom, an environment to develop one's own dignity and self-respect, and the God-given right to a happy and joyous childhood.
Matthew
AGED 8 - 11 (1975 -78)
Memories of my first school were very happy and free. There was space to
play. Teachers were friendly. I had many friends. I was always top of the
class, and one of the best readers. There was a good balance of sport and
academic work.
My parents informed me when I was in the second year of junior school that I
would be leaving. Although it happened nearly thirty years ago, I remember
it as if it were yesterday. I had to stick my hand up in class when asked
who would be leaving. Everyone was sad and shocked, including me.
I was eight years old when I arrived on my first day at St. Vedast. My first
impression of the school was that it was cold and unwelcoming. I was one of
fifty boys at the start of the new school. We were the guinea pigs in an
experiment of untried and untested ideas. The majority of teachers had
little experience and no qualifications to teach young children.
One early memory related to circuit-training, commencing at 7.30am. We
were taken out by Mr. Barber and Mr. Southwell to a gravelled area, and
made to do press-ups on our bare fists until they bled, and then we had to
continue doing them on the base of the palms until they too bled. These
sadistic "sports-masters" would devise ways of "toughening us up". We would
see them in their macho stance devising the next form of torture, and it was
obvious to us that this was a source of some peculiar pleasure to them. They
made us take off our shoes and socks so they could see who had arched feet
and who had flat feet. The "flat-footers", of whom I was one, were ridiculed
and made to feel inferior.
We were given five minutes to break sweat when doing squat thrusts. Those
unfortunates who did not sweat easily were given a stroke with the heavy
climbing rope on the bare buttocks and, after 10 minutes, another and after
15 minutes another. I was fortunate, I broke sweat relatively easily. My
brother was not so lucky, and he finished up with three heavy weals on his
backside.
We had cadet weekends away at one of the school country houses. In
mid-winter we rose at 5am. It was pitch dark outside and freezing cold. Mr.
Barber and Mr. Southwell were warm and snug in their tracksuits. We wore
thin little T-shirts and shorts and we were instructed to do a cross-country
run. I happen to suffer from Nyctolopia (night-blindness). I kept running
into trees and goal posts, at full tilt. I tried to tell them, but was told
to shut-up, stop being a weakling (one of their favourite words), and get on
with it. I fell into puddles and got completely drenched. On occasions it
was so cold some of us suffered with chilblains. It was a terrifying
experience. It was in every way like being in the army, the difference being
we weren?t grown men who have chosen that way of life and have had medical
approval. That same winter I contracted an ear infection but was forbidden
from wearing a balaclava to keep the ear warm. This resulted in the
infection spreading into the right side of my face where I developed Bels
Palsy, and partial nerve damage.
The next day we were put in pairs and given a compass and an ordinance
survey map. We were taken to a point several miles away and left there to
find our own way back. There had been torrential rain over the previous days
and the fields were like huge lakes. We did reasonably well for about an
hour but then realised we did not know where we were. We were at the edge of
a field that was completely flooded. It was evident that the only way back
was to traverse this field. We stepped tentatively into it. At first it was
quite shallow but it got deeper, and before long the water was up to our
waists. The only way to the other side was to cling to the just visible
barbed wire fence and try to pull ourselves along it. The wind picked up and
the barbed wire began to sway backwards and forwards under our weight.
Meanwhile the water had become a current and was flowing strongly. I was
terrified that I would be swept away. I fell in a few times but just managed
to cling to the barbed wire. 1 don't know how long it look us to traverse
that field in freezing cold water, high winds and rain. Eventually we
reached the other side and we waded out onto a small country road, soaked to
the skin, shivering and blue with cold. Fortunately a local man in a pick-up
truck found us and brought us safely back to Waterperry. The teacher asked
us nothing of our experience. They just told us to go and change and come
back to start the next activity, and that was that.
One day one of my teachers, Mr Howell, during a morning break, accused me of
mixing the brown sugar with the white sugar. He spotted me near the scene of
the crime, and must have thought I was looking mischievous. He said "Come
here *****, and ushered me into a small room off one of the corridors. He
interrogated me as to why I had done this. I, of course, denied that I was
guilty because I was not. After ten minutes of insistence that I admit my
guilt, he tried to beat a confession out of me. He hit me with his open
hand, around the face and the head, about 10 or 15 times. I started to cry
out with pain, terror and a deep sense of injustice, but I would not admit
to something I had not done. My memory of this man is of a large,
overpowering and terrifying ogre.
This beating was sustained only a month after I had recovered from
concussion received as a result of a fall. It was a school that had few
recreational facilities and no grounds. During our short breaks between
classes or moving through the building we would often slide down the
banisters. On one occasion I must have leaned over too far. I lost my
balance and grip on the banister and fell down the stairwell two flights
onto the hard concrete base. I was severely bruised and carried unconscious
to the sick area. My mother was called to take me home. I was quite relieved
that this meant several days away.
There were regular almost ritualistic beatings for petty misdemeanours with
either the cane or plimsol in front of the whole class. To witness my
friends and classmates being beaten was certainly disturbing and perhaps
subtly instilled voyeuristic tendencies. For the recipient it was a
degrading and humiliating experience. On one occasion the teacher beat me in
front of the class, he had caught me throwing a paper aeroplane across the
classroom. He ordered me to the front of the class and took a training shoe
out of the cupboard. He told me to bend over to receive six of the best. He
delivered the blows with all his might. The pain was extreme. I could see no
relationship between the punishment and the crime. I remember another one of
my classmates, D.L. being hit so hard around the head that his eardrum was
broken. Whilst another received regular humiliation at morning assemblies by
the singing teacher, Mr. Russell, in front of the entire school. D.S
unfortunately happened to be tone deaf, but Mr. Russell of course would not
accept this. He forced him to repeatedly try to sing certain notes in tune
even though it was painfully obvious to everyone else that D.S was simply
incapable of obliging. Another one of his punishments for "insubordination"
was being put naked into an ice-cold bath, and being made to scrub himself
in front of the teacher with a large floor-brush.
Teachers were never role models to us. We could not admire or respect them,
instead just live in constant trepidation of them. I later discovered that
none of them were actually formally qualified to teach anything other than
their brainwashed Vedic and Gurdjieff philosophies. The curriculum contained
subjects such as Sanskrit, Ancient Greek, Calligraphy and The Vedic
Scriptures, which were all tied into their larger cult-like S.E.S
organisation. In art classes we were always made to draw by Mr.Barber, as
photographically as possible. Any attempt at individual style or creativity
was immediately stamped out. Indeed, any of us with a more individual or
artistic streak would naturally rebel against such a regime, so those
children were clamped down on even harder. Accordingly those 'good pupils'
more naturally inclined to conforming and towing the line, came through it
all relatively less damaged. It was as if they were trying to produce clones
of well-programmed robots just like they had done with their parents and
other adults.
It was not until years after I had escaped that I came to realise this
organization bore all the relevant hallmarks of a religious cult. For
example, we were forced to attend weekly evening 'philosophy' lectures after
school with all the adult members of the cult. They made us sit in the
lecture room in the front row. One's day had already lasted from 7.30am to
5.30pm, and during the period before the evening class we did our prep and
had something to eat, which was never a hot meal. (In fact there was never a
hot meal in my entire 3 years spent there). By this time I was very tired,
then for the next two and a half hours, with a short break, we were forced
to sit still with our backs up straight, and listen to a lecture on ancient
Vedic scriptures (which is not how these courses were and I think still are
advertised on the London Underground and in newspapers). The chairs were
designed for adults, not children. Our feet were left to dangle in mid-air.
As a result, over the course of the lecture, it became excruciatingly
uncomfortable because when one's feet are not supported it affects the blood
circulation. The combination of this plus total fatigue from the arduous
day, and the fact that we had no comprehension of the subject matter (the
lectures being geared to adults), resulted in boredom and discomfort beyond
belief. Naturally we would begin to nod off. This was always followed by a
short sharp dig in the ribs by one the adults. It was a tortuous evening,
the prospect of which I dreaded every week.
At about the age of eleven, after three years of what seemed like a nightmare existence, I managed to draw on hidden reserves of courage and decided, almost overnight, that I had had enough. Both my parents had also been indoctrinated into the S.E.S. This meant that I was so scared of telling my father of my decision to his face that I had to write him a letter, saying that I refused to go back to that place again and that the only way to make me was to literally drag me there, and if I was to stay there he would have to tie me to the chairs to prevent me from running away. My parents were rarely at home due to all their various SES commitments, therefore all five children were virtually raised by a succession of ever-changing young and often inexperienced aupairs, naturally resulting in even further feelings of instability and insecurity.
There were times when it seemed that there was simply no escape from this nightmare and I started to feel quite suicidal. My mind began to completely blank out or shut down whenever I was in a stressful situation as a kind of self-protection process, and so as not to endure further fearful situations. Aged 12 I suffered a nervous breakdown, this was followed by a marked personality transformation. Once an extroverted, confident, boisterous, popular child, I gradually withdrew into myself, lost all my confidence and became shy, introverted and isolated. Strong feelings of insecurity developed into a full-blown anxiety disorder (of which I am still battling to deal with twenty-five years down the line). Eventually, by the age of sixteen it got to the stage that I could no longer study. For the next six months I tried a change from the public school I was then attending, to a college of further education, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that too much damage had already been done and so my education had to be abandoned.
These are just a few unexaggerated examples of the experiences that were daily occurrences for me and my peers at St. Vedast. From an adult perspective I can now see that it was not just myself that was degraded and stripped of my dignity but also the adults who inflicted the abuse. Perhaps the development of OCD & PTSD was my subconscious mind's way of taking back control over my thoughts and actions, which had been hijacked by these perverted child-abusers. This evil and corrupt sect violated the basic human rights of individual freedom, an environment to develop one's own dignity and self-respect, and the God-given right to a happy and joyous childhood.
Matthew