Free One Chance by Paul Potts

a capital offence.
    Many lunchtimes were punctuated by “mild” bullying—being thumped, kicked, and ridiculed—but often the bullying was very serious indeed. On one occasion, one of the unpleasant girls picked up a brick and threw it at my head, and I was only just able to dodge it. The boys found this hilarious, and gave the brick back to her so she could throw it again. She duly obliged, although with less accuracy this time, and I was able to escape by running away.
    There were times when the attacks were truly malicious. On one occasion, one of the stronger boys grabbed me from behind, put me in a double armlock, and tried to push me through the science classroom windows. I managed to pull away, but not without gashing the back of my head on the corner of the open window. The four-inch cut required hospital treatment and several stitches.
    Of course, I wasn’t stupid enough to tell the teachers or my parents what actually happened. I had been warned of the consequences that would befall me if I did. I told the teachers I had been walking by the open window without looking and caught my head. All the time, the bully stood behind me acting like a concerned bystander. He was of course making sure I didn’t tell the truth.
    Some lunchtimes, I would find refuge in the music room. Wednesdays were an escape because that was the first school choir rehearsal of the week, but otherwise the music rooms were out of bounds. Rehearsals were also held after school on Fridays. I didmanage to get a tacit agreement that I could be there from the head of the music department, Mr. Weaver, and from some of the girls who were choir monitors, and who became good friends of mine. This meant I could avoid the playground more often.
    That aside, I never felt that the support from the teaching staff at Redcliffe was sufficient. Towards the end of my school career, the lack of support was more obvious. Once while I was being kicked in the back and my possessions thrown around, the teacher simply told me to take better care of my books, without a word to the boys who were throwing them.
    This time, I did try to speak to the head of sixth form about the treatment I was getting. As usual, I was told to ignore it and not to react. In the end, speaking to the teachers about it led to a note on my locker saying that fifty students would wait for me at the end of the day, and I’d be in a coffin after they finished what they planned. I avoided school for two weeks. I didn’t speak to my parents about the bullying or how it made me feel. This made me feel all the more alone, but I believed telling them meant I was admitting I was worthless. By not talking to anybody about it, neither my parents nor any other member of my family, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.
    Sitting back and taking the physical and mental bullying was to have a massive effect on me. I gave up on my personal appearance, which simply made the bullying worse. But I couldn’t see any point whatsoever in caring about how I looked, because I knew it wouldn’t make a difference in how I was treated. In fact, absorbing all the abuse made me feel like I didn’t matter.
    I wanted to end it all, but knew from primary school when I tried to fall down the stairs that I didn’t have the nerve to gothrough with it. I was trapped in a world I didn’t want to be part of—and there was worse to come.
    On Tuesday and Friday evenings from the age of twelve, I went to Sea Cadets. This was like a junior version of the Royal Navy. My attendance resulted from our family’s love of Portsmouth and our frequent trips to the Navy Days at Portsmouth Naval Base. John and Tony also attended, although Tony didn’t appreciate Able Seaman Potts being in charge of his division.
    We were based at Hotwells at TS Adventure , which was close to Cumberland Basin, the main entrance to Bristol Docks. It was what the navy calls a “stone frigate”;