Being George Part two

‘Hey you’ve got to hide your love away,’ sang The Beatles although I didn’t become aware of this poignant lyric driven song until the Peterhead Years (1968-1971). Being George meant that I wasn’t in love or anything near at that point in my life. I just dreamt. I wished that I’d been the one who had written that song.
In the real plane of existence I was fighting to survive in the juvenile playground of Peterhead’s junior educational facility branded: The North School. What a dire dreary place it was. Strangely enough when I revisited the so - called junior school nearly thirty years after my sunshine exit(my RAF dad had got the posting of a life time, a three year stint in Cyprus; oh lucky me), the Victorian building looked so small. I stood aghast in what used to be the main assembly room, where I would be forced to recite The Lord’s Prayer. Being George, even in my tender years I had a strong belief in myself to know what was right and what was wrong. Respect has to be earned by those who feel the need to have it and not forced upon those less fortunate in wealth or birth. I will only bow my head to another human under duress. As for God and religion, man has been able to spoil the whole concept and turn it into one of control and power. The barbarism, brutality and mindless torture perpetrated by so –called men and women of God that are etched with blood in the annuals of human history, brings me to tears. I hope that God makes those who make use of His name for their own Earthly gain pay with eternal damnation.
It was in my existence in this harsh Scottish school that I endured the frightening character slaying of bullying. There I was a four – eyed tunnel nostril, short legged seven year young school lad who was looking forward to my pre 11+ school years. Little did I know that some monstrous moveable mountain had already marked me out as fresh meat. He made my first term a complete and utter misery. Every time the bell would go for break time, he would be waiting for me. I’d have a whack round the head, pocket money pinched, and amongst other things he would grab my school tie and pull it tight. You may ask why didn’t I tell a teacher or my older brother Robert. Firstly instinct told me that grassing to a teacher would make it worse for me in the long run. Secondly, I didn’t want Robert to get hurt- although Robert being three years older than me probably would have sorted ‘it’ out. I call the bully ‘it’ because well, why shouldn’t I?
Being George means that you have a rather long fuse and have a long endurance span. I would probably make a good spy who is under torture. However that said, once I break, I break! Half way through my second term I had had enough of ‘it.’ Oh I can still see the surprise in the monsters face when as he approached me with those fat fingers ready to grab my throat. Its ears rang red with my verbal assault of threats and explicates and the barrage of punches into its stomach doubled it so. Let’s just say, I never saw such a monster again. Little did I know that I’d be a victim of bullying again, six years later!

Being George in Peterhead did have its many good points. The town has a fairly big harbour, well to me it did anyway, and many a time I would go and do some fishing there. I can see myself in my grey shorts with my legs dangling, holding a make shift fishing rod which amounted to a small but longish tree branch with a long string tied to it. At the end of the string I must have had a worm or something. As I write, I cannot remember ever catching anything but a cold!
There was also our pet dog, Tina. Tina was a black Labrador who we kids spoilt but loved. It was such an awfully sad day when our dad had to take Tina away because she couldn’t come to Cyprus with us.
Oh I have just seen myself sat on the large RAF transportation bus. I’m looking out of the window and seeing, what was my home for those past three years, 9Cattle Drive disappear into my past forever. Goodbye my best friend William Young and your one sided toast. Goodbye Mr Whippy Ice Cream, Mackintosh toffee and snow. Goodbye cold bitter mornings and the greyness of Scotland and The North School. Hello sunshine and all round summer. Hello Cyprus!