Not about Epstein or oil; it’s about…

How does anybody fall for this creep??

Featured book – Goofin’ Pt. 10

Hat, Bag and I decided to go camping in Brighton. We piled everything into the Herbert-mobile and set off. We only got stopped three times on the way down!

            We go a field a set up camp. There were two other tents in the field so when we had got things sorted we set off to introduce ourselves and be friendly. Tent number 1 contained three young lads about our age. They seemed a little apprehensive at the sight of three hairy individuals. Their camp was very neat and tidy and the three of them were equally well manicured with longish, layered hair and corduroy.

            “How’s it hangin’, man?” Bag asked as he poked into the tent.

            “Oh, actually, O.K.” one of them replied in a rather cultured accent as they assiduously set about involving themselves in a variety of tasks and doing their best to ignore us.

            We hung around a few minutes and got the distinct impression that we weren’t exactly welcome and left.

            Camp number 2 was a bit different. There were three girls who seemed a bit friendlier. They invited us for tea and put steaming mugs of coffee in our hands. This was more like it.

We built a big campfire and settled around and one thing led to another. They had a big tent so we moved in.

The Public School tossers, as we quickly came to call the occupants of tent number 1, tossers for short, sat around their own campfire and cast anxious looks our way. We ate beans, as is mandatory when camping, spit-roasted sausages on sticks and charred marshmallows. We didn’t have Jack with us but did passable impressions of his outrageous guffawing. Then we broke out some beers, rolled a few jays and rounded off the evening, well maybe the middle hours of the night, by driving around and around tent number 1. We didn’t intend to get so loud but things got a bit out of hand and what with the girls laughing so much and hanging out of the windows of our Hertbertmobile it all got a bit riotous. Eventually we turned in for the night and settled down with the girls. That too all out a bit out of hand, we swapped around a few times, and when the sun came up none of us had got any sleep and we were all knackered. So we finally called it a day and snuggled down our sleeping bag, or at least into the girls’ sleeping bags, which were a bit cramped with two in but fine with us — and them. Seemingly, the noises of our orgying, tents not being exactly soundproof, had not proved conducive to the well being of fellow campers. When we finally emerged into the bright light of late afternoon there were only two tents in the field.

That evening we took off for the legendary ‘Shoreline Club’ – a psychedelic dungeon notorious for its frequent drug busts and the degeneracy of the clientele – sounded just our sort of place. It was all a bit of a disappointment seemingly long past its best. The place was half empty and you found yourself wandering around this dimly lit series of rooms with coloured lights, ultra-violet and dangly stuff to a muffled background of obscure wailing sounds and pseudo-psychedelic noises. There were posters and hand painted murals that were supposed to give it the hippy touch. When you’d experienced the real thing with Pink Floyds lightshows and weirdness or Jefferson Airplane’s acid show I all seemed a bit lame and pretentious.

We wandered about for an hour or so mingling with the bored clientele who seemed nowhere near degenerate enough, dancing with the girls, and trying to avoid the rather heavy looking bouncers who seemed to be homing in on us, then Hat got us thrown out. It was all a bit of a misunderstanding really. He’d found this door with a big orange sign saying ‘WAY OUT’ and wanted to see where it led. He’d pulled at the handle and it wouldn’t open so he’d given it a few big yanks and pulled the handle off. A bouncer had seen him, grabbed him and rounded us up and chucked the lot of us out. We were lucky not to collect a few bruises from the look of them. Seemingly the sign was part of the ambience and necessary parlance for a ‘hippy’ experience, man. It wasn’t an exit at all. Still it was an experience.

Beefheart was playing the Toby Jug so that was a definite. I hustled round to get the crew together and organised with Allie. Jack took Jan and she seemed real nice and not at all the picture of the nympho Jack had painted for me. She was a real sweetie. We got a car-full and set off. The others were meeting us there.

The atmosphere was tense with expectation. This was Beefheart. The weirdest band in the whole dam universe! How could they live up to this?

They did.

The Magic Band ambled on stage and plugged in grinning round at us. We were all in our weirdest gear but they outweirded us. Our hair was long but theirs was longer. Zoot’s hair was down to his arse and he was six feet four! With their scarves, jackets, dark glasses, robes, weird hats and toasters. They were the freakiest set of individuals any of us had ever seen. But there was no Captain in sight.

Allie and I danced like fuck to the pounding beat and the whole place rocked. Right from Drumbo’s first beats and Rockette Morton’s bass. Then Zoot Horn Rollo and Alex Snouffer St Claire came in trading slide riffs and it soared and wailed and pounded at your soul. It grabbed your heart and squeezed it. The rhythms danced through your cells and pulled your skeleton all over the place. The floor heaved. The walls pulsated. Psychedelic blues. Acid Africa. Who gave a fuck what it was. No one had ever made a sound like this before.

Alex started a riff and Zoot picked it up, brittle, jagged and extraordinary. Rockette’s bass line leapt here and there and Drumbo held in together with his extraordinary pounding. It weaved and roared. Then the Captain strode on in his top-hat and long fur trimmed coat. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any louder his voice roared over the top of it like a tidal wave of sound and we drowned in his words. We knew ‘em backwards. Poetry. Roaring, wailing poetry. It soared high and roared low and we raged.

What a band!

We had to eat. It didn’t take much. We were frugal and our flat was cheap. Allie had a job as an auxiliary nurse at the hospital a couple of nights a week. I worked the bakery for a twelve-hour night shift every Friday night. It was OK. I had to put my hair up in a snood. That was a sight!

For a long while I could not figure out how everyone got to get through the night without flaking out but then someone introduced me to these little white pills and amphetamine made the hours soar by.

I worked with this student guy called Mike. His ambition in life seemed to be to grow his hair as long as possible. He was so paranoid about split ends that he hardly ever washed it and never combed or brushed it. He just used to run his fingers through it to get the knots out. He’d managed to get it down to his arse and was really proud of it.

We’d spend the tea breaks and midnight meal hour pouring over IT and Oz and discussing the relative merit of the Doors, Country Joe an the Fish, The Mothers of Invention, Love, Moby Grape and Pink Floyd. The stringent hygiene meant that you couldn’t slip off for a craft jay. The only place to smoke was the canteen and that was a little too public.

Every week he’d drop some acid and head for London to the UFO, Middle Earth or The Roundhouse. It was him that got me thinking about moving up to London. There was so much more happening. You could taste the vibes as he talked about it.

The bakery was a pretty straight place. Apart from Mike and myself there weren’t a lot of freaks around. We did get friendly with a few of the Jamaican guys though, as they were pretty much into ghanga. Henry was a particularly big guy. He was six foot seven, must have weighed eighteen stone and powerful with it. He towered over me and could have crushed you with a sweep of his enormous hand. Fortunately he was very mild mannered and was always chuckling. His whole face lit up when he saw you. He spoke in a hushed whisper. He was the epitome of a gentle giant. I got along with him great and he sort of adopted me and looked out for me.

I was grateful of this one day when I accidentally put the prongs of the forklift truck I was driving through the side of one of the Lorries. The drivers are very proud of their Lorries and take a great deal of time tarting them up and looking after them. Putting holes in the side of one did not exactly enamour you to the driver. This particular driver was quite large and he was explaining this to me while holding me up by the collar of my jacket and pinning me against the side of the van. He pushed his face into mine and shouted. His fist was poised to emphasise the point by connecting with various parts of my facial features with a view to a serious rearrangement. Just then a big black fist engulfed his fist and he was spun round. The other fist gathered together the clothing at the front of his chest and effortlessly lifted him up off the floor.

“What’s going on here?” he whispered. “What are you thinking of doing to my little friend here?”

The big driver stared back at him with bulging eyes. He kicked and struggled but Henry just calmly held him up there at arm’s length until he stopped. Then he gently placed him on the floor.

“Run along now, my friend. And no more of this silliness.”

Drugs – What a mess!!

Long ago we didn’t really have a drug problem (apart from alcohol and tobacco). You could buy cocaine and cannabis from the chemist. Not many did (apart from Queen Victoria). The few heroin addicts were looked down on and were prescribed their fix from the doctor – that was cheap, clean and manageable.

A small minority of artists, writers and bohemians experimented. As the number of this ‘alternative’ culture began to grow in the 50s and 60s the establishment began to panic. Driven by the US puritanical scaremongering there was a war on drugs coupled with a crazy propaganda campaign that was widely seen as farcical. Anything that caused pleasure was treated with suspicion – sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.

Far from solving ‘the problem’ this draconian campaign succeeded in criminalising young people, creating a divide and rebellion, fuelling an underground movement and putting huge amounts of money and power into the hands of unscrupulous criminals and pushers.

Many more people began using drugs. Harder drugs became more prevalent. Prisons became clogged with users. Gangs flourished.

It was a mess.

The war on drugs promoted drugs and failed miserably.

Instead of treating drugs scientifically and objectively as a health issue the propaganda created derision and the criminalisation alienated the young.

One of the other effects of this was the effect on research.

Drugs were all considered BAD!! Research came to a halt. Whereby in the 1960s there was much research starting up about the positive effects of psychedelic drugs such as cannabis, LSD and magic mushrooms this came to an abrupt halt. The government did not want to admit that there might be any positive effects of drugs.

Only recently, with the final admission (after 50 disastrous years) that the war on drugs has massively failed, and the relaxing of the draconian policies has real research started up!

Maybe we are moving to a more sensible policy?

This is an article supplied by John Peachey concerning possible positive effects of magic mushrooms:

Magic mushrooms? For depression and anxiety?

Yep— it’s a thing. And a sign that times are really changing!

Though they’ve been an illegal substance for multiple decades, psilocybin mushrooms— the scientific name for these mood- and consciousness-altering fungi— have been the intense focus of research for quite some time.

And it’s all in their name.

Psilocybin is what the compound in these mushrooms responsible for its “psychedelic” effects is called.

Far from needing to go on any sort of “mushroom trip,” scientists have instead been studying the effects psilocybin has on the brain of people who take it only in tiny, tiny doses (sometimes called “microdosing”).

Without having to become inebriated, high, or go through a psychotropic experience, the results of these studies show that small doses do astounding things.

In one evaluation of almost 100 people, there was a reported noticeable change in mood…
…including relieved depression, stress, and anxiety!

That said, the research and science on using psilocybin like this is still fairly fresh.

The mushroom is also still illegal in many countries, and this is certainly not a call of action to take it and start experimenting on your own.

Nevertheless, psilocybin continues to show very strong promise in the realm of depression…

…and especially for treatment-resistant depression that does not respond to drugs, therapy, or other measures.

Not only does this offer some promise for those hopelessly fighting against major depressive disorder and other depression-related illnesses…

…the very latest research also shows psilocybin could be as powerful as pharmaceutical antidepressants and have far fewer to no side effects.

Even in high doses (like in this study talked about in the Guardian), psilocybin was found to be just as, if not more, effective than the common pharmaceutical antidepressant Lexapro, and especially in combination with guided therapy!

This is an incredible breakthrough in the mental health world.

But how is this possible with something that for so long has been considered a ‘dangerous’ street drug?

Among some who have studied and experimented with it, there are claims that the “psychedelic” aspect (helped along with guided therapy) can give people meaningful insight into their depression and their lives.

But on a more neurochemical level (especially when taken in small doses), it’s more notable that psilocybin has a literal and physical effect on serotonin receptors in our brains…

…which are responsible for feelings of well-being, and are also the target of pharmaceutical antidepressants, too.

There is yet one more realm in which psilocybin may have other depression treatments beat.

Research also shows that the mushroom can literallyhelp restructure the brain, fostering completely new and healthy neural pathways.

Effects like these can help people overcome painful memories and trauma associated with depression or anxiety, too.

Not to mention: psilocybin is completely and naturally derived, rather than created in a lab!

Keep in mind though that psilocybin is still nowhere near legal in many places.

Despite this, many people in the mental health, natural health, and psychology communities are keeping their ears to the ground…

…it may be only a matter of time until you could be getting a prescription.

To a healing future, 

Rob Herring
Director, The Need To GROW / Earth Conscious Life

P.S. If you’re interested in the brain-boosting properties of medicinal mushrooms, without the intensity of psychoactive components, Four Sigmatic is the best brand out there to incorporate the profound healing effects of mushrooms, while tasting incredible as an easy to make coffee drink. You can check them out here right now with up to 39% percent off.

Drugs – A view

The sooner we move out of this draconian war on drugs and starts treating it as a medical issue and not a criminal one the better.

Decriminalise.

Sell pure product.

Educate.

Take the money out of the criminals hands.

Deal with the casualties medically.

Take out the propaganda and political/moral nonsense and get a real picture.

Humans use drugs. Always have, always will.

Criminalising is not the answer.

There are better ways!!

The war on drugs has failed and has just created a far bigger problem.

Prohibition doesn’t work.

Propaganda is not believed.

We couldn’t have a bigger problem if we tried!

Criminalisation is putting lives at risk and fueling crime.

Poetry – Respect

Respect

Respect to die for

And die they do –

Living the high life.

A sneer,

A bullet,

A smack

And a knife.

Life is fast,

With a swagger.

And brief pleasure

Amid the strife.

Nothing can be perfect

When it comes down to respect.

Opher 16.5.2016

Respect

Young males with little reason to buy in to a system in which they have no status.

Uneducated and disenfranchised with no place.

Full of resentment and anger.

Relying on tribal grouping.

Drugs, guns and knives – plenty of attitude.

Girls and respect.

Living for the moment.

Fighting for their block.

Fighting for their lives.

Fighting for fun.

Twisted by life.

Where cruelty is endemic.

Where status is the game.

Where hardness is the currency.

Oph on Drugs!

A drug is a substance that has an effect on the body’s metabolism. We all take them everyday even if we don’t know it.

We use drugs for many reasons:

For Pain Relief

There’s a lot of this ranging from aspirin, ibuprofen, and paracetamol to opiates.

Opiates are highly addictive and dangerous but they have a use. Nobody need die in agony anymore.

For treating illness and disease

We have statins to reduce our cholesterol, blood pressure drugs and drugs to cure cancer. They have helped us live longer and healthier. They have cured us of many killer diseases.

For mental health

We have a range of drugs to reduce stress, anxiety and treat severe mental disorders.

For performance enhancement

Whether it be steroids to build up muscles, metabolic enhancers to provide more energy or brain enhancers to enable the brain to work better, there are a range of substances used and abused.

This produces all manner of controversy. Some people are so keen to win a race or pass an exam that they would go to any lengths. Do we want clean athletes competing against those using enhancers? Or do we want people gaining advantage over others by boosting their brain power for an examination? How do we ensure a level playing field?

For pleasure, leisure and social

There is no human society that has ever lived on this planet that has not used drugs for pleasure, leisure or as an aid to social situations. Different cultures use different drugs. Whether that be inviting one in for a cup of tea, sharing a pint, a spliff or a peace-pipe.

The drugs presently sanctioned by our western culture include sugar, caffeine, nicotine and alcohol. These are not really viewed as drugs at all. All have substantial health implications, are extremely addictive and are prone to abuse from excessive use. Indeed sugar, nicotine and alcohol are probably among the most dangerous drugs. They are responsible for cancers, obesity, strokes and heart disease. But hey – they are legal.

Other drugs from other cultures – such as cocaine, mescaline, psilocybin and marijuana are considered harmful and banned.

A whole range of other laboratory produced substances – such as ecstasy, LSD, Crystal Meth are also banned.

Spiritual exploration

Many societies or cults have used various psychotropic drugs for spiritual exploration. Drugs, such as mescaline, psilocybin, marijuana and magic mushrooms have a long history of use by shamen and holy men or in various spiritual ceremonies. They play with brain chemistry and alter perceptions. They are considered mind expanding and put us in connection with other dimensions or states of mind in which it is thought greater understanding can be ascertained.

My thoughts

All drugs have a risk. No drug is completely safe. People die from normal doses of aspirin.

Addiction is a terrible thing. It destroys lives.

All drugs can easily be overused and this becomes an abuse. Repeatedly using a drug to excess is dangerous, detrimental to health and socially corrosive.

Using a drug responsibly can be both pleasant, social and healthy – a social drink or spliff. They can relieve tension, cause pleasure and make for a healthy social life.

Using psychotropic drugs to explore one’s consciousness in a spiritual sense is a valid experience.

Some drugs, such as opiates, have no place outside of pain relief. They are simply too dangerous and addictive.

Banning drugs has merely placed them in the hands of unprincipled criminals who do not care about the purity of their product or the consequences. There are huge profits which have fuelled gangs and other criminal activity.

People using illegal drugs have no certainty about strength or purity and sometimes suffer severe health problems or even death because of impurities or variations in strength.

It is human nature to experiment.

Many illegal drugs have uses. Long-distance bomber crews used amphetamines in the war in order to stay awake and alert through the night. Troops stormed the beaches on amphetamine which kept them full of energy and fearless.

Banning drugs has made them more alluring to kids. They are attracted by the fact that the act of taking them is a form of rebellion. Whole drug cultures have grown up around drugs.

Kids no longer believe anything said to them about drugs because they consider it all lies and propaganda – and a lot of it has been.

The war on drugs has exacerbated the drug situation.

I believe all drugs should be legalised and their use treated as a health situation.

Instead of imprisoning users we should provide care to help them.

If drugs were available their quality and strength could be controlled.

It would take the profits out of the hands of criminals.

It would reduce the gang problem.

Over time I think the drug culture would reduce and the social damage lessen. It would lose its allure.

I think it is a human right to investigate their own consciousness and spirituality.

I think the banning of drugs, while allowing dangerous drugs such as alcohol and nicotine, is hypocritical.

I think that dealing with the education and health support would cost a fraction of criminalising and would not ostracise and criminalise a segment of young people.

Presently there is a whole industry of legal highs with untested drugs being churned out from dubious laboratories in China. This needs addressing.

I think legalisation would make our kids safer.

There are so many new advances in the production of drugs law enforcement can’t keep up.

I think it is time to legalise and think through the whole use of drugs. Criminalisation has not and will not work. The whole issue of drugs has become a political football and hypocritical puritans have been pulling the strings.

We need a thorough debate!! What do you think on the points I have raised??

Drugs, Caning and Sex – A Passion for Education – The Story of a Headteacher

This is another chapter from my book. It tells the inside story of teaching and Headship. It tells the story of how to become outstanding – the highs and lows.

Chapter 6 – PSHE and drugs

I was a young teacher in my second year of teaching. The current Headteacher Mr Walton had decided that the field should be out of bounds. The wet weather had created such muddy conditions that the classrooms and corridors were becoming caked with mud. He informed the staff that anyone walking on the grass would be caned. He was hoping this deterrent would solve the problem.

He hadn’t reckoned with Terry. He was a young student from the new comprehensive intake who had been a problem from the start and was no respecter of rules. Indeed it appeared that Terry regarded rules as a challenge. He earned the respect of his fellow students by flouting rules with blatant disdain.

Terry was the perennial thorn in the side of the school. He was loud, aggressive, rude and surly. He disrupted lessons, picked fights and openly defied everyone and everything.

I was walking down the corridor when I was asked by the Head to assist with the apprehension of young Terry. He had been brought to the Head for flagrantly walking on the grass and when he had ascertained his fate he had promptly got up and run away. This was not playing the game. The Head was used to Grammar School boys. They took their punishment like a man. They didn’t run away!

We went hunting for Terry.

Soon Terry was found. But Terry refused to come quietly and what followed is indelibly imprinted in my mind.

Two burly male teachers marched Terry down the corridor to the Head’s study. Terry was screaming and struggling. When he started kicking out at the two staff two other male staff grabbed his ankles and lifted him off the ground. He was carried headfirst, screaming and writhing along the corridor and he was manhandled into the study. I followed in the wake.

By this time the Head had become angry. His authority had been challenged. What originally was one stripe was now six. He intended to make an example of Terry.

The four male staff had to drag Terry to the desk and physically restrain him by all four limbs; each taking an ankle or wrist and tugging so that Terry was pinned across the desk like a frog awaiting dissection. All the while Terry continued to shriek and struggle to his utmost. He certainly had a florid vocabulary for a thirteen year old.

The Head retreated to the other side of the room and then ran, jumped in the air and brought the cane swishing through the air with all the force he could muster.

Terry screamed and went taut in some great spasm. Then he resumed his struggles in a futile desperate attempt to free himself from the four staff.

The Head repeated this five more times.

At the end of it they let Terry loose and he stood in the doorway with knotted fists and purple face swearing at the six of us.

Some say that caning does no harm. That it is a deterrent. The blood running down Terry’s legs from the split skin on his bum was not the harm. In my opinion the hatred and loathing in his mind were the injuries that would leave the everlasting scars. They wouldn’t heal.

As for deterrence – it was the same string of surly, defiant individuals who were paraded for beatings every week.

 

I’d never heard of PSE as it was then called. I was a biology teacher.

In the normal course of my lessons I came to the section on reproduction and as a natural part of the lesson opened up various discussions on sex and rounded it off with a lesson on contraception and sexually transmitted disease.

The lads seemed to appreciate it. Some of the questions were obviously geared to attempting to cause me embarrassment but when I fielded them honestly they realised that I wasn’t going to get phased by it. It was obvious to me that there was a huge level of ignorance and interest and a great need.

This was before the age of the internet, in a post-60s culture which still had vestiges of 1950s prim prudishness. Information and contraception were not easy to get hold of. Sex was not freely discussed. They were desperate for frank discussion and advice and very receptive.

I thought no more of it.

Mike my head of department, who wandered in and out of my lab while I was teaching, had noted that I was doing sex education with the lads.

‘Does the Head know you’re doing this?’ He asked.

‘No,’ I replied slightly baffled. Why should the Head know? It was only sex education. Most schools in the country were doing it.

‘I think you’d better check with him first.’

I went and checked. He said NO.

Introducing sex education was a major event. We had to get a majority of the staff in favour of such a controversial venture. He agreed to put it on the staff meeting agenda for discussion.

The staff meeting agenda went up and sure enough there it was at number 11.

We had our meeting and went through seven items.

‘Ah well’ I thought. ‘It will be featured next time.’

The next staff meeting came round and it was now number 14. Seemingly lots of really important issues had come up and required urgent attention.

The following staff meeting had fifteen items but sex education was not one of them.

I fumed.

I drew up a list of staff and went round to discuss sex education with all of them one by one. I even included both deputies. By the end of a week I had the agreement of every member of staff with only two abstentions, both of whom were catholics who abstained on religious grounds.

I went back to the Head and presented him with the fait accompli. I softened it by explaining that it was obvious that there wasn’t time to discuss it at staff meetings with all the pressing issues that had to be addressed. The crux of the matter was that the staff were almost unanimous.

He blustered.

It would need governors’ approval. I would have to take my case to the governing body.

I produced a presentation and amazingly won the approval of the governing body.

At my next meeting with the Head I may have inadvertently had a slight air of triumph.

That was soon put to rest.

The governors were only the first obstacle; the whole idea had to be put to parents. It was obvious from his attitude that he felt confident the parents would disapprove.

Unfazed I drafted a letter to parents with a reply slip and had it sent out.

Miraculously there were no objections and most gave their approval.

I once again returned to the Head’s study.

‘You know, Chris,’ he said thoughtfully, finally admitting defeat. ‘These lads are red blooded Englishmen. You can’t tell me that they can watch films of young girls masturbating without being affected.’

I sat there staring at him.

It was obvious that he had not read any of my information and had his own idea of what was involved in sex education. In his mind sex education equated with pornography. His mind had gone down the line that I would be showing pornographic films to the boys.

It had taken me a year and a half to get approval. I realised, in that moment, that a little bit more verbal explanation might have saved a lot of effort.

 

PSE (or PSHE, PSHCE, SPACE – whatever you want to call it) is the most important subject in the curriculum. It is not a subject at all. It is life.

PSHE should never be a subject that leads to an examination; that would demean it and prevent the freewheeling’, far-ranging potential that each lesson should have.

PSHE should always be taught in a room that is conducive to creating close relationship with students in an environment that promotes discussion and interaction.

PSHE is the most difficult subject to ‘teach’ and can only be successfully taught by teachers with the right sensitivities, skills and attitude. It is as specialist a subject as astrophysics. The vast majority of staff are entirely unsuited to teach PSHE.

As the most important subject in the curriculum it should be given pride of place. Time-tablers should start by putting the PSHE lessons in first, in prime times, early morning, and in suitable rooms. Then they can move on to the lesser subjects such as maths, music, French, science, English and the rest.

PSHE specialist staff should be carefully identified and fully trained.

If there are no suitable staff an urgent recruitment should take place.

Why do I think it is so important when most schools give it such short shrift and even students do not value it?

Most subjects deal with information and skills pertaining to specific interests and careers. PSHE deals with life and death. It is fundamental to how people live their lives, form relationships, involve themselves with the big issues and develop the skills, qualities and sensibilities to lead a fulfilled, productive life. It is real.

As a PSHE teacher I have dealt with health, cancer, death, heart disease, bereavement, relationships, divorce, work, reality, reasons for living, depression, suicide, purpose of life, spirituality, climatic issues, love, fascism, politics, diet, human behaviour, war, nuclear disaster, pollution, extinction, intelligence, cruelty, drugs, alcohol, smoking, friendships, parenthood, contraception, STDs, bear-baiting, racism, abortions, sexism, revision, mortgages, salaries and expenses, managing anger, pornography, female pornography, psychology and the reasons we humans do all the weird, vicious and wonderful things we do.

My lessons were based on tolerance, respect, empathy, responsibility, awe and wonder.

PSHE deals with the reality of life and helps people find their way to a meaningful existence, find harmony and balance and explore why we do the things we do in the hope we can do better.

PSHE helps mend broken people.

We are all damaged by life.

Many of our young people are scarred from bereavement, abuse, abandonment, divorce and horrid experiences. PSHE lets them know that they are not alone and helps guide them through the difficult stuff. It gives them succour and support.

Sadly I have witnessed PSHE taught by idiots who do not understand what they are doing.

I have seen it time-tabled for last lesson Friday. I have seen it reduced to the ‘worksheets of death’. I have seen it reduced to a series of instructions. I have seen it time-tabled in laboratories. I have seen it ‘bought in’ with a series of dire outside ‘experts’ who have no relationship with the students.

PSHE should be illuminating.

It is the heart of the school.

As a PSHE teacher you don’t know what is going to happen. You fly by the seat of your pants. You get kids in a circle to introduce a topic. It can veer off in any direction – from raising a family to aging and dying – from revision to the meaning of life – from why we developed religion to infinity and parallel universes. People talk about their emotions, desires and feelings and open themselves up. A PSHE teacher shares of their own experience; they give of themselves.

A PSHE teacher has no hidden agenda. Their job is not to stop people having sex, taking drugs, smoking or drinking. A PSHE teachers helps students explore the issues and arrive at their own personal decisions. A PSHE teacher plays devil’s advocate, raises things to consider, and allows investigation of all sides of an argument. They take no sides, have no points of view and are there to expertly facilitate exploration.

By ‘teaching’ PSHE you learn much about yourself and your own views and learn so much more from the students.

Other teachers have often said that they teach these elements in their subject areas.

That might be true.

They teach these elements – PSHE ‘explores’ them.

 

I’d been teaching more and more sexual, health and social issues in the course of my biology teaching and was pushing for a separate PSE subject to be included on the curriculum.

The pressure came from outside. In the late 1970s the government was pushing it.

A new PSE programme was introduced and I got to teach the sex and health modules. Another member of staff, who had no real interest or knowledge, was placed in charge on a high promotion scale. Ho hum.

 

As a Headteacher my principle job was to ensure that the heart of the school was sound. PSHE was the heart of the school. It fitted with SEAL, restorative practice, Student Voice and a healthy pastoral support system to deliver care and remedial action.

To deliver these extraordinarily important areas you needed extraordinary people. We were lucky. I had found a unique person to deliver PSHE, champion SEAL, Student Voice and restorative practice. Rebecca’s energy pervaded the school and the relationships with students were beyond anything I had ever personally seen. She was a whirlwind of risk taking energy. The only downside was that her huge success and popularity with students sparked jealousy among other staff. They resented her appeal. I think she made them feel inept. She is destined to become the most inspiring Headteacher there will ever be.

The caring aspects of education were always priority number one. The curriculum and teaching and learning were way down the list. If you had the ethos of the school functioning maximally the attainment would automatically follow.

As a Head I continued to teach PSHE, I appointed highly capable staff to teach the strands I could not cover and I refused to allow any old tutor to get involved. They were invariably not merely useless, they were often destructive. PSHE requires specialist staff.

I introduced circle time, following a lot of pressure from two very enthusiastic staff in Ali and Kathy, and I personally oversaw rooming. PSHE had to be in the right environment. I saw to it that it was.

All too often I have seen schools pay lip service to PSHE. They bung any old teacher in who happens to be free. They produce mind-numbing worksheets, outside speakers who have no relationship with the kids, watch DVDs and do the whole thing in halls or inappropriate classrooms.

PSHE withers.

A school without a brilliant PSHE programme is heartless. Their ethos is a meaningless set of words. Their curriculum lacks a soul.

There are two areas of PSHE that need to be developed more: spirituality and politics. I remain disgusted by the way educational institutions are allowed to teach religion in a partisan manner that verges on indoctrination. In my view religion should be looked at and discussed dispassionately with as much credence to atheism and antitheism as religion. Ironically the USA does it the other way round. They ban religion from being taught in state schools but study politics. That seems healthier to me. However I believe PSHE offers a neutral ground to discuss and explore without fear of indoctrination. As for politics I am equally appalled. Very little political education goes on in schools. Yet for me it is one of the most fundamental things. How can you have a democracy without a full understanding of politics? How can people vote if they are ignorant about the different political parties? Why are we so surprised at voter apathy when we keep people so ignorant? PSHE should be a vehicle to understand and discuss the underlying philosophies of political parties. This can be done, in much the same way as religion, without partisan views being introduced.

Most people now accept the need in schools to cover aspects such as sex, drugs, health, environment and careers. There are still sensational headlines from time to time as prudish reactionaries try to impose their mainly fundamental religious views.

I have stood for a liberal, open view. This is the modern world. We can open up a new world without the hidebound austerities of past generations. I have no wish to live in a joyless mediaeval society orchestrated by indoctrinated morons. This is the twenty first century.

The main reason that fundamentalists have an austere vision is the promiscuous society with its numerous casualties. There is no doubt that sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll have taken a huge toll and that many people find themselves caught up in a mindless lifestyle based on gratuitous hedonism. I am as concerned as anyone. As a society we have to find a way of guiding our young people towards a meaningful life and the way to avoid the pitfalls that go with sex, drugs and alcohol. I have lost good friends to that thoughtless lifestyle. However if the general population had access to the youngsters full of life, idealism and altruism as I have they’d probably be a lot more hopeful.

I firmly believe our youngsters will go on to solve these social problems. The way to do it is through good education. The way to solve drug, alcohol and sexual problems is through excellent PSHE, not restrictive prohibition.

If I had my way I would pour money into PSHE and training brilliant PSHE staff. This would impact on the future more than anything else.

As a society I would make drugs legal and increase drug education and support for drug users. The war on drugs has not only failed. It has back-fired and fuelled the interest in drugs. It has succeeded in putting money into the pockets of criminal gangs in the same way that prohibition in the USA created the rise of gangsters such as Al Capone.

Take the funding away from organised crime. Take the allure of drugs away from the young and educate everyone properly.

 

When I was at school I had a few friends who started experimenting with drugs. Jeff was one of them.

He started off drinking cough medicine. At that time it contained morphine. He would drink five bottles at a time and get out of his head. He moved on to cannabis and then acid.

Like Syd Barrett the acid ‘fried’ his brain. The big debate is whether it triggered some underlying mental illness or even if the need to take the drugs was induced by the illness.

It is obvious to me that much more objective research is needed.

We need real scientific study and less government propaganda. Kids do not believe the propaganda. They think it is all manufactured lies. They want truth.

The last time I saw Jeff he was highly disturbed. He thought machines were planted all around him, in trees, walls and people surveying his every move. His eyes were shiny and empty like those proverbial black holes.

Jeff jumped in front of a train shortly after.

I remember Jeff as a gentle, intelligent and highly creative young man. He should have gone on to be a brilliant talented photographer.

Jeff is like so many others whose life was blighted by drugs or alcohol. That has to be addressed. Prohibition is not the answer.

 

PSHE is not about telling people what to do. You do not go into a lesson trying to get students to stop doing things. You go in to get them to think and discuss issues, explore issues and come to their own view.

I know saying NO is counterproductive.

If I were to go into a lesson and tell them that I had a hugely powerful motorbike outside. It was 500,000 CC and would do 0 to 500 MPH in 2 seconds. Nobody who had ever ridden it had survived because it was so powerful – would anyone like to try it out? The hands would go up.

‘I’ll have a go, sir!!’

‘Please me!!’

It’s human nature. The adventurous and inquisitive see it as a challenge. There are the kids who think they are immortal, who are sure they could handle it. The more danger – the more kudos.

Teenagers are also acutely aware of the hypocrisy. It is no use adults saying that kids shouldn’t take drugs while their parents are off down the pub pouring one of the most dangerous drugs of all down their throats. They know about the huge number of people using dope, cocaine and heroin.

They don’t believe the propaganda.

I always found it more effective to encourage students to think about the effect drugs were having on their friends. It was powerful for them to recognise the slump in educational performance, the mental changes and mood swings, the demotivation and behaviour changes. They could see these clearly and note the affect this had on lives and careers. That was far more effective.

It is time to bring in better research, information and education. Our society is saturated with alcohol and dug abuse. Prohibition has failed.

 

One of my heads of year came to see me. He’d been told by a student that one of the gentlemen in our care was selling cannabis behind the sports hall.

I told him to investigate. He checked out with a few other lads and built up a picture of what was going on. The boy had been dealing for a while. On this particular day he had brought in a lot of dope in £5 deals. He’d sold one lot to a lad at the bus stop. He’d sold five other lots behind the sports hall. It had all been done quite openly in front of a number of our more innocent boys who were quite shocked. The head of year had the times and names.

The lad concerned was brought in and I questioned him. I told him what we’d found out embellishing it with a list of times and names. We had a good picture of the sequence of events and were confident we’d have the full picture before long.

The lad seemed quite relaxed about the whole thing and agreed that our information was correct. He admitted to selling £5 deals to all the boys we knew about and offered a few more names.

‘Have you got any cannabis on you?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he chirped, pulling a couple of big chunks of cannabis out of his top pocket and handing it over.

I organised the head of year to round up the boys involved and extract the cannabis.

Soon there was a pile of blocks of very black, oily and extremely potent smelling cannabis on my desk.

We noted the names of the boys concerned along with full details.

The boy who had been sold his cannabis at the bus stop claimed he’d popped it home and put it under his bed. I rang his mother who, with utter disbelief, rummaged under his bed and retrieved the lump of cannabis.

One boy, having heard of the round up, had twigged to what was going on and flung his cannabis over the fence on to the common ground.

‘That’s a shame,’ I mused. ‘I was hoping we might be able to sort all this out internally in school. Now you’ve done that we’ve got a bit of a dilemma.’

He looked at me in anguish.

‘We’ve got a situation where there are dangerous drugs thrown on to a public area. A young child could find that dope. We can’t have that. The only thing to do is to call in the drug squad and get the sniffer dogs out there. They’ll find it.’

The boy went ashen.

‘The only other thing I can think of,’ I added. ‘What if you were to go and have a search where you think you might have thrown it. If you bring it to me in the next half hour I might be able to deal with this internally.’

The boy went off in a hurry.

I was then called for an emergency lesson cover and found myself looking after a class. They had been set some work so I was merely child minding. I was very concerned that the boy might come back with the dope and find me missing so I positioned myself in the doorway where I could intercept him when he came back.

A member of staff came along and saw me standing there looking a bit expectant.

‘What are you up to?’ He asked.

‘I’m just waiting for a lad to bring me some cannabis,’ I replied nonchalantly.

‘Oh yeah,’ he laughed.

Just then the boy came rushing up.

‘I’ve got that cannabis you were after, sir.’ He shoved a big lump of cannabis in my hand.

The teacher stared at me open-mouthed.

By the end of the day I had a desk that was groaning under the weight of cannabis. I had over twenty big chunks. Members of staff were coming in to marvel at it. Between the head of year and myself we had pulled in quite a haul.

It was late and I locked it in my room feeling more than a little satisfied with the way the day had gone. We had got to the bottom of the whole thing, found all the boys involved and retrieved all the cannabis. A good job done.

The next day I opened the door to my room and the smell was overpowering. Despite the fact that the dope was all wrapped in Clingfilm the stuff was so potent that you could get high just breathing the air.

That day we had a police officer in for our Operation Lifestyle assembly. I took them aside and showed them the heap of cannabis.

‘I thought I’d better seize the opportunity and pass this over to you,’ I remarked in a matter-of-fact manner.

She was amazed.

I passed on all the details that I had typed up. She had a list of names and times.

‘I want to deal with this in school,’ I informed her.

‘I don’t know if that will be possible,’ she informed me. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I think we’ll have to follow it up with regard to the dealer.’

I shrugged with a grimace.

‘I’d prefer to handle it myself.’

‘I don’t think that will be possible.’

She took all the cannabis off in a big bag, with each of the separate deals carefully placed in separate plastic bags along with details of the boy they had been retrieved from.

As far as I was concerned that was sewn up. I’d passed it over and it was all largely out of my hands.

I intended to bring their parents in, talk through expectations and punishments, and work out how we dealt with it.

Every school has drugs. It goes with youth culture. The main thing we tried to do was to keep it out of school and stop kids from smoking it before lessons. I’d seen the effect of that in USA schools. It was disastrous as far as education was concerned.

We dealt with drugs in PSHE but what kids got up to outside of school was largely the responsibility of them and their family.

To have picked up so many students and so much cannabis sent a clear warning out there. It was bound to have a beneficial effect – word soon gets around.

The students involved had been suspended. I sent out the letters summoning parents and students in and adding a caveat that this could result in permanent exclusion. I actually had no intention of going for permanent exclusion.

Half the boys in the school could have been kicked out if we tested for dope, it was that rife in youth culture at the time. I wanted to make a statement. We did not tolerate it in school.

I phoned and discussed it with the chair of governors. We were in agreement. You didn’t hang someone for a bit of dope. To kick them out might have ruined their lives. Everyone deserved a second chance.

We felt pleased with the way it had gone.

The phone rang and the secretary told me she had the Chief Constable on the line. I told her to put him through. I was expecting to receive a bit of praise for the efficient way we’d dealt with it. My head of year had been really on the ball.

‘Hello,’ I said chirpily.

‘I am ringing up to inform you that you have broken the law in two areas,’ this cold voice intimated sternly. ‘You have laid yourself open to prosecution.’

‘Oh really,’ I said rapidly changing my tune. My head was buzzing. What the hell was he talking about? ‘And how have I done that?’

‘Firstly you have infringed the rights of the boys concerned,’ he pronounced pompously. ‘You had no right to interview them without their parents or an adult being present. That is illegal under European Human Rights legislation.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I replied feeling myself getting angry. ‘And the second?’

‘You put yourself in possession of a considerable amount of illegal substances, sufficient to be charged as a dealer.’

I was gob-smacked. I knew that I had, as a Headteacher, the legal right to interview kids in my care. He was talking crap. As to possessing cannabis that I’d confiscated from the boys – that was simply absurd.

I was furious.

I felt that I should explain the law to him but I was not going to argue with the man.

‘I tell you what,’ I said in a measured tone. ‘Do me a favour, why don’t you. Go ahead and prosecute me. I’ll have you plastered over every newspaper in the country. I’d love it!’

He hung up.

A couple of days later a police officer, in on the Operation Lifestyle project, nervously asked to see me.

‘I’ve been asked to pass on a message from the Chief Constable,’ she ventured with a degree of temerity. ‘He wanted me to pass on that he was sorry he was a little heavy handed.’

‘Well tell him he can ffffing come in an apologise himself!’ I told her angrily.

She looked shocked.

I never heard anything more.

 

In my early years on the senior team I was selected to be part of County’s PSHE Team. We were trained to go round from school to school training their staff. I enjoyed it.

On my first day of training the forty of us were welcomed and given a psychometric test. In the afternoon they placed me and one other in a room while the rest went off to do some training.

We were given no task and we sat around and talked.

‘Why have we been separated off?’ I asked suspiciously.

He chuckled.

‘I bet you came out as a shaper on your test,’ he stated.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I came out as a shaper/plant.’

He nodded. ‘And an enthusiast?’

‘Yep,’ I replied, still not cottoning on.

‘That’s why we’re here,’ he stated. ‘They don’t want us interfering with this bit. We’d try and take control.’

It was a bit of an eye-opener. Every team needs a range of types and skills. Shapers can be bloody minded.

The best training we had was a great exercise that really summed up the way we human beings interact with each other.

It concerned a magical land far far away. A wizard came into the land with a big bag. When he met anyone he put his hand in his bag and gave them a little furry creature. As soon as they held it and stroked the animal it sent a great feeling of pleasure and happiness flooding through them. The wizard had an endless supply and soon everyone was carrying a bag around full of ‘warm fuzzies’ and passing them around to everyone they met. The kingdom became a beautiful place full of happy people.

The wizard left and another wizard appeared. He too had a bag but inside his bag were cold spiky little creatures. Everyone he met he gave one of these creatures to. The ‘icy pricklies’ ate ‘warm fuzzies’ and sent a feeling of fear and hatred through the person. Soon the kingdom was transformed into gloom and misery.

So what do we all pass on to others that we meet?

I wanted a school that ran on ‘warm fuzzies’. ‘icy pricklies’ were banned. Whatever bad stuff had happened to you outside you left it at the school gates. I accentuated the positive. I tried to get everyone to recognise all the good qualities in each other. I wanted the kingdom inside to be warm and nurturing.

I think I achieved that.

If you would like to purchase any of my books:

In the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1479815710&sr=1-2-ent

If you would like to read my story – with no holds barred:-

https://www.amazon.co.uk/passion-Education-story-Headteacher-ebook/dp/B00NRC66E2/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

The War on Drugs – Who lost?

Our cities are full of druggies, our media is crammed with notices of young deaths, a segment of our youth are peddling drugs for easy money and parading around in flash gear and souped up cars, the crime rate soars as addicts seek money for a fix, the streets are littered with down an out homeless druggies and alkies, the prisons are packed to the gills with people on drug offences, our education system is undermined by stoned kids, huge amounts of money is flowing into the hands of dubious criminals to fund their activities, great swathes of our youth are having their education and prospects ruined, gangs flourish buoyed up on drug money, violent wars erupt, thousands are murdered down the line in producer countries, the drugs are full of poisons and impurities and cut with killer drugs, the quality and strength is dubious making it a shake of the dice each time, There are significant health risks from unknown drug strengths and impurities, a huge amount of police time is taken up with drug offences, double standards rule as upper class drug use is condoned, the problem is getting bigger by the day – isn’t it about time that the authorities admitted defeat? The war on drugs has been well and truly lost.

 

All the lies and propaganda over the decades only served to alienate youth. They saw it as lies and did not believe it. Who remembers stupid films like ‘Reefer Madness’? It created a youth rebellion.

 

If something is labelled dangerous then a group of kids have to prove they are up for it – they are big enough – they can handle it.

 

Prohibition only fuels use by promoting the allure and daring of it. It adds a mystique.

 

If only they had looked at drug use as a health issue and not a criminal one we would not have been in this mess.

 

I say decriminalise.

 

  1. Take profits out of the hands of criminals.
  2. Ensure the quality of drugs that are available.
  3. Give good health treatment to addicts.
  4. Take the mystique and ‘naughtiness’ out of the experience.
  5. Enable drugs to be taxed and use that money for health education and rehabilitation.
  6. Give accurate drugs information and not propaganda.
  7. Stop the puritanical imposition of prohibition.

 

Prohibition has increased drug use. When drugs are made legal then use actually goes down.

 

Drugs are not really the problem. Recreational drug use on a low level does not cause a great deal of harm. People are the problem. They cannot moderate their use. They take things to excess. They become addicted or use the drugs in poor settings – driving, operating machinery or trying to learn.

 

The Irony is that two of the most dangerous and addictive drugs are legal – nicotine and alcohol. Some other drugs have no place in any recreational scene. But criminalising their use is counterproductive.

 

I say decriminalise drug use and treat it as a health problem. The war on drugs is a total failure.

 

The war on drugs – who lost? We all did.

A Passion for Education – The Story of a Headteacher – Drugs, Caning and Sex

This is another chapter from my book. It tells the inside story of teaching and Headship. It tells the story of how to become outstanding – the highs and lows.

Chapter 6 – PSHE and drugs

I was a young teacher in my second year of teaching. The current Headteacher Mr Walton had decided that the field should be out of bounds. The wet weather had created such muddy conditions that the classrooms and corridors were becoming caked with mud. He informed the staff that anyone walking on the grass would be caned. He was hoping this deterrent would solve the problem.

He hadn’t reckoned with Terry. He was a young student from the new comprehensive intake who had been a problem from the start and was no respecter of rules. Indeed it appeared that Terry regarded rules as a challenge. He earned the respect of his fellow students by flouting rules with blatant disdain.

Terry was the perennial thorn in the side of the school. He was loud, aggressive, rude and surly. He disrupted lessons, picked fights and openly defied everyone and everything.

I was walking down the corridor when I was asked by the Head to assist with the apprehension of young Terry. He had been brought to the Head for flagrantly walking on the grass and when he had ascertained his fate he had promptly got up and run away. This was not playing the game. The Head was used to Grammar School boys. They took their punishment like a man. They didn’t run away!

We went hunting for Terry.

Soon Terry was found. But Terry refused to come quietly and what followed is indelibly imprinted in my mind.

Two burly male teachers marched Terry down the corridor to the Head’s study. Terry was screaming and struggling. When he started kicking out at the two staff two other male staff grabbed his ankles and lifted him off the ground. He was carried headfirst, screaming and writhing along the corridor and he was manhandled into the study. I followed in the wake.

By this time the Head had become angry. His authority had been challenged. What originally was one stripe was now six. He intended to make an example of Terry.

The four male staff had to drag Terry to the desk and physically restrain him by all four limbs; each taking an ankle or wrist and tugging so that Terry was pinned across the desk like a frog awaiting dissection. All the while Terry continued to shriek and struggle to his utmost. He certainly had a florid vocabulary for a thirteen year old.

The Head retreated to the other side of the room and then ran, jumped in the air and brought the cane swishing through the air with all the force he could muster.

Terry screamed and went taut in some great spasm. Then he resumed his struggles in a futile desperate attempt to free himself from the four staff.

The Head repeated this five more times.

At the end of it they let Terry loose and he stood in the doorway with knotted fists and purple face swearing at the six of us.

Some say that caning does no harm. That it is a deterrent. The blood running down Terry’s legs from the split skin on his bum was not the harm. In my opinion the hatred and loathing in his mind were the injuries that would leave the everlasting scars. They wouldn’t heal.

As for deterrence – it was the same string of surly, defiant individuals who were paraded for beatings every week.

 

I’d never heard of PSE as it was then called. I was a biology teacher.

In the normal course of my lessons I came to the section on reproduction and as a natural part of the lesson opened up various discussions on sex and rounded it off with a lesson on contraception and sexually transmitted disease.

The lads seemed to appreciate it. Some of the questions were obviously geared to attempting to cause me embarrassment but when I fielded them honestly they realised that I wasn’t going to get phased by it. It was obvious to me that there was a huge level of ignorance and interest and a great need.

This was before the age of the internet, in a post-60s culture which still had vestiges of 1950s prim prudishness. Information and contraception were not easy to get hold of. Sex was not freely discussed. They were desperate for frank discussion and advice and very receptive.

I thought no more of it.

Mike my head of department, who wandered in and out of my lab while I was teaching, had noted that I was doing sex education with the lads.

‘Does the Head know you’re doing this?’ He asked.

‘No,’ I replied slightly baffled. Why should the Head know? It was only sex education. Most schools in the country were doing it.

‘I think you’d better check with him first.’

I went and checked. He said NO.

Introducing sex education was a major event. We had to get a majority of the staff in favour of such a controversial venture. He agreed to put it on the staff meeting agenda for discussion.

The staff meeting agenda went up and sure enough there it was at number 11.

We had our meeting and went through seven items.

‘Ah well’ I thought. ‘It will be featured next time.’

The next staff meeting came round and it was now number 14. Seemingly lots of really important issues had come up and required urgent attention.

The following staff meeting had fifteen items but sex education was not one of them.

I fumed.

I drew up a list of staff and went round to discuss sex education with all of them one by one. I even included both deputies. By the end of a week I had the agreement of every member of staff with only two abstentions, both of whom were catholics who abstained on religious grounds.

I went back to the Head and presented him with the fait accompli. I softened it by explaining that it was obvious that there wasn’t time to discuss it at staff meetings with all the pressing issues that had to be addressed. The crux of the matter was that the staff were almost unanimous.

He blustered.

It would need governors’ approval. I would have to take my case to the governing body.

I produced a presentation and amazingly won the approval of the governing body.

At my next meeting with the Head I may have inadvertently had a slight air of triumph.

That was soon put to rest.

The governors were only the first obstacle; the whole idea had to be put to parents. It was obvious from his attitude that he felt confident the parents would disapprove.

Unfazed I drafted a letter to parents with a reply slip and had it sent out.

Miraculously there were no objections and most gave their approval.

I once again returned to the Head’s study.

‘You know, Chris,’ he said thoughtfully, finally admitting defeat. ‘These lads are red blooded Englishmen. You can’t tell me that they can watch films of young girls masturbating without being affected.’

I sat there staring at him.

It was obvious that he had not read any of my information and had his own idea of what was involved in sex education. In his mind sex education equated with pornography. His mind had gone down the line that I would be showing pornographic films to the boys.

It had taken me a year and a half to get approval. I realised, in that moment, that a little bit more verbal explanation might have saved a lot of effort.

 

PSE (or PSHE, PSHCE, SPACE – whatever you want to call it) is the most important subject in the curriculum. It is not a subject at all. It is life.

PSHE should never be a subject that leads to an examination; that would demean it and prevent the freewheeling’, far-ranging potential that each lesson should have.

PSHE should always be taught in a room that is conducive to creating close relationship with students in an environment that promotes discussion and interaction.

PSHE is the most difficult subject to ‘teach’ and can only be successfully taught by teachers with the right sensitivities, skills and attitude. It is as specialist a subject as astrophysics. The vast majority of staff are entirely unsuited to teach PSHE.

As the most important subject in the curriculum it should be given pride of place. Time-tablers should start by putting the PSHE lessons in first, in prime times, early morning, and in suitable rooms. Then they can move on to the lesser subjects such as maths, music, French, science, English and the rest.

PSHE specialist staff should be carefully identified and fully trained.

If there are no suitable staff an urgent recruitment should take place.

Why do I think it is so important when most schools give it such short shrift and even students do not value it?

Most subjects deal with information and skills pertaining to specific interests and careers. PSHE deals with life and death. It is fundamental to how people live their lives, form relationships, involve themselves with the big issues and develop the skills, qualities and sensibilities to lead a fulfilled, productive life. It is real.

As a PSHE teacher I have dealt with health, cancer, death, heart disease, bereavement, relationships, divorce, work, reality, reasons for living, depression, suicide, purpose of life, spirituality, climatic issues, love, fascism, politics, diet, human behaviour, war, nuclear disaster, pollution, extinction, intelligence, cruelty, drugs, alcohol, smoking, friendships, parenthood, contraception, STDs, bear-baiting, racism, abortions, sexism, revision, mortgages, salaries and expenses, managing anger, pornography, female pornography, psychology and the reasons we humans do all the weird, vicious and wonderful things we do.

My lessons were based on tolerance, respect, empathy, responsibility, awe and wonder.

PSHE deals with the reality of life and helps people find their way to a meaningful existence, find harmony and balance and explore why we do the things we do in the hope we can do better.

PSHE helps mend broken people.

We are all damaged by life.

Many of our young people are scarred from bereavement, abuse, abandonment, divorce and horrid experiences. PSHE lets them know that they are not alone and helps guide them through the difficult stuff. It gives them succour and support.

Sadly I have witnessed PSHE taught by idiots who do not understand what they are doing.

I have seen it time-tabled for last lesson Friday. I have seen it reduced to the ‘worksheets of death’. I have seen it reduced to a series of instructions. I have seen it time-tabled in laboratories. I have seen it ‘bought in’ with a series of dire outside ‘experts’ who have no relationship with the students.

PSHE should be illuminating.

It is the heart of the school.

As a PSHE teacher you don’t know what is going to happen. You fly by the seat of your pants. You get kids in a circle to introduce a topic. It can veer off in any direction – from raising a family to aging and dying – from revision to the meaning of life – from why we developed religion to infinity and parallel universes. People talk about their emotions, desires and feelings and open themselves up. A PSHE teacher shares of their own experience; they give of themselves.

A PSHE teacher has no hidden agenda. Their job is not to stop people having sex, taking drugs, smoking or drinking. A PSHE teachers helps students explore the issues and arrive at their own personal decisions. A PSHE teacher plays devil’s advocate, raises things to consider, and allows investigation of all sides of an argument. They take no sides, have no points of view and are there to expertly facilitate exploration.

By ‘teaching’ PSHE you learn much about yourself and your own views and learn so much more from the students.

Other teachers have often said that they teach these elements in their subject areas.

That might be true.

They teach these elements – PSHE ‘explores’ them.

 

I’d been teaching more and more sexual, health and social issues in the course of my biology teaching and was pushing for a separate PSE subject to be included on the curriculum.

The pressure came from outside. In the late 1970s the government was pushing it.

A new PSE programme was introduced and I got to teach the sex and health modules. Another member of staff, who had no real interest or knowledge, was placed in charge on a high promotion scale. Ho hum.

 

As a Headteacher my principle job was to ensure that the heart of the school was sound. PSHE was the heart of the school. It fitted with SEAL, restorative practice, Student Voice and a healthy pastoral support system to deliver care and remedial action.

To deliver these extraordinarily important areas you needed extraordinary people. We were lucky. I had found a unique person to deliver PSHE, champion SEAL, Student Voice and restorative practice. Rebecca’s energy pervaded the school and the relationships with students were beyond anything I had ever personally seen. She was a whirlwind of risk taking energy. The only downside was that her huge success and popularity with students sparked jealousy among other staff. They resented her appeal. I think she made them feel inept. She is destined to become the most inspiring Headteacher there will ever be.

The caring aspects of education were always priority number one. The curriculum and teaching and learning were way down the list. If you had the ethos of the school functioning maximally the attainment would automatically follow.

As a Head I continued to teach PSHE, I appointed highly capable staff to teach the strands I could not cover and I refused to allow any old tutor to get involved. They were invariably not merely useless, they were often destructive. PSHE requires specialist staff.

I introduced circle time, following a lot of pressure from two very enthusiastic staff in Ali and Kathy, and I personally oversaw rooming. PSHE had to be in the right environment. I saw to it that it was.

All too often I have seen schools pay lip service to PSHE. They bung any old teacher in who happens to be free. They produce mind-numbing worksheets, outside speakers who have no relationship with the kids, watch DVDs and do the whole thing in halls or inappropriate classrooms.

PSHE withers.

A school without a brilliant PSHE programme is heartless. Their ethos is a meaningless set of words. Their curriculum lacks a soul.

There are two areas of PSHE that need to be developed more: spirituality and politics. I remain disgusted by the way educational institutions are allowed to teach religion in a partisan manner that verges on indoctrination. In my view religion should be looked at and discussed dispassionately with as much credence to atheism and antitheism as religion. Ironically the USA does it the other way round. They ban religion from being taught in state schools but study politics. That seems healthier to me. However I believe PSHE offers a neutral ground to discuss and explore without fear of indoctrination. As for politics I am equally appalled. Very little political education goes on in schools. Yet for me it is one of the most fundamental things. How can you have a democracy without a full understanding of politics? How can people vote if they are ignorant about the different political parties? Why are we so surprised at voter apathy when we keep people so ignorant? PSHE should be a vehicle to understand and discuss the underlying philosophies of political parties. This can be done, in much the same way as religion, without partisan views being introduced.

Most people now accept the need in schools to cover aspects such as sex, drugs, health, environment and careers. There are still sensational headlines from time to time as prudish reactionaries try to impose their mainly fundamental religious views.

I have stood for a liberal, open view. This is the modern world. We can open up a new world without the hidebound austerities of past generations. I have no wish to live in a joyless mediaeval society orchestrated by indoctrinated morons. This is the twenty first century.

The main reason that fundamentalists have an austere vision is the promiscuous society with its numerous casualties. There is no doubt that sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll have taken a huge toll and that many people find themselves caught up in a mindless lifestyle based on gratuitous hedonism. I am as concerned as anyone. As a society we have to find a way of guiding our young people towards a meaningful life and the way to avoid the pitfalls that go with sex, drugs and alcohol. I have lost good friends to that thoughtless lifestyle. However if the general population had access to the youngsters full of life, idealism and altruism as I have they’d probably be a lot more hopeful.

I firmly believe our youngsters will go on to solve these social problems. The way to do it is through good education. The way to solve drug, alcohol and sexual problems is through excellent PSHE, not restrictive prohibition.

If I had my way I would pour money into PSHE and training brilliant PSHE staff. This would impact on the future more than anything else.

As a society I would make drugs legal and increase drug education and support for drug users. The war on drugs has not only failed. It has back-fired and fuelled the interest in drugs. It has succeeded in putting money into the pockets of criminal gangs in the same way that prohibition in the USA created the rise of gangsters such as Al Capone.

Take the funding away from organised crime. Take the allure of drugs away from the young and educate everyone properly.

 

When I was at school I had a few friends who started experimenting with drugs. Jeff was one of them.

He started off drinking cough medicine. At that time it contained morphine. He would drink five bottles at a time and get out of his head. He moved on to cannabis and then acid.

Like Syd Barrett the acid ‘fried’ his brain. The big debate is whether it triggered some underlying mental illness or even if the need to take the drugs was induced by the illness.

It is obvious to me that much more objective research is needed.

We need real scientific study and less government propaganda. Kids do not believe the propaganda. They think it is all manufactured lies. They want truth.

The last time I saw Jeff he was highly disturbed. He thought machines were planted all around him, in trees, walls and people surveying his every move. His eyes were shiny and empty like those proverbial black holes.

Jeff jumped in front of a train shortly after.

I remember Jeff as a gentle, intelligent and highly creative young man. He should have gone on to be a brilliant talented photographer.

Jeff is like so many others whose life was blighted by drugs or alcohol. That has to be addressed. Prohibition is not the answer.

 

PSHE is not about telling people what to do. You do not go into a lesson trying to get students to stop doing things. You go in to get them to think and discuss issues, explore issues and come to their own view.

I know saying NO is counterproductive.

If I were to go into a lesson and tell them that I had a hugely powerful motorbike outside. It was 500,000 CC and would do 0 to 500 MPH in 2 seconds. Nobody who had ever ridden it had survived because it was so powerful – would anyone like to try it out? The hands would go up.

‘I’ll have a go, sir!!’

‘Please me!!’

It’s human nature. The adventurous and inquisitive see it as a challenge. There are the kids who think they are immortal, who are sure they could handle it. The more danger – the more kudos.

Teenagers are also acutely aware of the hypocrisy. It is no use adults saying that kids shouldn’t take drugs while their parents are off down the pub pouring one of the most dangerous drugs of all down their throats. They know about the huge number of people using dope, cocaine and heroin.

They don’t believe the propaganda.

I always found it more effective to encourage students to think about the effect drugs were having on their friends. It was powerful for them to recognise the slump in educational performance, the mental changes and mood swings, the demotivation and behaviour changes. They could see these clearly and note the affect this had on lives and careers. That was far more effective.

It is time to bring in better research, information and education. Our society is saturated with alcohol and dug abuse. Prohibition has failed.

 

One of my heads of year came to see me. He’d been told by a student that one of the gentlemen in our care was selling cannabis behind the sports hall.

I told him to investigate. He checked out with a few other lads and built up a picture of what was going on. The boy had been dealing for a while. On this particular day he had brought in a lot of dope in £5 deals. He’d sold one lot to a lad at the bus stop. He’d sold five other lots behind the sports hall. It had all been done quite openly in front of a number of our more innocent boys who were quite shocked. The head of year had the times and names.

The lad concerned was brought in and I questioned him. I told him what we’d found out embellishing it with a list of times and names. We had a good picture of the sequence of events and were confident we’d have the full picture before long.

The lad seemed quite relaxed about the whole thing and agreed that our information was correct. He admitted to selling £5 deals to all the boys we knew about and offered a few more names.

‘Have you got any cannabis on you?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he chirped, pulling a couple of big chunks of cannabis out of his top pocket and handing it over.

I organised the head of year to round up the boys involved and extract the cannabis.

Soon there was a pile of blocks of very black, oily and extremely potent smelling cannabis on my desk.

We noted the names of the boys concerned along with full details.

The boy who had been sold his cannabis at the bus stop claimed he’d popped it home and put it under his bed. I rang his mother who, with utter disbelief, rummaged under his bed and retrieved the lump of cannabis.

One boy, having heard of the round up, had twigged to what was going on and flung his cannabis over the fence on to the common ground.

‘That’s a shame,’ I mused. ‘I was hoping we might be able to sort all this out internally in school. Now you’ve done that we’ve got a bit of a dilemma.’

He looked at me in anguish.

‘We’ve got a situation where there are dangerous drugs thrown on to a public area. A young child could find that dope. We can’t have that. The only thing to do is to call in the drug squad and get the sniffer dogs out there. They’ll find it.’

The boy went ashen.

‘The only other thing I can think of,’ I added. ‘What if you were to go and have a search where you think you might have thrown it. If you bring it to me in the next half hour I might be able to deal with this internally.’

The boy went off in a hurry.

I was then called for an emergency lesson cover and found myself looking after a class. They had been set some work so I was merely child minding. I was very concerned that the boy might come back with the dope and find me missing so I positioned myself in the doorway where I could intercept him when he came back.

A member of staff came along and saw me standing there looking a bit expectant.

‘What are you up to?’ He asked.

‘I’m just waiting for a lad to bring me some cannabis,’ I replied nonchalantly.

‘Oh yeah,’ he laughed.

Just then the boy came rushing up.

‘I’ve got that cannabis you were after, sir.’ He shoved a big lump of cannabis in my hand.

The teacher stared at me open-mouthed.

By the end of the day I had a desk that was groaning under the weight of cannabis. I had over twenty big chunks. Members of staff were coming in to marvel at it. Between the head of year and myself we had pulled in quite a haul.

It was late and I locked it in my room feeling more than a little satisfied with the way the day had gone. We had got to the bottom of the whole thing, found all the boys involved and retrieved all the cannabis. A good job done.

The next day I opened the door to my room and the smell was overpowering. Despite the fact that the dope was all wrapped in Clingfilm the stuff was so potent that you could get high just breathing the air.

That day we had a police officer in for our Operation Lifestyle assembly. I took them aside and showed them the heap of cannabis.

‘I thought I’d better seize the opportunity and pass this over to you,’ I remarked in a matter-of-fact manner.

She was amazed.

I passed on all the details that I had typed up. She had a list of names and times.

‘I want to deal with this in school,’ I informed her.

‘I don’t know if that will be possible,’ she informed me. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I think we’ll have to follow it up with regard to the dealer.’

I shrugged with a grimace.

‘I’d prefer to handle it myself.’

‘I don’t think that will be possible.’

She took all the cannabis off in a big bag, with each of the separate deals carefully placed in separate plastic bags along with details of the boy they had been retrieved from.

As far as I was concerned that was sewn up. I’d passed it over and it was all largely out of my hands.

I intended to bring their parents in, talk through expectations and punishments, and work out how we dealt with it.

Every school has drugs. It goes with youth culture. The main thing we tried to do was to keep it out of school and stop kids from smoking it before lessons. I’d seen the effect of that in USA schools. It was disastrous as far as education was concerned.

We dealt with drugs in PSHE but what kids got up to outside of school was largely the responsibility of them and their family.

To have picked up so many students and so much cannabis sent a clear warning out there. It was bound to have a beneficial effect – word soon gets around.

The students involved had been suspended. I sent out the letters summoning parents and students in and adding a caveat that this could result in permanent exclusion. I actually had no intention of going for permanent exclusion.

Half the boys in the school could have been kicked out if we tested for dope, it was that rife in youth culture at the time. I wanted to make a statement. We did not tolerate it in school.

I phoned and discussed it with the chair of governors. We were in agreement. You didn’t hang someone for a bit of dope. To kick them out might have ruined their lives. Everyone deserved a second chance.

We felt pleased with the way it had gone.

The phone rang and the secretary told me she had the Chief Constable on the line. I told her to put him through. I was expecting to receive a bit of praise for the efficient way we’d dealt with it. My head of year had been really on the ball.

‘Hello,’ I said chirpily.

‘I am ringing up to inform you that you have broken the law in two areas,’ this cold voice intimated sternly. ‘You have laid yourself open to prosecution.’

‘Oh really,’ I said rapidly changing my tune. My head was buzzing. What the hell was he talking about? ‘And how have I done that?’

‘Firstly you have infringed the rights of the boys concerned,’ he pronounced pompously. ‘You had no right to interview them without their parents or an adult being present. That is illegal under European Human Rights legislation.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I replied feeling myself getting angry. ‘And the second?’

‘You put yourself in possession of a considerable amount of illegal substances, sufficient to be charged as a dealer.’

I was gob-smacked. I knew that I had, as a Headteacher, the legal right to interview kids in my care. He was talking crap. As to possessing cannabis that I’d confiscated from the boys – that was simply absurd.

I was furious.

I felt that I should explain the law to him but I was not going to argue with the man.

‘I tell you what,’ I said in a measured tone. ‘Do me a favour, why don’t you. Go ahead and prosecute me. I’ll have you plastered over every newspaper in the country. I’d love it!’

He hung up.

A couple of days later a police officer, in on the Operation Lifestyle project, nervously asked to see me.

‘I’ve been asked to pass on a message from the Chief Constable,’ she ventured with a degree of temerity. ‘He wanted me to pass on that he was sorry he was a little heavy handed.’

‘Well tell him he can ffffing come in an apologise himself!’ I told her angrily.

She looked shocked.

I never heard anything more.

 

In my early years on the senior team I was selected to be part of County’s PSHE Team. We were trained to go round from school to school training their staff. I enjoyed it.

On my first day of training the forty of us were welcomed and given a psychometric test. In the afternoon they placed me and one other in a room while the rest went off to do some training.

We were given no task and we sat around and talked.

‘Why have we been separated off?’ I asked suspiciously.

He chuckled.

‘I bet you came out as a shaper on your test,’ he stated.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I came out as a shaper/plant.’

He nodded. ‘And an enthusiast?’

‘Yep,’ I replied, still not cottoning on.

‘That’s why we’re here,’ he stated. ‘They don’t want us interfering with this bit. We’d try and take control.’

It was a bit of an eye-opener. Every team needs a range of types and skills. Shapers can be bloody minded.

The best training we had was a great exercise that really summed up the way we human beings interact with each other.

It concerned a magical land far far away. A wizard came into the land with a big bag. When he met anyone he put his hand in his bag and gave them a little furry creature. As soon as they held it and stroked the animal it sent a great feeling of pleasure and happiness flooding through them. The wizard had an endless supply and soon everyone was carrying a bag around full of ‘warm fuzzies’ and passing them around to everyone they met. The kingdom became a beautiful place full of happy people.

The wizard left and another wizard appeared. He too had a bag but inside his bag were cold spiky little creatures. Everyone he met he gave one of these creatures to. The ‘icy pricklies’ ate ‘warm fuzzies’ and sent a feeling of fear and hatred through the person. Soon the kingdom was transformed into gloom and misery.

So what do we all pass on to others that we meet?

I wanted a school that ran on ‘warm fuzzies’. ‘icy pricklies’ were banned. Whatever bad stuff had happened to you outside you left it at the school gates. I accentuated the positive. I tried to get everyone to recognise all the good qualities in each other. I wanted the kingdom inside to be warm and nurturing.

I think I achieved that.

If you would like to purchase any of my books:

In the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1479815710&sr=1-2-ent

If you would like to read my story – with no holds barred:-

https://www.amazon.co.uk/passion-Education-story-Headteacher-ebook/dp/B00NRC66E2/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Anecdote – Mexican Borders – a tale of drugs and bribes

Mexican borders.

We were heading for Mexico City by van. I’d sorted the route. It was left at the top of our road.

We were going to travel from Los Angeles to San Diego and then straight along the main pan Mexican highway to Mexico City. We had three kids in tow and a tent but that van was going to be our home for a couple of weeks. It was a thousand five hundred miles.

The Mexican border was the first spot of interest. We went in on a six lane highway and out on a dirt road.

At the customs hut we were pulled over by three surly guards. The first guard told us that he might have to search the van for drugs. I protested. I was hardly likely to be smuggling drugs into Mexico, was I? The guard was unmoved. He pointed to a bunch of cars and vans that had been previously subjected to a similar procedure. They had been ripped to shreds. All the seats, upholstery, roof, panels had been ripped out and slashed to pieces. They had even had their engines removed. It did not bode well. I was imagining what I was going to say to the American teacher we had borrowed the van off.

But then the guard suggested that for a small fee he could make us exempt. I slipped him twenty dollars. He told me that there were three of them. I passed the others notes across.

Petrol in Mexico was half the price of the US so we’d come across with an empty tank. When we’d exchanged our dollars the miserable Mexican exchanger had refused to give us any small notes. We had been given large denomination notes worth fifty pounds. I thought that we would get some change from the garage. We filled up with petrol and I handed one of the notes over. A full tank had only set us back about ten dollars. He gave me around five dollars’ worth of change in a bunch of small currency notes. I protested vehemently. I couldn’t speak Spanish and he pretended not to understand English. I pointed to the price on the pump and demanded the rest of the change. Unrepentant and without a hint of embarrassment he handed me a few more notes. It took another three protests and a lot of angry exchanges before he finally coughed up the right money. He was totally unfazed by the whole scam.

The road, the main arterial road through Mexico to Central America, was a two lane job. It was the major highway for all commerce. There were big trucks roaring up and down it. But it was lousy. You would be driving along at full pelt, round a bend and it would disappear into a dirt track. We would bump and career along for a while before the tarmac would reappear. Obviously some municipal council had not paid their taxes. It was no wonder the whole road was punctuated with shrines to dead motorists. The drivers using that death-trap of a thoroughfare were crazy.

In way of illustration, one day we’d stopped at the side of the road to grab some lunch. A car travelling at high speed, swerved off the road, careered through the undergrowth right to the side of us without slowing and then scuttled back on to the road in a screech of wheel-spin, enveloping us in a cloud of dust. We were in shock.

But hey, much to the amazement of our neighbours, who were sure we would be killed by bandits or smashed to pulp on the road, we made it to Mexico City and back in one piece.