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Old 11-05-2013, 05:17 PM   #21
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Originally Posted by bootneckband View Post
When introduced, the State will now have access to our children for over 12 hours a day instead of 6......
and who will teach them for 12 hours per day?
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Old 13-05-2013, 10:36 AM   #22
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Originally Posted by pyrrhonist View Post
There were at lot of boarders at my high school in NZ (I was not one). The day boys used to rip the piss out of them, joke about them playing soggy biscuit, sodomising each other with broomsticks, pack rape of third formers etc. I laughed along, but reading the DIF lately makes me wonder if there wasn't a fair chunk of truth behind all these jokes.
The Irish don't regard English aristocrats as a pack of foppy haired sodomising nonces without reason.
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Old 13-05-2013, 04:06 PM   #23
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boarding schools are not only a problem in britain.
within my lifetime, the RCC operated residential schools in canada, where first nations children were sexually, mentally, physically and spiritually abused . MANY died.
but first, they were stolen from their families and forced into them.
this shameful era in canadian history is called the canadian holocaust.
it was a joint attempt at genocide between the catholics and the canadian govt.

i personally know several survivors.

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Old 17-05-2013, 11:47 PM   #24
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Default The Westminster School

The Royal College of St. Peter in Westminster, better known as Westminster School and standing in the precincts of Westminster Abbey in London, is one of Britain's leading independent schools, with the highest Oxford and Cambridge acceptance rates of any secondary school or college in Britain. With a history going back to the 11th century, the school's notable alumni include Ben Jonson, John Dryden, Robert Hooke, Christopher Wren, John Locke, Jeremy Bentham, Edward Gibbon, Henry Mayhew, A. A. Milne, Tony Benn and seven Prime Ministers. The school traditionally encourages independent and individual thinking. Boys are admitted to the Under School at age seven, and to the senior school at age thirteen; girls are admitted only at sixteen. The school has around 750 pupils; around a quarter are boarders, most of whom go home at weekends, after Saturday morning school. It is one of the original nine British public schools (the so-called 'Clarendon Schools') as defined by the Public Schools Act 1868.

Although it is likely that schoolboys were taught by monks well beforehand, by 1179 Westminster School had certainly become a public school (i.e., a school available to members of the public from across the country, so long as they could pay their own costs, rather than private tuition provided to the nobility) as a decree of Pope Alexander III required the Benedictine monks of the Abbey at Westminster to provide a charity school to local boys. Parts of the school's buildings date back to the 11th century, older than the current Abbey.

This arrangement changed in 1540, when Henry VIII ordered the dissolution of the monasteries in England, but personally ensured the School's survival by his royal charter. The College of St. Peter carried on with forty "King's Scholars" financed from the royal purse. During Mary I's brief reign the Abbey was reinstated as a Roman Catholic monastery. The School occupies a number of the buildings vacated by the monks.

Elizabeth I re-founded the School in 1560, with new statutes to select 40 Queen's Scholars from boys who had already attended the school for a year. Queen Elizabeth frequently visited her scholars, although she never signed the statutes nor endowed her scholarships, and 1560 is now generally taken as the date that the school was "founded", although legal separation from the Abbey was only achieved with the Public Schools Act 1868. There followed a scandalous public and parliamentary dispute over a further 25 years, to settle the transfer of the properties from the Canons of the Abbey to the School. Under the Act, the Dean of Westminster Abbey is ex officio the Chairman of the Governors; and school statutes have been made by Order in Council of Queen Elizabeth II. Furthermore the Dean of Christ Church, Oxford and the Master of Trinity College, Cambridge are ex officio members of the school's governing body.

Camden was a headmaster, but Dr Busby, himself an Old Westminster, established the reputation of the school for several hundreds of years, as much by his classical learning as for his ruthless discipline of the birch, immortalised in Pope's Dunciad. Busby prayed publicly Up School for the safety of the Crown, on the very day of Charles I's execution, and then locked the boys inside to prevent their going to watch the spectacle a few hundred yards away. Regardless of politics, he thrashed Royalist and Puritan boys alike without fear or favour. Busby also took part in Oliver Cromwell's funeral procession in 1658; when Robert Uvedale, a Westminster schoolboy, succeeded in snatching the "Majesty Scutcheon" (white satin banner) draped on the coffin (it was given to the School by his family two hundred years later). Busby remained in office throughout the Civil War and the Commonwealth, when the school was governed by Parliamentary Commissioners, and well into the Restoration.

In 1679, a group of scholars killed a bailiff, ostensibly in defence of the Abbey's traditional right of sanctuary, but possibly because the man was trying to arrest a consort of the boys. Dr Busby obtained a royal pardon for his scholars from Charles II, and added the cost to the school bills.

During the 16th century the school educated writers including Ben Jonson and Richard Hakluyt; in the seventeenth, the poet John Dryden, philosopher John Locke, scientist Robert Hooke, composer Henry Purcell and architect Christopher Wren were pupils; and in the 18th century, philosopher Jeremy Bentham and several Whig Prime Ministers and other statesmen; recent Old Westminsters include prominent politicians of all parties, and many members of the arts and media.

Richard Hakluyt (1553–1616), writer[109]
Ben Jonson (1573–1637), poet and dramatist[110]
Arthur Dee (1579–1651), alchemist and royal physician
George Herbert (1593–1633), public orator and poet[111]
John Dryden (1631–1700), poet and playwright[112]
John Locke (1632–1704), philosopher[113]
Sir Christopher Wren (1632–1723), architect and scientist, co-founder of the Royal Society[114]
Robert Hooke FRS (1635–1703), British scientist[115]
Henry Purcell (1659–1695), composer
Augustus Henry Fitzroy, 3rd Duke of Grafton (1735–1811), Prime Minister
Charles Wesley (1707–1788), Methodist preacher and writer of over 6,000 hymns[116]
Edward Gibbon FRS (1737 – 1794), historian[117]
Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832), lawyer, eccentric and philosopher[118]
Thomas Pinckney (1750–1828), American soldier, politician, and diplomat.
Charles Cotesworth Pinckney (1746–1825), ADC to Washington 1777, defeated by Jefferson in 1804 in contest for Presidency
Matthew Gregory "Monk" Lewis (1775–1818), novelist and dramatist[119]
John Russell, 1st Earl Russell (1792–1878), Prime Minister
FitzRoy Somerset, 1st Baron Raglan (1788–1855), lost his right arm at Waterloo, C-in-C in the Crimea who is honoured with a statue in Dean's Yard
Augustus Short (11 June 1802 – 5 October 1883), the first Anglican bishop of Adelaide, South Australia
A. A. Milne (QS) (1882–1956), author and journalist[120]
Robert Southey (1774–1843), poet, historian and biographer[121]
Oliver Lyttelton, 1st Viscount Chandos (1893–1972), Cabinet Minister during World War II, chairman of the National Theatre Board
Hossein Ala' (1882–1964), former Prime Minister of Iran
Sir Adrian Boult (1889–1983), conductor
Edgar Adrian, 1st Baron Adrian (1889-1977) Nobel prize winner
Charles William Anderson Scott (1903–1946), pioneer aviator
Sir John Gielgud (GG) (1904–2000), actor and director[122]
Charles Harvard Gibbs-Smith (1909–1981), Britain's foremost early aviation historian[123]
Sir Norman Parkinson (1913-1990), portrait and fashion photographer
Sir Andrew Huxley (1917-2012), Nobel prizewinning physiologist
Sir Peter Ustinov (1921–2004), actor, writer, director and raconteur[124]
Tony Benn (born 1925), politician [125]
Peter Brook (born 1925, LL 1937–1938), theatre director
Nigel Lawson (born 1932, WW 1945–1950), former Chancellor of the Exchequer, father of Nigella Lawson
Simon Gray (1936–2008, WW 1949–1954), playwright and diarist[126]
Jonathan Fenby (born 1942, LL 1956-1960), journalist, author and former Editor of The Observer and South China Morning Post
Andrew Lloyd Webber (born 1948, QS 1960–1965), composer and producer[127]
Martin Amis (born 1949), novelist
Stephen Poliakoff (born 1952, WW 1966–1970), director, playwright and television dramatist[128]
Andrew Graham-Dixon (born 1960), art critic and writer
Timothy Winter (born 1960), Shaykh Zayed Lecturer in Islamic Studies, Faculty of Divinity, Cambridge University
Ian Bostridge (born 1964), classical tenor
James Robbins (GG 1968–1972), broadcaster
Shane MacGowan (born 1957, AHH 1972–1973), musician
David Heyman (born 1961), film producer[129][130][131]
Matt Frei (born 1963, RR 1978–1981), broadcaster [132]
Gavin Rossdale (born 1965), musician, songwriter, lead singer with rock band Bush
Lucasta Miller (born 1966), writer and critic
Helena Bonham Carter (born 1966, LL 1982–1984), actress[133]
Jason Kouchak (born 1967), pianist and composer
Noreena Hertz (born 1967, CC 1983-85), economist and campaigner
Nick Clegg[134] (born 1967, LL), Liberal Democrat leader, MP for Sheffield Hallam, Deputy Prime Minister
Ruth Kelly[135] (born 1968, DD 1984-86), Cabinet minister
Marcel Theroux (born 1968), novelist and broadcaster[136]
Joe Cornish (born 1968), broadcaster
Adam Buxton (born 1969), comedian
Louis Theroux (born 1970), broadcaster
Jonathan Yeo (born 1970), artist
Dido Armstrong (born 1971, WW, 1987–1989), British musician under the name "Dido"
Martha Lane Fox[137] (born 1973), head of Digital Public Services
James Reynolds (born 1974), BBC Beijing Correspondent
Conrad Shawcross (born 1977), artist
Pinny Grylls (born 1978, HH 1994–1996), documentary film-maker
Benjamin Yeoh (born 1978), playwright
Alexander Shelley (born 1979), conductor
Tom Pemberton (born 1969), Owner and Head Chef of restaurant "Hereford Road"

Last edited by lets blow; 17-05-2013 at 11:49 PM.
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Old 21-05-2013, 09:25 AM   #25
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Lets take a look at the school illuminati lynchpin Evelyn de Rothschild went to as a kid; Harrow School:


Harrow School, commonly known simply as "'Harrow", is an English independent school for boys situated in the town of Harrow, in north-west London.[2] There is some evidence that there has been a school on the site since 1243 but the Harrow School of today was officially founded by John Lyon under a Royal Charter of Elizabeth I in 1572.[3] Harrow is one of the original nine public schools that were defined by the Public Schools Act 1868.
The school has an enrollment of approximately 830 boys[4] spread across twelve boarding houses,[5] all of whom board full-time. It remains one of the four all-boys, full-boarding schools in Britain, the others being Radley College, Eton College and Winchester College. Harrow has many traditions and rich history, which includes the use of straw hats, morning suits, top hats and canes as uniform. Its long line of famous alumni include eight former Prime Ministers (including Churchill, Baldwin, Peel, and Palmerston), numerous foreign statesmen, former and current members of both houses of the UK Parliament, two Kings and several other members of various royal families, 20 Victoria Cross and one George Cross holders, and a great many notable figures in both the arts and the sciences. Good Schools Guide said the school "Does well, does the boys well, couldn't do better."

In 2005 the school was one of 50 of the country's leading independent schools which were found guilty of running an illegal price-fixing cartel, exposed by The Times, which had allowed them to drive up fees for thousands of parents, although the schools made clear that they had not realised that the change to the law (which had happened only a few months earlier) about the sharing of information had subsequently made it an offence.[11] Each school was required to pay a nominal penalty of £10,000 and all agreed to make ex-gratia payments totalling £3,000,000 into a trust designed to benefit pupils who attended the schools during the period in respect of which fee information was shared.[12] However, Mrs Jean Scott, the head of the Independent Schools Council, said that independent schools had always been exempt from anti-cartel rules applied to business, were following a long-established procedure in sharing the information with each other, and that they were unaware of the change to the law (on which they had not been consulted). She wrote to John Vickers, the OFT director-general, saying, "They are not a group of businessmen meeting behind closed doors to fix the price of their products to the disadvantage of the consumer. They are schools that have quite openly continued to follow a long-established practice because they were unaware that the law had changed

Since the late 2000s, the School Governors introduced Harrow to the international community by opening additional schools in Beijing, China, Bangkok, Thailand and New Territories, Hong Kong (in late 2012)

Why would Harrow be actively seeking out to "franchise new schools abroad?

Fresh meat for the Satanists and child sex rings essentially.

Expect to see missing children within a 50 mile radius of these schools once "they" establish themselves there. (http://www.harrowbeijing.cn/)


Also there is much research to be had, from the influence that the old headmaster Paul Cairn Vellacott (1934-1939) had on Rothschild. Vellacott was probably a illuminati familiar who moulded him into what he is today...

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Old 21-05-2013, 10:29 AM   #26
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Angry ..why?

Great thread! Thanx for creating this.

I too have wondered about the child snatching and state rearing system called 'boarding school'. Can you imagine a child at the age of 7 taken from its parental home and then looked after by a bunch of psychopathic, padeophillic strangers?? The question I have had for some time is...'why'? Why would a parent knowing what they went through, send their children off for the same systematic abuse, that they themselves endured?? It just goes to show how utterly brainwashed they are to think they have to carry on with this, generation after generation.

A loving, caring adoring parent WOULD NOT send their children to a place they KNOW is rife with physical and psychological abuse...so it would say to me the parents that do, are psychopaths themselves

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Old 28-05-2013, 09:43 AM   #27
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Heres a very good piece from George Monbiot who himself went to boarding school and now realises the horror of what was done to him in the name of "education"


Those whom the gods love die young: are they trying to tell me something? Due to an inexplicable discontinuity in space-time, on Sunday I turned 50. I have petitioned the relevant authorities, but there's nothing they can do.

So I will use the occasion to try to explain the alien world from which I came. To understand how and why we are now governed as we are, you need to know something of that strange place.

I was born into the third tier of the dominant class: those without land or capital, but with salaries high enough to send their children to private schools. My preparatory school, which I attended from the age of eight, was a hard place, still Victorian in tone. We boarded, and saw our parents every few weeks. We were addressed only by our surnames and caned for misdemeanours. Discipline was rigid, pastoral care almost non-existent. But it was also strangely lost.

A few decades earlier, the role of such schools was clear: they broke boys' attachment to their families and re-attached them to the institutions – the colonial service, the government, the armed forces – through which the British ruling class projected its power. Every year they released into the world a cadre of kamikazes, young men fanatically devoted to their caste and culture.

By the time I was eight those institutions had either collapsed (in the case of colonial service), fallen into other hands (government), or were no longer a primary means by which British power was asserted (the armed forces). Such schools remained good at breaking attachments, less good at creating them.

But the old forms and the old thinking persisted. The school chaplain used to recite a prayer that began "let us now praise famous men". Most of those he named were heroes of colonial conquest or territorial wars. Some, such as Douglas Haig and Herbert Kitchener, were by then widely regarded as war criminals. Our dormitories were named after the same people. The history we were taught revolved around topics such as Gordon of Khartoum, Stanley and Livingstone and the Black Hole of Calcutta. In geography, the maps still showed much of the globe coloured red.
My second boarding school was a kinder, more liberal place. But we remained as detached from the rest of society as Carthusian monks. The world, when we were released into it, was unrecognisable. It bore no relationship to our learning or experience. The result was cognitive dissonance: a highly uncomfortable state from which human beings will do almost anything to escape. There were two principal means. One – the more painful – was to question everything you held to be true. This process took me years: in fact, it has not ended. It was, at first, highly disruptive to my peace of mind and sense of self.
The other, as US Republicans did during the Bush presidency, is to create your own reality. If the world does not fit your worldview, you either shore up your worldview with selectivity and denial, or (if you have power) you try to bend the world to fit the shape it takes in your mind. Much of the effort of conservative columnists and editors, and of certain politicians and historians, appears to be devoted to these tasks.

In the Origins of Totalitarianism, Hannah Arendt explains that the nobles of pre-revolutionary France "did not regard themselves as representative of the nation, but as a separate ruling caste which might have much more in common with a foreign people of the same society and condition than with its compatriots".

Last year the former Republican staffer Mike Lofgren wrote something very similar about the dominant classes of the US: "the rich elites of this country have far more in common with their counterparts in London, Paris, and Tokyo than with their fellow American citizens … the rich disconnect themselves from the civic life of the nation and from any concern about its well being except as a place to extract loot. Our plutocracy now lives like the British in colonial India: in the place and ruling it, but not of it."
Secession from the concerns and norms of the rest of society characterises any well established elite. Our own ruling caste, schooled separately, brought up to believe in justifying fairytales, lives in a world of its own, from which it can project power without understanding or even noticing the consequences. A removal from the life of the rest of the nation is no barrier to the desire to dominate it. In fact, it appears to be associated with a powerful sense of entitlement.

So if you have wondered how the current government can blithely engage in the wholesale transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich, how its frontbench can rock with laughter as it truncates the livelihoods of the poorest people of this country, why it commits troops to ever more pointless post-colonial wars, here, I think, is part of the answer. Many of those who govern us do not in their hearts belong here. They belong to a different culture, a different world, which knows as little of its own acts as it knows of those who suffer them.
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Old 28-05-2013, 10:20 AM   #28
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Originally Posted by jay2k View Post
Just another way to destroy the family unit
That's how I see it as well. If these youngsters cannot bond with their own birth families in the normal manner they won't be able to connect with the public, their customers and their own children. A lot of these children will have had nannies and nurses before they were sent away meaning that even their infant years were corrupted.
Unlike a lot of other people, David walks the talk. Be careful who you trust in this alternative media and research.

Please don't feed the trolls.

When I LIKE a post, it does not always mean I agree, it can also just mean I think a valid point has been made.
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Old 28-08-2013, 10:05 AM   #29
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Lets focus on Ian Duncan Smith's elusive education;

Duncan Smith was educated at what is now St. Peter's RC Secondary School, Solihull until the age of 14,[5] then at HMS Conway, a Royal Navy training school on the Isle of Anglesey (where he allegedly played rugby union in the position of fly-half alongside Clive Woodward at centre) until he was 18.
His claim that he studied at the University of Perugia (founded 1308) was later found to be false after an investigation by the BBC.[6] His office subsequently admitted that he attended the Italian Università per Stranieri (founded 1921) in Perugia for a year but he did not obtain any qualifications or finish his exams.[6] In 1975 he attended the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst and was subsequently commissioned into the Scots Guards.[7] Duncan-Smith's biography, on the Conservative Party website, claimed he was "educated at Dunchurch College of Management" but following questioning by the BBC his office confirmed that he did not get any qualifications there either, stating that he completed six separate courses lasting a few days each, adding up to about a month in total.[6] Dunchurch was the former staff college for GEC Marconi, for whom Duncan-Smith worked in the 1980s.

the link we are looking at here is HMS Conway which was for intents and purposes a boarding school on water, that was away from nosy prying eyes;


The school was first rehoused in tents loaned by the British Army. These were quickly replaced by a hutted camp in the grounds of Plas Newydd where it stayed for ten years. All traces of the huts have now gone but modern day visitors to Plas Newydd still use the school's cafeteria. Then new premises were built for it in the grounds of Plas Newydd on the south coast of Anglesey, and thus Conway spent its last twenty years on dry land in what is known as a "stone frigate".
The school closed in 1974 after funding from the Government through Cheshire County Council was ceased. The buildings now house the Conway Centre, a residential arts and outdoor education centre.[4]

The question has to be asked; Why was the school denied funding? Why was evidence of the old school destroyed? Was the ship purposely sunk to hide evidence of child abuse? Or worse?

Ian Duncan Smith is a man to watch. Trust me on this one....
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Old 11-11-2013, 09:33 AM   #30
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Sir John Major has criticised the "truly shocking" dominance of the upper echelons of power in Britain by the privately educated and affluent middle class, it was reported.

In remarks that will sting Eton-educated David Cameron, his Tory predecessor in 10 Downing Street is said to have called for more to be done to boost social mobility.

The Daily Telegraph said the state-educated former prime minister, who left school at 16, spoke out in a speech to members of the South Norfolk constituency party.

"In every single sphere of British influence, the upper echelons of power in 2013 are held overwhelmingly by the privately educated or the affluent middle class," he is reported to have said. "To me, from my background, I find that truly shocking."

Cameron has faced claims he has surrounded himself with people from a similarly privileged family and educational background.

Major said: "Our education system should help children out of the circumstances in which they were born, not lock them into the circumstances in which they were born.

"We need them to fly as high as their luck, their ability and their sheer hard graft can actually take them. And it isn't going to happen magically."

In an appeal for unity, Major said the party could win the 2015 general election "but only if we pull together" - saying internal criticism could be productive but should be kept private.

"Public criticism is destructive. Take it from me. Political parties who are divided and torn simply do not win general elections," he said in a nod to the divisions which wracked his own premiership.

On one issue that has caused Conservative grass-roots dissent – gay marriage – he urged people to accept times had changed. "We may be unsettled by them, but David Cameron and his colleagues have no choice but to deal with this new world. They cannot, Canute-like order it to go away because it won't," he said.

And on another major area of concern, he recommended a less-confrontational approach to the threat of the UK Independence Party.

"We don't need to make personal attacks on Ukip," he said. "Many of the Ukip supporters are patriotic Britons who fear their country is changing.

"It is far more productive to expose the follies in their policies."

The comments thread for the piece has some interesting ideas in it....
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Old 22-11-2013, 10:31 AM   #31
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Now i know who to blame for Jeremy Clarkson...


The school was founded at the bequest of Sir John Port of Etwall, who died on 6 June 1557.[1] Port left funds to found a Grammar School either at Etwall or Repton, on the condition that the students of the school pray daily for the souls of his parents and relatives.[1] Two years after Sir John's death, in 1559, the executor's of his will purchased a portion of land formerly belonging to Repton Priory, from the Thacker family, for £37. 10s.[citation needed]

Repton Priory was a 12th-century Augustinian Priory, which had been dissolved in 1538. The abbey church and associated buildings had remained standing as the residence of the Thacker family until 1553, when then owner, Gilbert Thacker, fearing the priory would be recommissioned under Catholic Queen Mary I, had the church destroyed; a task that was almost entirely completed within a single day.[2][3] Gilbert Thacker claimed "He would destroy the nest, for fear the birds should build therein again."[2] Thus when the land was acquired, only a few fragments and foundations of the original priory buildings remained.[4][5] Fragments of the foundations of the prior's lodgings, dated c.1438, were incorporated into a later building; the majority of this building dates from the 17th century, however, and was comprehensively altered in the 19th century.[4][6][7] Parts of the foundations of other areas of the priory remain in several areas, having been uncovered during construction work in 1922: the bases of a cluster of columns remain of the former chancel and chapels; fragments of an arch remain, belonging to the former pulpitum, which were moved to their current position in 1906;[5] and fragments of the door surrounds of both the chapter house and warming room also survive.[4][7] The largest portion of the priory to survive is the fragments known as "Prior Overton's Tower", which dates from after 1437; largely altered from its original state, it has been in-cooperated into a largely 19th-century building.[8]
The School Arch. Formerly part of Repton Priory, it was moved to its current position in 1906.[5]
The Chapel

A preparatory school was founded during the Second World War to ensure that Repton School had enough pupils, and after the war the prep school moved to nearby Foremarke Hall.[citation needed] In 1970, the school, formerly only for boys, started accepting girls in the sixth form (the last two years).[citation needed] One of the first female sixth formers, Carole Blackshaw, went on to become Lady Mayoress of London in 2002/03.[9] Repton became fully coeducational around 1990.[citation needed]


Harold Abrahams, 100 m Gold Medallist, 1924 Olympics[24]
Charles A. Adeogun-Phillips, genocide and war crimes prosecutor[25]
Harry Altham, cricket historian, coach and administrator[26]
Carole Blackshaw, former Mayoress of London. [9]
Paul Borrington, cricketer[27]
Walter Buckmaster, (1872–1942) Polo player (1900 summer Olympics)[28]
Donald Carr, (1926-) Cricketer for Derbyshire and England [29]
Tom Chambers, actor and winner of Strictly Come Dancing[30]
Jeremy Clarkson, journalist and presenter of the BBC show Top Gear. Claims to have been expelled.[31]
Jack Crawford, cricketer[32]
Roald Dahl, author[31]
Sir James Darling OBE, Headmaster of Geelong Grammar School and Chairman of the Australian Broadcasting Commission[33]
Norman Demuth, Classical music composer & writer.
Sir Maurice Finnes, industrialist [34]
Sir Henry Firebrace, courtier to Charles I and Charles II[35]
Walter Franklin, cricketer[36]
Sir Christopher Frayling, Rector, The Royal College of Art[37]
C. B. Fry, cricketer[38]
Lieutenant General Sir Charles Henry Gairdner GBE KCMG KCVO CB (1898–1983), Governor of Western Australia and Governor of Tasmania[39]
Graeme Garden, comedian, member of The Goodies[40]
Johnny Gorman, footballer[41]
Sir Stuart Hampshire, Oxford philosopher[42]
Jonathan Harvey, composer[43]
John Holmes, cricketer[44]
Will Hughes, footballer[45]
Richard Hutton, England Test cricketer
Christopher Isherwood, novelist and screenwriter
Stephen Jones, lead singer of the band Babybird
Herbert Fortescue Lawford (1851-1925) tennis player, Wimbledon champion 1887
Sir Desmond Lee, classical scholar
Andrew Li, Queen's Counsel, Former Chief Justice of Hong Kong
Ewen MacIntosh, actor in The Office
Eric Maschwitz, entertainer, writer, broadcaster
Arthur James Mason, classical scholar and Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cambridge
Charles Armytage-Moore, (1880–1960) founder partner of London Stockbrokers, Buckmaster & Moore (now Credit Suisse Group)
Adrian Newey OBE, Formula One engineer
Edward Oakden, British Ambassador to UAE
David Pratt, Professor of Law at Albany Law School
Michael Ramsey, Archbishop of Canterbury
Basil Rathbone, actor most known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the Sherlock Holmes (1939 film series)[46]
Denys Rayner, Battle of the Atlantic veteran, writer and boat designer
Nick Raynsford, Labour MP
Sir John Rolleston, Conservative MP
Johnny Rozsa, fashion, portrait, and celebrity photographer
Robert Sangster, racehorse owner and breeder author[47][48]
John James Scott-Chisholme, Boer war cavalry officer
Lieutenant-General Sir Frederick Shaw, World War I officer and Commander-in-Chief, Ireland
Rupert Shephard, English artist
The Revd Henry Holmes Stewart (1847–1937) 1873 FA Cup winner[49]
Edward Upward, novelist and short story writer
Charles Watts (1905–1985), cricketer and British Army officer
Andy Wilman, Top Gear producer (2002–present) and Top Gear (1994–2001)
Nicholas Wood (MP), (1832–1892) industrialist and Conservative MP
Robert J. C. Young, post-colonial theorist, cultural critic and historian
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Old 22-11-2013, 04:33 PM   #32
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the OP is wrong ... there is no "global boarding school system."
they are very uncommon around the world, actually.
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Old 22-11-2013, 04:40 PM   #33
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Not all our boarding schools in England are uber posh and for the kids of very rich parents.
There are 36 'State' boarding schools plus a couple for the kids of serving soldiers prone to being posted frequently.
The idea being that the kids education isn't disrupted by constantly having to change schools.
We looked at a State boarding school for our two lads as I was in the service but thought better of it after we'd visited the place.
It was pretty grim.
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Old 28-04-2014, 09:17 AM   #34
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IT’S nearly 6pm and David Dinsmore has just enough time for a chat before addressing a group of marketing professionals in Glasgow’s Blythswood Square hotel.

The Glasgow-born editor of the Sun newspaper has one of the biggest jobs in the industry, but he and his colleagues are on something of a mission, travelling around Britain in an attempt to build bridges after a series of damaging scandals hit the titles in the stable of News UK, the British arm of Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporation.

The initiative has taken Dinsmore back to his alma mater, Strathallan boarding school in Perthshire, where he spent part of the day fielding questions from sixth-formers. Among the students was his daughter Kirsty.

Safely out of the 16-year-old’s reach in the Blythswood’s upstairs bar, Dinsmore recounts airing photos of his daughter – aged ten and modelling various football kits – in front of all of her classmates. “I managed to humiliate her,” he says with an impish grin.

Though he doesn’t say it in so many words, Dinsmore is keen to present a different side to the business of tabloid journalism in an effort to counterbalance a difficult period. As we spoke he was preparing to address the latest in a series of Albion dinners organised by the Marketing Society Scotland and says it is time to champion the important role of print media, and be proud of the work it undertakes.

“We have done a very good job as an industry in talking ourselves down, probably for about the last 15 years,” he says. “We need to change that.”

One common stereotype is that of the gruff, demanding editor barking out commands while rejecting nearly every story on offer as second-rate. It’s an image that could barely be more at odds with the affable demeanour of Dinsmore, who has been described by colleagues as “annoyingly cheerful”.

He says: “People have this image of editors, particularly tabloid editors, as having two horns and a forked tail.”

The charm offensive led by Dinsmore – who began his career with the company in 1991 and also had a stint at the top of the Scottish edition of the tabloid – is a central pillar in the group’s efforts to rebuild its credentials as a socially responsible organisation. It comes in the wake of the phone-hacking scandal that forced the closure of the Sun’s sister title, the News of the World, in 2011. Subsequent investigations under Operation Elveden led to the arrests of a number of Sun journalists on accusations of bribery of public officials.

The treatment of his colleagues clearly disturbs Dinsmore, who loses a shade of his good humour when discussing the police raids on the homes of his co-workers. There are also suggestions of a lack of solidarity in the professional ranks, as other media organisations largely distanced themselves from the unpalatable events at his company.

Despite all of that, News UK’s concerted public relations efforts are not solely aimed at repairing the company’s image. Dinsmore believes they will also help the group tap into a new pool of journalistic talent.

In that vein, Strathallan certainly has a track record. Dinsmore’s class at school included a number of other journalistic names, including Rick Fulton, the Daily Record showbiz editor, and Tim Reid, political correspondent for the BBC. DJ and radio presenter Jim Gellatly was also in Dinsmore’s year at Strathallan.

Dinsmore says he is always interested in listening to the views of young people, most of whom are unabashed in quizzing him about the company’s high-profile difficulties. This was less the case this time around at Strathallan, where the students focused more on the “process” and “business” of news, but Dinsmore did have to field questions on Scottish independence.

He refuses to divulge his personal opinion on the matter. As for whether the Sun will eventually take an editorial line, the answer is “wait and see”.

“There is an awful long way to go, and it is an exceptionally divisive issue,” he notes. “A lot of thought has to go into positioning on an issue like this.”

His career has taken him in and out of Scotland. As of the last 18 months he has been resident in London, but tends to make it back to Scotland about once every couple of months for at least a “flying visit thing”. It is during these ­return journeys that he gets a fresh view of his home land.

“The thing that really strikes me is what a divided country Scotland is,” he says. “There is a real east-west divide, there is a real north-south divide, and there is also this strong religious divide in the west of Scotland that you just kind of take for granted if you grow up here, but it doesn’t exist in other places. We have now added another division with Yes/No.”

Whatever the wider uncertainties, Dinsmore is unflinching in his faith in the popularity of the Sun, which sells more than two million copies daily. Add in the stories that are reproduced online and he reckons more people are consuming its material than ever before.

His conviction allows him to firmly fend off widespread – and growing – criticism of the red-top’s daily Page 3 girl with the sweeping observation that none of the campaigners against topless women actually buy the paper. He also claims that focus groups among readers confirm continuing support for the controversial feature.

“I have always said that it is here for as long as the readers want it,” he says in the prosaic manner of one who has had this conversation a few too many times.

But there is another legacy issue that Dinsmore has inherited that gives him genuine pause for thought. That is the paper’s notorious coverage of Hillsborough, with the paper claiming that Liverpool fans themselves were to blame for the disaster.

“It was a terrible mistake,” he says. “I would love to find a solution to it – I would love to find some reconciliation.”


Job: Editor, the Sun

Born: Glasgow, 1968

Education: Strathallan School; general management at Columbia Business School, New York

First job: Painting fence posts and other odds jobs at West of Scotland Football Club

Ambition while at school: To be a journalist

Car: I don’t own a car, we sold it when we moved back to London

Kindle or book? Kindle for novels, but a book for textbooks

Can’t live without: My phone

Favourite place: London

What makes you angry? I get frustrated that I can’t do everything I want to do immediately. The other thing that upsets me is rash generalisations – preconceptions and misconceptions – about the Sun, and journalists in general.

Best thing about your job: Doing something for which we will be famous the next day

The context of this post is to show the inherent psychopathy of people who end up in mainstream journalism. Its pricks like Dinsmore in Scotland who get "chosen" to work in media like the BBC and News International, because they have been "indoctrinated" at the boarding school.

Strathallan is a can of worms waiting to be opened up in Scotland....
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Old 09-05-2014, 09:40 AM   #35
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If Ashdown House's pretty Georgian facade reminds you of Washington's Capitol and the White House that's because the architect, Benjamin Latrobe, had a hand in those, too. It is an excellent look for the entrance to a temple of education: it speaks of classical wisdom and the rule of reason. We boys weren't allowed to go in that way, of course.

Today, 40 years since I last saw the school, we step in through Latrobe's columned porch as though entitled. Nothing can touch us: we're parents. Ruth, my wife, grips my hand. A friend who works in post-traumatic stress disorder warned us, quite gravely, of the risks when people visit scenes of past troubles; of hyper-arousal – sweats, nausea, high heart-rate. Or the opposite, hypo-arousal: a state of lethargy, a feeling of unreality. But I'm fine. Pulse steady. People hurt you, not places.

There were no ghosts, no shocks as we toured the corridors and classrooms. I have not been looking forward to the smell. I could summon the brew: disinfectant, boy sweat, meat stew, chalk dust. An incense of misery. But it is gone. There is no chalk these days.

It is the details from other senses that clamour. The give of a floorboard in a corridor, the sunlight through a window, the shape of a wooden refectory bench, an echo of children's voices. We enter a cosy girls' dormitory where the low black beams were, suddenly, shockingly familiar. And the brick fireplace. This used to be headmaster "Billy" Williamson's study. I'd scrutinised those bricks, the way they sat upon each other, many times over those five years. Waiting for his flap-jowled face to stop shouting and get to business: detail the punishment or the beating.

Just down the corridor, two worn wooden steps led to the tiny dormitory where I slept in my first term at the school. I and the other eight-year-olds would turn our faces into our mattresses, pull pillows over our heads. If you wept out loud, the 10-year-old dormitory captain and his deputy threatened to whip you with a belt. That was their prerogative, they told us on the first night, a few hours after our mothers had extracted promises from them to look after their little ones.

The last seems such a cliché of boarding school life – surely the tearful mummy pleading with the bullies is in Tom Brown's School Days? Or a Michael Palin sketch? – I wonder if I've made it up. The memories are blurred. I'm shocked how few of them there are. And telling and retelling the few stories that stand out in bright light carries risks – they gather accretions. Now when I meet men who were at the school I tend to check detail obsessively – He was called what? That happened when? – as if without reaffirmation what was real might slip into the darkness. Old Ashdownians sometimes tell me things that make my jaw drop.

But I do know that after the half-term break that first autumn we came back to a terrifying dressing-down, delivered under those low beams in the headmaster's study. One of us new boys – I still don't know who – had complained about the regime in Dormitory V to his parents. This was the cardinal sin. What happened in school stayed in school. Billy punished us all. We didn't tell tales again.

Some of the key locations have shrunk absurdly small: the brick chapel where Billy gripped the Bible and harangued us with the backing of his three trustiest prefects: Jesus, the Holy Ghost and God. Just as tiny now is the assembly room where, daily, 120 boys aged seven to 13 were ranked on wooden benches. Here the diatribes, the mass punishments and public humiliations happened. This was where he would detail who had cried under the cane the previous night: "Jones and Smith took it like gentlemen. But Renton blubbed like a baby."

That was then. Now the site is the "play-room", with a cushioned chill-out area adjoining. The larky 12-year-olds playing pool round a table seem to take up half the space. In the corridor I find a familiar picture, a print of the Pietro Annigoni portrait of the Queen, done after her coronation. She is young, beautiful and brave. I remember I used to watch her during assembly. I would wonder what she would do if she knew how unjustly we, her young subjects, were being treated. I'd will her to descend, glorious like the first Queen Elizabeth, and order Billy and his staff to the Tower. Or, like Boudica, ride down on the teachers and the prefects, slashing them to bits with the spinning swords on her chariot wheels.

The school has prospered since, as has the whole industry: now there are 22 full-time teaching staff. In my time there were only 10 or 12, some of them just graduated, and I wonder how many of them had any qualification at all. There's a new teaching block, a purpose-built canteen, a swimming pool and a kindergarten.

Lost in this warren is the classroom where, one afternoon when I was nine or 10, a hated and violent young teacher I will call Mr X slipped his hand into my corduroy shorts and tugged at my penis. This was a known hazard – in return Mr X gave you a Rowntree's fruit gum. Mine was a green one, nobody's favourite. Is this a memory I can trust? No doubt. I can feel my face against the rough tweed of his jacket, scratchy.

As the visit goes on, corridor after corridor, a sadness grows in my chest. Afterwards, utter exhaustion. I'm very glad, though, to see these rooms now full of light and character.

Especially that. Where our walls were bare and the only softness the identical candlewick bedspreads, now there are teddy bears and family photos; posters of ponies and Chelsea footballers. Peering into classrooms, the children are lively – unnaturally polite, compared with the ones at my daughter's state primary – but no one looks unhappy. As if they would. I realised I'd sort of expected that. Little rooms full of children with faces like The Scream.

After the tour, there are coffee and biscuits – we've come posing as prospective parents – with the headmaster and his wife, a couple in their 40s. They seem kind and practical. We chat about how boarding schools have changed and who from my days stays in touch. Who sends their own children to Ashdown. This stiff conversation is interrupted by a dazed little child who has brought a letter to be sent to his parents.

The headmaster calls him "my dear boy": when the child stammers what he wants and leaves, the headmaster explains a little, adding that winter is a bad time of year in a new school. We make sympathetic faces. I say that if my daughter comes to the school, she would like not to board immediately. The headmaster nods. That's fine. Weekly boarding is good, though an initial period of no contact with parents is for the best. One of the boarders, he tells us, is just six years old. That's been fine, too. His wife nods. At Ashdown now there is, the brochure reassures you, a "warm, kind and trusting home-from-home environment". No hugs, though.

The little boy's letter to Mummy, the scrawled envelope barely legible, lies between us on the coffee table among the porcelain like something raw. I remember how the teachers would inspect our letters home, and how we were punished if found to have complained to our parents. In a school of endless rules, offences against omerta were perhaps the most seriously policed of all. Of the platitudes from the current headmaster, only one impresses me: the school likes to encourage "independent thought". That is a change. This is a very different place altogether.

The last time I set foot in the school was the day I left, aged 13. In the 40 years since, Ashdown has loomed large – it was, as they say, "the making of me", for better and for worse. But I had not thought of revisiting. Except once, aged 15. Then a group of boys at Eton and I had discussed whether we might charter a mini-bus and visit the grave of the newly deceased Billy Williamson, to dance on it. It never happened. But the thought was good.

With the headmaster's death, Ashdown House and its demons began to fade. A young teacher, one of the decent ones, became headmaster, introduced girls and abolished the cane. The stories of baroque cruelty and insane adult behaviour became jokes, used to bond with people who'd been through the system at other schools. There was a time when the stories were fun to use to horrify girls, and another when they could serve to excuse your own emotional screw-ups. They were war stories: they made us feel special.

Sympathy in the wider world was limited. It still is. We were toffs whose parents had paid for the luxury of having their children abused – we were hardly the survivors of the care homes of north Wales or Catholic church vestries. We were not noisy: we kept calm and carried on, as trained. Some of us would later untangle the memories in therapy.

There has clearly been some demand for that. By the 1990s this odd corner of the British ruling class's mechanisms had become a subject of academic study and the grounds of psychiatric careers. Now Boarding School Syndrome has a symptomology, "survivors' groups" and it's a thriving area for counsellors and psychotherapists. Private, of course. Money buys you entry: a friend who works in psychological trauma in the NHS says she's never come across this particular field.

The story of the British boarding school and its experiences have been widely written, as one might expect. Reading the raw accounts in the recent press and on abuse survivors' web fora I find myself flinching a little at how nicely turned some of the accounts are: like the lesser poets of the First World War, the emotional effects are just a touch self-conscious, the result, probably, of too much Wordsworth and Keats in the Fourth Form. Strange, to educate people to go out and be cannon fodder, but also to describe the experience like a Romantic.

Most of the professional memoirists seem to have ended up accommodating their boarding school experience: "Hell, but it made me the man/woman I am." Some who loathed their school days end up endorsing the system. Among these are Winston Churchill and Richard Dawkins. In his new autobiography, the scientist reckons the "mild paedophilia" he encountered was of its time and thus acceptable. 'I am very conscious that you can't condemn people of an earlier era by the standards of ours," he has said.

Far from condemning, others acknowledge they owe their careers to the emotional catastrophe of their education. Generations of male, middle-class British comedians' currency is the dry, dark humour that comes straight from the coping mechanisms of upper-class suffering. The other day, Eddie Izzard spoke of how he was sent to board at seven, shortly after his mother' death. He "cried relentlessly for a year… My housemaster would help me along with beatings when he could fit them in."

That brand of wry fatalism is characteristic. My wife Ruth did not go to boarding school. She says she cannot stand it when people who did talk through their experiences in "endless infantile grim jokes". But modern British culture has swallowed the boarding school story and digested it, caring not very much. It was an anachronism, a hangover of the imperial age, and in the 1990s, it looked as though the boarding schools were dying out. Numbers of boarders were collapsing.

Then new money and changing fashion brought about a curious revival. Another generation of the rich started sending their children away again. Once again, the little ones demanded it, they said, because of the books they had been reading. Only this time, the propaganda wasn't Enid Blyton's Malory Towers or Anthony Buckeridge's Jennings but JK Rowling (who did not go to boarding school and doesn't send her own children to one). Perhaps Harry Potter revived the English boarding school: numbers of boarding children have stayed stable since 2000 and through the recession. There's about 70,000 of them. As far as I can work out, around 4,000 of those are 10 or younger.

Now, of course, the country has had four years of its own experience of the effects of boarding school. The majority of the 2010 coalition cabinet were privately educated, most of them as boarders. Boris Johnson went to my schools – Ashdown and then Eton, and Andrew Mitchell, the former chief whip, went to Ashdown before going to Rugby. Of course, there's never been a government, even a Labour one, in which privately educated people were not among the major players. But, as critics like to point out, this clutch of male ruling politicians embodies the grand Victorian public school virtues – or failings – more than most: suppression of emotion, devotion to the team, distrust of women and minimal empathy for the weak and ordinary.

And so it is interesting that so many senior politicians in government went to boarding schools, places that, by definition, practise on young children the techniques of "attachment fracture" – a psychiatrist's phrase that are key to removing early emotional ties and building esprit de corps. Of those politicians quite a few – including the chancellor, the prime minister and deputy prime minister, the Mayor of London and the Attorney General – were at private schools where teachers from their era have been accused or convicted of sexual abuse. The coalition is quite an advert for the old way.

For two decades there has been talk of an enormous abuse scandal brewing behind the facade of the 20th-century British private education system. Last December the story sprang to life. A long-running case against Peter Wright, the 83-year-old former headmaster of a school in Buckinghamshire called Caldicott, came to an end. Wright was found guilty of 12 counts of sexual abuse: one of the piquant details was that Nick Clegg had been joint head-boy at the school; his colleague, the other head boy, was one of the principal witnesses against Wright.

He had first been charged 10 years' earlier. A judge threw out the case because the offences were "historical". When the trial that finally went ahead in 2013, some of the 1960s allegations were not admitted. (Wright has now been jailed for eight years, having been found guilty of 10 indecent assaults and two counts of gross indecency, between 1959 and 1970). At least 30 pupils were involved, according to one newspaper. Five other teachers were implicated, one of whom threw himself under a tube train before the trial. One Caldicott teacher, sacked in 1972, went on to teach and abuse at the Harrodian School: the law did not catch up with him until 2003. Another abused children at Caldicott and a school in Shropshire in the 1970s and 1980s and was finally jailed this February. There is, not for the first time, talk of a "ring" of paedophile teachers operating in the 1970s in prep schools and public schools.

With the Wright case done, the principle that ancient allegations could be successfully prosecuted was established. It was certain more would follow. In mid-January the Times's hard-working reporter of child abuse scandals, Andrew Norfolk, wrote of a "surge in criminal prosecutions" and named 130 private schools who have been or are now subject to similar allegations. That was 5% of all in the UK. It included 50 in the independent schools' premier league, the Headmaster's Conference. Twenty of them were feeders to Eton. In the same story, Norfolk pointed out that teachers from 62 different private schools had been convicted of sex crimes against children in the past 20 years – 18 convictions since 2012. Norfolk called it "stealing their childhoods".

This all passed me by, until, last December, a story appeared in the Times naming Ashdown House under the headline "Prep school faces claims of physical and sexual abuse." The Daily Mail was gripped, because Ashdown in the 70s had not just been the school of Boris Johnson but also the actor Damian Lewis and the Queen's nephew David Linley. Linley was my contemporary – in the Mail he was quoted reminiscing without any affection about the "Dickensian" school. He remembered Billy Williamson caning his whole class for one child's "fairly petty" offence.

The old man did like a big gesture. I remember him – huge, red-faced, ranting – threatening to cane the entire school unless a boy owned up to some particularly infuriating crime. I think it was a broken window. An older Ashdownian told me Billy had actually once attempted that feat – giving 120 boys "six of the best" in one afternoon. Despite being a keen golfer with a good swing, which he practised on the Royal Ashdown course most weekends, Williamson ran out of steam. He gave up having got through hardly half of them.

But the new allegations were about more than caning, which was a legal practice in independent schools in England and Wales until 1999. (About the same time, the independent schools for the first time became subject to full state inspection.) The Mail story talked of "horrific attacks" by two teachers in the early and mid-70s. The paper had been leaked details of a campaign for compensation started by former pupils, in part because they were infuriated that a complaint about abuse made in 2003 had been brushed aside. This group had been taken on as no-win-no-fee clients by the solicitors representing some victims of Jimmy Savile.

Through friends who had also been at Ashdown, I got more detail. The complaints, from a group a few years younger than me, were indeed horrific: sexual acts much more intrusive than Mr X's pathetic bribe and fumblings. There was talk of blackmail and predatory older pupils encouraged by abusive teachers. That chimed with my adult perception of the bizarre sexualisation of life at Ashdown, especially the system of reward and discipline. At least two children I knew who had been given authority over younger kids used it to force sexual contact – Williamson seemed to have turned a blind eye. There was talk of connections with house masters at Eton, to which Ashdown fed pupils. There had been at least one suicide. There were more teachers in the complaint.

The Mail's story quoted from an email that the former Ashdown pupils were passing around: "The abuse that occurred continues to have a dramatic effect on a number of lives, with regards to ongoing relationships, career and treatment for dealing with the psychological damage it has caused. Therefore we are seeking compensation with regards to a civil case against the school."

I was very shocked when I read this – more than I could easily understand. Ashdown had had a dramatic effect on my life, too, but I had thought it was done. I didn't feel any need for revenge or compensation for what had happened 40 years ago. I didn't think I needed catharsis, either – I had long ago let light onto what I experienced at Ashdown. I was open about it with lovers, friends and family. I was, as much as I could hope to be, at peace.

But I realised I owed support to others who might need revenge, relief from the history – or money. There was another pressing need. The abusers had all been young men, if my memory could be trusted. They could still be teaching. Why hadn't I acted on Mr X years ago? I could not explain that.

The first thing I did, though, was to email the Daily Mail story to my parents. This was not revenge. That my career at Ashdown was a mistake that they deeply regretted was something we had established a long time ago. If there was anything to forgive, I had forgiven it. I know they loved me. They were victims of a terrible fraud.

Besides, the sexual abuses were, in my version of the story, just detail: the real narrative was of five years of deliberate crushing of our individuality, the suppression of emotional freedom. Sexual bullying seemed just a part of the violence and cruelty that was the basic currency of the school and hundreds like it; the tools with which it squashed our little forms into the mould. Out of it would come upper-class Englishmen and women – ready to go and run an Empire or, at least, take charge of lesser mortals with normal feelings.

So went my thinking. Nothing unfamiliar: it has been said by British liberals from George Orwell onwards. Psychiatrists I have spoken to agree that, yes, while sexual and physical abuse is the headline grabber (and what makes criminal cases), real damage is done to children and adults by long-term psychological abuse. A child may recover from a blow, but not from the withdrawal of love and the denial of safety – the "complex trauma" child psychologists talk of. Comfy with my understanding, I was someone who had dealt with his schooldays.

But then I got an email back from my mother. What she wrote stripped away my reading and intellectualising, like so many useless bandages. She said I had told her about Mr X.

Then I cried. Because that summoned a picture: a small boy, nervous, excited in his new clothes and tie, ready to drive to Ashdown House on a September morning in 1969. My little brother and sisters gathered round to wave me off. A few weeks before I'd sat up late to watch the astronauts land on the moon on the TV. I wanted to be an adventurer, too. This journey seemed like the beginning. I was as brave and trusting as only the innocent can be. I never really trusted an adult again, not until I was one myself.

My mother's email upended my 52-year-old's view of my Ashdown self. I'd thought that September day was the last of my bravery. That I had been crushed, totally. In a privately published book of appreciation given to Billy Williamson for some anniversary shortly before his death in 1976, there is a selection of some pupils' prize-winning work. It includes a story I wrote when I was 12.

It's a plain account of a self-centred little boy who is given a rabbit for his birthday. The novelty wears off, the boy, careless and cruel, fails to clean the hutch or feed the rabbit. His mother warns him to look after it better; he punishes the rabbit by throwing mud and stones at it. When eventually it dies, he weeps as he buries it. But then a few days later, when a fox digs up the rabbit's corpse, he doesn't notice. "Nor were the flowers on its grave ever renewed," is the last phrase.

That story of the selfish little boy and the all-knowing adults has long seemed to me as good a totem as any to show that the school had done the job it was paid for. Ashdown had broken me, as you do when you train an animal, and then drilled me until I was a suitable citizen. But my mother's revelation showed I had kicked back. In fact, I had broken the most important of all of Billy's rules. I had told tales out of school. l specifically said a teacher was touching me in a way I didn't like and that I "hated" him. And she had gone straight to the school to raise hell with the headmaster's wife.

That may explain Mr X's disappearance shortly after (to teach at another school, according to the Ashdown School Bulletin of that year). It may explain the way the headmaster targeted me in the following years, singling me out in front of the school as a fraud, a failure and a perpetrator of "filthy behaviour". But it gave me a new vision of the brave little boy who wouldn't be cowed by Billy Williamson: the boy who spoke out.

And so I thought of those others, today and in the past, at Ashdown and all the other schools who wanted to speak up. I thought of the children in council care homes, in borstals and mental institutions, who over the years were left in thrall to adults without protection. I thought of the ruined marriages, the let-down kids, the suicides, the stunted and miserable lives – the great swathe of collateral damage that psychological trauma leaves. I thought of all the kids taken from their homes too early and thus denied, as the writer David Thomas once put it, the chance to love.

I thought particularly of the 45,000 under-10s in the UK who are in local authority care today. Of the 2,000 or so kids nine or younger – too young, according to any child psychologist – whose parents are now sending them to boarding school. For convenience, or notions of status, or just because they did not love them enough, to taking a mad gamble with their children's emotional health, with their lives. And I thought of all the head-teachers who have protested that schools risk being closed by the legal actions, that that was then and this is now, that the abuses of the old boarding schools could not possibly happen today. I decided to go and see Ashdown. And I decided to talk to the police.

Alex Renton's account is a brave and amazing piece. Just another nail in the coffin of the satanic boarding school network in Britain.
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Old 10-06-2014, 10:55 AM   #36
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In Britain, the link between private boarding education and leadership is gold-plated. If their parents can afford it, children are sent away from home to walk a well-trodden path that leads straight from boarding school through Oxbridge to high office in institutions such as the judiciary, the army, the City and, especially, government. Our prime minister was only seven when he was sent away to board at Heatherdown preparatory school in Berkshire. Like so many of the men who hold leadership roles in Britain, he learned to adapt his young character to survive both the loss of his family and the demands of boarding school culture. The psychological impact of these formative experiences on Cameron and other boys who grow up to occupy positions of great power and responsibility cannot be overstated. It leaves them ill-prepared for relationships in the adult world and the nation with a cadre of leaders who perpetuate a culture of elitism, bullying and misogyny affecting the whole of society.

Nevertheless, this golden path is as sure today as it was 100 years ago, when men from such backgrounds led us into a disastrous war; it is familiar, sometimes mocked, but taken for granted. But it is less well known that costly, elite boarding consistently turns out people who appear much more competent than they actually are. They are particularly deficient in non-rational skills, such as those needed to sustain relationships, and are not, in fact, well-equipped to be leaders in today's world

I have been doing psychotherapy with ex-boarders for 25 years and I am a former boarding-school teacher and boarder. My pioneering study of privileged abandonment always sparks controversy: so embedded in British life is boarding that many struggle to see beyond the elitism and understand its impact. The prevalence of institutionalised abuse is finally emerging to public scrutiny, but the effects of normalised parental neglect are more widespread and much less obvious. Am I saying, then, that David Cameron, and the majority of our ruling elite, were damaged by boarding?

It's complex. My studies show that children survive boarding by cutting off their feelings and constructing a defensively organised self that severely limits their later lives. Cameron, Boris Johnson, Jeremy Hunt, Andrew Mitchell, Oliver Letwin et al tick all the boxes for being boarding-school survivors. For socially privileged children are forced into a deal not of their choosing, where a normal family-based childhood is traded for the hothousing of entitlement. Prematurely separated from home and family, from love and touch, they must speedily reinvent themselves as self-reliant pseudo-adults.

Paradoxically, they then struggle to properly mature, since the child who was not allowed to grow up organically gets stranded, as it were, inside them. In consequence, an abandoned child complex within such adults ends up running the show. This is why many British politicians appear so boyish. They are also reluctant to open their ranks to women, who are strangers to them and unconsciously held responsible for their abandonment by their mothers. With about two-thirds of the current cabinet from such a background, the political implications of this syndrome are huge – because it's the children inside the men running the country who are effectively in charge.

Boarding children invariably construct a survival personality that endures long after school and operates strategically. On rigid timetables, in rule-bound institutions, they must be ever alert to staying out of trouble. Crucially, they must not look unhappy, childish or foolish – in any way vulnerable – or they will be bullied by their peers. So they dissociate from all these qualities, project them out on to others, and develop duplicitous personalities that are on the run, which is why ex-boarders make the best spies.

Now attached to this internal structure instead of a parent, the boarding child survives, but takes into adulthood a permanent unconscious anxiety and will rarely develop what Daniel Goleman calls emotional intelligence. In adulthood he sticks to the same tactics: whenever he senses a threat of being made to look foolish, he will strike. We see this in Cameron's over-reaction to Angela Eagle MP, less than a year into his new job. "Calm down, dear!" the PM patronisingly insisted, as if she were the one upset and not he. The opposite benches loved it, of course, howling "Flashman!" (the public school bully from Tom Brown's Schooldays), but they never take on the cause of these leadership defects.

Bullying is inevitable and endemic in 24/7 institutions full of abandoned and frightened kids. Ex-boarders' partners often report that it ends up ruining home life, many years later. Bullying pervades British society, especially in politics and the media, but, like boarding, we normalise it. When, in 2011, Jeremy Clarkson ranted that he would have striking public-sector workers shot, he was even defended by Cameron – it was apparently a bit of fun. No prizes for guessing where both men learned their styles. And no wonder that the House of Commons, with its adversarial architecture of Victorian Gothic – just like a public school chapel – runs on polarised debate and bullying.

Strategic survival has many styles: bullying is one; others include keeping your head down, becoming a charming bumbler, or keeping an incongruently unruffled smile in place, like health secretary Jeremy Hunt, former head boy at Charterhouse. In a remarkable 1994 BBC documentary called The Making of Them, whose title I borrowed for my first book, young boarders were discreetly filmed over their first few weeks at prep school. Viewers can witness the "strategic survival personality" in the process of being built. "Boarding school," says nine-year-old Freddy, puffing himself up, putting on his Very Serious Face and staring at the camera, "has changed me, and the one thing I can do now is get used [to it]". This false independence, this display of pseudo-adult seriousness is as evident in the theatrical concern of Cameron as it was in Tony Blair. It displays the strategic duplicity learned in childhood; it is hard to get rid of, and, disastrously, deceives even its creator.

The social privilege of boarding is psychologically double-edged: it both creates shame that prevents sufferers from acknowledging their problems, as well as unconscious entitlement that explains why ex-boarder leaders are brittle and defensive while still projecting confidence. Boris is so supremely confident that he needs neither surname nor adult haircut; he trusts his buffoonery to distract the public from what Conrad Black called "a sly fox disguised as a teddy bear". On the steps of St Paul's, Boris commanded the Occupy movement: "In the name of God and Mammon, go!" Was it a lark – Boris doing Monty Python? Or a coded message, announcing someone who, for 10 years, heard the King James Bible read in chapel at Eton? Those who don't recognise this language, it suggests, have no right to be here, so they should just clear off.

This anachronistic entitlement cannot easily be renounced: it compensates for years without love, touch or family, for a personality under stress, for the lack of emotional, relational and sexual maturation. In my new book, Wounded Leaders, I trace the history of British elitism and the negative attitude towards children to colonial times and what I call the "rational man project", whose Victorian boarding schools were industrial power stations churning out stoic, superior leaders for the empire.

Recent evidence from neuroscience experts shows what a poor training for leaderships this actually is. In short, you cannot make good decisions without emotional information (Professor Antonio Damasio); nor grow a flexible brain without good attachments (Dr Sue Gerhardt); nor interpret facial signals if your heart has had to close down (Professor Stephen Porges); nor see the big picture if your brain has been fed on a strict diet of rationality (Dr Iain McGilchrist). These factors underpin Will Hutton's view that "the political judgments of the Tory party have, over the centuries, been almost continuously wrong".

With survival but not empathy on his school curriculum from age seven, Cameron is unlikely to make good decisions based on making relationships in Europe, as John Major could. He can talk of leading Europe, but not of belonging to it. Ex-boarder leaders cannot conceive of communal solutions, because they haven't had enough belonging at home to understand what it means. Instead, they are limited to esprit de corps with their own kind. In order to boost his standing with the rightwingers in his party, Cameron still thinks he can bully for concessions, make more supposedly "robust" vetos.

His European counterparts don't operate like this. Angela Merkel has held multiple fragile coalitions together through difficult times by means of her skill in relationships and collaboration. Though deadlocked at home, Barack Obama impressed both sides of British politics and in 2009 entered the hostile atmosphere of the Kremlin to befriend the then-president Dmitry Medvedev and make headway on a difficult disarmament treaty. In a subsequent meeting with the real power behind the throne, Obama invited Vladimir Putin to expound for an hour on what hadn't worked in recent Russian-American relationships, before responding. Despite their elitist education, and because of it, our own "wounded leaders" can't manage such statesmanship.

To change our politics, we'll have to change our education system. Today, most senior clinicians recognise boarding syndrome, several of whom recently signed a letter to the Observer calling for the end of early boarding. Its elitism ought to motivate the left. The Attlee government intended to disband the public schools, but not even Wilson's dared to. There's a cash problem: boarding is worth billions and has a massive lobby. Unlike most other European countries, our state does not contribute a per capita sum towards private education, so dismantling these schools, which still enjoy charitable status, would be costly. But can we really afford to sacrifice any more children for the sake of second-rate leadership?

Wounded Leaders: British Elitism and the Entitlement Illusion – a Psychohistory is published by Lone Arrow Press, £20

I strongly recommend everyone get a copy of Wounded Leaders by Nick Duffell. It goes a long long way to explain why we have such fucked up politicians in the decaying UK.

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Old 10-06-2014, 05:38 PM   #37
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please note: your examples are all british.
there is no global boarding school system.
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Old 10-06-2014, 06:03 PM   #38
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Great thread. I don't see any positives to kids being raised away from their parents...unless of course their parents are abusers....

I suspect that one day we'll probably learn that this separation helps develop psychopathy in the UK. First they're ditched by their parents, then they're abused or have to fend for themselves. Some will think this is how a strong adult emerges; I'm yet to be convinced. An unstable adult is more likely to emerge...not to mention one who's expected to please posh or rich parents.
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Old 10-06-2014, 09:37 PM   #39
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Originally Posted by enga View Post
Please don't tar all people who have been to paid schools as being psychopathic, rich people or stuck up or think they are better than everyone else. Some working class peoples parents have worked VERY hard to send kids there with good intentions to try to raise their kids standard of living. I grew up in one of the roughest neighborhoods in my town and still went to a private (or is it public school) and I get discriminated and hated against because of it. I'm either stuck up, better off (yeah right I'm on jobseekers right now and working tax credits before) or pompous because I am capable of using correct English. I speak normally with an accent not plum mouthed. My Husband went to the worst school in our town that people find scary and he gets the opposite kind of discrimination....he was even asked to leave a job interview once when they found out where he went because they said people from there were trouble. I don't put on CV's anymore where I went because I'm fed up of the hassle when people find out.
Sorry to hear both of you have faced discrimination due to where you went to school. I get the impressions yours was a private school, not a boarding school- I think boarding schools are a different thing- the boarding school system does seem to be set up for the top elite.
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Old 10-06-2014, 09:38 PM   #40
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Originally Posted by bikerdruid View Post
please note: your examples are all british.
there is no global boarding school system.
Perhaps they meant boarding schools in a global sense biker- as most countries seem to have them.
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