Personal and undiluted views
Jack Marshall

15 days ago

Warwick School - more vile testimony of more widespread historic sexual abuse is presented to me

Warwick School’s behind closed doors enquiry into historic sexual and physical abuse continues. Victims such as myself are not allowed to see reports into what went on, even when – as in my case – the school has already concluded that I was physically abused by serial sadist Geoffrey Eve and apologized in private. Nor has there been any public apology or statement as we victims ALL want. And, I fear Warwick is still in denial as to the scale of historic sexual abuse.

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352 days ago

Photo Article from the Greek Hovel: a man diagnosed as Educationally Sub Normal at 4 teaches his 4-year-old about letters

Those who comment on my frequent typos may not be surprised to hear of this early diagnosis, prompted by the fact that my sister T – 15 months younger than me and a girly swot even at that stage – was more advanced in the reading department than her older brother. It was not until I was seven and interviewed by Jack Marshall the head of the Warwick Junior school that this cloud was lifted.

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2711 days ago

Childhood memories of snow at school – what a bunch of Jessies we are today

I was chatting to a chap in the grim North today. Snow was falling and he said that at 7 AM this morning with less than an inch of global warming on the ground the kids had been texted: School is closed.  We reflected how life had changed.

Even during the winter of 1979, I cannot remember Warwick School for Boys shutting down. When we are at the junior school snow meant that Headmaster Jack Marshall would allow us to wear long trousers rather than our normal shorts. It could have been minus 5 but if there was no snow, it was shorts as normal for the younger boys.

If the rugby pitches were covered in snow we played anyway. Snow is soft. When snow turned to ice it was a freezing cross country run instead. Boy did I hate that.

The point is that the school never closed. And snow meant snowballs which is not quite the harmless game it sounds. The sixth form would amass on the centre of a rugby pitch and the rest of the school would advance from a car park to throw snow balls. And then in snatch parties, as in the army, the brutes would rush out and try to catch an advancing “nipper” who would promptly find himself having snow shoved up

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