The hunted fox, a school-bullying story, is based on fact.  There are lots of lessons to be learned from this and I hope that some of you readers might comment on how things could have been handled differently.

Patricia was a studious young lady on the brink of making choices as to what she was going to study in the last two years of secondary school.  She was a loner but had one or two quality friendships.  An A grade student, her teachers could predict University.  This was a rarity at this type of school; it was more an institution to keep kids off the streets than for academia.  However, Patricia was always keen to learn and got a great sense of satisfaction for achieving good grades. 

She never liked to see injustice and her close friends bullied.  When ‘bundles’ occurred with them, she would stand up for the rights of others if she felt it justified.  These bundles were events where most of the pupils from the school, would easily watch on the sidelines and chant “Bun-dle! Bun-dle! Bun-dle!”  There was a feeling of ritualistic darkness around this.  Blessed are the peacemakers, the saying goes, however, in this situation, if the peacemaker attempted to break up the fight, she would be severely reprimanded as well. 

One day there was a rumour that some ‘hard’ girl was gunning for Patricia.  She wanted to beat her up for something she had said.  It was about another bully who had persistently thumped and kicked her whenever their paths had crossed.  He, whilst messing about at the tennis courts – being where he shouldn’t have been, tripped by the netting.  Whilst falling, he got his tooth caught and this was yanked out.  Patricia couldn’t help but laugh – it was karma, she thought, for always hurting and intimidating her.  What comes around goes around.  Unfortunately, this didn’t go down too well.  It seemed that it was acceptable for someone to make another human beings life a misery, but not to have any recourse, despite it being divine intervention!  The short of the matter, that whether Patricia had laughed or not, this girl would have been brewing for a fight with her – even if it was to gain kudos points for being hard with the other kids.  She was always taunting Patricia.

So the bundle commenced.  There were a few others that had a bit of fun giving Patricia the odd kick whilst she was down.  It must have seemed like fun to them as they beamed with pleasure.  Fortunately, a teacher broke the crowd up.  Both Patricia and the other girl were interviewed separately.  She said nothing – grassing up was the biggest sin of all in the world of the Street.  It could lead to more bundles.  She was then put on a red report, where she had to have all the teachers sign for her good behaviour. This was true for the other girl. They knew that Patricia was being bullied, but needed to be seen as doing something. 

Patricia lived with bullying everyday.  The usual things went on – intimidation, verbal teasing, the odd thump from nowhere.  This was normal. 

A new form of abuse was becoming fashionable.  This was ‘grab the school bag, empty the contents and throw this around the room’ game.  Oh the boys loved this one, especially if there were sanitory towels.  There were never any bins for these, so girls had to take them home.  What fun the boys had throwing these around saying “Yuck, this ones for you Robbie!” And there you would see Patricia, frantically gathering the contents as quickly as possible, hands and knees on floor, chasing around until the teacher arrived for lesson.  The boys in Patricia’s class would find every opportunity to get their hands on her bag.  Patricia never let the bag out of her sight.  It became a behaviour that stayed with her for years.  She always tucked her bag between her lap and the desk.  She would then have control over any snatching.

It was a misty autumn morning on the fields.  Patricia was looking outside the window from the classroom – this was a demountable portacabin.  Oh blissful view of boys playing in the field, only looking closer, she noticed they were kicking something.  Were these typical boys, playing football?  Unfortunately not.  They were kicking a fox, half alive.  She noticed at short intervals, how the fox tried to stand, but just stumbled and collapsed until another boot sent it flying in the direction of a receiving boy.  Time seemed to stand still on this realisation – she couldn’t estimate how long this episode took until the bell rang, but finally the bell did ring and the boys disbanded to their classes.  Three of the gang returned to the portacabin in a hyped up state, “Horrrrrrrrrrrrny!  Creeeeeeeeam horn!” they projected with a South West accent, masticating some paper.  Turning this into a salivary pulp, they blew the new substance out so it spattered on the black board to greet the form tutor.  When the tutor came into the classroom, he ignored the negative behaviour and the splattered evidence on his board and attempted to settle the boys down.  Patricia sat with head stooped, clutching her bag.  She couldn’t say anything, just looked at her friend both girls with knowing eyes.  This was a nightmare situation and Patricia realised that these boys were dangerous.

Patricia remembered the story of ‘Lord of the Flies’.  She didn’t want to be ‘Piggy’ – the victim of the group.  It certainly felt like the school environment was similar to attempt the survival on a deserted island.  Piggy was hunted, just like the fox on the field, so Patricia knew she had to be careful.

Patricia continued to get good grades.  The teachers were pleased with her work and she enjoyed the challenge that academia presented her.  She felt a real sense of reward and this was the one thing that she could cling to for her self-esteem.  The boys in the third and fourth year were not impressed.  They hated Patricia.

One day, shortly after, she heard a rumour that some boys were going to ‘get’ her at lunchtime. She just thought that she would keep a low profile, as she always did, but the teachers did not want any children in the class. Patricia tried to stay in the toilets but one of the boy’s girlfriends informed the boys of her whereabouts, so she was hooked out. She couldn’t believe what she saw. A whole crowd of year three and four boys, holding sticks, batons and planks of wood – one even had a crowbar.

The fear rose. Patricia’s heart started to pound. The adrenalin started to kick in and she felt weak and cold. There she was, with tears in her eyes. She had left the grounds at the second gates. These were situated away from the crowd, heading toward a main road. Patricia started to walk fast. They had spotted her and started to run at her. She ran. She ran faster than she had ever run before. She felt sick. She couldn’t look, just run. The boys were waving their wares and gaining on her. Shouts of abuse “Fucking fat bitch! Get her! Don’t let her get away! Kill her! Kill her!” There was nowhere to turn. She was the fox and they were the hunters. She was going to end up like the fox. The image burned in her mind. The kicking. There was evil in their eyes. The fox had been tortured and now it was her turn. She had never felt so frightened in her life. What next? If they caught her, she would stumble and fall. She would try to get up, but will drop. She will heave the last breath, just as the fox did.

Panting with a throbbing pounding heart, she saw a bungalow around the corner with a hedge. She ducked behind. If they had come for her, she could knock on the door, she thought. She controlled her heavy breath. Don’t hear me; please don’t hear, she prayed. After ten minutes, the boys hadn’t turned up. It looked like perhaps the bell had gone. Maybe someone intervened. Patricia never found out and she wasn’t about to return. She gingerly made her way to town. Tears were drowning her face whilst her body shook. Sickness had set in and all she wanted to do was to go home. With this in mind, she went to her mothers work. This was a government building that was secure, so she went to the back of the building and knocked on the window. One of her mother’s colleagues allowed Patricia entrance into the building. Patricia was inconsolable when her mother came to her. She could hard speak but just said “Not going back, never going back to school again!” Eventually Patricia told her mother what had happened. Mother was aware of the bullying and had tried to get the issue resolved, unfortunately to no avail. There were many times that both her and her mother had stones thrown at them as they were walking home, but nothing could be resolved. It was a big problem to the family.

Home was refuge. However, even before this incident, Patricia was showing signs of anxiety. She would hyper ventilate, but now this situation had occurred, she hyperventilated to an extent she blanked out totally. Within a few days, after Patricia blanked out in the local Chemists in town, she was rushed to hospital. She was then sent to a mental hospital for assessment. Patricia didn’t have many hyper ventilating episodes here, so she was released and referred to a psychologist. This situation was unpleasant for Patricia and her family. In order to induce the anxiety, the therapist spitefully and hurtfully said that she was fat and disgusting. For this reason, her parents left the sessions and did not return with Patricia.

It was six months before Patricia returned to school. In the meantime a special assembly was called. The ringleaders were lined up on the stage and the whole school were told as to why they were there. Patricia was invited to attend but this felt a bit dreamy to her. They were all caned after the stage humiliation, but this retribution did not take away the pain and memory that Patricia had to live with over the years.

Patricia was 38 years old and married with two children when she noticed a link on myspace. ‘Look up old friends from school’ was the link. She did this and noticed a boy in her year. Curiosity took hold and she sent a message. She asked if he could remember any old friends from school. He listed names. Names of those awful boys. He turned out to be one of them. The fear rushed through her veins. Instantly, she was transported back in her mind. It didn’t occur to her that he was a perpetrator. The message wrote he was going through a difficult time during those days, his father had left home and NO, he didn’t remember Patricia.

Patricia thought about this. He didn’t remember her, her fear or have any idea of the years of her hurt and suffering. She wondered if he remembered the hunted fox but the pain was too deep. She didn’t reply.

his work is covered under Creative Commons License

More Stories about Abuse?  Check this out: Sexual abuse, the account of a victim and how society made the affect worse than the crime.