Rhiniceros: Ryon's story 23

Sunday

The Sheffield Star 29th March

Disgraced Head ‘set up’ by staff

The disgraced headteacher at the centre of the storm at Greenlands School on the Meadows Estate, Sheffield, hit back at his critics yesterday with an astonishing outburst. He slated the other staff at the school, the Local Authority, and even seemed to critisize some of the parents he had previously served.

When he spoke exclusively to The Sheffield Star he was still bitter over his treatment. “I have been systematically attacked out of context,” he told us. “There are procedures, and I have followed them to the letter.” As the case rumbles on there has been speculation that the treatment of pupils by the Head was condoned, and even encouraged, by the Local Authority.

A spokesman from the city council, who wished to remain anonymous, hit back. “There are no procedures that say hitting a child is alright,” she said.

Meanwhile, one parent has delivered a devastating attack on the school. Mrs Doreen Walker, 44, told us that the school should have done more for her son Ryon, now in prison. “He wouldn’t be where he is now if they’d done their jobs better,” she told our reporter.

The whistleblower teacher at the centre of the storm is believed to be on sick leave, awaiting the court case, but we can report that he is a male teacher in his early forties. There are unsubstantiated reports that further footage is yet to be released.

More on pages 4 and 5.

Are the yobs in control? Page 8

Not bad. The local news was piss poor, though. A shot of the school sign (with a drawing of a nob on it), Alix’s pointy little rat face at an upstairs window, sticking his rods up at the camera, and then a reporter stood at the gates saying, “There have been concerns for some time, and “The Local Authority took swift action last night to quell fears in the local community,” and, “The teacher at the centre of the storm…” without actually telling us anything.

I mean talk about the wrong end of the stick. They haven’t even found the fucking stick. Nobody bothered to ask why he shot the films, what the head was like, why the pupils ended up at the school, who’s YouTube account was used… Fucking hopeless. As if Scope knows how to use the internet. He doesn’t even have a telly.

As for my mum. I hope she got some money out of it. She ought to write my life story for one of them confessional mags. They’d love it, damaged child, misunderstood, poor mum wanting to top herself with the pressure. Perhaps I’ll write it for her one day.

Anyway, I get out soon on a tag. Frank’s going to put together the bits of writing I’ve given him as part of my coursework. He says he’ll liaise with the school. Yeah right. Not that anyone's asked me what I want. What am I supposed to do with an essay? Show it to the Mitchelsons for a raise?

I said all this in my ‘Rehab’ meeting. I told the counsellor how useless all this is. I mean secure has been useful, a bit of a break really. But that’s all it is. A short break in a shit life. It’s alright ‘skilling me up’ as they put it for the next step, but they’re not gonna skill up me mum, are they? Or the other kids off the estate? Or the Mitchelsons, for that matter. Who’s gonna skill them up? You'd need to find someone who's a bigger psycho than them. Because that’s what it’ll take. Rehabilitation my arse.

I’ll survive, though. Everyone does, in the end.

So it’s back to the stinking house I call home, and Greenlands if I can be arsed. Back to where I was. Which is precisely nowhere. Fast.