|
|
|
|
By Brody Levesque | LONDON, ENGLAND -- Speaking at the Stonewall Education for All conference on Friday sponsored by the LGBTQ Charity, Stonewall UK, the father of a 15-year-old boy who killed himself in May of last year after apparently suffering anti-gay bullying has called on schools and the UK's government to make a number of changes.
Roger Crouch told attendees that British schools must treat rumours and teasing as bullying, rather than ‘banter’. His 15 year old son Dominic died after jumping off the roof of a building near his Cheltenham school in Gloucestershire. According to the corner's inquest, Dominic had left school at lunchtime and his absence went unnoticed by staff. It was also revealed that he had sent a text message to 999 in distress as an apparent cry for help but the service was designed only for registered users.
Crouch told the audience that in the suicide notes discovered after the boy's death, Dominic stated that he had been bullied and Crouch also said that he was informed later that his son may have been teased for kissing a boy during a game of ‘spin the bottle’ on a recent school trip shortly before his son took his life.
The Pink News UK reported:
Mr Crouch, a former local authority Director of Children Services, told conference delegates that schools must do more to look out for signs of bullying and be aware of students who appear distracted or distressed.
He added that schools must ensure anti-bullying policies are used and young people should be taught coping strategies.
Mr Crouch also called on the government to adopt a “victim-centred” definition of bullying.
Describing evidence presented at the inquest of his son’s death, Mr Crouch said: “It is clear that the banter and rumours were based on Dom’s alleged sexuality.”He added: “Some maintain that mystery still surrounds Dominic’s death. The coroner seemed baffled by it. Others have rightly emphasised the critical role of homophobic bullying.
“There’s no real mystery around why Dom was driven to take his own life. He was desperate that his happiness after the residential trip was punctured by rumours and being the butt of jokes. Over a single morning he felt he went from hero to zero. He over reacted to this – as teenagers will – but no one noticed or acted on his upset and absence until it was too late.“
So when his 999 text, his cry for help, went unheeded, he scribbled his notes and threw himself off the roof in the last rugby tackle he would ever make. The real tragedy is not just that he died; it’s that his death was preventable.”
After Dominic's death, Roger Crouch wrote the following eulogy he delivered at his son's funeral last year at St Gregory's Catholic Church, in Cheltenham. In the hope it will help safeguard the lives of children everywhere, Mr. Crouch, who works for young people's charity Rathbone UK, has asked that it be republished. [Accompanying Photographs courtesy of the Crouch Family.]
TWICE in 15 years I have been summoned away from work to hospital for my son.
On November 7 1994, my mobile phone rang as I attended a head teachers' conference in Kent. Everyone knew what was up because my boss had said, as he asked all there to turn off their mobiles, that I would be keeping mine on because Paola was due to go into labour. I rushed from a room of beaming colleagues, drove to Pembury Hospital – paying scant regard to speed limits – and watched my beautiful wife being delivered of our beautiful boy, our second child, our only son.
Those of you who knew him as a small lad may be surprised to learn that he was a big baby. You'll be less surprised to know that he was born with a shock of dark hair. In later years he loved to tease his sister – our beautiful brave Giulia, about this for she had been as bald as an egg as a baby.
On Tuesday, May 18, I was alone in my office when Paola called to tell me that a woman had called on Dom's mobile to say he was in A&E and very poorly.
We couldn't believe this at first, but quickly established it to be true. I rushed home to Paola and then to Cheltenham hospital to find our beautiful boy unconscious, battered, and bloody. His strong, perfect body was cruelly broken. Dom never regained consciousness and despite the heroic efforts of the wonderful doctors and nurses in A&E and intensive care, to whom I pay our great thanks, he succumbed some hours later to massive internal injuries. His mother, his sister and I were with him throughout. If our love and willpower could have kept him alive he would be with us still. Sadly they could not.
I am not going to pretend that today is anything other than the marking of a tragedy not just for us, his family, but for everyone who knew him and cared about him or who has been touched by his life. His was a life too short. He was cut down just as he was starting to flower, ceasing to be a boy and becoming a young man.
As a family we will get through this, but we may never get over it. There is an empty chair at our family table that can never be filled; a space on our sofa where he would have sat grinning as he watched The Simpsons or Futurama or serious and moved as he watched the likes of Band of Brothers or The Pacific. Even as we move on to happier still hoped-for events such as his sister passing her A levels, her graduation, her wedding and, I hope, the births of our grandchildren, there will always be that absence. Our Dom will not be there. All our future delight will be shaded with a tinge of grief.
Dom packed a lot into his too-short life. He'd visited the Rockies and the west coast of Canada. We had some great holidays in Europe and the UK as a family or just as dad and lad. He'd been on rugby tours to Portugal with the school and to Manchester with Cheltenham RFC – guess which he preferred! (The mud, blood and guts of Manchester actually).
He went to some great rock gigs. He loved the trip to Iceland and he was looking forward to a school trip to Turkey in October. More importantly he had earned and enjoyed the affection of his many friends and was growing up in the knowledge that he was loved and supported by his family. Yet there is so much more he will never have the chance to do. And I simply cannot bear to list those here.
Let no one go away from today with the impression that Dom was in any way a tormented teenager. He did not spend his time in a dark room, listening to morbid music and engaging in gloomy introspection. He was a sportsman who loved his rugby. He liked the fitness club and had just joined a martial arts class. He loved the outdoors, especially the hills. He could dance along a razor-edged Lake District ridge as I struggled to keep up with him. He had a love of the world and everything in it.
He never had a bad bone in his body and never did a malicious thing in his life – well, maybe a couple of times on the rugby pitch. He loved and cared for animals – sorry we never got the dog you so wanted Dom – and had a strong sense of justice and fairness. He knew that he was fortunate in so many ways and Tig Mooney from St Edward's juniors helped bring out his innate concern for those less fortunate than himself. And that is why we would like donations to Nelson Mandela's Children's Charity, which supports disadvantaged children in South Africa, rather than floral tributes. He loved the idea of the Rainbow Nation.
He bore ill will to no one other than those who visit injustice on others or who abuse their power to hurt those weaker than themselves. In fact, he was such a nice, honest boy that it took me years to get him as a scrum half to put the ball in not quite straight or as I used to shout from the touchline "Give your front row the edge Dom"!
Dom was also a resilient boy. He had a specific learning difficulty, a type of dyslexia, but he worked hard to overcome it. He would face up to difficulties and setbacks and work to overcome them.
He wasn't perfect; he was a pretty typical teenage boy. Hard to shift from his bed and he regarded homework, in all except his favourite subjects, as a chore to be completed as quickly as possible and to the minimum standard to avoid trouble so that he could return to killing enemies on his PS3. He thought a T-shirt was a garment for a week rather than a day (hey ho, let's go). He could be infuriatingly forgetful – sports kit and school equipment could be anywhere other than where it was really needed, but Dom, I would gladly turn back to fetch your forgotten boots or gum shield for ever and a day and let you put your feet on the coffee table if only we could have you back.
The comments on Facebook from his friends tell us much about Dom. He made his friends laugh (BOOM, BOOM POW), he brought us joy and joy to many other people too. When he was younger he was smaller than most boys his age – although lately he had shot up – but he was a boy with a big heart. His rugby mates from Stow, Cheltenham and school recall a lad who never shirked a tackle even with boys twice his size. Many a hulking forward was embarrassed by his terrier-like tenacity.
Your comments also reveal a boy who, as he matured, was finding his place – comments on the Iceland trip and the St Briavel's residential show him making a real impression on the people, young and old alike, who were with him. He was, in short, a boy who was arriving, becoming the young man he was always meant to be.
"Quantum potes Aude" – "Dare to be all that you can be" is how I would translate the St Edward's School's motto. Dom certainly lived by that from day to day, but we will never know what potential his natural audacity would have ultimately revealed.
He didn't just make, you, his friends laugh. He brought hilarity to our home with his wry sense of humour. When he was at St Briavel's I found a note on his Playstation aimed at me. It read "please do not use the PS3 for technical reasons!" We never did discover what those technical reasons were.
He always had the imagination that led to those amazing stories that you remember. When he was six or seven his primary teacher said to me "Are you really going to Tasmania for your holidays Mr Crouch?" "I'm afraid not" I replied "and even if we were we wouldn't be going by submarine!" I think we went to Brittany that year.
He was a boy easily made happy – a stunning view, a nice meal (his first words of French were "chocolat blanc" – buying an ice cream at the age of three) or the company of all who loved him or cared for him would bring that irrepressible grin to his face. And you will remember, as we do, how infectious his laughter could be.
So how and why did such a boy who was so well liked by his many friends and so loved by his family come to be cut down at so young an age and just when he seemed so happy? Many of the answers to that question will have to await the coroner's investigation and the police inquiries. Maybe we will never fully comprehend what happened in those few hours. But, I feel compelled to try to understand why a boy who returned from St Briavel's so happy and talking about the future, and also proud to have helped a friend in a time of need, should have come to meet his end less than 24 hours later and to meet it in such horrific and tragic circumstances.
Dom was unique, a bit different. Most of us loved him for it, but perhaps not everyone did. Sadly, we all know people in this world who so lack real self esteem that they have to steal it from others – too often from people like Dom.
To those of you who truly cared for Dom and supported him you have our undying thanks, please take comfort and pleasure in the joy he brought to you and to us. To everyone who knew him, please learn the lesson that if ever in your school or later working life you can help to prevent something like this happening again then do so and if there are any who feel that their deeds or words contributed to this tragedy then please have the courage to come forward to seek forgiveness and help us achieve some understanding.
To any young people who find themselves in Dom's position I urge you to tell someone – a parent, a sibling, a friend, a teacher or other trusted adult.
The moment of false shame and pain will pass and your true friends will stand by you.
Let me also say, at this point, to the young people present – you will notice that the music during the final procession is not traditional. It is a song, 21 Guns by Green Day, Dom loved and a salute to him. Do not feel you have to stand in silence. Lots of you will know the words, feel free to join in.
Dom's uncle Clive, his aunt Barbara, his cousins Alistair and James – the children of my recently deceased and dearly missed younger sister, Karen, cannot join us today. They are in Rome and even as I speak will be lighting candles and praying for Dom at St Peter's. Sadly Dom's granddad, Ignacio, is also no longer with us. Dom was his only and much-loved grandson and we are sure that he and Dom's aunt Karen are looking after him.
Also not with us are Dom's many uncles, aunts and cousins in Italy, Sardinia and Australia; and his cousin Nic in Iraq, who will undoubtedly pay his own salute. We know their thoughts are with us. Indeed, masses have already been said for him in Kent and in Italy.
There will be a number of lasting memorials to Dom. His ashes will be interred in Gretton churchyard, except for some which we will scatter from on of his favourite Lakeland peaks; a memorial match between Cheltenham and Stow is being planned this year and we will be sponsoring an annual man of the match award for games between the two clubs in his year group – it will speak of guts, determination and skill. And I hope his friends will organise events to remember him and raise money for the Nelson Mandela fund. Just as you do for Holly, who would have been 16 this week.
I need to thank some special people. Dave Oughton of Stow RFC and Dave Edwards of Cheltenham RFC who honoured Dom by bearing his coffin. Ian Rodden, also of Stow RFC for his comments in the Echo and all of them and Gary for supporting my boy so well. Cheltenham RFC, for paying tribute to Dom at the recent awards evening (his clubman of the year award from a few years ago is still beside his bed). Tig Mooney, for the bidding prayers and for his support and inspiration at the junior school. Dr Andrew Nash, for his kindness to us over the past week and for the support I know will come as we seek to understand this tragedy. Fathers Basil and Peter, for today and for all your help and support. The wonderful young ladies from St Edward's – Colette, Hope, Sophie, Jacquie and Catherine, for setting up Dom Crouch RIP on Facebook and handing it over to us, bless you. My thanks also to Alex Burn of the funeral directors. You have been superb. To the friends we knew we had and to those we didn't know we had, for your fellowship and comfort. And, by no means least, to everyone who posted such nice thoughts and photos on Facebook, or left flowers, mementos and messages in the chapel and by the tree. We shall treasure them as we treasured him.
I must pay tribute to my wonderful wife Paola. We have had some hard times, but we have stuck at it. I love her more than words can say. It is devastating for a father to lose a child, but even more so for the mother who bore and nurtured him. Paola, you are bearing the unbearable with enormous courage and dignity as you showed in reading the lesson. I shall stand by you forever.
Also my beloved daughter Giulia. Julz you have been amazing. No 18-year-old girl should have to see her adored little brother, for whom you had such boundless love, the way you had to see Dom in intensive care. I know it was your love for him that kept you there to the end. And you are facing all of this unbearable pain with such courage while in the middle of your A levels. Giulia, go on to succeed, we will find the way to support you, not least because it's what your baby bro would have wanted.
I want to share two last recollections of my darling boy – although he would have hated to hear me call him that. Probably my very best and happiest time with Dom was a couple of years ago. Giulia was preparing for her GCSEs at home with mum and Dom and I did a walking tour of the Lakes. The photo on the back of the order of service shows him, aged 13, on top of a Lakeland peak.
The morning we started the walk, the rain was coming down like rods and the clouds were sitting on the hills. Visibility was about 50 metres. We had 12 miles of hard going to cover. I suggested we take the steamer across Ullswater to cover the first half in the hope that the rain would stop. Dom vetoed this idea as it would mean we would not complete what he called the challenge! Inevitably, we got drenched! Fortunately, we didn't get lost and in true Dom style he ran back across a desolate moor to tell a group of walkers we'd passed that they had missed the path. Two days and many miles later, having climbed from Patterdale up to High Street and Kidsty Pike and endured the knee burning descent to Haweswater, I looked wearily at the remaining four mile trek ahead along the lakeshore, sighed heavily and swore deeply. My lad looked up at me and with wisdom beyond his years said "It's okay dad. Just plod". And we did.
I fear now that for Paola and me the future may be much like that weary plod along that lifeless reservoir.
We can put one foot in front of the other, we may reach a comforting inn at the end of our trail, but so much that was best in our life – the joy that our only son brought to us – is now only a memory of sunlit uplands, never more a hope for the future.
Dom. Sleep with the Angels our beloved beautiful boy. Your short life shines on in all our memories. You were loved more than you knew. Had you only known how much you were loved by so many then none of us would need to be here today and you would have gone on to become the wonderful man you were always destined to be.
Bye bye Dom – god bless you.
[Updated on: Wed, 06 July 2011 15:28] |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
timmy
|
 |
Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13751
|
|
|
I have read every word of this, some words several times. I don't know how to say it better. I know that people kill themselves every day, some for the most trivial seeming reasons (to others at least).
All I can say is that it does, truly, get better. Death is an answer, yes. It ends your own troubles. But so what? The person with whom you were about to fall head over heels in love will never meet you if you choose to die. The person you adore today may, actually, return the feelings. That awful orphan Annie's sun will come up tomorrer, bet yer bottom doller... It's your job to be around for it.
So, when it gets bleak, black, talk to a friend or a stranger, and ask for help.
[Updated on: Wed, 06 July 2011 15:59]
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
DesDownunder
|
 |
Likes it here |
Location: Adelaide, South Australia
Registered: September 2010
Messages: 127
|
|
|
The world is always the less when bullies bully. When the death of a teenager like Dom is the result, the world is indeed lost until we read or hear the words of men like his father. What a brave loving soul, my heart and thoughts go out to him and his family.
DesDownunder
Call me naive if you want, but life without trust in the goodness of others would be intolerable.
Religious indoctrination: It gets better, without it.
|
|
|
|
|
Goto Forum:
|
] 
A Place of Safety
Search
Help
Register
Login
Home
British Father Pleads For End To Bullying 
