Splat. A True Story of People Making Life a Misery


True story; At the age of fifteen on my way to class, confidence already shattered I felt something hit the back of my head. I ignored it. After all, that is what I did best, ignored the things that shattered me.
Then I felt something else hit me and I heard my ‘pals’ laughing as they walked behind me. And then the pelts started. One splat, two splat, more splats.
I suddenly realised what said splats were. I was being spat at, spat upon, my shattered confidence finally broken in a hail of phlegm.
When they saw I realised what was happening I was given a warning. Tell others and I’d be battered. My pals were great.

As I washed the spit of my blazer in the lonely toilet I realised something had to be done. I’d taken too many beatings, endured too much abuse, been frightened more times than I had a right to be. Imagine if you will. Guys you thought of as friends using you as a spit board. Getting their kicks out of hurling phlegm at you, covering you with their foul spit. And for what? Because I was a quiet, polite, eager to please kid? A decent fucking child. Splat. Something had to be done.

Confidence can come from anywhere. There is water in the desert. If you are thirsty enough you’ll find it. I was thirsty. I found it.
Karate saved me. It took me weeks to find my courage. The courage needed to enter the dojo. The courage needed to don a white suit and ‘join in’.

37 years later and I’m still here. Roads travelled, fights fought, wrestlers wrestled. I’m still here.
If you think your child is being bullied, if you see he or she is nervous for no apparent reason then look for the truth. My parents, they pretty much lived in denial. Didn’t happen to their kid, why would it? They were people about town, no one would mess with their kid. But they did. Splat.
Seek out the truth for your child if you see the signs. Seek out the answer. You may find it lies in your local Martial Art gym. You may find it lies elsewhere, maybe music, art, dance, singing. Anything your child wants to do but is frightened of doing then encourage them to do it. It will bring them confidence.
It will bring them the confidence to turn around the the spitters and say “What the hell do you think you are doing, who the hell do you think you are doing it to?”
Give your child confidence, give them hope.
Many years later my tormentors turned out to be false prophets. I see them from time to time, now and again. I see them around. They now look at me in a different way. They look at me as the kid who came good, a fighter of repute. A fighter but still a gentleman.
They don’t spit at me anymore. Not anymore. Splat. It doesn’t happen nowadays.

You can visit Simon here and his Amazon author page here



Sharp, a poem…of sorts.

For people who are bullied all over the world and their bullies…no matter how old they are.



Simon Morrell

Man walking down the railroad track.

See ya mam see ya dad.

Daft as a brush that one says dad.

Mums just nods and agrees.

He walks to his local, sword in hand, Just to show them. Just to show them his gift of a samurai sword.

Local bullies, wannabes, has beens, the fucking never beens in their life.

But he is serious, serious as fuck.

Just serve him says landlord, don’t make a fuss.

Look Brian, look what I’ve gone and got, fucking feel it’s sharp.

Brian’s laugh, his snigger, his fucking snigger disappears pretty quick as he makes eye contact with his cronies.

Nice ain’t it Brian?

Brian slowly puts down his pool cue.

Back out the door boys and back out they do. Oh yes, fucking back out they do.

Sit here shall I lads?

But I sees them, I sees the glasses already there, harvesting.

Not fair to sit there.

Even though we are mates, not fair to take another man’s seat and so I shift over to the other table. There now, nice and warm, nice and comfy.

Empty but for me but empty just the same.

Give the folks a nod and show them the sword.

Nice init?

Only want to show them.

Past is in the past folks ain’t it?

Nobody nods.

Only bought it to show you I says again.

Still nobody nods.

Not the fuckers who gate crashed me party and smashed me dad’s best stuff up then pissed on me next Monday come school time.

Don’t seem to remember me now, don’t seem to make contact of the eye but just shuffle out the door.

Landlords on the phone and Barbara the bar looks on nervously.

Me? Just smile at her and wave the sword, beauty sword for her to see.

Lovely ain’t she Babs? Proud like, you know what I mean don’t you?

Nice sip of cold beer. Lovely.

Fucking quiet in here tonight I says to me beauty.

Gone quiet real quick I say.

Bullies and good folk all gone home I say. Me beauty doesn’t answer, just shines.

I see Tony through the window, grabbing his girl and pushing her to his car.

What’s her name again?

Tracey? Sharon? Dance round your handbags Wendy whilst I watch as you laugh at me?

They think I don’t know but I do.

Tony pushes her into his car, nice little thing, shiny, red, quite fast if you believe all the boys talking whilst I listened on from the next table as I sat alone.

I gave them a nod as I appreciated the car but I was laughed at and stared at at the same time.

A mong I am…apparently.

Where is everybody going?

All in a rush tonight, must be a match on at their home.

Wonder what they are like, their homes. Never been in one.

My beauty just shines, silently.

Only want to show them.

Andrea, that was what she was called.

Not Tracey.

Not Sharon.

Not dance around your handbags Wendy.

Just Andrea.

What the fuck is going on in town tonight, all the sirens beep beep beeping?

Bars gone quiet, both front and back.

All the staff gone to watch the match as well I says.

Beauty says nothing, just shines.

The beep beeps get closer and it occurs to me.

I best get going too.

I best get fucking going.

Fire doors my option I says, never locked and I’m in front of it, I’m through it with a shove and then I’m behind it.

Bye pub.

Home is not far.

I never go far just in case.

Always fucking running back after yet another hiding my dad says with wet eyes.

Come on son, I’ll get your tea on.

I hop the first fence, pensioner Daves’.

He’s alright, always says hello.

He’s alright and he’s doing alright by the look of the new car outside his door.

I’m glad for him because he stopped them once.

Outside the bookies before I turned old enough to go inside.

He stopped them giving me a beating and taking my new jacket, the one I bought in town with the wages from the factory.

Don’t get me started on the factory. Another story, another fucking hiding altogether that place.

I’m over the next fence, then the next then the last.

The beep beeps are changing direction I can hear that.

Shiny beauty says fuck all, just feels heavy in my hand. Heavy and comforting, always ready to slay.

I’m in our back garden and behind the small wall before you know it.

Small gray thing, this wall will hide me.

Then they come out the back door.

I love ‘em to bits.

I love my little niece and nephew to bits but today is not the day for them to visit, to play in the garden but they mustn’t see me but how can they not?

Youngest one, little Dan is oblivious. Too much of my blood in him but the oldest one?

She is sharp as a tack, sharp as my shiny sharp beauty.

She kicks the ball just and it lands at the other side of the wall, the good side, her side not the side I hide behind.

I try and be small and it works.

She doesn’t see me.

She doesn’t make eye contact as she picks up the ball.

Uncle Scott says you are to stay down.

Uncle Scott says you are to stay behind the wall until he says.

She says all this without looking.

He’ll fucking deal with it.

She says.

He said fuck not me. I’m just the messenger.

The beep beeps are right outside the house.

She doesn’t even look in their direction, just picks up the ball and carries on playing with her brother.

Bit touched he is, soft like.

Bit like me.

Uncle Scott.

He’s a bit hard, harder than me, harder than me dad.

Stands at the bar and talks, tells stories other men listen too.

Holds court, I heard my dad tell my mum.

I remember now.

Its my mum’s birthday. His sister. Not his real sister but his sister in law, married to my dad.

But he loves her like she is his own sister so every year he buys her the fizzy wine she loves.

He knows people and people know him.

I once heard he had been in prison but I don’t know that for sure.

I just heard.

My sharp beauty is starting to get on my nerves.

I only wanted to show her but she bought the beep beeps to the door, I can hear them knocking now.

I can hear Uncle Scott chatting to them.

Gift of the gab he has.

Takes ages though and I need the toilet.

The kids just keep on playing, right in front of me.

I’m not there to them but then I know they are helping hide me because the small gray wall is too small and too gray to do it all on its own.

Still, the bouncing of the ball gets on my nerves almost as much as the sharp beauty does.

The doors bang, the beep beeps drive away.

Phew, close that one.

I look up but the sun blinds me.

Still I see a form and a hand.

Give me the sword daft lad.

Uncle Scott has his hand out so I give him his sword back.

Stay out of my own space he says but he isn’t cross just sad.

Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you.

I won’t I tell him.

You scared all the horses he says laughing.

What horses? I ask him confused.

There weren’t any horses, I tell Uncle Scott.

He laughs again and holds his other hand out, the one without his sharp beauty samurai sword in.

I take it and he pulls me up from behind the small gray wall.

Get inside and have some fizzy wine he says.

And then he hugs me.

How many more times have I got to do this for you? he asks.

Probably until they leave me alone, I says. Probably until they stop beating me. Probably until they are my friends.

Probably kid, he says and his eyes are wet as well.

Simon Morrell is an award author of six books including his autobiography From Bullied to Black Belt. His latest book, a novel called I, Bully has been awarded a publishing contract by an American publishing house. He has written for/been featured by The New York Post, B.B.C., the Huffington Post and other worldwide media outlets.

You can visit him at. www.simonmorrell.com

Working On An American Dream; From Bullied To Black Belt The Movie.

Filming 3

Watching a camera crew arrive at our hotel in Orlando was surreal; surreal in a good way. We had travelled over ten thousand physical miles to this but in terms of emotions, experience, adversity and triumph it felt more like ten million. I had been the victim of bullies for most of my childhood and teen years; as I grew into a man the bullying became violent assaults. Mostly I had endured alone until my salvation arrived in the form of my wife. With her support, I became serious about learning to stand up for myself and serious about Martial Arts. Serious enough to become a 5th Dan Black Belt and kicking my ever increasing agoraphobia into touch, serious enough to write a book about my experiences…little did I know that writing that book would lead me to this, a swanky hotel lobby in the U.S.A. sitting with my family waiting for the Film Crew to set up and begin the journey of the movie ‘From Bullied To Black Belt’…you couldn’t make it up.

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