Welcome to Birmingham, Britain’s 2nd city. Actually a self-appointed title, presumably because it’s second only to London when it comes to concrete, piss-distressed shopping centres and unemployment. Whilst Brummies will (no chips on shoulders here, bab) remind you the city has more mileage of canal than Venice (the difference being that in the Midlands you can easily contract cholera or rabies just by sniffing the water) and that “Shoikspeeayuh wud of spowk loyke thiis!” it is in fact the arsehole of the country. But to deny yourself a visit to Weoley Castle, the city’s chavviest district would be criminal.
Climb aboard the 29. Witness the terrified driver, occasionally armed with pepper spray and a grimace. The top deck seats are all melted and trashed thanks to Chav kids. However, they do helpfully leave a daily record of their romantic encounters (“Zara finx Deano is bum 4 eva 04″ is one recent, GENUINE addition). 20 minutes later, smell the chip fat and Lynx? You’re here.
Welcome to Weoley Castle, hub of Birmingham’s south west. And the council’s nightmare. The centre of activity is Castle Square. It’s actually circular, but that’s Brummies for you. A collection of badly grammatised shops (“Nip-In-2-Noreens” and “Maxs’ Pizza’s” with its apostrophe rash being two particular favourites), liberally scattered with the various Shazzers (that’s Chavette to you and me) and Kevs of the district. All have the pinched-faced look that suggests inter-bredding on a Tennessee-beating scale, combined with a regular methodone fix. The Lloyds TSB is surrounded by CCTV, and high density barb wire fencing. The amusements arcade next door means that Chavs don’t have far to take their “babby’s” savings to fritter away an afternoon after Loose Women. The council gave up re-glazing the bus stops a long time ago. The only building that causes confusion is the library. Red-brick and modern, its purpose clearly mystifies and actually evades most Chavs. Occasionally, they can be spotted muttering and pointing in its direction whilst wheeling little Courtney Dakota back home for some Tartrazine flavoured juice and unsupervised play. Consequently, the library remains unvisited, un-graffittied and untouched. Because no-one knows what the fuck it is.
To deny yourself a trip past the local school would be remiss of you. That’s just down the road, pal, past the condemned housing. If you’re stuck for directions, ask any of the hundreds of 11-18 year old on the streets on any school day afternoon. They’ve all either been expelled or done a bunk.
I speak from experience here. I teach at Shenley Court School. Fears of an iminent Ofsted inspection and Failing School Status are second on the list after crowd control of the horrendous Chavs of the next generation. Spend a day here. Bet you a tenner you can’t tell me what the school’s uniform is by 3 o’clock. You might hazard a guess at thick gold hoops with curious white balls at the bottom as earrings for the girls. Hair slicked back with WD40 and gripped aggressively into place follows suit, as does so much badly applied foundation. The lads don’t really give a shit. They just can’t wait to join big brothers Shane and Duane in the pub and DSS office.
To pass over the fact that all these young Chavs ALL sport the very latest mobile phone, Burberry trousers, or enormous bomber jacket would be neglecting my role as tour guide. And the names! I have taught (I use the word very loosely) at various stages the following : Shane, Duane, Wayne, Tracey, Precious, Shovaun (its authentic Chav spelling actually pre-dates its oft-mistaken Celtic roots), Sh’main (what is it with Chavs and apostrophes?!), Jodie-Lee, Terri-Ann, Kerri-Ann. I taught a boy called John once. Maybe I dreamt it.
First period, Monday morning is devoted to (and here, I’m only half-joking) writing out apology letters to the Managers of New Look, Primark, Phones4U, and Claire’s Accessories for their weekend shoplifting efforts. Chav parents (having an average age of about 24 and a reading age of half that) can’t be expected to help their litter to spell, or find some paper, so let the “posh’uns” at the school help ‘em, eh? After that, it’s wagging it and “fuck all” timetabled for the rest of the week.
Anyway, the day’s nearly finished. Any questions? Apparently, Zara no longer thinks Deano is bum, just to keep you informed. No, the mums don’t work as cleaners or dinner ladies at the school – they’d have to miss Trisha and Fern & Phil for that. Plus it might constitute as work, and not soulless scrounging off the state. Anyway, have a safe journey home. You’ll thank Christ that wherever you’re from, it’s not Weoley Castle. Sorry, what was that? Why’s it called Weoley Castle? It’s Weoley Rough.
I find that extremly funny that, it was very well written and me being a kevin, born and raised in weoley castle,and also attending Shenley 93-98 really could relate. Though a good 50% of WC are like that its not all of us,I attented school always,maybe i smoked the odd joint whilst i was there, but i left school got straight into a job and now earning more than 90% of teachers in the country…. Im sure of this as im friends with a few.Though I moved out of Weoley Castle (Fiance didnt wanna live in a shithole) i didnt mind the place. there is much worser places in Birmingham- Kingstanding,Perry Barr,Acocks Green,Northfield,West Heath,Woodgate Valley,Frankley,Sparkbrook,……… I could go on. I do stop of sometimes by chance i found my self on the square witnessing 2 failed science experiments in Shenley uniforms asking people to get them fags from the news agents.Weoley castle taught me so much about life good and bad, so did shenley i speak to some teachers now,it has gone down hill get Mr Hulme back in, Lock them in his office with him and his sidekick Mr gane……..Scary Shit Believe Me I Know. Oh and that Bitch Who took over needs to bring Nandanwar Back,Cracking Bloke.
You have a lot of talent, you should apply for a job at the Daily Mail. One of the many gems in this article is ‘Why’s it called Weoley Castle? It’s Weoley Rough.’ Haha, so very clever. Next time I’ll go to YOUR area and remark on all the santimounious smug cunts that live there.
I’ve lived in Weoley Castle all my life and came across this post by accident. I would have been mortally offended if it hadn’t been so bloody funny. Not quite sure why the writer/teacher is against Weoley Castle per se, you come across this element of society everywhere (and besides, surely Northfield must be the capital of Chavl-land).
I went to Shenley Court when it was a ‘proper’ school and students didn’t dare get into trouble because then they’d have to face the wrath of Miss Roberts, the headmistress, which was a fate worse than death. All three sons attended and did very well, one’s now a Research Scientist (due entirely to the fantastic physics teachers he had, their names unfortunately escape me, but one apparently used to lick frozen lamposts?!)
I find three things extremely sad about this post. One, that a teacher should have such appalling views, not only of the school but of the whole area, is very disheartening. Teachers are meant to inspire children, not condemn them.
Two, how has Shenley gone from a brilliant school with brilliant teachers, to this?! Is no one in control any more?
And three, the saddest of all, are the replies from ‘students of Shenley’ which are barely literate, barely even English, which prove what a sad state of affairs this school and the education system AND parenting have become.
strange how i lived in bartley green all my life and there is no such thing as BARTLEY GREEN GIRLS SCHOOL MICHELLE U FREAK. All u get on this site is your typical compulsive liar with potty mouth spilling shit.
AS FAR AS I KNOW EVERYONE WHO LEFT SHENLEYS WITH CRAP GRADES HAD REAL SHIT TEACHERS, HENCE WHY THE WANKER WROTE WHAT HE DID ABOVE.
Up the B29 ERS…..mr s gormley
I left shenley with all A grades two years ago and I have lived in Weoley Castle all my life
So we’re not all that bad
I am disgusted that you only focus on the bad points here
There are many others like myself that are nothing like this
I suggest you reconsider what you have written here
yours
billie