Dyslexic Help and Support
I Conquered Dyslexia
A true story by Roni Moore
I started school in 1954, I was five years old. I was a happy little
girl then, but I soon became shy and lost all myself confidence. The
first year was alright as the teachers never expected much but as I got
older I began to notice how hard it was to learn the things they wanted
me to learn. It got much worse when I reached seven years old and went
up to the junior school. We were split into boys and girls; the boys
went across the road to the boys' school and the girls went up stairs to
the junior girls' school. At first I was happy as I thought this time I
would be able to do it, would try very hard and be able to do the same
as all the others. I was mistaken; I still couldn’t. As always I got
left behind.
Every school morning filled me with dread. I knew what lay ahead and
hated it. I so wanted to be the same as all the other girls in my class,
but I wasn’t. I had trouble keeping up with them; I didn’t understand
why I was so stupid no one else seemed to be as thick as me. I was still
in a mainstream school but as far as lessons were concerned I was
useless. I was never able to keep up with the rest.
When I was nine it was decided I would benefit having extra reading
lessons, and once a week I was sent across the road to the boys' school
in a small class of about six children. We all started on the first
reading book but we had individual time with the teacher. This was very
good for me because I came on in leaps and bounds. I soon went through
all the books and had lots of praise from the teacher. I, for the first
time, was happy in a class. It was soon to end as other children needed
the special reading lessons, I had to go back to my ordinary classes. I
was excited, I thought that now I was at last as good as the others in
my class, although it wasn’t quite like that. I still had trouble
keeping up, but now I was getting punished as they said they knew I
could do it as I had shown that I could in the reading class. No one
seemed to notice it was the individual teaching that helped me along. I
was confused, I couldn’t work out why I had been able to do it with my
reading teacher and not in my class.
As I grew older and went into the secondary school I again wanted to be
able to keep up and be the same as the others in my class. As it was I
was separated from my best friend as she was in a much higher class than
me; and because I was shy I found it hard to mix with others. No one in
my class was brilliant but most of them still managed better than I did.
The teacher would write on the board and I, with the others, would start
to copy it; but before I got past the first line, she would erase it and
go on to the next bit. I couldn’t write fast enough to keep up, at first
I put up my hand but after a while the other kids scoffed at me and the
teacher would just toot and say: ‘Just concentrate and keep up’. After a
while I just sat there feeling worried. In time the teachers would just
put me at the back of the class and ignore me, I was a quiet child, so I
didn’t disrupt the class, it was easy for them.
In the early sixties people didn’t recognize dyslexia so if anyone was
dyslexic they were labelled ‘slow learners’ which are exactly what I was
labelled. When I was fifteen my mother went to a meeting with the
teacher who told her that I was rather slow, and it might be better if I
married young so my husband could look after me. In the fourth year, we
had a man from the youth employment come to see us, and I was told to go
into a factory. As I was used to just following what I was told to do I
did exactly that and also married at eighteen.
The years passed and I did get on sometimes in work but if a promotion
was mentioned I’d usually leave the job because I was terrified that I
couldn’t do it and was too scared to try. I was divorced and remarried
an old school friend in my fifties; one day I got my courage up to tell
him how I was always scared about not being the same as everyone else
and being afraid to join in anyone’s conversation in case I made a fool
of myself. He very gently explained that it was nothing to be ashamed of
and told me to go to my local college as they did courses to help. I am
happy to say I did this, and it was the most sensible thing I have ever
done. In the college, I was given tests to see how I managed. I was
lucky I had taught myself a lot of things over the years, so I wasn’t as
bad as I thought, but I still had problems understanding certain things.
For instance, if I was given a whole page of writing or a form I would
be lost before I started as I couldn’t follow the lines and the words
somehow got mixed up and moved about. I told a tutor this, and she
smiled and said: ‘I think I know what is wrong,’ and she arranged a
dyslexia test. This took quite a while as there were a lot of things to
do, but at the end I was told I indeed was dyslexic and that was the
reason I had trouble keeping up at school. I was given an overlay, which
is a piece of film that comes in different colours to suit individual
people. My colour is green, and when I lay it over a sheet of paper the
writing on it becomes very clear and is easy to read. It’s simple, but
very effective. This gave me confidence, so I went on to do more. I took
my GCSEs and passed with a decent ‘B’ grade, and then I was asked by the
college to train to help others with the same problems as me; and I did.
I was taught to assist a tutor to teach literacy, which I found really
interesting and was happy to help. The thing I was most happy about was,
I now realized I wasn’t thick or stupid as I had been led to believe, I
just had a problem that could be solved. I knew at last I could learn
things, I just took longer to learn; and that is the reason I learned to
read in the special reading class as it was a one to one situation.
Since then I have written poetry and stories, and I hope this story will
give others the confidence to try to get help with their problem. Now
there is help out there and all you have to do is ask.