Where the loneliest and most desperate children gathered, and a beacon to bullies all over the playground. The buddy stop was a 6-foot tall imitation bus stop sign; the idea was that if you had no friends to play with you would stand at the buddy stop. We were encouraged in assemblies to ask the children at the buddy stop to come and join in our games.
This encouragement was roundly ignored. If you played near it, the teachers would come over and point out the lonely children and make you ask them to join in. Hence a large area of permanent emptiness formed around the buddy stop, and after a while, no children, no matter how friendless, would ever go near it.
Seeing the unused buddy stop, the teachers probably congratulated themselves on running a school with no friendless pupils. As usual, they were as wrong as I don't know what.

The arrival in the 80s of the bigassed doll "My Buddy", with a catchy ad jingle ("My Buddy and Meeeeee!"), was surely bad news for any Asian classmates, who, according to TV comedians, said "bud bud" all the time, although, come to think of it, we never heard them say this at all. I wonder...

A childhood game in the vain of so many others but allowing for a malicious streak. The person who was on or it or whatever would have to tag someone else to get them to be on. All he had to do was catch you, so long as you weren't touching home. If you were, you were completely safe. Thing is, only so many people could be on home at once and as soon as a new person arrived at the 'home' (accompanied by a tumultuos cheer of "budge!") the person who had been there the longest would have to leave. Sounds easy! We got seriously into this and ended up with rules such as "no budging someone else until you've counted out loud to ten", "multiple homes where you only got one person per home and so you could choose your victim to budge and make 'homeless'" and "multiple budge where every time you shouted budge after joining the 'home' you could make someone else leave - and in this way, if too over excited, you could actually budge yourself." The game also came accompanied with beatings for people who never left a 'home' if at all possible, beatings for people who were "it" who used to ignore everyone until the person who had made them "it" was "budged" and just general beatings for being a twat. Like the boy who insisted that the steps were home and there was no limit, so we all sat on the steps for the entire break period and watched him run around the playground laughing at himself. Sigh.

Strange trousers worn by the poorer kids at school, which showed a few inches of sock (and if you were lucky, some flesh) between their shoes and the bottom of said trousers. They were flying at half-mast; hence the phrase “Has your budgie died?”

As the true meaning of the word "bugger" bacame known, the phrase "bugger me" (also "fuck me") became somewhat dangerous. The responses vary.
Unsophisticated : Eur, no thanks.
Revolted : Eur, you fucking queer.
Precocious : I'll wait until after PE, when you've loosened up.
Camp Camaraderie : Ooh, ducky pops.

The pleasurable experience of sitting in another man's lap and bouncing up and down a bit, combined with the pleasurable experience of having another man sit one's lap and bouncing up and down a bit.. multiplied by as many people as fit in the room (or, in our case, across the room, down the corridor and, on one particularly memorable occasion, halfway up the stairs to the first floor).
In no way homosexual, homoerotic, or anything other than lots of straight boys having an innocent non-sexual bumming session.

A bad thing to admit to liking, especially if you are a teacher, as in this (true) snippet of an upper sixth lesson. Mr Wymbs: "You should always try everything in life." Pupil: "I think I'll give buggery a miss sir!" Mr Wymbs: "Oh, I don't know.." Cue silence.

An enormous deposit left in the boys loo, no doubt by one of the builders working at the school at the time. Upon discovery every boy in the class would ask to go to the toilet in turn and return with a huge grin on their face. The teacher, on wondering what was so interesting in the boys loos went to investigate and was lumbered with the job of trying to flush the offending item.

TV advert jingle composed in a music lesson by school musical geniuses Tim Marlowe, Alex Tigh and metal type Andy Gibblin. It went as follows. Singer A: Do you like bulbous beans? Singer B: Yes, I like bulbous beans. Singers A+B: So come along and get some bulbous beans! Cue jazz bongo drum solo, which continued until the teacher stopped it. A sublime and oft copied music moment.

The two most laddish lads in our year were Alastair and Mark (whose surnames I can't bring myself to reveal as I'm still a bit scared of them - old lynchings die hard). Both, in keeping with the times, wore those heavy lineny shirts, their ties as small as possible and with as much tucked in between their shirt buttons as possible, one gold earring, school trousers generously cut with many a dart at the waistband, and Kickers. You get the picture. Both were (looking back) suspiciously well-coiffed; Alastair with his blonde, rock-hard flat-top à la Bros, and Mark with the tight spiral perm he sported for much of the fifth form and lower sixth (perhaps, with hindsight, an indicator of things to come). They were inseperable.
To be clear: they weren't from the pikey/charver/radgie school of bullies - no, those were confined to the B stream and mainly restricted their murderous attacks to unfortunates from own kind. Alastair and Mark were the middle class type of bully, whose style of misery-infliction was made infinitely worse by their middling intelligence, which allowed them to systematically destroy the self-esteem of their chosen victims in a way that others deemed hilariously funny, and even their victims came to believe themselves rightful targets of what was usually a heady and unpredictable combination of evil hilarity and utter disdain.
As is not unusual between the ages of 13 and 17, their favourite targets for vilification were anyone deemed to be a 'hom'. For these unfortunates they reserved their worst and most sustained mental bullying campaigns. There are some, guilty of nothing more than being good at art, whose lives were made an utter misery, and who still live in the shadow of being made to feel like so much shit on this gruesome twosome's shoes.

Which makes their current state of complete gayness all the more startling.
There are those who will say, quite rightly, that the signs were always there - the hair, the earrings, the inseperability, the protesting waaaay too much about suspected gayers. But at the time it was completely inconceivable that they might be secret bum-chums. They went out with half the female population of our year. They were always getting sucked off in French or on the back seat of the coach. They were, in short, horrible, chauvenist, unreconstructed 80s spivs.
News of their subsequent volte-face came about via FriendsReunited, and rarely has an entire ex-school community been so awestruck. There was anger, there were tears, there is laughter still.
But one has to wonder: did they really know all along, in which case their treatment of other woofters, real or imagined, is all the more unforgiveable, or did they discover their prediliction for bum-love only in later years? Will schadenfreude intervene and cause them to be vilified as they vilified others? Will they discover an activist streak and become vocal protestors for gay rights? And when exactly did they first exchange sex wee*?
* Got to be the ski trip. It all makes sense now.

In biology, we were given bulls' eyes to dissect. Obviously this was an important lesson for anyone who was looking for a career in bovine opthalmology. For the rest of us, we were happy to discover that the stuff at the back (presumably optic nerves and shit) was very sticky. This meant that by the time the teacher got back from break, there were twenty bulls' eyes stuck to the blackboard glaring down at her.

The 'bully box' was a small, square box mounted on a wall in our school reception. The idea was that you put the name of whoever was bullying you in there, and the teachers can then deal with the problem without you having to go public with your grassing.
There are obvious flaws with this; the anonymity means that there is no proof of any misdemeanour, and the system is clearly open to abuse by reporting innocent people. But by far the biggest flaw is that the box has never ever been opened.
My theory is that it has become a kind of Pandora's Box, and if it is ever opened, all the dead arms in the entire world will be released at once.

In 1991 - We had this kid in Essex who was squinty-eyed. Proper boss-eyed kid, poor fellow. Anyway it became the "in" thing to call him "Cyclops" while putting your hand to your forehead and wiggling the fingers (like a pseudo third-eye) and moaning "cyyyyyclopppps" like a retard. He hung himself. That is dark. Oh yeah. And another kid inhaled a fire extinguisher to look hard and he died too. All in one week. No joke. I’m serious. Also we put three teachers into mental homes by abusing them. This was a Roman Catholic School.

The school bullying policy was quickly defaced to:
BUMMING/RAPIST INCIDENTS:
We do not want bumming of any form at Arnold Hill School.
If you are being bummed, or know about bumming or rapist incidents, then speak to someone in school and/or fill in an incident form.
This would probably be a more efficient policy, but was never enforced; the school was full of bummers, and three out of four in my year went on to become successful rapists.

Label given to any two boys at school who would be called best friends if only they were girls. The suggestion that two boys who were on good terms and spent time together were in fact homosexual was a terrifying prospect at this time of life and prohibited many people from developing any close friendships until the phrase passed into obscurity. In the third year.

During my youth, I had the honour of attending the same primary school as the son of a certain TV chef (first person to name and shame the chef gets £5 - these people must NOT go unpunished - Log). One morning, our headmaster stood up in front of the entire school assembly and told us about what he regarded as extremely crude and immature behaviour. A group of boys had been found lined up behind one of the buildings, facing the wall, with one of the boys sniffing the arse of each boy one by one. This club had been founded by the aforementioned son of the TV chef, and he had proudly named it The Bum Sniffers Club. They had membership badges. Our headmaster decided that it was time to prevent any further homosexual development in the boys by telling the entire school of what he though of that kind of behaviour. One girl laughed so hard she pissed herself.

This is a new game at our school which involves getting as much sweat from your ass and sack as possible and randomly rubbing it in one of your mates faces.

A game with no winners, only losers. - Matt

The orange tubes on bunsen burners. We didn't give it this name. It said, quite clearly, on the side of a box full of them, 'bum tubing'.

In 30 years I've never known anyone other than those who went to St. Michaels Primary School who sang this. Prove me wrong: "Bum Tit Tit! Bum Tit Tit! Turn the hairy handle now" "Bum Tit Tit! Bum Tit Tit! Hear the willy orchestra"

The act of grabbing the victims ankles and dragging them across the school playground while they struggle and scream. If you drag using the trouser legs alone, you can pull the pants down enough to cause bumdrag on actual cheeks, which is like an elevation to godhood.

During very dull english lessons when reading very gritty books or plays simply swap every letter beginning with s for shit, c for cunt, b for bastard etc. etc. Simple, but with some amusing results. For instance, "Journey's End" by R C Sherrif is a dark insight into the life and death of first world war trench warfare. As demonstrated with such lines as "don't shit on that bastard, it is Osbourne's cunt"

Whether someone was a bummer or not could easily be divined from the pitch and timbre of their farts. A tight, peachy squit meant you were fine, whereas a resonant, guttural blotch implied that your sphincter had been loosened from undue bumming.

Bummer Daniels was the name of Keighley's premier homosexual. At least, that's what we were told anyway. Threats like "Watch out - Bummer Daniels' About" and "Your dad is Bummer Daniels" were frequently banded around by bigger boys hell bent on causing terror in the asexual under-9's.

A game invented by Richard King in primary school, exclusively played on the climbing frame.
It was kind of like conventional 'it', but instead of tagging your victim you had to simulate bumming them.
Obviously I never took part, I just watched. Rumours that I played to county standard are unfounded.

1. Quick, efficient way to embarrass. Randomly accuse the victim of 'bumming' an object in the vicinity. For example... "What's the matter Dytchy? you bumming yer bag?", when in fact I was just trying to fasten the zip. I was just trying to fasten the zip!