What where the worst things you had to endure as a child?

[snowyw]

Being made to sit at the dinner table until I had eaten every mouthful of steak and kidney stew.  Kidney still, to this day, makes me want to vomit!

[Roobarb]

Being wrongly accused by my art teacher of having had help with my homework and told to do it again. Then being wrongly accused again of having had help after I'd done it again. Have never forgotten it.   

Oh, and having bronchitis every winter.

I can relate to that one Roobarb.

Mr Sutherland his name was, and he accused me in front of the class of not having sketched a picture of an adjustable spanner (of all things) freehand - he said I must have used a ruler. Was I bloody annoyed with him!
 

I'm happy to join in the name and shame! 

My tormentor was Mrs. Walters, I really hope she reads this and feels the guilt she so thoroughly deserves. At the time my mother wanted to go to the school and make a complaint, I talked her out of it because I was very timid and was frightened of the repercussions. I've regretted it ever since and when I once mentioned it to my (late) mother she said she regretted it too.

I also had another art teacher Mrs Peacock who accused me of copying an idea for a picture from my friend when in actual fact she had copied from me! But of course she didn't speak up and put the teacher right.

You'd think these experiences would have put me off art forever but it's quite the contrary, although I must admit I avoided painting figures for years - they were the subject for both the homework and the 'copied' painting.

[susan hemmings]

oh, and those itchy liberty bodices....  my dad used to have to stretch my vests.  Hated them too tight.  Also the dose of malt I got if i arrived too early for my friend for our walk to school!

[Graham47]

Bullying.
For being "Welsh", when I was moved to an English school between the ages of 7 -13
For being "English", when we moved back to Wales when I was 13...

My nephew was bullied in a Welsh school for being French, not helped by having the surname Pouffier.

[derekwg]

Bullying.
For being "Welsh", when I was moved to an English school between the ages of 7 -13
For being "English", when we moved back to Wales when I was 13...

My nephew was bullied in a Welsh school for being French, not helped by having the surname Pouffier.

 So dry.

[Treetotal]

As a left hander...being made to sew right handed and eat my dinner right handed too...My mum went to the school one day at lunch time and walked up to the teacher and swapped her cutlery round and said "Try eating with your cutlery like that"...the teacher told her she couldn't as she was right handed and it didn't feel natural....My Mother said...."That's what it feels like for my Daughter when you make her eat right handed" and she walked out. I was left alone after that.
As for the needlework lessons....I refused to sew at all in the end and was put on the ready cut rug that was being made for the staff room and loved it 

Oh yes...and hand-me-downs from my older Sister 
Carol

[Graham47]

Bullying.
For being "Welsh", when I was moved to an English school between the ages of 7 -13
For being "English", when we moved back to Wales when I was 13...

My nephew was bullied in a Welsh school for being French, not helped by having the surname Pouffier.

 So dry.

I did ask my brother in law what our version of 'Pouf' (for a flamboyant homosexual) meant in France and he told me "Tart", so I dunno.  Either way, the poor kid suffered quite a bit 

[weste]

Malt extract and cod liver oil I remember but also scotts emulsion!  Also remember the janet and john books.

[Graham47]

Having to give my baby (half) brother his bottle in the night.

I was still at school and not sure how old he was, but certainly young enough to have me up in the middle of the night and down in the cold kitchen mixing his baby powder up. For reasons of her own sleep probably, my mother had him in my room along with another brother and as I was the eldest, muggins here had to do the honours. Still grates on me after all these years later.

Once made, I would balance his bottle on one side, stick it in his mouth, and crawl back into my half warm bed hoping for a little more sleep before school.   Ironically, he is now a teacher!

Were these the good old days?