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25 Asylum I’d never known deafness to be so serious a disability before coming to England. I came to Court Grange College with the intention of teaching students how to deal with deafness. Little did I know how much they would teach me. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t a secondary school for the Deaf but an institution, and there was no mention of this in the e-mail sent to me or on the Internet webpage when I was safely at home in Australia. But it was too late to lament not having done thorough homework or chide the guy who got me the position as tutor. I was here. Robert showed me around the school. Known to everyone as Bobby, his signing name came from the English nickname for police. I had no idea what he was saying to me as he expressed himself, spontaneously substituting words with gestures, grunts, and sound effects. He couldn’t comprehend just how little sense he was making to me. Despite this, he took a special liking to me. Every time I made eye contact with him, he laughed his goofy laugh or tried to explain something. Trying not to be rude, I ad-libbed with gestures and intonations of agreement. I felt like a bastard for leading him on, yet couldn’t help thinking how lonely he was. Bobby had Landau-Kleffner syndrome. In layman’s terms, this condition is characterized by an initial deterioration of the person’s language comprehension as well as their expressive abilities. They can only understand short phrases or simple instructions. I assumed he had a hearing loss, but in fact, Bobby was the only hearing student on campus. Court Grange overlooked the small village of Abotskerswell. A mist had carried from the English Channel and clouded the school. I could hear the clip clop of horses’ hoofs in the hidden streets below. Rolling fields in which Jersey cows roamed between stone fences flanked the town. This part of England would have been idyllic if not for the sadness 169 that dwelled in this school. If sight could be conveyed into music, it was like listening to Beethoven—beautiful but tragic. I met some staff members and students during Bobby’s tour. The youths were curious about me. Hearing people can hear the answers to questions other people have asked, which makes a conversation progressive and group orientated. Since the deaf students couldn’t hear what others were saying, I was having a separate conversation and giving the same answer to each of the five or six asking, “Are you from Australia? How long are you in England? What are you doing here?” I could gather hints of English accents despite the husky, monotonous, and manufactured voices that were a consequence of deafness. Like many deaf people, they showed little tolerance for chitchat. Empty talk, talking around the topic without getting to the core of things, and talking for the sake of talking can be hard work—a drain on the resources of concentration. The Deaf often modify names to match a distinctive characteristic of that person. In England, the sign AUSTRALIA is gestured in a manner whereby the right hand emphasizes the distinctive upturned flap of the Australian Army hat. In the future, AUSTRALIA became my name sign, instead of the fingerspelling of P-A-U-L. I was proud of this name sign, for this was the hat my paternal grandfather wore when he was a commando medical orderly for the Australian Army fighting the advancing Japanese in World War II on the frontline in Papua New Guinea. The students at Court Grange College had two general classifications: psychological disorders and behavioral problems. I wasn’t aware of the difference until I came into that environment. Nearly all were at the school because their parents or guardians found caring for them too demanding . Those with behavioral problems had abusive and disadvantaged backgrounds, which explained their antisocial natures. Those with superior language and comprehension skills were the leaders and bullies at the school. Those with intellectual disabilities were usually timid, unsure what to do or say unless told. They relished the structure of weekday school and dinner timetables, and any disruption to this routine caused great panic. The infantilism the students displayed at meal times shocked me. Only fragments of social etiquette were in play. No one could hear, so students gained the attention of a particular person through the most rudimentary...

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