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This is a question Running away

Two friends ran away from boarding school. They didn't get too far though - they forgot to check when the last train ran. A teacher found them sitting waiting and drove them back again.

That said, it's not just a thing kids do - the urge to just run is built into all of us. Tell us about the times you've given in and run.

(, Fri 11 Aug 2006, 13:03)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

not my own, an old guy from my home village
worth telling though. i think this was back when he was about 5, so many decades ago, and he decided to leave home. packed everything into a toy wheelbarrow and pushed it down the road to his aunties (or grandmothers, i'm not sure) house. he lived there with her for years and years. i think his mum was probably glad of the peace :)
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 13:39, Reply)
Walking Target
This is a long one. That's all you need to know. Skip if you no likee.

This was many years ago. I forget exactly when, but I've blotted it from my mind. The single most nerve-jangling thing that's ever happened to me, especially to someone not used to being faced with full-on, entirely malicious aggression. Nope, even the 3 travellers that hijacked my car one evening splattered head-to-toe in blood, doesn't quite beat it.

To be fair(ish), I was a pretty stupid-looking person at the time. Sporting an over-stretched, hugely baggy black and white jumper, pinstripe trousers, crap black shoes, a pineapple style haircut and some hefty extra weight, I was close to asking for it.

After an extended weed-smoking session with a friend in the windy seaside town of Hastings, I decided to make a dash for the last train home. Hastings is an easy place to coax weed-paranoia from the most level-headed of people at night, when the seafront is deserted, and all that can be heard is the clanking and creaks of the dilapidated flagpoles swaying in the icy breeze. There's also lots of places to lurk.

As I rounded the corner towards a set of steps, a figure lurched out of a shop doorway. Well over six feet, pale, and sporting few of his own teeth, and undeniably menacing, he might as well have had 'crack addict' (which was pretty rife in Hastings at the time) branded on his pock-marked forehead. 'Got a cig, mate?' he rasped. Being a naive fool, I said 'yes, of course', and handed over my rolling gear. He pocketed that. 'I need a tenner', he said. 'I don't have any money', I answered nervously, as I began to cotton on. I really didn't. No change, no cashcard, as I was hoping to hop the train home gratis. 'If you don't give me some money, I am going to fucking stab you. I've got a knife in my pocket'. 'I don't want to miss my train', I squeaked. Wrong move. Now he had a bargaining chip. 'I'll get you to your train, mate. I'll get you there safe'. Somehow, I didn't believe him. Especially as he was trying to herd me off in the opposite direction.

These sort of exchanges continued as we wandered ever further from the station, with the possibility of catching the train receding into the distance. The threats grew ever more excessive 'I don't care if you have any money, I'm going to slice you from ear-to-ear anyway' was a choice example. He was enjoying himself, simply because he knew I was shitting it. I needed a plan, and I needed one soon.

The amount of shops were starting to thin out as we moved towards the estates, and very few of the non-junk food variety would be open by now. The streets were deserted. We were drawing close to a dingy kebab shop, and I realised this might be my last chance - he wouldn't try to do me over in front of anyone, would he? Would he? As we passed by, I dodged inside, with a mutter of 'I'm hungry'. He followed. The two men behind the counter visibly flinched at the sight of him. I ordered some chips, and he ordered them to get him a glass of water. As we stood at the counter, me with a helpless look on my face, and him hissing in my ear that if we didn't walk out of here soon, he would cut me up in front of everyone, and four years would be nothing to him, the realisation dawned - no-one in here would help. No-one would even phone the coppers. They were more scared of him than I was. Shit.

'Let's go, you fuckin Southern poof!' - I couldn't conceivably delay it any longer. It was time to go. One last chance to get out of this, or be damned. As we were about to exit, I noticed he was still holding his glass of water. 'Can't take that with you, mate', I piped up. 'oh yeah', he rasped, and turned to put it back down on the counter. This was it - run like fuck to wherever. I was off. And so was he. I was no athlete, being a smoker, and a fat bastard simultaneously, but sheer adrenalin was going to keep me moving. It had to. I chanced a look back. he was still in hot pursuit - but this time, the possibly-fictional-but-can't-be-sure blade was in full view, gleaming everytime the moonlight hit it. Run like you've never run before, you flaccid waster. I don't know how long I was running, but when I finally stopped, it felt like my lungs were caving in, my breath a racking wheeze. If he was still on my tail, I was fucked. But I listened hard, not wanting to turn round, and heard nothing except the lap of the sea, and distant yells of the drunk. It was a long, slow walk home.

I didn't go anywhere near Hastings for the next couple of weeks, and told no-one why. By telling no-one why, i ran out of excuses pretty quickly, and was finally coaxed along to a drum 'n' bass night at a dingy club. All was pretty peachy for a couple of hours - amateur MC's shouting themselves hoarse, some tunes I knew here and there - and then, i saw him. Standing stock still in the middle of the dance floor, wearing a long, black trenchcoat, staring straight at me. I'd undergone a hasty makeover during that time, the least of which a full headshave, but it was a very, very tense moment. I broke his gaze, and stared at my drink, pondering a throat-slitting demise. I looked back up, and he was gone. I've never seen him since, and for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Apologies for length. That is all.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 13:28, Reply)
I ran away when I was 12
All the way to the town centre. Not really much. Then, to stop my mother suspecting, I went into a nightclub (mate was a bouncer). I was gone for all of two days, and I could see the police cars going slowly.

Went back home and got the bollocking of my life.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 13:23, Reply)
Er... thanks dad
My parents ran away from me when I was about 21.

I'd just finished Uni and was looking forwards to another longer than usual summer holiday of having my clothes washed, meals cooked for me etc. etc. when my dad said:

"Son, we're moving. You're not. Find somewhere else to live"

Cheers then.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 13:16, Reply)
I made my escape as a five year old...
I made it to the main road where a nice man picked me up in his car, only to brutally bum-rape me.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 12:13, Reply)
not so much running away, but rather sliding away
Back in days of old when I were a 5 year old midget, there was a blizzard the likes that Swansea has not quite seen again. Snow drifts upon snow drifts upon ice; this was a bastion of evil weather conditions rolled into one.

After the storm had calmed down, the heavens gently dropped what was left of its cloud-cargo and let us humans be. This left a grey sky and white, which was upto 6 feet deep in places.

My family lived on the side of a steep hill in a place called "Blaen-y-maes" (if anyone knows Swansea, they know this place, tis rougher than a duck-on-a-sandpaper-diet's shit). This road (Penplas Road if anyone knows it) was about a mile long was covered in snow and thick ice, slippery and deadly to the touch.

Cue my family coming back from me grans, and having to abandon the car at the top of the hill because it was simply too dangerous to drive down this road. We get out, and me in me wellies slips backwards and slides ALL THE WAY DOWN THE HILL. I must've reached about 30mph or so because my dad was fully sprinting, and I can remember spinning 360 and seeing him not being able to keep up with me. Thankfully a random snow drift at the bottom of the hill had formed and I smacked straight into it. Me dad found me 5 minutes later by a loose mitten dangling on top of the mound.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 11:45, Reply)
When I was a wee nipper...
I decided to run away from home, my father worked most of the time and never saw him and his wife (my step mother) who still to this day a complete and utter fucking bitch absolutely hated me and still to this day does.
When I did a bunk I ended up in the back of someones garage laid against the wall covered with plastic and god only knows what trying to keep warm, truth be told I was bloody freezing and as you would be. During the early hours the guy who lived in this particular place ended up coming home (but not seeing me as I was pretty well covered), drives his car into the garage and nearly squishes me against his wall, I ended wallking the streets trying to keep warm which was my mistake as the old plod spotted me probably wondering what a 12 year old was doing walking the streets and they ended up taking me to the station and then eventually home... Ran away several times after that which ended up pretty much the same, still moved out of home at 15 for good... RESULT!!
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 11:39, Reply)
Afer 10 years of physical and mental abuse
I packed a case with a few essentials and prepared to leave.

Unfortunately I let slip my plans and was caught by my tomenter, who ripped open my bag, threw the contents across the room, tore all my clothes off and beat the living daylights out of me.

I was 10, and had been dobbed in by my brother to my lunatic mother.

Lesson learned. I stuck it out another 7 years, in the last of which I got a job, saved up a deposit for a flat and THEN left.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 11:16, Reply)
Hello. My name is Harrison Ford.
You may remember me from such films as "The Indiana Jones Trilogy" and "Air Force One". But in one film, I played a middle-aged Doctor who run away from the Police while trying to find a one-armed man who murdered my wife. I mean, come on! They'll pay me for any old shit! For a start, who the fuck would pay a one-armed guy to run a security firm for a multi-billion dollar medical company. That big fall from the damn? I wish they used CGI instead of that obvious "overhead shot with the dummy". And that shit with the liver samples? They got that off Wikipedia for fuck's sake. No wonder my character legged it.

But in fairness, it was a film which launched me to great stuff like "Six Days and Seven Nights" and "Sabrina"; films which any decent American now own on DVD. I'm just wondering how many stunts in my old age are waiting for me, especially with Indy 4 on the way.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 10:30, Reply)
Damn that nan and her foresight!
Once in the mid-eighties, when I was around the age of five, it was during the summer holidays spent at my house with my Nan who looked after me while my parents were at work (i'm an army brat!) Cant remember the whys and wherefores of my deciding to run away, but I marched up to my dear nan who was engrossed in a copy of 'Yours' and declared my intentions. "Thats nice dear, you go right ahead!" she said sweetly. Full of excitement i put on my little bag, and into the bag put in my rations of a banana and club biscuit.

Putting on my red wellies (yes it was summer, but I loved those red wellies!) I went up to the door, reached up to the latch and....well nothing. I couldnt reach it!!! I ran back to nan and asked her to help me open the door. She smiled her mystic nan smile and said she would in a moment, she just wanted to finish the article she was reading. I went and sat on the stairs to wait and fell asleep.

She never did open the bloody door for me. My plan was foiled! *shakes fist*
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 10:16, Reply)
I had just stolen something from the fridge
in my cunning 5 year old way, and the task before me was to run through the living room, past the edge of the couch (on which my dad was relaxing), to make it into my room, where I would consume my forbidden fridge food.

I stuffed it under my nightie and walked past the side of the couch, trying too hard to look unsuspicious. I heard a distinct voice say "Woah, hold it!" and a distinct hand grab the back of my nightie.

I was pulling and pulling and making a scene, screaming and wailing about as I tried to untangle myself. I soon was out of my nightie and just in my undies (don't forget, I'm 5 years old). My dad proclaimed "Bloody hell!" after taking a step back and assessing the situation.

I was in a state of panic and took a run for it, thinking that my dad was enraged at the idea that I had stolen from the fridge. He darted after me, yelling "Wait!" and "No!", until I was in my room about to slam the door shut, until he put his foot in the door and took a hold of me.

All I heard from Dad was "uh oh", and he yelled for my mother to come to my room. Dad actually didn't care at all that I had taken food from the fridge.

He had just realized that I had the chicken pox.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 6:50, Reply)
Running Away
When I was young I made a habit of running prety much from the age of 13, whenever there was a row I'd pack a bug and bugger off for a day or so. This kept up for quite a few years and my parents eventually gave up on me. Anyway about 4 years ago, the wife and I begrudingly went over to my parents to tell them we were emigrating to Oz. They didn't believe us and even on the odd occasion when mother rings, she reckons there's a divert in place to send the phone call back to England.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 4:34, Reply)
Not really a case of running away, but a seven year old only child freaking out when too many kids were playing with MY skip-it.

It was the eighties, in the West Midlands. All the daddies that worked for Jaguar (including mine), were at a union meeting about some kind of strike action to stop a factory site getting closed down, and all the Jag mums brought their kids round to our house after school to play until the meeting was over.

Cue - loads of children playing in MY back garden with MY toys (remember us only children are not at all used to sharing), and all their mums chatting in the kitchen about redundancies, oblivious to their kids outside. I'd had enough. I needed space. So I hopped on my bike "Violet" (with a fantastic boot-basket-thing, in which I stored a capri sun and a fun-size marathon for the journey), and took off in search of peace from the mob of children behind me - down the gravel entry towards hearsall woods.

I returned half an hour later, in the arms of a local builder who'd found me unconscious, embedded in my face a large portion of that very same gravel entry and missing most of my front teeth. Apparently I'd escaped too fast, and fallen off my bike head first over the handlebars yards from my house, and consequently skidded jackass-style face first along the alleyway, knocking out five of my teeth (Ham sandwiches were a no-go snack until my teeth grew back a year later), fracturing my eye socket, and completely skinning the right side of my face.

I looked like that ugly kid in the Cher film for weeks (or the phantom of the opera, if his mask was made of scabs), and wasn't allowed to be in the class photograph that year, as I looked too scary.

Remarkably, the incident only left me with a small moustache-themed scar and a fear of piloting my own transport, but still have a penchant for making dramatic exits from stressful situations.
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 2:32, Reply)
I would runaway...with you

I used to love the song 'Runaway' by the Corrs, and I grew to believe that Andrea Corr used to sing that song especially for me. I decided, she was to be my wife. After days...weeks...months of stalking her she grew tired of me following her every move and eventually told me to piss off.

I took the warning, and moved on to stalking the, some may say sexier, violin player. I decided, she was to be my wife. After days...weeks...months of stalking her she grew tired of me following her every move too and told me to piss off.

I took the warning, and turned my attentions to the ugly one of the band for she was to be my wife. After days...weeks...months of stalking, me and Jim are living happily ever after and are getting married next summer in Irelands first gay wedding.

What can I do to make you love me? believe me, Jim has a few ideas up his sleeve which he failed to mention in song......
(, Mon 14 Aug 2006, 2:12, Reply)
I was on the run
when my homage to the mountain didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped; the Rubberbandman and Jungle Bill chased me to the Ocean Club, where I quickly made myself scarce, prompting them to ask at length, "Who's gone?" Fortunately, Capri was calling me to her very fast car, where I was drive/driven post haste to the nearest airport.

Now I just need to flog this batch of blenders before that sweet thunder puts a damper on my plans....

*gets coat*

/may have listened to Yello too much
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 21:31, Reply)
....School in winter...
I was in a fair bit of trouble at secondary school. When i was 14, out of complete boredom in a maths lesson (the subject i now teach...........!!!), i shoved some paper down the back of a really antique heater and started to watch it burn. The teacher smelt it and i was sent to the head (which not enough of happens these days! Heads are too friendly nowadays, they don't put the shit up you!)

Anyways, i was standing outside the Head's office bricking it for ages coz i knew i'd get into serious trouble so i decided to run home (about 8 miles). I set off out the main door and across the playing fields which were covered in snow. A thin cotton shirt and a nylon pullover where no defence whatsoever against the sheets of sleet which fell that afternoon. An hour later and about half way home, freezing cold (my hands were blue and my feet quite numb), my mum pulled up in her car.

The Headmaster had rung her and said I had runnawy from school so she came looking for me. I ended up being suspended for the rest of the week, which was fine because i was ill for the whole time being treated for hypothermia.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 20:39, Reply)
Too tyred...
I often ran away as a kid when 'it' all became too much. I used to dream up fantasies of travelling as far as my bus money would carry me, but usually got scared that some weirdo would kidnap me for bumsex.
My favourite run away and hide place was Dutton Forshaw - a local car dealer. I used to hide in the massive stacks of used tyres they had and would eat the tomato ketchup 'survival sandwiches' I had made far too quickly. The tyres were easy enough to sleep in but lacked any warmth so I usually relented after several hours and would sneak back home and sleep in the shed.

Ran away with the Merchant Navy when I was 18 and that wasn't far enough - so I ran away to Australia when I was 27 and never went back. No more running.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 16:31, Reply)
running away
i had moved when i was 13 from london to warwick. a distance of approx 100 miles. i missed my school friends so decided to cycle back down to see them. just outside of warwick is a long, steep hill so when i saw it, i couldn't be bothered to go any further and turned back
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 15:21, Reply)
Ahh! Non-Twins!
I was a pretty pathetic case as a child with only one friend, a girl, named Natasha. My parents were always very protective, so it was quite a surprise when they dumped me outside her front door while they went shopping.

Everything was fine for the first minute or so, until her two friends and neighbours came along.

Now, let me paint a picture of the two sisters who stood before me. Imagine identical twins, creepy twins, wearing the same clothes and Christian grin. Now, that would be scary enough, but one of the “twins” was around two years older than the other.

Much to my surprise, an involuntary screech echoed from my seven-year-old gob, and I ran for home. It took me a mere second to reach home, where I was greeted by my mother who promptly drove me back to my only friend and told her “Sorry, but he doesn’t want to play with the girls,” in a highly patronising tone.

I’ve been a loner ever since.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 15:20, Reply)
Your not my parents
I was conviced when I was little that my Mum wasn't my real mum and was really a witch who had stolen me.
I use to draw maps of where I would go when I run away, which was always a little den type place near our local Kwick-Save and intended to live off the berrie that grew their.
My mum found my plan and persuaded me that I wouldn't be able to survive.
Another time when I was with my Aunt, I wrote a note telling her I was running away but it read
'I am running awas'
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 14:45, Reply)
Rebecca alert
So when I was small there was this little freak living on my road, one minute she'd be the nicest little cherub and share all her toys with you and the next second she'd be hitting you round the face with her ballerina fucking barbie or some equally hard and pointy little plastic piece of shit. There were ten houses on the row and a building site at the bottom where they were due to add onto the estate. She wasn't allowed past the bottom house on the row and so when she came out we (the 20 or so kids living on the row) used to run away down to play on the building site (in those days a perfectly safe place for children), just out of her reach screaming "Rebecca alert, Rebecca alert!".
On reflection we were horrible little shits really but she really was very weird. She moved when we were like eleven, I hear she's some weird goth now and is engaged to someone like twice her age and keeps telling people they're going to commit suicide together.
I feel mildly responsible...
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 14:14, Reply)
We had a thing at our school called Breakout. This was a yearly which was thoroughly encouraged by parents and staff alike and involved small groups (4-5 people) of students seeing how far away they could get from the school in 24 hours without spending any money i.e. hitch-hiking, begging etc. One year, the three finalists were as follows; in third place a group of kids got to Bath, in second 3 of the people in my year got to Bologne (North France, can't be bothered to check my spelling) but the winners, 4 girls from the upper sixth somehow managed to get to St Petersburg (yes, in Russia). Not a bad effort. They managed to sweet talk their way as part of a courier ticket, i think. Can't imagine anything like this ever being allowed nowadays. I refer the right honorable readers to the current nanny state image challenge.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 14:07, Reply)
Ran away from the school bus and ended up beating it home...
For reasons which I've sadly forgotten (but which probably involved me being a twat), I decided to forego the school bus home and walk the three miles to my village instead. I set off before the bus did, but it drove past me on the road out of town and many of my fellow pupils on board were clearly pointing and laughing at me.

However, about 30 seconds later and purely coincidentally, my piano teacher happened to drive past. He spotted me and gave me a lift back more or less to my door via a slightly faster route than the bus took. Consequently I was able to get to the bus top nearby in time to greet the other kids getting off the bus, much to their amazement...
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 13:18, Reply)
Roger, my pet hamster...

...once ran away. I'd had him for about 2 years when one morning I woke up to find his cage was empty. My parents told me not to worry and that he'd be back shortly. They were right, he returned a couple of days later.

He must have one hell of a 'running away' story to tell though, cos when he returned not only had he shrunk, but he was also a different colour.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 11:44, Reply)
How to impress little sisters
When I was 5 I told my mum I was going to run away from home.

My mum said actually she was quite pleased about that, as she was doing roast chicken that night so there'd be more for little sister and her.

I condescended to stay for a little longer, but left my packed bag at the bottom of the stairs for *weeks*, just so she knew that I could still leave at any time if I felt like it.

My little sister mentioned this a couple of months ago; apparently she's still in awe of me over it. WTF?

Girth hell yeah, my belt's too short these days.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 9:51, Reply)
Back in the day....
When your young you rarely think about what you actualy doing an how its going to affect people. When your drunk you rarely consider other people except the slightly large lady over in the corner that you think is giving you the eye.

Now back in the good old days when I was just a stupid 18 year old, all day drinking sessions were a regular think for me. A sat afternoon consisted of going the pub, watching the footy and drinking myself stupid. This was to me a good idea, however my parents diddnt quite see the genius of it. One particular evening I stumbled home rat-arsed ready for my tea. I crashed through the door and meandered into the back room hoping to be comfronted by my loving family and a giant pizza only to find that my fat bastard Dad had eaten it all. This made me mad. I decided that I was gonner go the chippy for my tea, diddnt tell em which one though. The next day when I still had not returned home the olds started to get worried so imagin there relife when a still drunk me crashes through the door agian. Insted of going the chippy round the corner I decied that a chippy I knew in Manchester was a better bet, over 40 miles away. I spent the rest of the evening getting even more drunk on my own, huling abuse at my none present parents and generaly being a tit. God knows where I slept that night, that part of my memory has been erased due to alcohol abuse. Still run away to that chippy now when I get pissed off at home. Ah the memorys...................
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 9:18, Reply)
run away , run away, run away.....and not really
It wasn't really a conscious decision to run away until my mother started to frantically look for me. We were living in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment and there were very few places to hide. On this morning I had decieded to see if I would fit in the towel section of our cupboard, which was neatly split into the clothes section and the minuscule towel section, followed by 2 drawers. I got in and found it to be quite comfortable and the smell of fresh towels was enough to make me want to stay in there for a long time. My mum started to call out and that is when I decided to pretend I had run away and wasn't going to answer. I stayed in there for what seemed like hours while she looked for me inside, outside, made various frantic phone calls and so on. I found all this highly amusing as you would at 7 yrs old :P
Finally I climbed out and tip toed into the kitchen, then made my sudden re-appearance to my mother who was crying in the living room. She asked me where I had been and I said I had been in my room playing, had she not seen me?
Story ended with a rather welt like bum for me...OOPS
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 3:29, Reply)
I ran away from school aged 11. It was a 4 mile walk home and I forgot to go to the loo before I left, so I had to against a bush in someone's front garden.

I was wearing my very distinctive blazer, so a friend's mum recognised me as she was driving past. She even gave me a lift home, but then again she did dob me in as well.

The best bit was that I didn't even get in any trouble. When you do that at a naive prep school aged 11, they're more worried than angry.
(, Sun 13 Aug 2006, 1:11, Reply)

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