The
Sunday read
Nigel
Farage
‘Of
course he abused pupils’: ex-Dulwich teacher speaks out about Farage racism
claims
Daniel
Boffey Chief reporter
Exclusive:
Chloë Deakin tells how she wrote to Dulwich college master to argue against
Farage’s nomination as prefect
Sun 28
Dec 2025 06.00 GMT
It was
1981 and Nigel Farage was turning 17. He was already a figure of some
controversy, as would become a lifelong habit, among the younger pupils and
staff at Dulwich college in south-east London.
“I
remember it was either in a particular English lesson or a particular form
period that his name came up,” said Chloë Deakin, then a young English teacher,
of a discussion with a class of 11- and 12-year-olds. “There was something
about bullying, and he was being referred to, quite specifically, as a bully.
And I thought: ‘Who is this boy?’”
Deakin
conferred with colleagues in the staff room who corroborated accounts of
harassment of fellow pupils and of Farage’s apparent fascination with the far
right, including claims that he had been “goose-stepping” on combined cadet
force marches.
“But
initially I had heard it from boys,” she said. “I was shocked to hear that this
Dulwich boy was apparently getting away with this kind of behaviour, at cadet
camp etc, and I thought: ‘This is seriously out of order. It’s horrible.’”
Despite
the chatter in the playground and staffroom, Farage was put on a draft list of
prefects by the headteacher, David Emms, and his deputy, Terry Walsh. There was
a meeting where strong views were aired, though Emms and Walsh were of the
opinion that Farage was naughty, rather than being a malevolent racist.
“So when
I heard that Farage’s name was on the finalised prefect list, I was appalled
and that was why I wrote independently to Emms, because I felt strongly about
it – I still do,” Deakin recalled.
Deakin’s
letter of June 1981, first revealed by the Channel 4 journalist Michael Crick
in a report in 2013, is uncompromising. She has never spoken before of this
episode with the letter – written after Farage’s 17th birthday – emerging only
as a result of her having given a copy of it to a senior teacher at the time,
as was the practice at the school.
She
wrote: “You will recall that at the recent and lengthy meeting about the
selection of prefects, the remark by a colleague that Farage was a ‘fascist but
that was no reason why he would not make a good prefect’ invoked considerable
reaction from members of the [staff] common room.
“Another
colleague, who teaches the boy, described his publicly professed racist and
neo-fascist views, and he cited a particular incident in which Farage was so
offensive to a boy in his set that he had to be removed from his lesson …
“Yet
another colleague described how, at a [combined cadet force] camp organised by
the college, Farage and others had marched through a quiet Sussex village very
late at night shouting Hitler Youth songs; and when it was suggested by a
master that boys who expressed such views ‘don’t really mean them’, the college
chaplain himself commented that, on the contrary, in his experience views of
that kind expressed by boys of that age are deep-seated and are meant.”
The
letter concluded: “You will appreciate that I regard this as a very serious
matter. I have often heard you tell our senior boys that they are the nation’s
future leaders. It is our collective responsibility to ensure that these
leaders are enlightened and compassionate.”
Fresh and
detailed allegations about Farage’s teenage past, contained in a series of
reports by the Guardian in recent weeks, have caused what has been described as
the greatest crisis in the Reform leader’s political career, in large part
because of the way he has responded.
Farage’s
lawyer initially wholly denied any racist or antisemitic behaviour, and
threatened to sue the Guardian. Farage then conceded in an interview with the
BBC’s political editor in Wales that some things said in “banter” more than
four decades ago might be construed differently today, but denied targeting
anyone “directly” or with “intent” to hurt.
The
Guardian has now spoken to more than 30 school contemporaries of Farage who
have given testimony of being on the wrong end of racist or antisemitic abuse
or witnessing it at the school.
Farage’s
behaviour is said to have continued from age 13 to 18, after which he went on
to a career in the City. But despite loud calls for a show of contrition and
understanding of the hurt he is alleged to have inflicted, including through an
open letter from 26 of his school contemporaries, he is yet to apologise.
Deakin,
now 74, does not recall who had told her that Farage had sung Hitler Youth
songs, for which no evidence has subsequently emerged, although the Guardian
has heard testimony that he was involved in singing songs about gassing Jews
and other minority ethnic people.
She was
not personally acquainted with Farage and did not see or hear his alleged
racism and antisemitism, she said. But her memories of boys’ complaints of
bullying, the subsequent testimony of the staff, the contemporaneous letter –
written by her decades before Farage gained public prominence – and the sheer
weight of credible allegations in recent weeks should leave no room for doubt
for the public, she said.
“Of
course Farage directly abused pupils,” Deakin said. “His was the only name I
recall boys mentioning to me.”
For all
her efforts at the time, her protests to the headteacher did not dissuade him
from making Farage a prefect. It was part of the reason why she decided to
leave the school, later becoming a civil servant in the Department for
Education, she said.
“Emms
[the headteacher] called me in: he was quite a forbidding figure for me as a
young teacher,” she said. “And he was very pleasant and polite, but nothing
came of it; he had made his decision. Soon after that I started thinking, I
don’t want to stay here. This is not the place where I’m going to make my
future.”
In
Crick’s broadcast in 2013, the deputy headteacher, Walsh, suggested Deakin
might have been among a “leftist” group in the teachers’ common room. Farage
has claimed that those making accusations were doing so as part of a political
plot to undermine him.
Deakin
said: “I was not then and never have been a member of a political party –
indeed I have, over the years, voted differently in local and in general
elections. Nor, of course, did any of us anticipate that Farage would
subsequently become a politician: at that time he appeared to be focused on a
City career.
“My
motive in writing to Emms was neither political nor anti-college but was,
rather, driven by my disgust at the accounts I had heard of Farage’s racist and
neo-fascist views and behaviours: that he was a bully, that his rightwing views
were extreme, that he revelled in the fact that his initials were the same as
those of the National Front, that he imitated neo-Nazi singing and marching,
etc.
“I had
previously taught in a large, culturally diverse comprehensive school in Brent,
with many Jewish colleagues and other staff of colour. It would have been
unthinkable for such behaviours to have been tolerated there, or to have gone
unpunished.”
Among
those who have spoken of their disappointment in recent weeks at Farage’s
approach to the claims have been 11 Holocaust survivors who have been concerned
by attempts to dismiss Farage’s behaviour as banter.
Deakin
said she had been similarly appalled by what she believed was a lack of a
regard for telling the truth.
“Of
course it is absolutely normal for teenagers and students to debate hotly about
politics, religion and other significant issues,” she said. “But Farage’s
extremist views and behaviours appeared to be singular and to go well beyond
any normal discussion of party politics, freedom of speech, or even teenage
‘high jinks’ … Farage’s unwillingness to offer a straightforward apology to
those men affected by his past behaviours is also both puzzling and
concerning.”
Reform
did not respond to a request for comment. A new letter written by Chloë Deakin
to the Guardian can be found below:
Once upon
a time – in June 1981 – I wrote a letter to the then master of Dulwich College,
David Emms, about a teenage pupil named Nigel Farage.
My letter
followed a heated meeting between Emms and my Common Room [teaching staff]
colleagues, during which a number of us had objected to Emms’ inclusion of
Farage in a list of nominations for new prefects.
I was a
young English teacher, in my late twenties, at the time. I neither taught
Farage nor knew him personally, but I had been hearing about him from
colleagues and from boys I taught.
In his
book about Farage, Michael Crick quotes Emms describing Farage,
retrospectively, as having been a “naughty boy” who had “got up the noses” of
staff because of his “chirpiness and cheekiness”. But in 1981 we had taken a
more serious view of Farage’s reputation and behaviour, arguing that it was
inappropriate for him to be rewarded and that he was not a suitable role model
for other pupils. I was therefore dismayed when I learnt that Emms intended to
override the meeting and proceed with Farage’s appointment.
I wrote a
personal letter to Emms, setting out in detail why I disagreed. We had a
cordial meeting to discuss the matter, but he would not be swayed from his
decision. Farage’s appointment went ahead and I imagined that my letter had
been consigned to Emms’ waste paper basket.
Regarding
my motivation for writing the letter, it was not the case (as suggested by a
past deputy master, Terry Walsh in Channel 4’s programme in 2013) that I
objected to Farage’s appointment because I was part of some Common Room
“leftist” element. I was not then and never have been a member of a political
party (indeed I have, over the years, voted differently in local and in general
elections). Nor, of course, did any of us anticipate that Farage would
subsequently become a politician: at that time he appeared to be focused on a
City career.
Nor was
it the case (as suggested by a former colleague, the Rev Neil Fairlamb [in the
Guardian]), that my letter was “motivated largely” by my “dislike of the
college’s culture”. (Fairlamb also described Farage as “cheeky and charming and
you could never quite believe him”.)
Dulwich
College offered wonderful facilities and opportunities to its pupils (in
painful contrast to my previous school) including, at that time, many boys
still on the assisted places scheme, whose families would not otherwise have
been able to afford to educate them there.
I
participated fully in College life and enjoyed teaching such lively,
intelligent and talented pupils, whom I remember with affection. (There were
touching moments too: the boys were unused to women staff – three of the four
of us were recently appointed – and I was occasionally asked out by senior
boys, unsure of our status; while younger boys, when raising their hands in
class, often called me “Sir” or occasionally “Mum” instead of “Miss”, to the
great amusement of their peers.)
There was
a house system for sports and other competitions; a form system, which dealt
mainly with administrative procedures; and a sanatorium, for physical health
issues: but there was neither a pastoral system nor counselling support
available to pupils, such as those in private and public sector schools today.
So it is perhaps unsurprising that pupils – the majority of whom were day boys
– would have kept their problems to themselves.
My motive
in writing to Emms was neither political nor anti-College but was, rather,
driven by my disgust at the accounts I had heard of Farage’s racist and
neo-fascist views and behaviours: that he was a bully; that his rightwing views
were extreme; that he revelled in the fact that his initials were the same as
those of the National Front; that he imitated neo-Nazi singing and marching,
etc.
I had
previously taught in a large, culturally-diverse comprehensive school in Brent,
with many Jewish colleagues and other staff of colour. It would have been
unthinkable for such behaviours to have been tolerated there, or to have gone
unpunished.
Of course
it is absolutely normal for teenagers and students to debate hotly about
politics, religion and other significant issues: but Farage’s extremist views
and behaviours appeared to be singular and to go well beyond any normal
discussion of party politics, freedom of speech, or even teenage “high jinks”.
So it concerned and disillusioned me that Emms, Walsh – and some other members
of the Common Room – seemed to take an indulgent and, I thought, somewhat naive
attitude towards Farage’s reputation. (No doubt this was a sign of the times: I
recall Emms, expressing appreciation for something I had done, saying “Thank
you Chloë, that’s very white of you.” I remember feeling puzzled, never having
heard this expression before. Many years later I realised, with distaste, what
it meant.)
Soon
afterwards I decided to leave the College, to pursue my career in the public
sector. Over time, I forgot about the letter and must have destroyed my own
copy at some point: so I was surprised when Michael Crick contacted me in 2013,
having seen a copy of it, asking me to participate in Channel 4’s programme
about Farage. (At first I did not recall the letter, until I saw the redacted
version online and remembered my feelings about the original sequence of
events.) However, my work role at that time prohibited me from commenting on,
or engaging in, political debate, so I had to decline. The main thrust of
criticism of Farage in that programme focused again on his generalised racist
and neo-fascist views and behaviours.
So I was
distressed to read in recent weeks accounts by many former pupils – now
middle-aged men – of Farage’s targeted racist and antisemitic bullying of
individuals, both before and after he was appointed a prefect. It seemed that
Farage’s behaviour was much worse than I had been aware in 1981. Multiple,
consistent accounts described him generally acting alone, singling out and
pursuing specific pupils repeatedly, solely because they were Jews, or because
of their skin colour.
[The
Reform deputy leader] Richard Tice has referred to these accounts as “made-up
twaddle”. Farage himself has offered various explanations of events, including
that whatever he might have said at the time was merely “banter”. There have
also been allegations of an orchestrated intention to “smear” the Reform party,
because of its elevated position in recent polls.
I write
this letter, as I wrote my original letter to Emms, of my own free will. I have
not been approached by the Guardian, nor by any former Dulwich pupil, to
support their points of view. I am not receiving any payment for it. I write it
simply because, in the light of having worked for nearly fifty years in
education and mental health, I regard these pupils’ accounts to be painfully
authentic and sadly consistent with Farage’s previously recorded views and
behaviours whilst a pupil at Dulwich College.
I agree
with the many online comments by people unconnected with the College confirming
that, across the years, you never forget the names, faces, words or actions of
individuals who have bullied you.
Anyone
who has worked with people who have been deliberately targeted and demeaned –
by bullying or assault, for instance – knows that the legacies of such
experiences are shame and secrecy (the shame that belongs to the perpetrator is
felt by the victim).
It has
taken time and courage for these men to speak out – courage which has, however,
been met with derision and dismissal by Farage, Reform and some media
commentators, who have described Farage’s words as playground “banter” and
former pupils’ words as politically-motivated “smears”.
The word
“banter” generally carries the sense of a playful, teasing or good-humoured
exchange: but there was nothing playful, teasing, good-humoured nor reciprocal,
about Farage’s attacks, as reported by former pupils who suffered them.
Similarly,
the word “smear” carries the sense of a false accusation or slander, intended
to harm a reputation: but there was nothing false about the reports relating to
Farage that I recorded in 1981. Recent reports are consistent with those.
Meanwhile,
Farage himself has claimed (BBC, 24 November 2025) that he “never directly
racially abused anybody … by taking it out on an individual on the basis of who
they are or what they are” and that he would “never, ever do it [ie use racial
abuse] in a hurtful or insulting way”.
His
statement is inconsistent with the multiple accounts of his targeted behaviour;
and I am at a loss to understand how racial abuse could be used in any way that
was not hurtful or insulting. (In the same interview, Farage also cited free
speech – “Sometimes you say things that people don’t like” – as a defence.
“Free speech” seems to have become, for some, a justification for saying
anything to, or about, anyone.)
But where
does all that leave us now? Does any of it matter? Some commentators argue that
Farage’s schooldays are irrelevant now: that reports about them were unfounded,
or too long ago, or that we should be focusing on larger, current, pressing
issues.
But there
seems to be a curious link between Farage’s obsessive teenage preoccupation
with targeting, demeaning and frightening only those fellow pupils who were
identifiable in ways that accorded with his far-right views – ie by their
Jewishness or their skin colour (not, for example, ginger hair or lack of
sports prowess) – and how this has burgeoned into his adult preoccupation with
immigration/deportation as the main plank of his political campaign.
Farage’s
unwillingness to offer a straightforward apology to those men affected by his
past behaviours is also both puzzling and concerning. The prime minister, the
attorney general, a group of Holocaust survivors and now, a group of former
Dulwich pupils and staff – to which I add my own name here – have all called
upon him to do so: but there is no evidence to date of any regret or change of
view on his part.
On the
basis of recent polls there seems a strong possibility that Reform could win
the next general election and that Farage would be appointed prime minister.
Anyone engaged in public life is required to adhere to the seven Nolan
Principles – selflessness; integrity; objectivity; accountability; openness;
honesty; and leadership. We need Farage to demonstrate his active commitment to
all these principles now, if we are to have any confidence in his future
leadership.
Some
commentators have argued that pressing current issues (such as ensuring that
Jews and others can live safely in our communities) are more important than the
events of Farage’s school days, some forty-odd years ago. Of course current
issues do need addressing urgently. But we should also remember that the small
seeds of large issues find space to grow and flourish wherever prejudice,
discrimination, victimisation and persecution are permitted to go unchallenged.
They need rooting out.
Chloë Deakin
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