The Visit

I had barely finished my induction and I was suddenly launched into a sea of people, all on their own journeys’ to their own lands. My long term destination was Cartrefle College. For now.

After taking a couple of evening classes in Sociology and Psychology to ratchet up my academic qualifications, I found the transition from homework to horsework passed relatively painlessly. I was able enough, I knew that but if I was honest, I was still a little way off the pace.

The idea as I understood it was to float Home Office monies into Local Authority wards of ‘High Family Stress’. By developing two Community Work projects and attaching them to two feeder schools, the potential for creating a valuable service, “…run by local people for local people…” was a great way for me to find my feet. Initially funded for 2 years, I was an ideal candidate, born and bred in the town, 27 years of age, part-time Youth Work experience, a young family of my own and trying to get back into full-time education. The Community Programme was finally a Thatcher strategy that I could make work for me.

I also started to volunteer for a Social Services project, that was working with Children and Families near to where I lived, between Birkenhead and Chester. It wasn’t quite set in stone, but they were sure there would be no trouble finding some expenses to pave the way and it would be good for my college interview.

I was asked if I would mind be-friending a lad, Young Tony, who was at risk of falling out of school. His attendance had become too erratic for comfort and with his mum working every hour she could, it was hard trying to keep the family together.  His sister was pregnant and his dad, Big Tony well…. he was long gone.

I telephoned to explain who I was and arranged to meet the family at their home.

” Hi…. Joan ?… it’s Steve from The Project…. Yes…. Steve. I was just calling about meeting up…. Tomorrow ?… yes…. about 4.00pm…. great…. see you then….Take care now ”

Young Tony and I had met up in the office the week before, just the once to have a chat and a brew. It was a bit forced, with Ian the Social Worker there, but all in all it went well, and we had agreed to meet again. Ian had a gentle way about him, almost priest-like and he seemed to genuinely like Young Tony.

On a drizzly, cold afternoon, I took the bus and settled into my magazine to pass the 40min, 10 mile journey. It was warmer but smoky on the upper deck and the condensation meant I had to keep rubbing my sleeve on the clouded windows to keep an eye on my progress. 

After the short walk from the bus-stop, I found the house with no trouble and being a little early, I wandered into the paper shop to kill some time. I bought an evening paper and scouted the personal ads, looking for a motorbike or a scooter for sale. There was no way I was even getting to college unless I sorted some transport out. To get myself up to Wrexham and back, it was a total of four buses. Minimum. And 9.00am starts. Nightmare.

I was still a bit early but no worries, I would knock on anyway. There were two girls in the garden next door, perched on the door step, only kids really, one barefoot and singing into her hairbrush, the other in an over-sized pair of lofty, red court shoes, trying to straddle a resistant Border Collie. The dog barked when he saw me and quickly slipped through a gap in the fencing, setting himself to face me

” Are you Young Tonys’ dad ? ” the Sandie Shaw a-like asked me.

” No, I’m not darling. Is this your dog ? ”

” No, it’s not darling…. ” she mimicked and ignored me as I troubled with the gate catch. The collie pressed his cold nose against the back of my thigh as I scurried down the path and rattled at the door. The glass was missing and I rapped on the plywood panel that filled its space. I knocked again and shouted. “…. Joan, are you there…. It’s Steve…. are you in…. Tony…. it’s me Steve…. ? ”

I could hear the bustle of the movement from beyond and a well practised hand, jerked and pulled the heavy curtain that kept the draught out of the hall. The heat hit me like a stone to the temple. It was furious, laden with the smell of cigarettes and paint and old biscuits. I managed to stifle a cough and blamed it on the cold weather and too many cigarettes.

Joans’ beaming greeting rose up to meet me. Her pretty, dark face was full of life and she welcomed me warmly.

” Steve isn’t it…? …. Young Tony has just nipped to the chippy…. he won’t be five minutes…. he’s never too far from his mum that lad…. come on in love…. ”

The collie pushed past Joan, announcing himself by growling into the spluttering coal fire and spreading himself on the raffia matting, toasting by the baking glow and tugging at his tackle.

There was a drape of a man across the settee, snoring intermittently, who she tried to introduce before he returned deep into his slumber. This apparently was Les, a ‘friend’ of Joans’ . We sat and chatted while Gina, Joans’ daughter made a pot of tea. She was 15, heavily pregnant and sat extremely close, as we supped our lukewarm, weak and sugary brew, raising her voice over her mum when she got the chance and looking constantly at me, as we shared some small talk.

” Have you got any kids Steve ? ”

” Yes, three actually and another due next month. I’m having to move house in a few weeks just to fit them all in. ”

” Are you. Where are you moving to ? ” Gina asked me enquiringly.

The dog barked just then, as Young Tony announced he was home.

” Alright Steve…. you found us then….”

” Never in doubt mate, I told you I knew my way around here…. Good to see you….”

The contents of the carrier bag were evenly distributed with Les, still snoring, getting his chips on his lap. Young Tony beckoned me through into the kitchen.

” Grab a seat. Watch that wall it’s wet. Les has been painting again.”

I wondered if it was the fumes or the exertion that had left Les comatose. The only chair was covered in washing but I spotted a small stool beneath the table, pulled it out and sat down. The chips were heaped on the plate, doused with ketchup and salt and offered up for me to taste first. I grunted my appreciation and grabbed a few without the sauce, cramming them into my mouth. Instantly the dog was virtually staring me in the eyes, flaring his nostrils while I chewed. Young Tony too, looked straight at me when I offered the first salvo.

” You do understand why I have been asked to contact you don’t you.”

He didn’t hesitate. Straight back at me.

” To get me to go to school. To stop me getting into trouble. To stop me sagging off.”

He was well briefed. Ian had done his work admirably. We had talked previously a little, about what Young Tony liked about school and what he didn’t.

” Which teachers do you get on with ? ”

” Only a couple of them really. Mr Marshall, he’s alright. I like maths. I’m better with numbers than words really.”

” Do you struggle with your English. What’s the teacher like ? ”

” Mrs Fagen. She’s sound. She takes us for music as well and let’s us bring our own records in. Her brother is a famous singer. I forget his name for now. I just can’t spell very well and keep getting into trouble with the clever bastards in the class for fighting all the time. Mr Pritchard always seems to catch me in the corridor when I get sent out.”

” Mr Pritchard. The Headmaster. What’s he like ? ”

” He’s a knob.”

I stifled a laugh. I had heard as much myself. The dog rummaged as Young Tony threw it a chip and it scuttled and slid, on into the front room without re-appearing as he chased down another.

We talked through our options. Young Tony liked maths, music and history, particularily the Second World War. His dad had been in the army. Or so he had heard. He hated religion, games and French. Geography was OK because they got to go on trips and at least in science they did fun stuff. Experiments and that.

There were other ways we could sort some of this out I suggested, if he wanted to give it a try. If Young Tony could get to school three days a week, as well as spend some time at The Project on the other two days, we might be able to come to a compromise. In that way, Young Tony could take some pressure off himself from the teachers and while still trying to take some CSE’s, he might even enjoy the change.

” What about being able to help my mum out a bit. She doesn’t get a minute.”

We went in to the yard for a cigarette. Joan didn’t like to see Young Tony smoking. She knew but didn’t approve. We agreed that if I sorted the new arrangements out with Mr Pritchard, then we would get Young Tony a bit more help at home. We shook on it.

I could hear the voices being raised from the other room.

” Great news. Tell you what, it’s half term next week so I will make an appointment for the following Monday to finalise the details. In the mean-time, do you fancy giving me a hand to move in a few weeks ? I’ve got a van sorted and there will be a few quid in it for you.”

” Yeah, no problem. I’ll be glad of the money.”

We rose to leave. I put my head in the door to say my goodbyes. The collie had snaffled the chips from Les as they lay on top of him, ripping through the white, greasy paper to get at the goods. It was everywhere. I just caught sight of him, silhouetted against the fire, defecating next to the hearth. Joan stood up to take my hand and as Gina approached, the electric feed in the meter evaporated. It was blindingly dark, even with the dim glow of the coals, until Young Tony somehow found the latch to the door and flooded the hall with streetlight. The collie barked continually and Gina, heading for the meter cupboard to feed it another £5 card, tripped over Les’s outstretched legs. It was bedlam.

I struck out from the path onto the road outside, pulling the gate gently behind me so as not to seem in such a hurry, but waving an arm in submission all the same. I clamoured to get the air into my lungs as I rounded the corner and headed up to the bus stop. I could hear a faint shout and realised it was Young Tony racing to catch me. He reached me at the same same time as the collie. I must have looked alarmed.

” …. Steve…. ” he puffed as he tried to catch his breath….

“…. Steve…. sorry if I scared you…. but you forgot your dog.”