Well I wasn’t in the right place or the wrong place;
I was in Warrenpoint, walking around like a man on the moon but without the
lead weights. The drugs may have taken
some time in getting in to your system. but they were in no hurry to
leave. Gerard must have thought he time
travelled back five or six hundred years as we were surrounded with quite a
collection of people, must have been like sitting in a pirate den. He had only seen The Troubles on television
so to be sat sitting drinking beer with IRA men was a little bit freaky for
him. I was well used to it but what
interested me was Pat, the old girlfriend.
There was no pretence with Pat, so for a young lady to be drinking pints
of draught cider was not too out of place.
But to be off your head after two pints caused me some concern. The doll’s house had been delivered, now her sister
Gerry wanted one, good excuse to come back.
I had managed to speak to my brother on the
telephone but we were unable to meet up during the time that Gerard and myself
were there. However when I got back to
the UK my sister, the one I had been speaking regularly to contacted me. She was concerned that we or at least they
were keeping secrets from our mother. The
oldest sister was angry that I had contacted our mother in the first place so
they had come up with a plan. They were
going to tell our mother that they knew about me and had been in contact with
me. The next step was that they were going
to tell all of my brothers and sisters about me and then make a decision about whether
or not they would have any contact with me at all. It was strange that it was all mother focused
because I had found out quite a bit about my father.
He was a bit of a hero in the county of Tyrone,
being the captain of the county football side at nineteen years of age when
they won the all-Ireland football championship.
And when I say football I mean real football, gaelic football. Since then he had become a leading figure in
the Tyrone GAA, a well know local figure and like myself liked to stand in a
river, or Lough, for long periods of time. Although I had spoken to my mother once, on
the telephone, and she told me not to contact her again, a request she backed
up in writing, there was still hope that I might actually meet my blood
relatives one day. Eleven brothers and
sisters, many married with children of their own. There’s no point in dragging this story out
for since the day she explained their great plan I have never heard from one of
them. I think they may have reached a
decision and I think it may have been a little negative. Their loss.
Of course I wasn’t aware that they would never
want to speak to me again when I spoke to my sister, at that point there was
still hope and a little excitement in the air.
There was also the impending job interview which I had been invited to
attend. North West Community Services
had invited me to attend an interview for the position of team leader. They had a selection of houses across
Liverpool where groups of people lived and were supported to be a part of their
local community. The team leader role
was to run one of these houses, so you could be in charge of a team supporting
one person or a team supporting five people.
NWCS had been so badly run they had been suspended by social services
and the whole top management structure had been fired. Social services brought in a new man to
manage the company and he insisted on bringing in his own senior management
team.
I arrived, thinking that I would be in for a
one to one interview, or two to one, or whatever, but once again I found myself
in a group interview situation. All of
the old team leaders had to reapply for their old jobs alongside a group of new
people like myself. Once again I was
suited and booted and really stood out as the only one there in a suit and
tie. I found the group exercise quite embarrassing;
some of the people joining in discussions were as thick as two short
planks. The group exercises lasted for
about an hour and a half. Richard was
the new boss and his senior management team was three service managers. The four guys called each of us forward and we
were either invited back after lunch or advised to reapply in a years’ time. I was invited back after lunch so skipped out
of there and went back over to Natural Breaks for a coffee, a slap on the back
and any pointers I could pick up about what I might be expected to go through.
No one had any pointers for me so I went back
and took a seat. Like the fellow in Manchester
who had thrown away any application that had been hand written, the three service managers stopped
each person returning and if they could smell alcohol on their breath, where
they would have shown they had gone to the local pub for lunch, they were told
to go away and re apply in one years’ time.
Certainly was one way of cutting the numbers down. I was then shown in to an empty office and
given a little strip of paper. On it there
was a statement and I was told that I had thirty minutes to prepare a ten
minute talk on the major problems facing learning disabilities. As you all know, the first thing you do when
planning out a ten minute talk is doodle, so I began to draw lines and
squiggles on the blank sheet of paper. Then
it hit me, crap, that was the main problem facing learning disabilities these
days.
So I made some notes, structuring my talk, then
put my feet up and relaxed for the following twenty nine minutes. I was invited up to the CEO’s suite of
offices. Garry, one of the service
managers, shaved head, goatee beard and Liverpool football club tattoos all
over his arms escorted me. This was
the first time Richard and myself had met, I had heard a little about him,
mainly that he was brilliant, and I assumed that he had heard similar facts
about me. Richard had no tattoos, well; none that I could see, but he did have
a full head of hair. He was an
accountant and looked like one. He explained
what was about to happen. I was to give my
ten minute talk and then I would be invited to sit down and be interviewed for
forty minutes by he and Garry.
I noticed that whoever had been in before me
had covered the flip chart with a series of numbers and calculations. I briefly had second thoughts about what I
was going to do, but thought ‘sod it’ they never remember the boring ones. I prepared a new page on the flip chart for
myself, took a couple of pens of different colours and checked that they
worked, then turned and declared that I was ready. Rather than give a detailed presentation I
gave a general overview of learning disabilities. First of all I talked about money, the lack
of it, the waste of it and the theft of it.
Then I went on to the often unhelpful input from relatives, the attitude
of the general population to people with learning disabilities and finally the
staff and their questionable suitability for the job.
Thankfully I had the use of a clock and was determined
to have my presentation last exactly ten minutes. At the appropriate point I changed my pen colour
and said, “And so gentlemen those are some of the problems facing learning
disabilities. Money, the filthy lucre, wonga,”
and here I wrote a huge letter C on the
flip chart, while saying, “Cash.” Then I
talked about families, advocates, next of kin, the relatives, and a large
letter R goes up underneath the C. When
I put the A up I think the penny dropped with the pair of them so I finished off
with a flourish and a P. “So there
gentlemen,” I said. “That is the main
problem facing learning disabilities these days, Crap!” Richard smiled but Garry laughed. I waited to be invited then sat myself down
for the remainder of the interview.
It was your standard interview and the forty minutes
went past rather quickly. Once over
Garry escorted me out to the front doors and rather than a firm friendly
handshake gave me a cuddle and said, “You’re a fecking star!” When I got back to Natural Breaks Jan wanted
to know how I had got on and I told her what I had done. She wasn’t sure that I
had done the right thing for Richard was a very strict born again Christian who
didn’t like bad language. I thought I
had done well, so once again sat back to wait.
I was waiting for everyone in the world, bloody celebrities, NWCS, my
siblings. I got changed as I was going
on duty with our eight to one fellow. In
order to relax a little I took him over to Bootle for a pint of beer. There was an Irish club there declaring itself
to be The Famous Bootle National Irish Club.
I passed it almost every day so decided to check it out.
We were welcomed in and I could see immediately
that it was a drinking den, everything was wipe clean. We sat at the bar and spoke to the
barman. I was told that I could have a
couple of beers but if I wanted to come back I would have to become a
member. “How would I do that?” I asked, and was told to put my name and
address on a piece of paper, pin it to the notice board and I would be
considered for membership at the next committee meeting. I did, but printed everything and used a ball
point pen, didn’t want them to think I was pretentious. I asked what benefits there were being a
member and was told that I could get a drink any time of the day or night. If the door wasn’t open just knock on the
rear door and you would be let in. As we
left I smiled for I was becoming a real little English gentleman being a participant
in an exclusive private members club. Couldn’t
wait to tell people I was off to my club for a drink.
No comments:
Post a Comment