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  Report from Springfield:

  Much has already been written about this thirteen year old boy because he is well known to the Child Guidance Clinic and was placed at W.H.S. School where he failed because of his absconding and delinquencies. Steven has lived most of his life in Bradford and has shown signs of disturbance for some years.

  He has absconded from here on occasions and committed some minor offences. On one occasion he is known to have gone into a girl’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning and this was done in a planned and determined way. The other night he left the Centre via a bedroom window with three other boys for no apparent reason and this has been the pattern of his behaviour for many years.

  He is good looking, (should have gone to Specsavers) very clean and well trained with hair cut short and of tidy appearance. He is generally well behaved but untrustworthy and a part of him one never gets to know. His behaviour is too good to be true but he is a very accomplished absconder and delinquent when he needs to be. He seems to smile at adult efforts to get to the root cause of his difficulties and is self-contained and deep. He could be easily overlooked in the group and generally seems happy and stable, but his ability to cope with this situation is erratic and illogical at times. His relationship with adults is quite good generally and he seems to get on well with the older boys in the group.

  Department of Social Services. 28 February 1973. Report on Chris Kenny:

  Chris is fourteen years old and is quite a broad, strong boy. He is tall and is growing rapidly at the moment. His main interests are hiking and camping which he enjoys enormously and in which he shows considerable independence and competence. On the subject of hiking he will talk a great deal and shows himself to be quite verbal and quite intelligent.

  Family Background:

  Chris is the eldest of three boys born to Mr and Mrs Kenny of Bradford. (There are four lines blacked out here) They were divorced some time later.

  Mrs Kenny took the children with her back to her home town of Wombwell, where she met and later lived with Mr Nelson a divorced man. At the age of ten Chris moved back to Bradford with his mother and Mr Nelson, who got married in Bradford at that time. They now have achieved a long standing ambition to manage a pub.

  Mr Kenny travels about the country quite a bit, as he does not seem to settle in any place for long. He did not see Chris for two years after the divorce and even now visits and writes irregularly to Chris who is his favourite son and resembles his father more than his two brothers.

  Educational Background:

  It has been said by many who come into contact with Chris that he is a very intelligent boy and could achieve a good deal of academic success if he applied himself. However, Chris has been to many schools and has had little chance of settling down into any of these. The only two schools he has been to for any length of time are in Wombwell where he stayed for three years and a residential school for maladjusted boys in Brighouse where he stayed for two years.

  He says that school work bores him and will leave as soon as possible and talks about wanting to be a lorry driver like his uncle.

  Relationships with Family:

  It is difficult to give an accurate description of his relationships with his family because he seems to dry up when I have approached this subject with him. My own view is that Chris has really no one he can turn to and trust in when he does feel depressed.

  Towards his father he has ambivalent feelings. He likes his father best of all, perhaps this is because his father has singled him out from the three boys to be his favourite. It seems that on Mr Kenny’s irregular visits to Chris he has been over indulgent towards him, yet he has been inconsistent and neglectful in other ways.

  Chris has a lot of affection for his father and says he is modern and says what he thinks. He carries with him a passport photo of his father and once showed this to me with great pride. However Chris did say once that he sometimes wondered if his father really liked him as his father took off for Birmingham the day Chris was received into care. Chris was very upset that he did not receive a Christmas card from his father when all the others did.

  Towards his mother I feel that Chris has little affection. He once said that he thought she did not care for him and it is not surprising that he feels this as she only came up to see him at the Reception Centre once in three months. On this visit Chris was heard to say, “Wow, she’s taken time off to see me.” Perhaps Mrs Nelson feels relieved that her problem son is out of her hair as he has caused her a lot of trouble in the past.

  Mr Nelson, on the other hand, seems to have been more concerned about Chris than his wife. He said he has tried many times to sort Chris out and has got him out of many difficult situations. However he too has now given up with Chris and has told him that he will not help him out of his troubles any more. Chris has said that he thinks his step-father cares for him but in his actions he has never got on with his step-father. Never has he called him ‘Dad’ and always calls him either step-father or Mr Nelson.The only people, whom Chris says he does like, and who like him, are his uncle and aunt.

  The Present Situation:

  Chris is at the moment in York Remand Home. He was taken there because the Reception Centre where he was staying was too open for him and could not control him. His uncle and Aunt felt that they too could no longer take him because of the effect his absconding was having on Mrs Kenny. However, they still care about Chris and say they would like Chris to stay with them for holidays and Chris has said he would like this too. Mrs Kenny found it hard to make the decision not to take Chris.

  On the journey to York Remand Home, Chris was very miserable at first but as we came nearer to the Remand Home he cheered up quite considerably. He seemed to want to go there as he directed us to it when we took a wrong turning; he has been once before staying a week. He seemed to want the security and control that it offered after being on the run for two weeks.

  Whoa, hang on a minute there fella, let me just put you right on that last paragraph. ‘Miserable’ I will give you. I had been on the run and had been caught. I was now being shipped off to a remand home so well spotted on that one.

  ‘Cheered up quite considerably’ and ‘wanted the security and control?’ That’s a hell of an assumption, even for a social worker. How about this for a rewrite?

  Chris’s attitude changed as we drew closer to the remand home. He was aware that walking into the home teary eyed, looking depressed and vulnerable would make him a target for every chancer in the place. He changed from a miserable boy into a self-assured cocky young man. His transformation appeared to be some sort of coping mechanism.

  Chapter 7

  I’m not clear on the correct term for Ashbank. Some people called it York Remand Home but whatever its official name, it was dreadful, well for me at least. I couldn’t stand the place or the people running it. I know, I know, it was my own fault I was in there so I should stop whining.

  As I recall it was a large double fronted house with a small extension on the left hand side. As you entered the front door there was a dining room to your left and on your right at the far end of the hall was an arch way which led to the shower room and also to the kitchen. Past the dining room door there was a staircase leading up to the dormitories and directly in front of you was the Boss’s office. I say Boss because I don’t know if he was called the Governor or the Headmaster, Principal or what. He looked a bit like the Fat Controller but seedier, the sort of bloke you wouldn’t want to take a Werthers Original from. Strangely I don’t even remember his name. In fact out of all the staff members I can only recall the names of Mr Frazier, Mr Darley and Mr and Mrs Tierney.

  The whole placed smelled of cleaning products, those foot long green bars of scrubbing soap, wood polish, floor polish and a hint of disinfectant, somewhere amongst all that was the smell of boiled cabbage.

  My first port of call was the office. Five minutes of telling me how the place was run just in case I had forgotten since the last time I w
as there. I was told what I should and shouldn’t do, how I was to be put back on the Librium and I could rest assured would be watched carefully. It seemed that not only was I maladjusted, a blithering idiot and a thundering fool; I was also now a persistent absconder. I suppose looking back I have no case to argue any of it, but back then it was just another label to me. I also thought of it as a challenge, if a persistent absconder is what I was supposed to be, I thought it was only right and proper that I should abscond persistently. So I did.

  It took me a few weeks to figure out how I was going to do a runner. Everywhere we went the doors were locked behind us. We were never without a member of staff if we were outside and true to their word they watched me like hawks. I figured the first thing I needed to do was gain some trust. So I was a good boy, took my medication (Ahem), shone in the classroom and was generally a ‘yes sir no sir’ type of kid.

  There was one occasion when an opportunity presented itself for me to gain a little respect from members of staff and more than a little from some of the other kids. It wasn’t planned; it just turned out that way. It was after breakfast and we, the kids, were lined up outside waiting for our work details to be handed out. They were chores such as scrubbing floors or steps, sweeping up etc. before we attended class.

  A very small boy, Tony Collier, was being picked on by a much larger boy named Joe. Though the size difference was substantial, Tony appeared not to know when to keep his mouth shut. Whatever threats Joe made, Tony just replied with, “Get stuffed,” or “Go fuck yourself.” This was all going on in whispers every time Mr Frazier turned his back. The whole thing I found amusing and I also found myself warming to Tony, he reminded me of a Jack Russell. Then, as Mr Frazier turned his back once more, Joe punched Tony in the mouth, knocking him flat onto his back.

  Joe was known for his temper and he was pretty handy with his fists. If I had thought about it I would have kept my nose out and left it for Mr Frazier to deal with. I didn’t think about it. My fist connected with Joe’s temple and he dropped like a stone alongside Tony.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Mr Frazier had turned around and was looking at the two lads on the floor.

  “That bastard punched me in the gob,” said Tony, pointing to Joe with one hand and touching his mouth with the other before looking at the blood on it.

  “So I gave him a taste of his own medicine,” I piped up. “Look at the size of him Mr Frazier, he’s a fucking bully.”

  I was fully expecting Mr Frazier to give me a royal bollocking but a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

  “Not nice is it?” he asked Joe, “looks like you’ve met your match.”

  Joe jumped to his feet and pointed at me.

  “I could have him any time I wanted.”

  “Really?” asked Mr Frazier, “Right, the two of you, come with me.”

  Joe and I followed him into the classroom.

  “You’ve got two minutes,” said Mr Frazier. I think he was talking to both of us but he was looking at Joe. He then left the classroom and locked the door behind him.

  I wasn’t exactly shitting myself but I was worried. I didn’t think I could beat him in a fight, though I did know for a fact that I could put him on his arse with one punch, it was whether or not I could get that punch in which concerned me. I figured he was thinking along the same lines so I decided to call his bluff.

  “Go on then, give it your best shot.”

  For a second I saw a look in his eyes which made me think he was about to lay into me, so I clenched my fists and prepared to let fly. His expression changed.

  “I don’t want to fight you Chris,” he said.

  You have no idea of how pleased I was to hear those words.

  “That’s not what you said out there,” I replied, pointing to the window.

  “I know but I was angry, you’d just lamped me one and it was fuck all to do with you, it was between me and Collier.”

  “Joe, both of us were probably bigger than he is now when we were eight, I want you to leave him alone.”

  “I know Chris, I’m sorry, but it’s his fucking mouth, he does my bastard head in.”

  I let out a laugh and was about to carry on with the conversation when we heard the lock on the door being opened and Mr Frazier walked in.

  “I’m disappointed; I was expecting one of you to be unconscious.”

  Mr Frazier looked at Joe, “I thought you were going to have him.”

  “We’ve sorted it out Mr Frazier.”

  “Yes I thought you might. Get yourselves outside.”

  Joe walked out first and as I followed Mr Frazier put his arm across the door way to block my path.

  “What you did was completely wrong Kenny. It looked like it was a good shot, but it was wrong. Keep your fists to yourself from now on.”

  “Yes Mr Frazier, I apologise. Are we in bother?”

  “I think we can leave it as it is, we’ve all learned something.”

  After that I kept my nose clean for a few weeks. Then they took their eye off the ball.

  On Saturday evenings after tea, all the Catholic kids who wanted to attend Mass had to put their names on a list. Once we were all in bed, all bar one member of staff went home, the one remaining staff member slept in a room next to the dorms. Before he retired he would take the list of Catholics and get out their own clothes which were kept in boxes in an office. On Sunday morning the Catholics, in their Sunday best, would be collected by a Priest after breakfast and be driven into York for Mass.

  I overheard a staff member who had not been there very long, discussing his sleep over duty which he was rostered for the following weekend. I decided this was the opportunity I had been waiting for; I would put my name on the list. The new member of staff had not been there long enough to know I wasn’t a Catholic.

  Saturday teatime came and went and I put my name down for Mass. Nobody questioned me. Sunday morning came and I was queued up in my own clothes waiting for the Priest, still nobody questioned me. I did my best to look like I was doing nothing out of the ordinary but I was bricking it and I needed a pee. The rest of the staff were now on duty and I felt sure one of them would say something once they noticed me, a non-believer, pretending to be a Catholic, but they didn’t.

  We climbed into the mini bus and headed off into York. Once there we had a walk of about half a mile to the Church and I waited until we were just outside before I was on my toes and off down the road. I heard the Priest shouting for me to come back but I took no notice and kept running without looking back. That was until I could hear someone behind me. As I glanced back my heart sank. Five of the lads had decided to join me, I knew immediately we were not going to get far. Try as I might to convince them we would be better off splitting up they would have none of it.

  We managed about three hours of walking and I think most of it was in circles. One of the lads was a big fucker, I was big for my age, this fella must have fallen asleep in a greenhouse. He said he knew where he was going and I wasn’t about to argue with him, even though I knew he was completely lost. I could have run off on my own but I knew full well I would eventually be caught. If the big fella was still there when I got back my life would be made even more miserable. So we kept on going until three police cars pulled up alongside us. All of a sudden the others now thought it was a good idea to split up but it was way too late.

  I was running alongside a privet hedge that seemed to stretch out forever in front of me so I dived through it. What a mistake that was. As I came out the other side of it I found myself on an empty cricket pitch. On the other side of the pitch a police car was being driven straight towards me. He didn’t go around the pitch, oh no, he drove straight over the crease. Can you believe it? The heathen, absolutely shocking.

  Behind me on the other side of the hedge a policeman shouted, “Stay where you are son.” I was stuffed and I knew it, so I did as I was told.

  This whole episode had a hint of Déjà vu about it. I h
ad been caught on a cricket pitch after a chase once before, and like now, I had back then jumped through a hedge, only that time I found myself being stared at by about fifty people, thirty or so spectators and two teams, I had just disturbed a cricket match. I’m pretty sure in Yorkshire you could be hanged for that offence.

  At first I started running around the edge of the boundary with everybody standing still and watching me, then a police car drove up to the pavilion and a copper jumped out and started chasing after me. It took everyone there a few seconds to realise it was me the copper was after but once they had cottoned on the fielding side joined in the chase. I stopped running round the edge of the field and was now zigzagging all over the pitch followed by one man in black and about a dozen blokes in white.

  The only thing that could have made the whole scene more ridiculous would have been if the Benny Hill theme tune had been playing over the Tannoy. I could hear the crowd cheering and laughing as two or three players tried to rugby tackle me but fell flat on their faces as I dodged them. I think the cricket match must have been less entertaining than the spectacle they were now watching. Then, Wallop. I found myself on the floor with a couple of blokes sitting on me. The next thing I know I’m being frogmarched to the Police car to the sound of applause and I’m sure I heard one sarcastic bastard shouting, “Well held sir, well held.”

  On this day I was one of the first to be collared but before long we were all rounded up and taken back to Ashbank. Once back there we saw another side to the staff members, they were all fucking livid. We were not told to go here or there, we were dragged by the scruff of the neck and given the odd dig in the ribs. If I thought WHS School’s punishment was a bit pervy Ashbank took it one or two steps further.

  First we were dragged into the shower room and made to put on shorts, I remember thinking, ‘I’ve been here before.’ Then we were frog marched into the hallway and made to stand in line by the dining room door. All the other kids in the place had to line up on the stairs in silence and in order of height, the smallest child on the bottom step. One by one we were dragged into the dining room and given six cracks of the cane across our arses. As the first lad was being caned one of the younger kids on the stairs began crying, the poor lad was terrified and all he got was a warning to stop his snivelling or he would be next.