Chapter Twelve
Back Again: Finally Eloped?
Back again, a quiet day slow to start. Tricia and Chung are missing, I wonder if they’ve finally eloped? Sarah, now fully committed to her new name, black beret, rakishly angled, though bereft of an enamel broach to add distinction, is seeking me. Exoceted through the corridor needing someone to confer with begs “listen to me”, imploring, “you’d never guess what happened to me over the holiday.” I tell her to see me later. Gradually the old faces turn up. Sunil promising to be as disruptive as ever, longer haired, and not happy to be back in England. “It’s too dirty here”, he informs the rest of the class, “my mum and dad are going back to live in India soon.” Paddy’s absent too. I wonder if he’ll begin to work this year. Lee, clutching a flash new leather briefcase, is looking smarter and tells me he’s getting his hair cut to co-ordinate his new image.
I’m none too sure what I’m supposed to be doing this term. I have a few ideas, did work over the holiday to clarify my own thoughts but I’m a little in the dark as how to apply my embryonic plans. Plus I’m unsure how my ideas will grab student interests and enthusiasms.
Dean, scruffy as ever, though never messy or grubby, more the scrubbed school boy in a permanent year ten, peers in the open staff room door, with Lee. Leering forward, his confidence bobbing and weaving within himself, moving towards the tide pressing against him, shouts, “Richard”, in a voice to wake the dead, “can we see you for a minute?”
“You mean right now?”, I ask stupidly.
“Yes, you heard us mister.”
“Richard”, joins in Lee, “will we be doing what we did last term?”
“The assertion training and the Thursday talks?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“We liked them.”
“That’s right”, added Dean.
I’m amazed, dumbfounded! I’m seeing changes occur within the group and so have other staff, but now students, oops the customers in management speak, are demanding more of the same! I have to think. Julie has one more session to do, but not until next Tuesday. I’d considered using the Thursday class to boost the students’ confidence by getting them to read their material to discuss it. Each standing in front of the others to express themselves, maximum abilities to maximise effectiveness, reading their word processed thoughts. I’d arranged to see Alan at student services on Monday, but find a message on my desk informing me he’s ill and won’t be in until Wednesday, damn, and other curses. I’d hoped to pick his brains to organise a tutorial programme for the second years, this’ll now have to wait.
Computers, personal development as it transmogrifies, begins on Monday so I have little time to think through my long term plans. The students are in laid back mood and in no great hurry to work in earnest. Lee wants to log into a games package then explores the net to create images to include in his folder. Dean’s already started on his game and is soon increasing his score to that of second highest, but he’s stuck on 14,000 points and has to reach 15,000 to have his name recorded as first. He tries and tries, but his reaction time is too slow, because he can’t touch the keys quick enough.
“Watch this Richard”, he shouts in a loud voice successfully hiding the remains of a stutter that must have held him back as a child. However, each time he turns around to catch my attention he loses a fraction of a second which limits his score.
“Dean”, I tell him just as he’s ready to turn around, “do one only thing at a time and keep looking at the screen. Now”, I shout, “press the key!” His score reaches the magical 15,000 and his name tapped into the winner’s place.
“Dean, what did you do there?”, I ask. He glances toward me blankly as if in shell shock. “You concentrated, you put all your efforts into getting the top score and you did!” Dean’s jumping up and down for joy, but then Lee, whose short term memory worries me, indicates he’s ready to challenge him.
“Watch it Dean, I’m catching up”, he shouts as his long, skinny fingers, his ability to concentrate, pushes hard on Dean’s score. Each game played by Lee sees his score increase and now fourth place has Lee’s name on it. Third place, then second place fall to the relentless cowboy, turned Mounty desperate to get his score. Finally, like a remorseless tide, first falls to him in one burst of energy and concentrated brain fibre and Dean’s kicked from his short lived pedestal.
“I’ll get you!”, he blurts out, walking to Lee’s station in good natured mock aggression. Sunil, too, wants action, but his score falls as well as rises. Much front but his swagger fails at the crucial moment and he’s thrashed by the less able, the two physically underdeveloped. There’s justice in this world I privately incant. Lee, the oft abused cripple, is ecstatic, though he moderates it in a quiet and dignified manner.
Paul’s working on his Christmas and word processing meeting his cousin in Luton and the difficulties landing in an overworked flying space in a plane struck by lightening. He has extreme difficulties word processing but persists, concentrates and follows his task through methodically. Sarah, however, is unsure what to do and does word games. I ask her what each four lettered word means and only to get stuck on slay. “Look it up in the dictionary.”
“Oh, Richard, do I have to?”
“Yes you do”.
The white board Kilroy continues. “The New Year”, I write, “will be one of hope and life”. Will anybody get the message? Sarah wonders what it means writing underneath, “did you all make a New Year’s resolution?” Those watching deride and laugh at her - she storms out. Returning, seeking a calm sea of validation, she approaches me after the class’s finished. I’ve my own New Year resolution I plan to implement immediately. I’m not a therapist, nor a counsellor and I’ve decided not to succumb to be the ever patient listener, nor to bite my tongue and not give my opinions. I need to express feelings and not just quietly sit and talk.
“Richard, I’ve been thinking. I need to settle, get tied down.”
“Pardon?”
“Yes, I’ve decided, I have to settle down.”
“I don’t understand.”
“To get married.”
“What”.
I don’t want to talk at the moment, the time’s not right, I’ll see her later. Sarah surprisingly accepts my decision without a quibble.
I’ve a tutorial with Chrissy in which she shows me a new story. I ask questions encouraging her to explore what she really wants to say. She corrects two sentences running into each that are likely to confuse the reader, and corrects some minor spelling errors. The story, one page of simplicity and truth, is about a developing love affair, meeting over a drink and the warm feelings that develop as the couple walk home. I reflect after she’s gone that her collected stories could be bound and presented together as the culmination of a long assignment, I’ll talk to Mike about this. Other ideas spin around my mind as week one of the New Year begins to take shape as I see, once more, students in their developing complexity, and begin to plan. If, as last term, I emphasized college is about getting a better life this term’s focus will be, ‘how to get what you want’.
I see Chung who informs me he’s dreamt about Emrhys. I’m sure there’s poetry there somewhere, but need time to fathom it. I ask him to word process the dream, “and include how and why you think he’s changed towards you and Tricia. You know, the sudden friendliness you got from him.” We chatter on about Christmas, passing the time of day and he tells me he’s still keen to learn French. “Tell you what”, I reply, “you teach me Chinese in return for me teaching you French.” However, I detect some unease when he informs me, “I can only count to ten in Chinese, but I speak Malay fine”.
Lee’s forgotten his French book fortunately I produce a new French language book and we refresh our memories and use the tape recorder. Lee’s keen to be back in college and, like Dean, glad to be amongst friends. However, there’s still no sign of Paddy. Sarah arrives worried about taking tranquillisers desperate to come off them. I suggest she talks to the student counsellor and ask what group support is available for ending dependency.
“The pills make me feel awful”, she tells me.
“I’ll bet they do.”
“When things get me down I take them.”
“Like now?”
“Yes, like now. Nobody understands. I do want to settle down.”
“Yes, you said earlier.”
“Should I?”
“Don’t know. What do you think?”
There’s no reply.
“Is your family giving you pressure?”, I gently prod.
“Yes”.
“Sarah, I have an idea. Why don’t you write a little something on your family. You could call it ‘My Family’.”
“Yes, I’ll do that,” she agrees.
2
It’s the second years today, starting at nine for three mad hours and I’m feeling uneasy: where am I get my ideas? I’ll let students bid topics and projects, follow through whatever arises. Pleasantries exchanged, lots of presents, great Christmas, fine times - or so it seems. Chandra’s sitting there, a little uneasy, unsure. Mark’s in orbit on a laser beam of his own Star Wars episode, throwing down the gauntlet of disjointed comments and bits of knowledge beyond the range of the group who’ve no idea what he’s talking about.
Nish is the first to open, “What are we going to do this year? What charity are we going to raise money for?”
“I know”, shouts Chandra, “we can open a video club.”
“Will you explain?”, I ask.
“We can write to businesses and get videos off them for free, then hire them to students.”
I think he’s crazy; his tangential brain beams off where white shadows dance independently their own life laced with impossibility so nothing needs to be achieved.
“How much does a video cost?”
“About £15.”
“How many videos does and average video hire shop have?”
“About 3,000.”
“What’s 3,000 times £15?”
Harry comes in with the answer, “£45,000”, lightening quick, striking dead wood without smoldering dying hiss.
“Do people want to raise money like last year?”
Yes rings unanimously around the room. Since Monday I’ve been thinking mounting a photo exhibition on a subject of their choosing. I’d brought several old photo-journalism books to stimulate discussion, but hold back for now.
“We can raise money for Amnesty International”, shouts Mark.
“Or old people.”
“Or for children being beaten.”
“Or for cancer.”
“What about Africa?”
“What’s Amnesty International?”, a belated voice chimes.
We begin a discussion on prisoners of conscience when Socorina walks in, so Mark, patiently, begins his explanation again. We talk about prisons and they ask me what I want them to do. “Let’s sort this out first, maybe we can combine two ideas in one.”
“Let’s do something on the homeless”, adds Chandra.
“Yeah, like cardboard city.”
“Like Centrepoint”, says Mark sitting down after coming out of orbit when he needs a break to recharge his batteries by stretching his body and yawning. Chrissie’s restless and tick-tack bookie style waves her notebook wanting to write something: anything.
“OK” says Nish, “you can be our secretary.”
“Yes, but last year everyone had different jobs and no one stuck to them”, replies Mark casting doubts on individual commitment. We now seem to have a number of ideas. I open up. “How about an exhibition? Do some photographs, learn about photography, produce large prints, have trips out, visit exhibitions in the West End. Get work mounted to display in reception.”
I pass the picture books around and ad lib as they flip through the pictures. I sense a keen interest in the varied topics I’ve brought in, abattoir workers in thirties Chicago, people at war, people hanging around street corners in the inner city, farmers working the land, old photos of London. None of them talk for ten minutes so enraptured have they become. We have a break.
“We need to look at what we’ve discussed so far”, I tell them. We flip chart suggestions producing two serious contenders. and I ask the group if we can take a vote, but first I tell them they have to do a little exercise. Harry and Mark approach the whiteboard and I ask them to write down the advantages of the ideas raised, the homeless and the aged. I declare my interest: I’ve worked with the homeless and have several contacts we could use.
“Last year we went to Hatfield”, says Nish.
“Yes we did”, I answer, “remember, it was the hostel for young people.”
“That was really great. But don’t get lost this time Richard.”
The group shouts out their reasons for the project and Harry writes them down, first for the homeless, then for the aged. “Shall we take a vote?” The group numbers ten and I state I won’t be voting. Slowly the hands rise indicating their choices. The homeless gets five, the elderly gets four. Harry asks if he should write the results down in figures or in letters. “Please yourself”, I tell him. So he does and it becomes five and 4.
“Who abstained?” I ask.
No one owns up, so the homeless it is. We draw up an action plan, things to do, like learning to use the cameras and decide on locations to photograph and places to visit.
“What about fund raising?”, I ask.
“I know”, says Chandra, “a football match between us and the police college.”
“I’ll check with them.”
“Samuel’s a great footballer.”
“And Tony”.
“And who else?”, I ask.
“Can we think of something else?”
“A pool game.”
“That sounds great, shall we do it?”
“Right.”
“I’ll book the cameras for next week.”
“Can you book the camcorder”, asks Peter.
“Why?”
“Well, we could interview people on trains and ask why they think people are homeless.”
“Brilliant idea but we needn’t restrict ourselves only to trains. I’ll check with media”.
3
The first year’s are eager on Thursday, but I’m not. Julie, who did the assertion training last term doesn’t start teaching till next week and I spoke to Alan who’s willing to take some sessions, but only occasionally. In our exchange of ideas he suggested students reading and writing from prepared material is also an essential element of assertion, but I’m skeptical.
The base room now has another message from Sarah, “Richard I took notice of you and I am coming off the tablets even though it will be hard.” I don’t want to sit passively with the group searching for ideas. Nobody’s any written material, other than Sarah, who’s given me a word processed piece dense with details about her family.
“Let’s go upstairs for a coffee.”
I write on the board that we’re in the canteen and move out. We sit around a few tables, drink tea and idly gossip.
“What are we going to do Richard?”
“I don’t know. Have you any suggestions?”
“Let’s go to my place for a drink”, asserts Dean.
“What and get burnt food!”
The group splits with laughter.
Sunil arrives.
“Hi, have you seen Paul, he’s downstairs.”
“Right, shall we bring him up?”
“I’ll help you”, offers Dean.
“Chung, can you help us please?”
“Oh, I suppose so.”
Paul’s in his chair, smiling as usual with his bag balanced on his lap. “Paul, how heavy are you?”
“About eight stone I think.”
“How do you normally get upstairs?”
We do what he says as his eight stones feel more like thirteen as we huff and puff up two flights of stairs.
“Come and join us Paul.”
“Richard, what are we doing?”
“Umm, observation exercise”, I fumble out of my mouth.
“What?
“I’ll explain.”
Back in the base room, refreshed and inquisitive I ask Sarah to leave the room. When she slams the door behind her I ask the group to describe what she’s wearing, her ring, and the colour of her coat lining. They can’t. Sarah’s beckoned in, frumpish and disturbed looking. “You see her everyday and can’t describe what she’s wearing! OK, let’s take some paper and pens and we’ll go across the estate. It’s sunny and not too cold, so we’ll open our eyes and observe what’s going on in the concrete.” Actually, there’s a bitter wind whipping around the flats and those that come to college by car, the majority in fact, aren’t adequately dressed for it, but their enthusiasm brooks all objections. Chung looks remarkably concentrated on his task. Lee and Paddy run off together and I begin the questions.
“Where’s the empty flat? How do you know it’s empty? Can you see the dental surgery? How many children over there with their teacher? What’s the object next to the discarded phone card?”
“Shit actually”, comes the instant response from Chung.
“Describe the clothes of the next person walking past. How many cans of drink did that man have? How much headroom is there in the car park? How many satellite dishes can you see? What’s the name on the side of the cement mixer?”
Students who normally don’t listen zap off to discover milk bottles, lift shafts and graffiti. The wind increases, blueness takes over fingers and red daubs noses, we need warmth so retreat to the base room. We push the tables together to create one big space and read out the list of observations, dozens and dozens of them all in different styles of scrawl and definitely non-standard English spelling patterns!
“Tricia, can you leave the room.”
Bang, clatter, push, crunch.
“Can you describe what she’s wearing, the jewellery, the shape of the watch she has?”
“Blue.”
“It’s round.”
“Big earrings.”
“A thin bracelet.”
3
Science was held in the base room, tables still pushed together from the previous day. Geoff, the media technician, for some reason had placed the TV-VCR in room 57, thinking of varieties I suppose and had to be reminded we need it in room 31. I’m continuing our sex education sessions. We’ve already looked at AIDS last term but I want to develop this further. I’ve suggested to staff and students we should design a brief questionnaire on people’s knowledge of this sexually transmitted disease, but that’s for the future. Today I have a copy of ‘The Miracle of Life’, the classic BBC Horizon programme I’d last seen on my back in Dumfries general having been knocked off my big Yamaha and losing bits and pieces of my body in the process. I briefly summarise what the video’s about and ignored their titters. I don’t think the students had ever imagined that their own bodies could be so active, so alive with movement and so focussed on its own independence in the moments leading to the creation of a new identity. I get a few asides across, “we’re the sperm that made it, we beat the other millions to get there - we’re all winners in that respect. We swam and thrust like crazy to get there and be born. Look, inside of us, the genetic coding, the colour, the beauty of our inner space, the self never at rest, the miracle spirit of something so minute being us and developing”.
Dean’s head falls on the table half way through the video, perhaps some prescient intuition that his life will end prematurely and never be fulfilled. Tricia hugs Chung especially close whilst the others watch avidly gawped mouth. Finally, the child is born and shown crying and screaming.
“Do you think its natural for a child to cry when it’s born?”
“Of course it is Richard”, asserts Sarah.
“No it isn’t, dummy”, argues Sunil.
“Why do you cry?”
“When you are hurt and are unhappy.”
“So, the child is unhappy to be born? Umm. What went wrong in the film then?”
“Well, I cried when I was born”, says Chung.
“And how do you remember”, replies Tricia.
“I just do!”
“My daughter didn’t cry, she just looked happy.”
I beg their leave telling them I won’t be a mo and bring back Frederick Leboyer’s Birth Without Violence. We go though the volume’s many photographs discussing them individually, looking at one photo comparing the classical image of Buddha and that of the serene newly born child. I ask them if they know anything about Buddha, but the Christians, Muslims and Hindus in the room know nothing. They respond in the negative, so we talk, gently meandering over what we’ve done and the themes we’ve explored. The groups become contemplative having observed the outer world we live in and the inner world we came from, and with hope and faith, the twain shall never part.
4
I catch up with Tricia in her tutorial and express my concern that when she and Chung are together in the Monday session they achieve very little. I’d like her, and Chung, whom I’ve already seen, to provide more work. “Tricia”, I ask, “would you find something about Buddhism and word process it for me?” But Tricia has other things on her mind: her health. She’s been laid low by a persistent bug in the gut. The doctor told her to cut down on junk food and change her diet, but, according to Tricia, offered little advice and insight as to what the bug is.
“You smile when you tell me there’s something wrong. Why?”, I inquire.
“You know me, that’s my front”
“Let’s be serious shall we?”
But we never got beyond food.
Paddy is next and I tell him how unhappy I am with last term’s his performance. He’s produced no work for me and inform him I’ll have to speak to Mike to arrange a meeting for the three of us. He then launches into his leather briefcase and produces a pristine piece of paper with a list of questions he’d to answer, “I forgot, sorry.”
“You’ve forgot a few times according to my tutorial notes.”
Sarah’s hovering around, late Friday wanting to talk.
“I’ll have to settle down and get married.”
“Do you have a boyfriend? Do you go out often?”
“Yes, I do. I don’t go out much.”
“Why do you want to get married?”
“I just can’t stand this life.”
“And marriage with some pig of a man who’ll want kids every year and knock you around if you disagree with him, is going to be better?”
“Richard, be fair.”
“I am. You’re twenty in a few weeks and you think now’s the time to terminate your life by getting tied down. If I tied your hands and feet together what would you do?”
“Try to escape.”
“Right, of course you would. So why after you’ve just started a two year course do you want to cop out, get strangled and bondaged?”
“I just want to!”
“Rubbish. It’s your mother, isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
“Is your mum happily married?”
“Yes.”
“Why then does she want to control you? Why does she want to force some man on you? Where’s your life and sense of freedom? In this country after the age of eighteen you can do what you want within the law. No parent can tell you who to marry. Christ Almighty,” I’m getting exasperated, “you have to stand up for yourself otherwise you’ll be swept away. Listen, Sarah, you were the sperm that made it, that heaved and swam, that fought to be the whole person, and now look at yourself. You want to get tied down. My opinion is that you’re crazy and demented.”
“Richard, you’re right, but life isn’t easy for me.”
“I know. When you’re twenty you think the world will end when you’re thirty. When you’re thirty you think nothing exists after forty but when you’re forty you think the whole world is beginning again.”
