Wednesday 19 November 2014

Kevin - the unlikely Hero


A bit of work on a character....


Kevin’s Journal

My name is Kevin Franks.  I still live at home with my Mum even though I’m 23.  I’m quite short, about 5’ 7’’, slim, with black hair and I’m not bad looking.  

I grew up with my Mum.  I don’t remember much about my Dad - he left when I was 5 and a half.  Mum doesn’t talk about him at all but I just vaguely remember sitting with him in front of the television when I was little.  I remember the smell of him, warm and strong, his hands ruffling my hair and then he’d pinch my cheek.  When he left I can’t remember how I felt.  It’s all just a black hole in my memory now.  Mum always said we would manage very well thank you.  She worked at the Doctors surgery as a receptionist and would come home from work and scrub the house from top to bottom every evening.  Our house was very clean but Mum would never let me bring any friends home to play.

I know I could be doing something better than working in this charity shop - I did well at school but something had gone wrong along the way.  I always wanted to be a shop manager and could have been one by now - if only things had turned out differently.

I’m a hard worker and was doing my A levels when something happened and I lost the plot a bit.  I think I was trying too hard and would go over and over every piece of work I did before I could hand it it.  I got to the point when I believed that my work would never be good enough.  That’s when I suffered my little ‘breakdown’.  That’s what Mum called it.  To be truthful, I can’t actually remember much about it and anyway, I’m all over that now.

I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment.  Well, I’ve never really had a girlfriend although there was this girl at school I used to hang out with for a while.  I don’t see her anymore though.  

I plan to get a proper job soon - I just need to get a bit of experience under my belt.  When I’d applied for jobs they said I had no experience so that’s why I’m here, just to get experience.  Not because I’m not good enough for a real job in a real shop.  I try hard to pretend that this is a real shop with real customers.  I know presentation is important.  That’s why I always wear my suit to work.  Once I have my own shop I’ll make sure all the staff are smartly dressed at all times.  I don’t like the way Catherine, the Manager, wears jeans and paints her toenails which peep out through the holes in her sandals.  But she is the manager of this place, so I have to keep up the pretense that she’s in charge, and we do make a good team after all.

The best part of the job is helping the customers, showing them the new items that had just come in.  I take great pride in my customer service.  Everyone who comes in is important - well you never know who they are do you.  Take that old lady who comes in every day at the same time.  She smells slightly of cats - or is it urine?  I’m not sure but you can’t take any chances, can you?  If you are nice to people they always remember you, don’t they?  In a good way, that is, not like the people who went to school with me, remembering what I was like in those bad old days.  Anyway, that old lady will die one day and may leave a lot of money to someone - and it could be me.




Sunday 16 November 2014

Caught in the Web - Chapter 49


An excerpt from Caught in the Web.  New download version now on Kindle.

Chapter Forty-nine
The cobbles were warm beneath Evelyn’s toes.
Sitting on the kitchen chair outside her childhood home, she’d slipped off her shoes. Her mother came out of the back door with a plate of home-made cake and offered her a slice. Evelyn smiled as she took a chunk of the moist, rich fruit cake in her hand.
‘I should have given you a plate,’ said her mother. ‘But we won’t have to worry about the crumbs out here. It’s so nice to sit in the garden, don’t you think?’
Evelyn looked up at the older woman. She felt something thawing inside as the sun warmed her skin. The cake crumbled as she took a bite, the sweet fruit soft on her tongue, the spices bringing memories flooding of her childhood, sitting in this very spot, watching her brother playing in the dirt amongst the vegetables. She sighed, remembering the happier times before....
‘How’s the cake?‘ Her mother sat down beside her, bringing her thoughts back to the present.
‘It’s lovely. Just like you always used to make.’ She finished the cake slowly, savouring each mouthful before washing it down with the strong tea that Grace had left on the garden wall beside her.
Two weeks had passed since her mother’s visit to her and she’d been home three times now. Home. How easily that thought had tripped from her mind. How hard it had been at first. That nurse, Sheila, had stayed with her the first time but for the past two visits she’d been left alone for the afternoon. At last Evelyn was beginning to feel more relaxed with her mother and even though she knew that it would take time to forget the past, she wondered if one day she could forgive what had happened. She thought about Joe, her little brother, lost to her since she’d been taken to Highclere.
‘What’s Joe doing now?’ she asked.
‘He did an apprenticeship in engineering.’ There was pride in her mother’s voice. ‘Then he emigrated to Australia fifteen years ago. He’s married with two sons. Wait a minute.’ She got up and went indoors, quickly returning with a photo album.
‘I’ve never met his wife or the two little boys but they write to me.’ She opened the album. ‘This is his wedding photo.’ She pointed to a photograph of a grown-up Joe standing beside a young woman in white, smiling at the camera across the years. She turned the page.
‘These are their two boys. That one is Michael. He’s nine now and this is Andrew. He’s six.’
Evelyn gazed at the photographs of her brother and his family, feelings of regret welling up. She felt an echo of pain before pushing it away again.
She felt her mother’s hand on her arm. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said.
Evelyn handed the photo album back to her and smiled.
‘I’m glad, too,’ she said. Each visit had been turbulent, painful at times but also seemed like a step forward to a future which was rooted in the past.
The older woman took a deep breath.
‘I wanted to talk to you about what happened all those years ago,’ she began.
Evelyn recoiled inside. She sat for a moment, then consciously made herself relax. ‘I tried to forget it all,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘I suppose not. Not really,’ said her mother. ‘But it would make me feel better if I could only understand more about what happened.’ She paused and looked sideways at Evelyn. ‘I sensed that something bad had happened to you. Was it something that Bob said to you?’
Evelyn said nothing, wishing that her mother would stop.
‘I remember you two being so good with each other, then it seemed to change.’ She paused again. ‘I think it was difficult for him knowing that you were pregnant and not yet married.’
‘Don’t Mum,’ Evelyn interrupted.
‘No, let me finish. I still can’t understand what happened.’ She stopped, seeing the distress on Evelyn’s face.
‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about this if you really don’t want to. I just thought it would help you as well.’
Evelyn took a deep breath.
‘I’ll tell you but you won’t like it and you probably won’t believe me.’ She felt her mother squeezing her hand in encouragement.
Evelyn sat in silence. She felt the sun on her skin and felt the welcome breeze gently brush against her face whilst she thought about how to say it.
‘It was him.’ The words were spoken clearly and quietly. ‘Uncle Bob was the father of my child.’
‘What do you mean?’ The question was asked but her mother’s face revealed that she was half expecting this.
‘Uncle Bob. He was the one. I was a good girl - never went with any boy. He came to my room at night. He hurt me Mum. I couldn’t tell you and I couldn’t make him stop. He did it to me over and over again. When the baby came, he took it away. He took away my baby girl. He took away my life. I just wanted to die then. I’m sorry Mum.’ The tears were flowing from her eyes but she couldn’t look at her mother, afraid that she’d said too much.
Suddenly she was in the older woman’s arms.
‘My poor, poor girl,’ her mother sobbed. ‘I knew something awful must be happening to you but I had no idea. I had no idea that Bob was like that. I thought he was such a good father to you, stepping into your real Dad’s shoes like that. I should have known. You should have told me. I would have stopped it.’
‘You must have known,’ Evelyn accused. ‘How could you not have known?’ She could feel the anger burning again.
'I didn’t - really.' Her mother faltered.
'I couldn’t tell you. I thought you’d be angry with me. Like it was my fault. He said you wouldn’t believe me. Then he said other horrible things, like I’d led him on, thrown myself at him. I didn’t lead him on. You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do,’ her mother said. ‘He wasn’t a good man.’ She stopped speaking and turned to look at Evelyn.
‘I found out things after you went into hospital,’ she said. ‘I found out he was already married to a woman in Southampton. He went back to her in the end. I suppose he only stayed with me to get at you.’
‘Well, it’s in the past now.’ Evelyn felt sorry for her mother for the first time in her life. She sighed. ‘I’m glad you came to see me,’ she went on. ‘I’m glad I can visit you.’
They sat in silence, each enveloped in their own thoughts and private regrets. Eventually it was Evelyn who spoke.
‘I love you Mum,’ she whispered. She smiled through her tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all her mother could say. She paused before going on. ‘I love you too. I always have loved you. I don’t know how I can make up for all the lost years but I would be so happy if you could come and live here again. I don’t suppose you’d want that?’
Evelyn swallowed down her feelings of alarm.
‘I would. But I’m scared,’ she finally replied.
‘I understand. But we could do it gradually if you want to. You could come home for a night first, then see how it goes. What do you think? I’ve talked to the Charge Nurse and he said that’s what usually happens.’
‘Alright.’ Evelyn smiled.
She lay on her bed allowing these unwelcome thoughts to intrude into the calm hopefulness she’d been feeling the previous evening as she’d slipped into sleep. It was a relief when the nurse opened her door some time later and called for her to get up. It was Linda.
‘Come on Evelyn, breakfast’s here. Up you get,’ she said briskly before she tu

Five Beaches - Review

Yesterday afternoon I was fortunate to get along to St. Faith's Church Hall at Lee-on-the-Solent to watch this amazing production of Five Beaches, a stark play about the D-Day landings written to commorate the 70th anniversary of D-Day.

After spending time in London last week, looking at the poppies at The Tower, and thinking a lot about the hundreds of thousands of men killed in the first world war, this play really brought home to me something of what it may have been like for the young men who fought and died, or survived the second world war - specifically the D-Day landings.  Just a generation ago for me, as my father was a soldier in the second world war so only a lifetime away.

It says on the programme that Five Beaches is 'powerful, raw and challenging'.  It certainly is that!  Without use of scenery or props, light or sound to support the play, the ten young men portrayed the wait for the command on this side of the channel, the journey across the sea to France and the landings on the five beaches on the morning of D-Day in 1944, showing the fear, the bravado, the horror as they witnessed their friends drowing or being slaughtered as they went ashore.  All this was achieved with the use of their own voices and the use of movement in a stylised way.  Physical theatre at its best.  The cast tugged at the heart strings of the audience with the use of hymns, belting out with gusto For Those in Peril on the Sea, Land of Hope and Glory and Jeruselum.

It would be unfair to pick out any of the cast as shining above the others.  This was truly an ensemble piece and  all of the following should be proud of their achievement:

The cast:
Cam Holding, Tom Irving, Fergus Ross, Jake Wright, Jake Young, Leighton Huntingdon, Aiden Hammond, Adam Connor Shaman Falvey Enfield, Isaac Ross.

Directed by Helen Jones.
Five Beaches is written by Bay House Writer in Residence, Zella Compton.


It was announced at the end of the play that this was to be the last performance of the piece.  I certainly hope that these young men get a chance to perform it again.  It's a play that needs to be seen.

Wednesday 12 November 2014

Christmas Shopping at The Book Shop, Lee-on-the-Solent


          After spending time at the computer working on new writings, I decided to treat myself and do some Christmas shopping.  I thought about going into town and having a look in the chain-store book shops, knowing that I would probably be buying books for some of my family.  But something was drawing me to Lee-on-the-Solent.  A lovely little bookshop, small on the outside, becomes tardis-like when you enter through the door.  This is a place you could spend hours in browsing, and be tempted to spend more than you intended as the store is stocked full to the brim with wonderful goodies: not only books, but a range of cards for all ocassions, gift paper, stationery items, diaries, calenders, dvds, crayons, balloons, to name but a few.

         
          This is the wonderful Rick Barter, the shopkeeper - a font of knowledge who will help you with your book choices.  Rick and his staff are very welcoming to all customers, especially those with doggy friends in tow!  But you don't need to be a dog lover to love this shop.  I always enjoy myself in this Aladdin's cave and would recommend a visit before you spend all your Christmas shopping money.




A large choice of books, paperback and hardbacks.









Stationery supplies

Childrens' crayons, paints and sticky stuff

Books for children

Gift wrap and more!

Christmas cards and gift bags

An amazing range of greetings cards

More Christmas stock on display

Calendars

DVDs



When I'd finished browsing and shopping I dropped in next door to The Tea Party for a coffee and slice of lemon sponge cake.
A fitting end to a well-spent hour.

So, if you fancy doing a bit of Christmas shopping in a lovely atmosphere I'd recommend the extra bit of travelling down to Lee-on-the-Solent.

The Book Shop can be found on Facebook or you can telephone on 02392 556592.

The Tea Party's phone number is 02393 070760

Billy's Journal

After attending Will and Diana's workshop on crime-writing last week, I've been working on a character for my next novel.    Doing the workshop has given me a good springboard to get on with this project which has been hanging around in my head for over two years.  This is the first rough draft of Billy's journal:


Billy’s Journal

My name is Billy Jackson.  I’m 24 years old and a mess.

My childhood was OK. I suppose, except for having to watch my Dad and all his mates when they came round to our flat to shoot-up.  It didn’t really bother me mind you, I just had to be careful not to step on the needles they sometimes left on the floor.  My mum loved me in her own way but she was a bit of a mess - Dad called her a slag but he didn’t seem to care when she took his so-called mates into the bedroom while he sat on the sofa in the front room getting out of his head.  Sometimes there’d be a knock at the door and Dad would let in men I’d never seen before.  Then Mum would disappear with them into the bedroom.  I didn’t understand what was going on at the time.  Dad said they had a bit of business with Mum.  I used to sit and watch the telly and try not to listen to the noises coming from behind the door.

When I was twelve my Dad let me try some of his gear.  He said it would make me feel good and it did.  I remember floating and feeling really loved, so much so that I didn’t really care when one of his friends took me into my bedroom and started touching me.  I don’t remember if I liked what he did or not, but I liked the floaty feeling and was up for it the next time that man came round.

I didn’t do so well at school, used to scive off all the time and consequently failed my GCSEs.  Well, didn’t actually even sit them to tell the truth.

What makes me tick?  I don’t really think anything does - I spend all my time ducking and diving for the next fix of heroin.  Been addicted since I was a kid and it’s taken over my life - it is my life.  Even though I moved out of my Mum and Dad’s when I was sixteen and moved in with my Nan it was too late for me to get out of the drug life-style.  

I lived with my Nan for a few years and they were the best years of my life so far.  Nan would listen to me without shouting back when I ranted about stuff that was getting to me.  She used to sit me down and let me talk while she cooked my tea.  I can’t remember my Mum or Dad ever cooking my tea.  For a while I stayed in with her in the evenings and she would tell me stories about when she was young.  Stories about Grandad and how he used to spend time on his allotment with Dad when he was little.  She said my Dad was alright then but he got into trouble with some lads when he was in his teens and that was when he started on the drugs.  

Nan made me feel good about myself and I stopped using for a few months.  It wasn’t easy though and gradually I slipped back into it, bit by bit. I thought I could handle it but life got so boring and although I tried to keep busy and even went looking for work, it was too hard.  I started back on the dealing, just a bit now and then to pay for my own use at first.  Then it began to take me over and I was out all the time, day and night.  Nan tried to talk to me, she tried so hard but in the end even she couldn’t stand it so she and told me I had to leave.  I was gutted but didn’t let her know.  

For a while I lived with this girl I’d met at the drug clinic - Gem was her name.  I really loved her but I messed her about too much and she chucked me out too.  She got fed up with me bringing people back to her place to use I guess.  I wasn’t very good to her to be honest.  I  never trust women after what my Mum was like and my Nan throwing me out didn’t help.  I admit I did hit Gem sometimes but she used to drive me to it.  I’d be different if she’d only take me back.

What do I look like?  I’m not very tall, about 5’ 10” I suppose, skinny because I never eat very well.  I suffer quite a bit from bad skin and get quite spotty at times.  I’ve shaved my head but sometimes it grows out to look quite spiky if I can’t be bothered to shave it.  Same with the facial hair.  I only shave every few days or so.  When I lived with my Nan I looked much smarter - she used to wash and iron my clothes but I don’t bother much these days and haven’t bought a new pair of jeans or top for ages.  My favourite thing is my leather jacket.  It’s black and a bit battered now but wearing it makes me feel good.  My  Nan got it for me from a charity shop - it didn’t cost a fortune - but it reminds me of better times.

Monday 10 November 2014

More thoughts on working at Uplands Independent Mental Hospital

Working with people with enduring and severe mental illness is challenging and can be difficult, but can also be extremely rewarding.  The staff at Uplands work hard and are committed to making the lives of the residents as fulfilling and happy as possible.  Not an easy task.

Last week I attended a Positive Risk Assessment training day which was facilitated by Peter Kaye, an experienced RMN and a talented trainer.  Below are his thoughts on the difficulties and challenges faced by those of us who work with people in this client group and the care provided at Uplands Independent Mental Hospital.

"I've been providing the occasional training course for Uplands Independent Hospital for about two years, on mental health issues, risk management and staff management skills. I work throughout the country with care homes, hospitals, housing services, charities, social services departments etc and sometimes I go into care services which look very "posh" but when I scrape below the surface I find that the care is not as good as one might imagine it would be, and that, once you get beyond the chandeliers, care is negligent or, and this I often find in these "posh" services, the area set aside for the staff (rest rooms, training rooms etc) is downright grim. If staff are treated badly by their managers, you can guarantee that this will be reflected in the care given. 

"Uplands provides care for some of the most mentally ill people in our society, and, whilst we must always strive to help people to mesh effectively with the expectations of the wider society, it is unrealistic to expect that such unwell people will always be able to maintain the standards that our society may expect regarding personal conduct, dress or cleanliness of oneself or one's personal space. 

"From the perspective of service users such as those at Uplands, many of whom are likely to have experienced terrible traumas in their lives and who may well be tormented by horrific delusions or hallucinations, keeping oneself smartly attired or keeping one's room immaculately tidy may be low in the list of priorities. What may be far more important is to feel safe and respected in what we might think of as a refuge from a wider world which can seem overwhelmingly frightening. One of the great skills needed in working with such traumatised people is to build up their trust by being sensitive, gentle and supportive. If staff were very directive about tidiness or grooming of the service users they would alienate them. Indeed, such over-prescriptive care would be abuse in itself. The dilemma in mental health work is always how much do we allow people to be self-managing - even if that means the client may not conform to wider social norms - and how much do we intervene and "manage" (or over-manage) the client. 

"I believe that the management and staff at Uplands understand this dilemma and generally get the balance right. Why do I believe this? It's obvious: when I visit, I watch the clients: they have easy-going relationships with the staff, they do not look afraid, they come to the staff with their difficulties. These are signs of well-being despite the ravages of chronic mental illness. Yes, Uplands may not have the smartest of decor, but that's not important. It's the spirit of the place which counts, and on that crucial matter, I believe Uplands is very healthy. 

"When visiting any care service, I watch the way that staff interact with each other and with the residents. I have learnt over my 35 years in this business that anxious, withdrawn staff are a marker of an abusive care environment. But at Uplands, there is an easy-going, relaxed atmosphere. Staff do not look frightened, controlled or inhibited. One specific example: sometimes clients come into the training session to see what is happening. In many care services when such things happen, clients are ushered out by the staff in a fairly brusque way. At Uplands when this happens, staff talk to the residents politely and genuinely take time to explain to them that the room is in use for staff training. A little thing maybe, but it says a lot. Uplands provides a high standard of care to very unwell people and I am always pleased to work with the hospital in developing the staff's skills even more.

Best wishes

Peter Kaye
BSc(Soc) RMN RGN DPS-CPN AIfL

The Kaye Partnership
www.kaye.org.uk