by Alan Cooke
‘Stupid, stupid bastard,’ he shouted out in sheer frustration. ‘You promised you would never touch that stuff and now look where it’s got you. Dead, that’s bloody where.’
The house was silent apart from the whimpering coming from Steve’s contorted body. He had no idea what he could do, life would never be the same again. The rest of the group who hung around together was not worth anything, and he could not see himself joining them ever again. His only escape was the world inside the box in the corner of the room. Turning on the TV he lay back waiting for a picture to appear. The first vision that came on to the screen was Bob Geldof appealing for help to feed the starving people of Africa. It was an old recording, followed by a reporter updating the viewers on today’s situation. It hadn’t changed. There were interviews with voluntary workers from Britain and with some of the local inhabitants answering questions about their impoverished conditions with such dignity. Steve slowly sat up, he was interested and what was more, amazed at his interest. He continued to watch the programme. It was a different young man who sat down for a meal in the evening. Mrs. Henderson noticed immediately that his eyes were red, almost as if he had been crying, but did not mention her observation. The last thing she wanted after a hard day’s work was abuse from the son she loved, but didn’t like.
‘Darren’s dead,’ he blurted out. His body was shaking, and as he spoke he didn’t look at his mother but stared at the wall. ‘Silly bastard took drugs and it killed him. Why Darren? He promised he would never get into that. I just can’t believe it’s happened. We had plans for today all ready, and now look.’ The plans did involve stealing parcels from a delivery van while the driver’s back was turned, but he kept this information to himself. ‘He would have been eighteen next week and we were going to celebrate. Instead I’ll be going to his bloody funeral.’ Tears were just held back, and he had to control himself from breaking down completely. His mother hadn’t seen him so upset before, and the full force of maternal instinct came into play. ‘I’m so sorry son, he was a good friend wasn’t he.’ She put her arm around his shoulders to comfort him. When he finally stopped shaking, he rested his head against his mother’s arm. She suddenly had a small boy again, one who needed his mother in times of trouble. It had been years since this had happened, and she liked it and held him close to her.
‘Something else happened today,’ he looked at his mother to make sure she was listening. He just wanted her attention and hoped she would stay and listen to him. ‘I was watching something on TV and recorded it. Would you have a look at it with me?’
‘You know I’m not into head banging pop groups.’ He must be after something, she thought. After his meal, he would usually disappear without a word. She began to feel uneasy, the temporary return to the little boy stage in his life might be lost. His sadness had given her a moment of peace she hadn’t felt for years and she would hate to lose it.
‘Please mum, come and see this.’ She couldn’t remember the last time he had called her Mum, and the word ‘please’ had been absent from his vocabulary for years.
When she joined him, he moved to allow her to sit next to him on the sofa. She wondered whatever was coming next.
An African scene appeared, with small children with pot bellies and stick-like limbs, so weak they were unable to stand. ‘Look, look, have you ever seen anything like it,’ he said, clutching at his mother’s arm. ‘But it’s not only that, just wait and see what some people are doing to help. Bob Geldof’s on too.’
His mother could hardly believe her ears, was her son having regard for someone other than himself. She didn’t know what to say, usually anything she said was met with verbal abuse. Today, she felt it might be different. Probably the combination of Darren’s death and the TV programme had affected him, she could only speculate. She did know it was out of character. His head dropped forward, his hand reached for his mother and he dissolved into tears.
‘Why do people call us disadvantaged around here?’ he sobbed. ‘You don’t have to walk a mile to get water from a well, and then carry it home on your head, if there is any water when you get there. We get money for doing nothing and we are given a house for nothing. What’s disadvantaged about that? Those people in Africa are disadvantaged, and they are always smiling at the slightest thing.’
‘Never mind son.’ She held him close, running her fingers through his hair. Something had changed him, after all these years of misery, he was different. That was all she could think.
They sat together for some time before he spoke. His mother did not want to leave him alone. She was there for him, he might need her. Darren’s death had not only shocked him, he had changed, at least for the moment.
‘I’ve been thinking, so far I haven’t done anything with my life, not a bloody thing. There is a way, if you will agree to it.’ Looking directly into her eyes he was almost willing her to say yes.
Was this really her son speaking, she couldn’t recall when he had ever asked permission for anything. Had he been sniffing glue? He had done that when he was fourteen and the Police had brought him home, giving him a warning in her presence.
‘If I join the Army, I could do courses and get paid at the same time.’ He had come to a turning point in his young life but had no idea how to make the first move. His mind was working overtime, he had to do something, but didn’t know what. Darren and what had happened was on his mind as well as the scenes from the television programme. Steve had never felt so confused, but at the same time he had to make a decision which might give his life some purpose.
His mother was thinking too. The discipline would certainly do him good, and he would have to be respectful to his superiors or he would be in real trouble. She was warming to the idea. He would get home on leave, get paid regularly and hopefully learn to control himself.
‘I’ve an idea son. You know the Headmaster at school, well he told me that you could have made something of yourself if you had done a bit of work. Why don’t we go and talk to him for advice. I could ring up for an appointment.’ She waited for a reply, hoping he would agree. She had no idea what advice to give him, but the Headmaster might.
‘I can’t see him bothering about me, they were glad to see the back of most of us.’ He didn’t want to become depressed, but thought his mother’s suggestion was a good one. But would the Headmaster see him?
It had taken time before she made the call. The possibility of rejection which could come from her request replaced her usual day to day concerns. She need not have worried.
The Headmaster had been very courteous and had told her that he would be very pleased to give advice if he could. She tried to explain how Steven had changed, how the shock of his friend’s death had affected him, and about his wish to join the Army. Any doubt in his mind didn’t travel along the telephone line. If he couldn’t answer a question, he assured her that he would find someone who would be able to.
The meeting took place at school the following week. Steven had asked his mother to go with him which pleased her, and together they sat with the Headmaster. He had been welcoming, any feelings of mistrust were absent. Tea and biscuits were brought in and Steven began to relax as the Headmaster outlined what he thought would be the best avenue for him to take if the opportunity arose. He assured Steven that there would be excellent opportunities in the Army and the chance to make up for his lack of success at school.
‘Do you think I would be able to get some qualifications?’ Steven was on the edge of his chair looking directly at the Headmaster, the possibility of his life changing for the better was in his own hands. Something which had never entered his head before.
Assuring Steven that there would be good educational facilities in the Army, he stressed that to take advantage of them needed a tremendous amount of self discipline.
‘Do you think you have what it takes Steven?’ He had looked him in the eye as he spoke.
‘Yes sir, I’ve just got to succeed.’
The Headmaster sm
iled, the realisation that the young man sitting in front of him had come to the crossroads in life and was about to take the right route to achieving something. He suggested taking two GCSE subjects to begin with and then to gauge the next step himself, based on the results and the amount of time available. ‘You may remember that not too long ago your track record was to say the least, abysmal.’ The comments were not an accusation, just a statement of fact made in a fatherly way.
Steven did not take his eyes off the Headmaster. ‘I know now what I must have been like and I’m very sorry for the things I did. Now I have to start again, this time I won’t fail.’
The Headmaster smiled. ‘I have a feeling that you will succeed Steven, but it won’t be easy. Now, I have someone I would like you to meet.’ He pressed a button on his desk and a minute later there was a knock on the door.
‘I would like to introduce you to Major Reynolds who is not only a friend of mine but also an Army Recruitment Officer. I will leave you together and I’m sure the Major will give you all the information you will need to help you enjoy a military career. He shook hands with Mrs. Henderson and then Steven, wishing him success in the future. ‘Do keep in touch Steven, I would be pleased to hear of your progress.’
The Major had been thorough in his briefing, leaving no doubt in Steven’s mind that the going would be tough and the discipline hard. He didn’t add, ‘for someone like you,’ although he might have felt it. The Headmaster had of course given him details of Steven’s school record and advice on his background. On the positive side, he had been told that Steven was intelligent and with the challenges the Army would give him, he might rise to the occasion.
His acquaintances thought he was mad to consider joining the Army and mocked him for being stupid. It was the last time he saw them as friends. The entrance exam was relatively easy and he passed the medical without any problem. His second interview with the Major was a little more daunting. It was now the military man talking to him, not a friend of his old Headmaster. No punches were pulled. Bullying, drug taking and letting down the British Army were points hammered home. They were not lost on Steven. Three weeks later he had passed a medical examination and received a letter telling him that he had been accepted.
The training was hard but he tackled every aspect with determination and soon found himself helping other recruits who were having difficulty in adapting to military life. Like them, he had arrived in a very unfit state, after three weeks the changes started to show and the following weeks his posture and fitness improved dramatically. This was his last chance, he had to succeed. He moaned with the rest of the recruits but secretly enjoyed most of the training. Each day brought him nearer to achieving something in his life. He wanted his mother to be proud of him and also looked forward to revisiting the school to see the Headmaster. Six months later he had passed out as the best recruit of his intake. His mother had been invited to the Passing-out Parade and Steven spotted her seated near the dais where the inspecting officer would take the salute. She no longer looked haggard, her hair was carefully styled and makeup tastefully applied. Once the parade was over, the recruits joined their families where some of Steven’s friends thought she was his sister not his mother, and asked for an introduction.
She felt so proud of him. Gone was the slouch, he had pride in himself and in the Army. He could hardly wait to tell her about his new life and also that he had also given up smoking. She enjoyed listening to him, his excitement giving her peace of mind. Peace she had not had for years. It had made her laugh to hear that some people thought she was his sister, she was also secretly pleased.
In a year he had taken the two exams recommended by the Headmaster. Both he had passed with grade ‘A’ results, and had immediately arranged to study for a further three to be taken six months later. He wrote to the Headmaster giving him the news of his progress and thanking him for his advice. He applied himself enthusiastically when military duties allowed, taking only one night each week away from his studies. He had also started to save money. Making friends had been easy, most coming from similar backgrounds to his own, but some of the young soldiers were too much like his old self where drink was concerned. He was determined not to return to that path. At the end of the year he had been given a stripe.
The following year he had been given another stripe, and had received excellent reports from his Company Commander. He loved Army life and often wondered where he would have been if it had not been for Darren’s death and the Bob Geldof programme. Each month part of his savings was sent to the ‘Save the Children’ fund, but his aim eventually was to do more. But for this he needed qualifications, and so far he was on target. Three more subjects and he would start on ‘A’s. After that he would start an Open University degree course, but before he chose subjects, he would speak to the Headmaster when he was home on leave. It was something to look forward to, and he knew the Head would be pleased to help him.
The Army Education Staff were encouraging, and the following year he enrolled on an Open University course.
When his first package arrived from the Open University, he could not wait to begin. Although it was a Foundation Course to build up basic knowledge, there did seem a tremendous amount to learn. Information about Course Tutors in the locality and a list with their addresses and telephone numbers was enclosed. Contact with a tutor was advised to see if there were any self help groups available. He progressed well with his assignments and soon made friends with other students on the course. One in particular caught his eye. She was an attractive brunette who worked for her father’s car dealership company in the town and was doing the degree as a way of forgetting the boyfriend who had let her down. Her name was Anthea, and like him was an only child. A friendship soon developed between them although they were from totally different backgrounds, when they left the weekly student meetings, they were completely happy in each other’s company. Each being fascinated by the life story of the other, they often sat in the local pub for two hours with only one or at the most, two drinks. Whenever they realised it was late, they could not believe how quickly the time had passed.
During this time he was not only developing academically, but was also a very professional soldier. His review with the Company Commander boosted his confidence further when he was advised to maintain his standards and there might be a possibility of a recommendation for Officer Selection in the future.
Steve could hardly believe his ears, he knew he was good at his job as a leader but had not thought beyond his present rank. Without realising it, he had adopted some of the mannerisms of his Company Commander and also a selection from his fellow students. They came from all walks of life and had a multitude of life experiences. Steve was fascinated by all of them. Listening to and taking such interest in them had brought him a host of new friends with ages spanning every decade twenty to eighty. The Regiments Officer’s recognized the changes and could see a good future for him. He told no-one about the interview although he would have loved to let his mother know. The risk was too great, just in case it never happened. Unfortunately an orderly room clerk saw the comments written by the Captain, and he soon passed it on to a Corporal in Steve’s rival platoon.
Steve had not made friends with Corporal Scouser Jennings who was a tough, hard drinking Liverpudlian. Steve’s method of leadership was by example, and this together with his academic endeavours had not enamoured him to Corporal Jennings. Steve had recognised Jennings’ type immediately, many of his old friends back home were of the same breed, and he had been heading the same way. Whenever he could, Jennings would make disparaging remarks about Steve but he never rose to take the bait. This antagonised Jennings further and put Steve in the frame as the number one target for his spite.
He was also a ruthless leader within his platoon, when he said jump, they jumped. There had been many a black eye turn up on parade whose recipient had ‘walked into a door’.
Disregarding Jennings was easy. He used as much spare time as he co
uld on his studies preparing for the end of year exams. They were held in a local college, and the Army had given him permission to attend. It had gone well, he was sure he would gain a pass. Anthea too had been pleased with her efforts and also thought a pass would be a strong possibility. To celebrate they had arranged to meet at 7.30 p.m. that evening in the Crown, a pub in the town centre.
He was at the Crown just before 7.30 p.m. as agreed. By 8.00 p.m. she had not arrived and he began to think she might have stood him up. Ten minutes later she had called the pub, given Steve’s description, and asked the barmaid to let him know that she would not be able to make it. She had left a telephone number for him to call the following day.
Buying himself a second pint of beer, he returned to the corner table. When this was finished he intended to return to the barracks and have an early night.
‘Hello soldier.’ Two girls were standing next to him, both very young, perhaps not even eighteen. ‘I can tell soldiers a mile away can’t you Marie?’
‘Yeah, only they’re not all as good looking as this one are they?’ They both sat down clutching their half finished drinks. ‘Now I know this is going to sound corny, but we’d like to buy you a drink. I know it should be the other way around but Denise here has had a bit of luck today and we’re celebrating. Don’t say no, because we would be very hurt.’ She pulled a little girl face, and smiled coyly. ‘Come on, help us celebrate, it might cheer you up a bit. You don’t look very happy.’
‘As long as I can get you one when your glasses are empty. Is that a deal?’ In ten minutes he would have finished the drink and be on his way.
‘O.K. soldier, what’s your name anyway? If I’m buying I think I should know it don’t you?’ She stood up and turned towards the bar. ‘Tell me your life story when I get back.’ Denise weaved her way through the gathering crowd of drinkers to order his lager, leaving Marie talking to him twenty to the dozen.