The Opportunities of Youth

by Donald Phillips

Chapter Four

  The Induction, July 1982

  The letter had said report to the Henry Winfield Junior School in Winfield Road, St Paul’s, Bristol at 10.00am on Monday morning. Tony had left in good time to complete the thirty-five odd miles into Bristol, which turned out to be a good decision. He had already been right around St Paul’s twice and having had no luck with asking passers by where Winfield Road was he suddenly had a brainwave. Abandoning the car on a yellow line he dived into a nearby newsagents and bought a detailed map of the city centre. Back outside he beat the approaching traffic warden to his car by fifty yards and drove off quickly, wondering where that bugger had been hiding when he was asking directions. At the old ruined church in the city centre he stopped and examined the map. There was a list of roads down one edge with a map reference and he soon found Winfield road. He memorised the directions, first right into Downside Road, second left into Chaltham Street then first right into Winfield Road, easy. He put the map down on the passenger street and drove off.

  Three minutes later he was sat in his car in Winfield road, right outside the newsagents where he had just bought the map. He looked around in some exasperation. The road was only some one hundred yards long, but of a school there was no sign. A voice in his ear coming through the open sunroof made him jump.

  “Its still illegal parking you know, even if you are still sitting in it.”

  He looked up and saw the same traffic warden standing there looking down at him through the Webasto sunroof, pencil and ticket book poised. He decided to play the rescued citizen.

  “Good morning, Warden, am I glad to see you. I thought I was going to be driving around St Paul’s all day looking for this place, but I bet you can point me in the right direction.”

  The warden swelled visibly.

  “Where is that you are looking for, then?”

  “Henry Winfield School, but I can’t see any school in this road.”

  The smile faded from the Warden’s face to be replaced with a frown.

  “Oh, I see. One of that lot, are we?” He sneered. “I might have known if you can’t even find the place.”

  Tony decided that he had humoured the bugger enough.

  “Look Warden...”? He made a show of reading the man’s number, “four seven two. I wonder if you could just point out the school for me and then I won’t have to report you to the station for being obstructive.” He gave one of his Personnel Smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. “Bite on that, you horrible little fascist,” he thought.

  The warden bristled, but then subsided and became more amenable.

  “Certainly, sir, its that building there.”

  He pointed to where a green corrugated iron fence, some eight foot high and cut with spikes on the top, completely enclosed an old stone building of which only the gothic style windows of the top floor could be seen. It looked more like a prison than a school. He turned back to the now grinning traffic warden.

  “Are you sure that is the Henry Winfield school?”

  The warden shrugged.

  “Go and read the sign if you don’t believe me.”

  Tony nodded and climbing out of the MBG crossed the road to the large double gates on which a sign had been erected.

  The Henry Winfield School,

  Avon County Youth Opportunities

  And

  Avon County, Special Education Unit.

  Do not obstruct these gates.

  He was about to peer through the small square hole in the corrugated iron of the gate when they started to open outwards, causing him to jump smartly out of the way. As they parted they revealed two youths dressed in the ACYOP uniform he seen in Weston-Super-Mare, of dark blue donkey jacket, jeans and boots. When the gates were fully open the two youths ran back to a white mini bus and jumped in. The bus then drove out through the gate followed by a small convoy of four brightly coloured and very ancient, Citroen 2CV’s. The last one stopped and a tall, fair-haired man wound down the window and spoke to him. He was wearing a brown cord jacket, a six foot long yellow scarf around his neck despite the warm day and large badge on the lapel of his jacket bearing the legend “I am thirty”

  “There are a few spaces now if you are waiting to get in. Don’t forget to close the gate behind you or we will all lose our radio’s before lunch.”

  He roared off. Tony came out of his shock and headed back to his car. The traffic warden had gone, but on his windscreen was the dreaded plastic envelope with his parking ticket inside. “You bastard.” He muttered, as he folded himself back into the car and drove carefully into the school.

  The car park was what had been the playground of the school and his first look instantly took him back to his own schooldays at Corner Hall School for Boys. (He had never had an entirely satisfactory explanation as to why it was called Corner Hall as it was half way up a steep hill and situated between the local Junior School and the Hemel Hempstead Football Club ground. What it had to do with halls or corners was beyond him). This playground made an awkward parking place because in the manner beloved by Victorian builders a large toilet block had been built squarely in the middle. That was another thing that took him back to his own schooldays. The necessity of getting wet any time you wanted a piddle and it happened to be raining.

  The front part of the car park was jammed full with a variety of old bangers and he squeezed the MGB through the gap between the toilet block and the school to the rear of the playground hoping to find space there or at least room to turn around if there was none. There were a half dozen places free and he took the precaution of backing the car into the space that seemed to offer the best chance of avoiding being blocked in when the 2CV’s returned from their foray.

  The MGB was twelve years old and he had bought it from a neighbour whose son had died while on army duty. It was British racing green and had the nice chrome bumpers instead of the later black plastic variety. Tony had always admired it and was really delighted to get it, even if it had cost him the last six hundred pounds left from his redundancy money, as he and Tas needed two cars now they worked in different counties and he didn’t see why he should buy a bloody mini. As he got out of the car a youth of about thirteen came out of a side door in the ground floor of the school. He lit a fag and then wandered over to towards where Tony was rescuing his briefcase from the back of the car.

  “That your car then, Mister?”

  Tony looked up at him in disbelief. “Did he think he was stealing the briefcase?”

  “Yes, of course it is.” This said with some asperity.

  “All right. Keep your hair on. I only asked.”

  At this moment a short dark haired man in a chequered working shirt and denims appeared at the side of the building.

  “Kevin. You’ve got three seconds to put that fag out and get your backside back in here.”

  The youth turned at the sound of the man’s voice.

  “Aw Dave, I was only having a quick drag. You know I hate bloody drawing.”

  He carefully put the cigarette out, putting the dog end back in his top pocket. He grinned cheekily at Tony. “Cheerio mate.” and headed slowly for the door.

  “You hate everything, Andy. Now move your arse.” The man turned to Tony. “If you want the ACYOPS office, its at the top of the stairs around the front. In the boys section of the school.” And he turned and went back through the door before Tony could reply.

  He hefted the briefcase and started off around the side of the building. Again, as in his old school, the boy’s section was upstairs. Access was by a broad flight of steps through a large arched doorway with BOYS cut into the stonework above. The girls much smaller entrance was around the side of the building where he had just come from and he reflected on the chauvinism of the Victorians. Going up a short flight of steps he found himself in a corridor with double doors at the far end. Against one wall was a coffee machine of the same uncertain age and vintage as he had last seen when talking to Killick back in the Works Canteen, God knows ho
w many weeks ago. A group of youths were stood around it looking as if they were waiting for someone, but they didn’t acknowledge his good morning. He pushed through the double doors and there in front of him was a counter behind which was a desk, occupied by an extremely attractive woman in her thirties and with a notice bearing the word Reception in front of her. The woman looked up as he put his briefcase on the counter and opened it.

  “Hello. Can I help you?”

  She gave him a warm smile. He instinctively smiled back.

  “Good morning. I’m Tony Filton reporting for induction. I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late, but I had a bit of difficulty finding the place.”

  The woman frowned.

  “Didn’t we send you a map?”

  “I don’t think so. Unless its this.” He produced a sheet of photocopied papers that were almost completely black.

  “Oh my god, I am sorry, Mr Filton. The girls seem to have made a bit of a mess of that, don’t they? Never mind, you’re here now.”

  At that moment a rather fat woman in her early twenties came out of an office door next to reception. She had long dark hair done in pigtails and was wearing what looked like some sort of gymslip. Tony immediately thought of Billy Bunter’s sister. The receptionist called to her.

  “Oh Grace! Do you know who is in charge of the induction this morning?”

  The fat woman stopped and walked back to the desk.

  “How the hell should I know, Sandra? I’m only a Unit Manager. Why should anybody tell me anything?”

  She turned to the double doors behind her as the group of youths on the other side, obviously bored with waiting, started what sounded like a football match with a coke tin. Grace wrenched the doors open with a ferocity that threatened their hinges.

  “Listen, you lot. Pick that tin up, then go and wait in the car park. This is an office not a bloody playpen.”

  The youths stopped and looked at her. Then one of them started to whistle quietly. The others grinned and then joined in. It took them a few seconds to get synchronised and then a few more before Tony recognised the tune. Then he got it. Amazing Grace. The fat woman went bright red and turned to Sandra the receptionist.

  “They are Keith Derrick’s kids aren’t they? Where is he?

  Sandra was keeping her face straight with some difficulty.

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he?”

  Grace was shouting now to be heard over the whistling.

  “I believe he is in the Land Use office with John Jeffries, Grace.”

  “Right. I will soon sort that bastard out.”

  She stormed off. Sandra allowed the grin to come fully to her face and then let it die again as she tuned to the youths.

  “If you lot are not down by your van in ten seconds I shall ring Keith and ask him to come and move you.”

  The youths fled and she turned back to Tony.

  “I think its best you go to the rest room until I can get someone to see you, Tony isn’t it? It’s just through there. Its marked Staff Only on the door.”

  He went in the direction indicated beginning to think that he had made a mistake taking this job. He found himself in what was obviously the old Assembly Hall. Under the high vaulted ceiling it was big enough to take the thirty odd desks that were in it and still leave plenty of room, half the desks being occupied by people who all seemed to be on the telephone. On two sides of the central room were doors that led into what were the original classrooms. These were all labelled. Land Use, Coordinator, Special Unit, Stationary/Stores and Staff Only. He headed towards this last one. Inside the rest room two other people were sitting looking at old copies of magazines. One was a man in his late twenties, although he was almost completely bald, wearing a collarless blue and white striped shirt and jeans, while the other was a woman a few years younger with short mousy hair. She was dressed in a dark blue leisure suit that did little hide a rather dumpy figure. Both wore trainers. They looked up when Tony entered and then stood. The woman just looked, but the man was made of sterner stuff, came around the magazine table, and shook Tony’s hand.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Paul Robins and this is..?”

  He waved his hand at the woman who gave a nervous smile.

  “Jean Davies.”

  Tony was encouraged by the friendliness of the reception.

  “Tony Filton, here for induction.”

  The man blinked. He looked down at Tony’s suit, which he was already beginning to regret wearing, with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Oh sorry, thought you had come to see us. We are here for induction as well you see.”

  “Sorry. I’m just another foot soldier I’m afraid.”

  They all sat down again. Paul gave the suit another look and then asked the question that Tony could see was bothering him.

  “What did you do before you came here then? You know, work?”

  Tony knew the answer was not going to meet with approval. He had already spotted the tattoos on Paul’s knuckles that read Left and Rite with one letter to each finger. He may have led a bit of a sheltered life, but he knew quite well that such poor workmanship was usually only found in Borstal or Prison. Not that the man’s past worried him, but he didn’t feel he would have much time for an ex-Personnel Manager. They had been probably turning him down for jobs on account of those tattoos for years. What the hell, he would tell him anyway.

  “Well for the last two years I’ve been in Sales Admin, but really I’m a Personnel/Training Manager.”

  Paul nodded as if it were no more than he expected.

  “You will find this a bit different then. Hardly a suit job, is it?”

  Tony shrugged. Paul was obviously a bit pissed off about mistaking Tony for someone in charge because of his suit and briefcase and was trying to recover his act. He counter attacked.

  “What did you do then, Paul?”

  “Well, I have been taking a degree with the Open University for the last couple of years, chemistry, but I’ve also been working on the buildings now and then.”

  Tony turned to Jean who answered the question before he could ask it.

  “I was a teacher, but I didn’t like it so I have been looking for something else for the last year. You have to be out of work for at least a year to work here, don’t you?”

  This was news to Tony and he resolved to ask Sue Mandelow about it. If it was true, how the hell did he qualify? In the meantime Paul was obviously puzzled.

  “What didn’t you like about teaching? I wish I’d had the chance to be a teacher.”

  Jean looked at him as if she hoped he would drop dead. Her answer when it came was muttered.

  “Yes, well you are a man, aren’t you? It would be different for you.”

  Paul thought he saw the light.

  “Oh I see. The male teachers gave you a hard time did they? Why didn’t you go to the Head or the Union? They would have soon sorted them out.”

  Jean gave him a withering look.

  “It wasn’t the other teachers, you berk. It was the kids. You try keeping order with a bunch of thumping great sixteen-year-old boys. Every time you have to pass a group in the corridor they try feel you up and in class they just sit and laugh at you. The bloody girls are just as bad. They just encourage them.”

  It was spat out with some feeling, but Tony tried a tentative enquiry.

  “Do you think it will be any different here, then?”

  “Oh yes. I’m going to be with the Placement Unit. They get the brighter kids and you just have to find them work placements and then visit them now and then to see its all going all right. If its not and they are a pain in the arse I am told you just give them to the Special Unit.” She smiled brightly. “What are you two doing?”

  In unison Tony and Paul answered.

  “Special Unit”

  Jeans blushes were saved by Sue Mandelow’s appearance in the doorway with a tall blonde man in his early thirties.

  “Paul, Tony, Jean, I see
you have met each other. This is Paul Mittons. He is the Senior Supervisor for the Special Unit here in Bristol and he has pulled together your induction programme for this week. I will leave you with him.”

  She turned and left. Paul Mittons did not waste time doing anything as passé as shaking hands or saying good morning. Into their offered hands he placed a timetable.

  “You will report here every morning at nine o’clock and ask for your guide for the day, their name is printed at the top of the page. Today it is Rod Owen so lets go and meet him straight away, shall we? He is in charge of the Construction teams for Central Bristol.”

  He turned and left, leaving them to scrabble for their various briefcases and handbags before trooping after him like a bunch of school children. Out in the main hall he stopped at one of the thirty or so desks at which a completely bald man with a full set beard and moustache was talking on the telephone. He caught his eye and indicated the trio waiting obediently behind him. The man nodded and Mittons walked off without a word. Paul turned to Tony and whispered to him.

  “Welcome to ACYOP”

  Tony grinned at him. It seemed the situation had pulled them together and he was forgiven for wearing the suit. The man at the desk put down the phone and stood up. He was no more than five feet, five inches tall so it didn’t make a great deal of difference to his overall height. He looked up at the two nearly six footers in front of him and held out his hand.

  “Rod Owen, I’m the Senior Supervisor for the Construction Unit. What we do is have six kids with a skilled supervisor. Usually a tradesman who’s getting a bit long in the tooth to keep up in the real building trade and who’s looking for something easier to take him to retirement. Then we find them a project, painting and decorating or actual building work. The kids then do all the work under the instruction of the supervisor who instructs them in the various skills required. Of course we have to pick the jobs a bit. Nothing too difficult and nothing in competition with the commercial sector or the Unions kick up stink because we are stealing jobs their members could be doing. However, the churches are always glad to have work done for just the cost of the basic materials that they usually wouldn’t be able to afford any other way, even if they do moan a bit about the time we take to finish the job.”

  It was delivered in the manner of a person who had said it many times before, but Tony was impressed. It sounded like a good way to train the youngsters. Nothing better than for them to be able to say afterwards, we did that. Rod Owen continued.

  “This morning we are taking you out to Seagate Farm. It is an old stone built farm and outhouses. The local parish council own it and we are doing it up as a meeting place for them, lots of different skills there to see. Are you ready?”

  They nodded; glad to be moving at last. Then Rod’s phone rang. He answered it and nodded a few times before he put it down.

  “Sorry about that. We have had a break in at one of the sites and I have got to go and talk to the police. Can you find your own way to Seagate Farm? Its out in the Hallrod area of the city off the Bath Road.” He indicated on a large map on the wall behind his head. “Share a car will you as they object a bit to paying two lots of mileage when it isn’t necessary. Cheerio.”

  And he was gone. Jean looked at the other two.

  “I haven’t actually got a car yet. I am waiting for Mel’s boyfriend to get me one.”

  Paul noticed Tony’s look and explained.

  “Melissa Corwood is in my unit. Her boyfriend’s got a small lock up and he specialises in supplying 2CV’s. He buys them up cheap over in France half a dozen at a time, gets them running and through the MOT and then flogs them. He also converts them to right hand drive if you really want him to. Mel is his agent, so to speak. She offered to get me one, but I already have a car. I don’t suppose you want one do you?

  Tony remembered the line of 2CV’s that were leaving as he had arrived and shook his head.

  “Does he always paint them such bright colours?” he said.

  Paul grinned at him.

  “Melissa does the painting by hand. She was an Art teacher before she came to us. Different, I think is how she describes them.”

  Tony nodded.

  “Yes, I think different describes them quite well.”

  They picked up their bits and pieces and all trooped back out and down the stairs to the car park.

  “Shall we toss for it to see who gets the mileage?” said Paul.

  Tony thought about the minuscule back seat in the MGB that was only just big enough to take his briefcase and shook his head.

  “No. Lets go in yours today.”

  Paul led the way to an old, dark green Morris Minor with a split windscreen and walking around to the passenger side he unlocked it. Jean, thinking this was a display of male gallantry, went to climb in the open door, but Paul beat her to it and scrambled across to the driver’s seat. He then indicated for Jean to climb into the back and Tony then got in next to Paul.

  “I don’t dare open the drivers door or I might never get it closed again. It fell off in the High Street last month and I got Mel’s bloke to tack weld it shut. It’s a bit inconvenient, but at least it stays with the rest of the car now.”

  He suddenly noticed Tony’s highly polished MGB parked over near the corner of the car park.

  “Now that is what I would like, but it would be a bit inconvenient now we have the baby. That must belong to some visiting Probation Officer. If we got the same salary as they do we could all afford MGB’s instead of old Morris Minors and 2CV’s? It’s not fair really. We have these little tearaways all week while they only see them once a fortnight and get paid three times as much as we do.”

  Tony decided this would not be a good time to own up that the car was his. Let them find out.

  The Morris Minor rattled and shook its way across Bristol to Seagate Farm where they drew up in what had once been the farmyard and all scrambled out of the car. A gang of four youths and a Supervisor, who was built like Sylvester Stallone, were erecting a long wooden, three bar rustic fence. The fence already ran two hundred yards from the farm entrance to the buildings and as the road disappeared over a low rise it was not possible to see how much further it had to go. Tony wondered if some of these lads would spend their whole year doing just this. The supervisor stopped what he was doing as they approached and taking out a highly polished tobacco tin proceeded to make himself a roll up. He lit it and grinned at them from under a fringe of curly blonde hair as they came up to him, the blue eyes full of mischief.

  “Induction tour, is it then?”

  They all nodded, shuffling their feet as new recruits do when faced with someone who already knows the system.

  “Thought so, you all looked too lost to know what you were doing.”

  He applied his lighter once more to his roll up, which had gone out and drew smoke down into his lungs while Tony felt his own recently smoke free lungs expand in sympathy.

  “Who did you come to see, us or the Construction gang?”

  It was Jean that answered him before the other two had a chance. She took a step forward and laid a hand on the other’s muscular forearm.

  “We do have to see the Construction team, but we would be very grateful if you would tell us what it is your team are doing. You see this is our first day and we know very little about how it all works and I am sure you could explain it all beautifully.”

  Tony merely grinned at all this while Paul muttered to him under his breath.

  “Christ, she has gone all wet knickers over a bit of beef cake.”

  It was not said quietly and Jean threw him a look that would have struck him dead on the spot if he had seen it. Tony decided it was time for a bit of Personnel tact.

  “Hi. I’m Tony, that is Jean and this is Paul. As you guessed we are on induction and because of circumstances beyond our control our guide has had to go off somewhere else and leave us on our own. Tell me, how long have you been building this fence?”

 
Gently releasing his arm from Jean’s fingers the blonde Adonis turned to his lads, made a gesture of smoking a cigarette to them and they downed tools, and ambled away to the farm buildings. He turned back to them.

  “ I’m Garth Barlett of Land Use. We take sites that have been neglected and try to restore them to their former glory, as it were. This job has been going on for about eighteen months and will last as long again, but each gang only does about three months here and then goes on to something else. We have only got a couple of weeks to go and then our team is off to build a bridle path through Hobson’s Woods over in Harefield and another lot will take over here. You couldn’t keep these buggers here for a whole year not even if you chained them to the fence. They get bored you see.”

  “How do you like your job, I mean working with teenage boys all the time?”

  Jean had managed to make the words teenage boys sound like a disease and Garth caught it.

  “They are all right as long as they know who is in charge. Most of them have horrendous backgrounds and some of the stories would make you cry, but it is no use letting any of that influence you when you have a job to do. If they ever get a proper job the Boss is not going to make a lot of allowances for them just because their Dad use to knock them about.” He waved an arm in the direction the lads had taken. “They need to know that.”

  He dropped the end of his roll up in the dirt and stamped it out.

  “Come on. I’ll show you where the Construction team are working.”

  He led them of towards the buildings. They passed along the front of what used to be stables from the look of them and around the back of the building. He explained.

  “This used to be a farm, but for the last twenty years has been allowed to go derelict. Then the local Council bought it out, as they wanted a recreational area in the middle of the Seagate Council Estate. The farm buildings came with the land and they want it done up as their meeting place. A Council Chamber up in what used to be the storage loft and what used to be the living quarters and the stables in the downstairs part turned into separate rooms for playgroups and mothers groups etc. We have been at it for two years now, but lack of money and other problems mean it will be another two years before it is finished. The Construction Supervisor is called Bill Frogget by the way.”

  They turned a corner to the back of the building as he was talking. Up the side of the building was an unfinished stairway built of brick. Halfway up was a man laying terracotta tiles on the top of each step while down the bottom six youths sat on the ground looking bored. Garth called out to the man.

  “Bill, these people are here on induction. I will leave them with you now and get my lot back to work before they all nip off while my back is turned.”

  Bill stopped work and glared down at them.

  “How the bloody hell am I supposed to get this job finished on time when all I get is bloody interruptions?”

  The words were addressed to the world at large as he put down his trowel and came down the stairs.

  “Rod Owen sent you did he. I have told him I don’t have time to spend talking all day if he wants this job to be finished on time, not with a bunch of useless kids like this I don’t.”

  He indicated the six youths who just stared at him and then looked away. Paul stepped in.

  “I thought the idea was that they did the work and you supervised.”

  Bill snorted.

  “Them? I have shown them until I am black in the face and they still don’t know one end of a trowel from the other. If I let them loose on this Councillor Bayliss would soon moan that the work was not up to scratch and who would be blamed then? I would. Its all right for Mr Bloody Owen, he doesn’t live in the same road as the councillor.” He waved his arm at the youths. “All this lot are good for is making the bloody tea and then its usually cat’s piss.”

  Tony thought to himself that if he worked for this berk, cat’s piss is exactly what he would get in his tea. He walked over to the boys.

  “What do you think of ACYOPS then, lads?”

  They looked at him with deep suspicion on their faces.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I am. This is my first day as a Supervisor and I would like to know what you think of it.”

  In the background he could hear Bill telling Paul and Jean of the problems he was experiencing with the rubbish kids they sent him to do the job. The boys looked at each other and Tony and then one of them stood up and walked across to him. The others remained where they were sitting with their backs against the wall. The lad looked back at them once for moral support and then turned back to Tony.

  “Well, I only came on ACYOPS because my brother is on it and he said he liked it, see, but he is with another gang and they have a younger bloke teaching them. That old prick,” he waved an arm in Bill’s direction, “only let me have one try at laying bricks and then he told me I was a useless Wally and took the trowel away. It ain’t fair we reckon because I bet he was just as bloody useless himself the first time he used a trowel”

  The others all nodded their agreement and the youth continued.

  “I have to stay here because my old man would kick up if I left the scheme, but usually kids only stay here for a few weeks before they get pissed of and leave. You don’t learn nothing from that old Pratt.”

  Tony wished he had kept his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was to start a mutiny on his first day. At the same time he hoped to God that things were not as bad as this in his area when he eventually got there. He rejoined the others just in time to here Bill saying that if they had asked all the questions he would like to get back to his stairs now. They wandered back to the car and climbed in. Garth and his lads were back at work and he gave them a wave. Paul started the engine of the Morris and then turned in his seat to talk to the others.

  “What do we do now? From what Rod Owen said I thought we would be here all day. If he is off talking to the law about some break in he could be gone for hours. What shall we do? Go back to centre?”

  Tony checked his watch.

  “Its half past twelve. Why don’t we drive back into the City Centre and find a pub where we can have some lunch? I could do with a pie and a pint.”

  The other two were silent, just looking at each other. It was Paul who broke the silence.

  “Look, Tony, its obvious that you have had a good job before you came here, but me and Jean have been out of work for over a year. Until we get paid at the end of the month I don’t think we will be going into any pub for our lunch.”

  He opened his document case and showed Tony what it contained, a packet of sandwiches and a flask. Tony looked at Jean and she just nodded to confirm what Paul had said. Tony fought the desire to blush at his own crassness, and lost.

  “OK guys. Lets find a nice little shop where I can get a bottle of lemonade and some food and then we will drive out to somewhere nice and green and have a picnic, and if we feel like it we can tell each other how we came to this particular strange occupation.”

  The other two smiled and nodded and Paul put the car in gear and drove out of the Farmyard.

  They returned to the Centre at 1:30 PM only to find it deserted except for a girl, who was obviously a trainee, manning the reception desk. With barely a glance at them she informed them brusquely that everyone was over the pub and carried on reading her magazine. They trolled across to the pub across the road and sure enough it was full of weirdly dressed people in their late twenties/early thirties, but none of them were recognisable to them. Paul got quite niggled at this stage and started muttering to himself something along the lines of piss ups and breweries. Jean pretended she couldn’t hear him and suggested they went and waited in the staff room where they had first met this morning. Tony was feeling some sympathy with Paul’s attitude and thought perhaps he had better start on the job hunting trial once more, but for the time being he just agreed with Jean and persuaded Paul that her suggestion would be the best plan of action. They had been sat in th
e staff rest room for about half an hour when Paul Mittons happened to glance through the door. He stopped dead and then came in.

  “What are you lot doing in here, I thought you were supposed to be out on the sites learning about the Construction section?”

  Tony went to answer, but Paul got in first.

  “I don’t know when you last went to Seagate Farm, mate, but there is not enough going on there to keep anyone learning anything for about more than ten minutes. You call this an induction? I would have learned more about Construction trying to rebuild my back garden wall than wasting my time pissing about up there.”

  To Tony’s surprise Paul Mittons gave a big grin. It totally transformed his stern features and made him look about a boyish twenty-five instead of a glowering thirty-five.

  “Bad as that was it? Never mind. Come through to the main office and I will fill you in on how the place really operates and the differences as to what we are supposed to do and what we actually do.”

  “So you see, Tas, as Paul Mittons puts it we can find kids a job doing anything they want as long as it is not against the employment laws and the employer knows what he is letting himself in for.”

  Tas snorted.

  “So you mean that if some little crook is brought to you after being caught stealing cars and says he wants to work in a garage you will try and arrange that.”

  Tony nodded. Tas’ mouth dropped open and then snapped closed.

  “Bloody hell, Tony, I don’t believe it. What garage owner in his right mind would employ a kid who might start nicking his customers cars?” She stared at him. “Or don’t you tell them that?”

  He shrugged, put out by her scathing attitude. When he continued he was on the defensive. It was even worse than Tas thought it was. He decided to come clean.

  “According to Mittons, we as Supervisors are not allowed to tell the employer anything at all about the kids background unless we have their permission.”

  He held up a hand to stop her further outburst of disbelief.

  “However, the way around it is that we tell the kids that we will try to find them a job that they want to do, but in return they must be honest with the employer about their previous convictions or we can’t help them. Otherwise you could imagine the problems we would have if a kid did steal a car from his workplace and we hadn’t told them he already had twenty two convictions for the same offence.”

  She shook her head in complete disbelief.

  “And you think that knowing what they are getting they will still take them on?”

  He shrugged again.

  “I know it seems unbelievable, but they do and it’s not just to get a free pair of hands. The Special Unit in Bath has forty kids placed out at the moment of which twenty three have come from the Probation Service.”

  She shook her head sadly.

  “And I am bloody keeping them.”

  “We are bloody keeping them.” He said gently.

  Without answering she picked up the remote control and switched on the television, conversation at an end.

  After the first bad day the induction had gone quite well and they were not left hanging around again. There had been one dodgy moment when Paul had finally discovered that the MGB belonged to Tony and had made a few comments about the unsuitability of the car for lugging scruffy and often unwashed teenagers around the county, but by then he and Tony were getting on quite well so it didn’t last long. Tony pointed out that the car was twelve years old however good it looked and then took him for a troll around the City Centre with the roof right back and they did a bit of posing in front of the lunch time crowds of office girls. Paul maintained that the only reason Tony had the car was because from a driving position, where his backside was only a few inches above the road, he could see up most of the miniskirts they passed. Tony conceded it was part of the attraction.

  On the last Friday afternoon of induction they had gone to visit the Probation Service offices for Central Bristol. The fact that Sue Mandelow accompanied them for the first time in the fortnight gave them some idea of the importance placed on this visit. At Careers and Social Services they had just been given a contact name and left to fend for them selves. The Probation Service for this area was housed in an old, detached Victorian house, the only one on a tree-lined avenue that had not been converted to flats and bed sits. The original large hallway had been boxed in to form a small office and reception area and a plump and pleasant soul in her mid fifties greeted them.

  “Hello, Sue. Rupert is expecting you. Go straight up to the common room and I will let him know you are here.”

  They trailed up the stairs behind Sue and along a short corridor full of doors with names on them and finally into what had at once been the front master bedroom. This was full of easy chairs, about half of which were occupied by fairly well dressed people drinking tea and eating biscuits. Suits and Twin Sets would not be frowned on here. The occupants were all listening to one of their colleagues who was obviously telling a story about one of his clients. As the speaker was facing the doorway he motioned for them to help themselves to tea and biscuits before continuing with his story. Tony was the last into the room and sunk down in one of the easy chairs out of the way in a corner of the room. The talker was once more back into his story.

  “Anyway, you know the problems we have had with old Moulton in the past. They should never allow these lefties to become Magistrates in my view. Well, this time the beggar was hoist with his own petard. Having asked for a full report from the Probation Service the bloody-minded old coot then totally ignored what it said including our recommendation that a custodial sentence was the only alternative. He merely fined the damn fellow fifty pound and costs, which there is no chance he will ever pay and released him back into our care.”

  He smiled all around the room, confident that he had his audience in the palm of his hand.

  “Anyway, as is usual he gave the plaintiff the benefit of his advise on how a man only becomes successful on hard work and gave the example of his own rags to riches story. It was all said very modestly in the normal Moulton manner. The chap obviously took what he had said to heart because three days later he took a friend along to Moulton’s house while he and his wife were at the theatre and completely emptied it of everything valuable. Police caught him eventually, but by then most of the family heirlooms were long gone.”

  Polite laughter and admiring glances were aimed at the speaker, who having finished his story turned and gave his attention to the visitors.

  “Ah, Susan. How nice to see you. These are your latest recruits are they, come to join the good fight?”

  Sue stood up and almost curtsied. She turned to the three of them.

  “These are Jean Davies, Paul Robins and Tony Filton. This is the Head of Probation for Central Bristol, Rupert Merton.”

  They all struggled up from the depths of their easy chairs, but Rupert Merton did not offer to shake hands, he merely inclined his head to them and indicated they should remain seated. He was a tall slim man in his mid forties and would not have looked out of place dancing attendance on one of the royal family. His suit was immaculate, his hair an even mix of dark grey and silver and his manner polished. In fact, Tony thought, the whole place looked more like the office of a successful law firm than a Probation Office. These thoughts were still going through his mind when he realised that Rupert was actually including them all in what he was saying to Sue and he focused his attention.

  “So you see the number of our clients that fall into your sphere is less than twenty percent of our grand total and only a small number of them we consider would benefit from your little scheme. However, we do concede that you do have your uses and we have had our successes, Eh Susan!”

  Susan smiled and nodded and Rupert smiled around the room at his staff in a paternal fashion. Just then the door opened and a totally different figure came in. He was dressed in a red and white striped tee shirt and blue denim jeans. His carrot coloured red hair
was tied back in a pony tail and both of his pale and freckled arms were covered in beautifully executed tattoos of practically naked women entwined with giant snakes and dragons. He looked to be in his late twenties. Rupert beamed and called to him.

  “Ferdy. I say, Ferdy.” He turned back to them. “You must meet Ferdy.”

  The young man came over to them and stood looking down at them with his hands on his hips. They all abandoned their cups and saucers once more and again struggled to their feet this time to be met with a firm handshake and a pair of smiling grey eyes. Rupert clapped his hand on the young mans shoulder.

  “This is Ferdy and he is our little experiment. Ferdy has a degree in sociology, but decided when he left university that he could make a better living from burglary. That mistake cost him two years of his freedom until they finally released him to our care.” He gave a self-indulgent smile. “I suggested to the powers that be that as Ferdy is an intelligent chap and had obviously seen the error of his ways, why didn’t we make him a Probation Officer.”

  He waited for their reaction and was greeted with three open mouths. Rupert gave a shout of laughter.

  “Don’t you see? Poacher turned gamekeeper. Ferdy can talk to the clients from a level playing field as he is an ex-convict himself.”

  He gazed at them and they shook themselves and gave what they hoped where enlightened gasps of amazement at Rupert’s brilliant concept. He beamed at them and continued.

  “Of course he is only a probationer in both cases, if you see what I mean.”

  Ferdy’s gentle smile had not changed during all this. It was Paul that recovered his voice.

  “I see. That’s brilliant. Tell me, if this is successful do you see all future Probation Officers being recruited because of their criminal experiences? I mean, it would make sense if they knew where their clients were coming from, if you see what I mean?”

  Paul gave Rupert the smile of a hungry piranha. Rupert quite obviously did not see what he meant and glanced at the tattoos on Paul’s fingers while he tried to decide if he was asking for a job or taking the piss. His ego decided it must be a job Paul was after and he moved quickly to quash the idea.

  “I hardly think so. I think every large office could have a junior member who has criminal experience in order to show the world that we are primarily into rehabilitation and not, as many unenlightened think, only punishment. But I do not think the public would ever agree to what you are suggesting.” He glanced at his watch and then gave them a thin smile. “I must get back to the grindstone.”

  They were dismissed. As they all trooped out of the room Sue grabbed a couple of the Probation Officers to introduce them to Paul, who would be working in the City Centre while Jean and Tony went downstairs and climbed into Paul’s Morris Minor. When he joined them some ten minutes later they drove back to the Centre, agreeing on the way that Rupert had been a condescending pillock and that they hoped he wasn’t representative of the entire service. Unfortunately they were to find he was not unique.