The Opportunities of Youth

by Donald Phillips

Chapter Nine

  The Training Course, October 1982

  “I will see you next Friday evening then,” said Tas as Tony lifted her suitcase up onto the train for her. She kissed him quickly and hurried off to try and find a seat. Wishful thinking on the morning commuter train to Bristol and they both knew it. Tony stood and watched the train pull out before leaving the platform and returning to his car. He drove out of the station and took the old Bristol road. By coincidence he had a weeklong course at the Filton Polytechnic on Health and Safety. He had explained patiently to the Health and Safety man for the whole ACYOP scheme, Derek Riddles that he was actually running health and safety a couple of years ago for a company that at that time had some two thousand employees. Derek had just nodded and handed him the course notes and classroom details.

  “Listen Tony, with one exception, me, everybody scheduled to take this course has explained to me why they cannot or need not take this course. If I let just one of you buggers miss it they will all want to. See you at ten o’clock next Monday morning.”

  Tony took the papers and nodded.

  “OK Derek. I’ll be there.”

  Derek was a medium height slim man in his fifties who in normal life seemed practically invisible. He appeared to have had any sense of humour he had ever possessed surgically removed although Tony understood that doing his job, among the likes of the Cheryl Baxters of this world, would not cause him much hilarity. Tony had recently turned this built seriousness to his own advantage. Whenever he was given a new kid by Cheryl, and he now had thirty-four, if he did not like the placement they were in he would ring up Derek for helpful advice. When he told Derek of a kid who was working in a placement he thought was exploiting them, he would ask Derek for clarification of the rules. He would then take that clarification to the placement and explain what had to change. As the placement had not been given any details of what they could or could not do this usually resulted in a bit of a set too.

  The placement provider would either be very contrite and apologetic, only one of those so far, or angry and apoplectic, six of those. Either way it worked out well for Tony. Either the placement started to take their responsibility seriously or they told Tony to shove his scheme and he moved the trainee out to a different placement and always informed Derek by memo of the outcome. Derek began to like Tony as one of the few supervisors who took him seriously. Cheryl had been furious every time he took a trainee out of a placement and would ring him up and demand he took the trainee back. Tony would refer her to Derek.

  The first couple of times she had then lied to Derek about the placement turning on her little girl voice and asking him if he really believed that she, Cheryl Baxter, Senior Supervisor would possibly have placed some child in her care in an unsuitable placement. The second time she did this Derek had rung Tony to ask him about it. Tony had asked him if he was busy the next morning. When he said not really too busy Tony had suggested he might like to have the morning in the clear clean air of Weston-Super-Mare. Derek could have a look at the placement and then Tony would buy him a pub lunch.

  It was actually the first time he had actually met Derek face to face, but the man’s telephone manner had told him that Derek would play everything by the rules. He welcomed him into his office when he arrived and asked Angela if she could get him a cup of tea. They swapped work experiences of when they had both had “proper jobs” and got on quite well. Tony’s guess that Derek was fed up of the lack of respect for his position by a group of bloody failed teachers was exactly what he expected and wanted and he sympathised with the difficulties of getting cooperation from a bunch of people who had never worked in industry or even the real world. When Derek had finished his tea Tony took him to see the placement.

  This was a pig farm. It was probably the filthiest pig farm in Britain if not the world. It stank so much that you could smell it the moment you turned into the drive. It had three hundred pigs in two long buildings that were actually old wartime Nissen hut barracks. The pigs were fed on swill made up of all the chuck outs and leavings from the various schools and hotels, which in Weston were legion. The two brothers that owned the farm spent much of the day collecting this waste in a small open backed tipper lorry. This lorry then backed up a ramp and tipped their loads into a large steel, lidless container. This was the swill cooker. It was heated from below by gas and once it had been topped up with water was lit to boil up the swill. When the swill was considered ready the container was then tipped over by a chain driven arrangement to deposit the swill into a channel that ran downhill to the two huts. There was a swivel gate that allowed you to direct the stream of swill into whichever hut you wanted.

  On the way over in the car Tony had asked Derek what Cheryl had told him about the place. Derek said she had been very enthusiastic about it stating that it was a modern pig farm owned by two young forward looking brothers. The trainee was learning from people at the cutting edge of animal husbandry and what was even more important, he enjoyed the job.

  Tony knew that the last statement was true. The trainee started at seven in the morning, which was one hour before the permitted time and ran the swill cooker until one o’clock. After this he would go to the pub over the road and the brothers would buy him a sandwich and a couple of pints. For a sixteen-year-old lad who came from a very poor area of the town it was heaven. He was paid twenty-seven pounds fifty by the government to go to work. He was practically his own boss while he was there. He was finished work at one o’clock when he was fed and given two pints of beer. Tony had not told Derek about the pub or anything else. Only that he was a bit concerned about the safety of the place.

  When Tony stopped the car and they stepped out into the yard he avoided looking at Derek. He allowed the place to speak for itself. Derek stood there frozen for nearly half a minute and then visibly shook himself. He walked forward towards the ramp where they could see a figure operating some machinery. It was Peter Rose, the trainee, tipping the swill down into the channel that fed the pig houses. He looked up and saw them

  “Hello Tony, if you want Dave and Mike they will be back in a bit. Can’t stop as I have got to get this lot tipped out so they can tip the new stuff into the boiler.”

  Tony raised a hand in acknowledgement. Derek had recovered himself and was stalking around the edge of the boiler making sure he stayed at least a metre from the edge. Peter operated the chain drive and brought the swill tub back to the level position. He stepped over to them casually walking within a few inches of the edge of the tub, smiling. Derek went up to him and asked just as casually if he was alone and Peter said yes, most of the time. Derek asked him if he could show him how everything worked. Peter glanced at Tony who nodded and off they went. They were gone for nearly thirty minutes during which time Tony wandered around taking as shallow breathes as he could and wishing he had not given up smoking, anything to cover the smell of the place. He knew he would have to go home at lunchtime and change if he wanted to make any visits in the afternoon. And put his suit into the dry cleaners. As he was mulling this over Derek and Peter came back and a battered and filthy small tipper lorry drove into the yard.

  If the smell had been bad before it was now even worse with the arrival of some fresh material. Dave and Mike Farrell got out of the cab and walked over to where they stood. Tony had only met the brothers once before when he had first visited the place. He had told them they should not leave the kid alone with such dangerous machinery and their response had been amazement. They had been doing this for years. Where was the danger?

  He started to speak, but Derek got there first. He explained who he was and why he was there. It was his job to do spot safety checks of placements and that was what he had done. He explained without any histrionics why their farm was not a suitable placement and when they started to protest went through a lengthy list of health and safety regulations they were currently breaking and would have to put right before they could have a trainee. Tony listened and realised that what Derek was act
ually saying was that the whole place should be pulled down and rebuilt from scratch. The brothers went into shock, but because of the calm and controlled way Derek had handled it there were no fireworks. They walked away a bit, chatted together, and then came back. Dave had obviously been elected spokesman.

  “How much do you buggers pay our Peter, then?” The accent was pure Somerset.

  Tony responded.

  “Twenty seven pounds fifty a week.”

  They both looked stunned. Mike found his voice first.

  “Is that all? Jesus Christ that is bloody robbery.”

  Tony defended it.

  “It is a training allowance. It is more than the dole and it is to subsidise his learning how to do a proper job in a proper environment.”

  Dave came back in.

  “This is a bloody proper job. This is our bloody living.”

  Derek’s turn again.

  “ We know that, but we are responsible for his safety. If he fell into that unguarded boiler while you were out getting the next load we would all be in the dock.”

  They considered this for a moment. Dave leaned close to his brother and whispered in his ear. Mike looked at him for a while and then nodded. Dave turned to Derek and Tony.

  “Its Friday innit. You take him back to that school of yours and sign him off your scheme.” He looked at Peter and held a hand up before continuing. “When they have done that you go down to the employment office and tell them you just got a permanent job. Thirty-five quid a week, alright?”

  Derek started to tell them their premises were still breaking the law, but Tony put his hand on his arm to stop him.

  They were in Tony’s office after a pub lunch when Derek said it.

  “You knew what I was walking into didn’t you. Why didn’t you warn me what I was walking into?”

  Tony smiled.

  “I am sorry about that, but my guess was that sweet little Cheryl had told you about what a big bad monster I was and that she was giving the impression that she thought I was just making a scene to get at her. Helpless little Cheryl.”

  Derek nodded.

  “Yes, I suppose that was about it. I don’t suppose the lying sod had ever been to the place and that Roy set it up. It looks like one of his, but that kid is still in danger you know."

  Tony shrugged.

  “That kid is as happy as the rest of the pigs in that shitty place and because of you and me at least he has a real job. He is their responsibility from now on and if you are really worried I am sure you can find someone to ring up and share your worries with. As for me I have got a kid a job, lost a risky placement and stopped the beautiful, but wicked and twisted Miz Baxter using one of my trainees to get at me. I think that’s a good result.”

  “Mrs Baxter”

  “Pardon?”

  “I said she is Mrs Baxter. Her husband is a art teacher at one of the Bristol Comprehensives”

  “Poor Bastard,” said Tony with heartfelt sympathy.

  Tony was still thinking about the incident when he swung the car onto the slip road for the M6 and headed for Bristol College. He had three months of this only seeing Tas at the weekends and looking after himself all week with just the television for company coming and he wasn't looking forward to it. He vowed to pop into the Library in Weston to join and get some books out to keep him occupied in the evening. It had to be better than television or becoming a regular down the pub. As it was he only went to the pub on skittles night and Fridays with Tas for a meal and that was enough for him up until this point. Of course he could start playing snooker two nights a week, but although he enjoyed that he did just for relaxation while Tas was around at Janet’s sharing the gossip. It was that or spending the evening talking to her husband, Peter and he didn't think he could stand listening again to his tales of life in the army air core..

  Filton College appeared and Tony found the right car park and left the MGB there. He then concentrated on finding the right room. It was on the top floor and was a corner room. This made it nice and bright. Most of the ACYOP staff were sitting in their chairs reading one of the tabloids or in about half of the cases, The Guardian, or The Socialist Bible as Tony had heard it called once. Derek met him at the door and told him to sit anywhere. Tony noticed with a smile that the front row of desks was empty just like in a real school.

  He settled in, opened his brief case and then took out a pad and a couple of pencils for making notes. It was very quiet in the room considering there were nearly forty people there. Tony glanced towards the lecturer and realised he had met him before. He had actually come to Grunwold Pumps to do probably this same course for the shop floor supervisors. He tried desperately to remember the man’s name. Harry something. It was something very ordinary. "Harry Smith, no, Harry Jones." He remembered the slight Welsh accent. The man looked up and saw him, but took no notice. Then his face recognition software must have kicked in because Tony knew he too was wondering if they knew each other. Derek stepped up to the front of the room and started the proceedings

  “OK everyone it is ten o’clock and time to get started.” He turned to his right. “This is Harry Jones who is the Senior Safety lecturer for Avon County Council. What he doesn’t know about the subject is zero. I know some of you are here under protest and some of you already have a good knowledge of health and safety, but if you do this job you have to attend the course. Best try and get something out of it.”

  One or two were still looking at their papers. Derek got military.

  “Now put the bloody papers away or I shall mark you down as absent because you might as well be if you are reading the paper.”

  He stood and stared them down until the papers were put away. Then he turned again.

  “OK Harry, all yours.”

  “Do we have to sit in these chairs all week?”

  The speaker was a long thin man dressed in a checked shirt and corduroy trousers. He was a Guardian reader and the Union Convener. Tony knew this because on Sue Mandelowe’s advice he had joined on his second morning of induction. This too had caused great mirth from Tas who had asked when he was going to make up his mind which side he was on. The man’s name was Robin Foulkes. Behind his back most people referred to him as Robin Redbreast because of his political leanings. Harry Jones looked at him.

  “Well yes, I suppose you do.”

  “They are not padded and a whole week sat on these will cause distress to those of us who are lightly built. I think they should be changed.”

  Harry Jones realised that this was a face off and responded.

  “Then I suggest you fold up the donkey jacket you have on the back of your chair and use it as a cushion. I will wait for one minute while you do that and then I am afraid we will have to start without you.”

  Foulkes knew that he was stymied. The jacket was already looking pretty tired as it was. Also it had been provided by Avon County so he was out of argument. He shrugged and left the jacket on the back of his chair and Harry Jones got to work. Tony realised that some months ago such stupid and juvenile behaviour would have amazed him. Now he just expected it and was thankful that none of his kids were being taught anything by Pratts like these.

  Jones was good at his job and had done it often enough before to know how to work a reluctant audience. He started off with some contentious statements that were calculated to raise hackles and cause anger. His subject was why the legislation was actually necessary. His view was that people were idle and lazy and took short cuts, which led to dangerous practises. He seemed to blame the whole act on this and kept it up for several minutes until in the end one course member could take it no longer and challenged what he said. He ignored her and continued to speak.

  “Answer the question,” shouted a voice.

  Other voices joined in. Harry stood and looked at them as though surprised. He waited for the noise to run down. He pointed at the girl who had first questioned what he was saying.

  “I think it was you who asked the first qu
estion young lady. Would you like to repeat it?”

  The woman was a little disturbed by being picked out, but repeated her question. They were sat in four rows as the first row only held Tony. Harry ignored the first row and counted the course members. Forty-two. He went back to the front of the room.

  “OK the nearest ten people to?” he hesitated and the woman said “Grace.”

  Tony realised that it was amazing Grace from his first day of induction. Harry Jones said,

  “OK. The nearest nine people to Grace join her and you have ten minutes to decide why what I said was wrong. Oh Yeah, elect a spokesman to stand up and speak for you at the end of the ten minutes. If you want to you can move your desks so that you can all see each other because we may have to do this again if you are going to disagree with everything I say.”

  This was a direct challenge and the scrape of furniture buried all other sounds. Harry Jones waited until the noise level dropped and then addressed the rest of the room who were by now looking left out. He raised his hands for attention.

  “Anything else I said that you like to disagree with.”

  Hands shot up like it was a class of ten year olds facing a quiz on Walt Disney films. Two minutes later Harry Had four groups of what had been reluctant supervisors fiercely debating which had been the biggest load of bollocks he had uttered and why. Harry gave a little smile and walked over to where he sat. Tony gave a rueful grin.

  “Worked on our supervisors Harry, but I didn’t think it would work on this lot.”

  Harry smiled at him.

  “I can’t remember where we met”

  “Grunwold Pumps,” said Tony. "Four years ago."

  “Tony Filton,” said Harry. “ What on earth are you doing with this lot?”

  Tony was about to respond when someone grabbed his arm. It was the receptionist from head office.

  “You used to be in Personnel, Tony. We need you.”

  She pulled him over to her group and introduced him while Tony wondered that if she knew all about his past who the hell else had read his CV:

  By eleven o’clock the course was in full swing. Harry’s method was to give the groups problems regarding health and safety and then let them argue it out among themselves until they had an answer. Then each group put up a spokesperson to give their point of view. The other three groups then question the presenting group if they felt the need to and they invariably felt the need to. Then the next group presented their answers and went through the same process. Harry just refereed and kept them on course. It was all going well when Cheryl Baxter walked in. It was quite an entrance.

  Cheryl was dressed in what Tony could only describe as a shepherdess outfit. It was cut very low at the front as usual but was considerably shorter as her many layered skirt finished just a little higher than midway between knee and crotch. On her feet she had high heeled, open sandals and on her head a small woollen hat. In her hands, held out in front of her like she was a bridesmaid, was a bunch of flowers and over her shoulder she carried a large bag.

  She walked up to the nearest group and appropriated a desk and chair, which she moved into the centre of the room. She placed the bunch of flowers, which it turned out were in a small vase on the front of her desk. She then unzipped the large shoulder bag. From it she took out a bowl, a spoon, a small pack of cereal and a carton of milk. She put the cereal into the bowl, poured on the milk and then sat down and began to eat. The rest of the group had noticed her by now, but most of them decided the best course of action was not to get involved. Cheryl continued to eat steadily while watching the action of the various groups with a small smile and shaking her head in disbelief. When she had finished she wiped out the bowl with a napkin and returned everything to her bag. She then picked up the bag and the flowers and walked out without a backward glance. That was her one and only appearance at the course.

  Throughout the rest of the week Tony had to fend of various questions about Cheryl. After all he worked with her didn’t he. He stayed as neutral as he could explaining that he had only met her twice and had never actually had a conversation with her except one time over the telephone. They all found this very hard to believe at first, but he merely pointed to her behaviour during her thirty-minute attendance at the course. Left unsaid was that anyone who could behave like that was not quite your normal personality. The good thing was that Tony’s isolation was over. He may have to work alone, which he actually preferred, but he know knew over forty of the ACYOP supervisors on first name terms. For that alone it had been worth attending.

  On the Friday night he had stayed in Bristol to meet Tas off the London train direct and save her changing trains in Bristol to get home. On the drive back from Bristol he had listened to her eager chatter about head office and the various places the other staff had taken her for lunch everyday. They were about five minutes from home when she finally asked him how the course went. He said how he had made a lot of contacts with the other supervisors and the he told her about the Cheryl Baxter incident. He had expected some laughter, disbelief or even amazement. What he got was thirty seconds of silence followed by.

  “I shall be glad when you leave that madhouse.”

  They drove the rest of the way home in silence.