A
personal account of over 40 years’ experience in the residential
child service in the United Kingdom, based on involvement in the
services as a practitioner and manager.
Names and places have been changed for obvious reasons.
"Finding
The Skills For The Job"
This
was living and learning. I was at a seminar, in 1965, in a big house
in Broadstairs organised by the Home Office Central Training Council
in Child Care.
I
had a comfortable bedroom with a sea view, though no en suite, and
good wholesome regular meals. On top of this I had the company of
thirty fellow residential child care staff, with varying levels
of responsibility in their separate work places, and the guidance
of two Home Office Tutors. And no kids to spoil it. What more could
a Housefather Class 2 ask for!
Training
a Priority
Training
for residential child care staff was recognised by central Government,
in the shape of the Home office, as important. There were full-time
courses and a number of residentially based short course events
throughout the year. In 1966 there were fourteen one-year courses
in England & Wales leading to the Certificate in the Residential
Care of Children and Young People (CRCCYP) and two advanced courses,
one at Bristol University and the other at the University of Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
Despite
these training opportunities and an insistence by the Home Office
that all Housemasters and Housemistresses who were appointed had
to be suitable to undergo training at a later date, the Williams
Report (1967) found that only 15% of residential staff were qualified.
Banter
at Broadstairs
Anyway,
back to Broadstairs. There was a refreshing honesty and enthusiasm
around then and a belief that things would get better for the profession
and for children. An example of this was a discussion on the use
of physical punishment.
Ned
Brown was on his feet, telling us all how physical punishment of
children was wrong and was bad for the person who used it as well
as for the children. Suddenly up jumped a colleague from the North
West.
“Ned
Brown, how can you say all that? You’re the biggest bloody
basher in the game”!
“Was
maybe, Frank, was, but probably not the biggest,” replied
Ned.
I
was amazed at the bluntness and the allegation but everyone else,
including Ned Brown and the Home Office Tutors, seem to take it
in their stride.
I
continued to attend these courses from time to time and found them
stimulating and informative. I was keen to learn the skills needed
to do the job well and eventually, in 1966, I was able to go on
a full time training course, but more of that in a further episode.
Comparing
Pay
Back
at Pink House, the boys’ Remand Home and Classifying School
where I was employed, Simon Trotter, a Teacher, was at his care
worker baiting tricks again. He and a number of teaching colleagues
were
sitting in the staff room at break.
“My
God, Robo, my tax deductions this month are awful,” he declared,
waving his pay slip in the air.
“Must
be over a hundred pounds. Still that’s something you don’t
have to worry about, Greeny”, he added, looking at me. “Your
total pay each month is barely a hundred pounds, what?” I
gave a sick smile; unfortunately he was right..
Despite
this warped sense of humour, most of the care staff had reasonable
relationships with the Teachers , although it would be untrue to
say that we did not sometimes resent their pay and conditions of
service. They even got paid fifteen hours’ overtime for doing
some out of school hours work in the house units.
A
Character
There
was a Teacher I worked with from time to time who was a rather bizarre
character. He could be seen walking the corridors with a group of
twenty or more boys in tow and they would not be uttering a word.
Or, if you walked by his classroom, you would find him standing
at the door like a hotel commissionaire, with all the boys inside
working away intensely.
His
methods of control were most unorthodox and completely bemused most
of the boys and staff. They could not read him, unsure whether he
was serious or unhinged. For example, he would begin a class by
putting on a hat and in a deadpan voice saying, “Right, boys,
you will notice I am wearing a three-cornered hat. On it you will
see some writing. If I flick round like so, you will see it says,
‘Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest’. This means
I am very cross, so beware. If I flick it round, like so, you will
see it says, ‘Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum,’ and that
means I am happy and I might even smile”. No wonder the boys
preferred to get on with their set work.
When
he came on duty with me I willingly went along with his act as it
led to a quiet shift.
“Good
afternoon, Mr. Greene,” he would greet me in front of the
assembled group of boys aged 10-13. “This looks like a troublesome
group of boys.”
“No,
Mr. Stans; they are very well behaved,” I would reply.
“Oh,
I can’t believe that. In fact I’m prepared to bet that
by bedtime at least six of them will have lost a conduct point.”
At
this the boys would straighten up and show their resolve not to
let Mr. Stans win his bet.
A
bit later in the afternoon Mr. Stans would come to me and say in
a loud whisper, “You know, Mr. Greene, I am beginning to feel
a fool. None of these boys is misbehaving.”
I
realise now that Sam Stans was a rather odd character and he certainly
was not interested in forming any helping relationship with the
boys, but in those days not everyone subscribed to the belief that
developing relationships was part of the teachers’, or even
the care workers’, job.
I
suspect that if Pink House had been a long stay unit Sam Stans’s
antics would have been rumbled but, as it was, he was just another
of the colourful characters in a cast of staff looking after an
the even more interesting and complex group of children and young
people who passed through the establishment.
But
Pink House was not just about assessing and trying to glean the
right path for the boys placed there. It was also where carers and
teachers could discover their suitability for a job that was to
become increasingly tougher and more personally demanding.
