Vagueness and the Aftermath - A sporadic diary

[RED-DOG]

It's a wild night here.

A freezing northerly wind is whipping through panic stricken trees. Screaming fury as it flings itself against the flimsy walls of my caravan.
Creaking in protest, they flex and they bend. The floor moves, but to my preconditioned senses, this very act of yielding is reassuring. It's like a serf bowing his head to a great ruler. It says "Go in peace, I'm not here to oppose you."  

Big fat raindrops ping off the tin roof or splat against the windows in short staccato bursts, like soft wet machine gun bullets.

Everyone is asleep. I douse the light to better see outside, and the darkness is absolute.
Kneeling on the floor, I shuffle slowly forward until my nose makes contact with the streaming pane. I stare, but I see nothing.

I wait for my eyes to adjust to the blackness. It's a pleasant wait. I'm lost in the sound of the storm, and in the motion of my little world.

My dog, conscious of my unusual behaviour, rouses herself and comes over for reassurance. She rests her head against my leg and I scratch her ear.  

I wait a long time. Nothing.

There is a brief lull in the storm, no more than a second or two, and I see the dark silhouette of a frenzied tree thrown into sharp relief against the small patch of pale sky momentarily illuminated by a glimpse of the waxing crescent moon.

The moon itself seems to ride upon the clouds, pitching and rolling like a boat riding the waves.

The darkness returns.

I continue to stare, looking slowly over the image that remains clearly visible in my minds eye. Something about the scene is puzzling me, tugging at my mind from somewhere within my subconscious.

Then, all at once, I have the answer.

"The moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas"

My late father had described this moon in a poem he wrote as a boy, almost seventy years ago. Tonight was my turn to see it as he did.

The ability to see things a little differently, to live life a little differently, is the legacy of a Gypsy.  

It was my dads legacy to me, and to future generations.

The dog gave a contented sigh and leaned more heavily against my leg.

I turned away from the window and smiled into the darkness.

 
  

[bobAlike]

 

That's fantastic Tom.

[sovietsong]

Wow!!

[Kev B]

A Gem.

[RED-DOG]

14st 10½lb

[Laxie]

Thank you for such a lovely read first thing in the morning.

And well done getting to the green again!!!

[RED-DOG]

14st 9¾lb

[kinboshi]

14st 9¾lb

The Amazing Vanishing Man. 

Be quick and come and see him, before he vanishes altogether.

[RED-DOG]

14st 9lb

[boldie]

14st 9lb

going along nicely..keep it up Sir.

I reckon telling us another story or two would really help your weightloss.

[RED-DOG]

14st 9lb

going along nicely..keep it up Sir.

I reckon telling us another story or two would really help your weightloss.

Have to go to work Mr B. Busy busy busy....


Speaking of work, this does an excellent job of highlighting some of the issues I'm dealing with.


I recently came across a blog on Travellers in care. This referred to research by Dan Allen, a Research Student at Demontfort University. Dan had contacted every LA (Leaving Care Managers and Service managers of C&YP services) in Britain in 2008 and 2009 asking about the position of Traveller children in their care. He did not receive one positive response.

In the blog, Jayne ***** from Stockton-on-Tees Council contributed the following;

“I am a social worker and have been raised within the travelling community. I began my career ten years ago in children and family work in Bradford then moved to Adoption and Fostering work.  I have been working in palliative care for four years and am now employed as a community Macmillan Social Worker in Stockton.

Sadly I tend not to challenge discrimination and prejudice of traveller these days.  Community care mag published a piece about my parents battle to live on their own land.  I was a consultant for an adoption case to put a slant on cultural issues.  I hear derogitory comments about travellers several times a week from clients and professionals. I wrote an essay 10 years ago about travellers and gypsies being quoted as being 'the most reviled ethnic group in the UK'.  From my experience I can't argue with that.  The ignorance is heartbreaking when I consider what a colourful and interesting upbringing I have had.  The other side to this is that travellers don't always help themselves.  You can't always defend the indefensible and even my own father who has made a living from going to fairs like Appleby has all but boycoted going  again due to behaviours which are slipping.

Still, I recall the day (the only day) when I sat in my car in Bradford after a visit to a travellling famliy and wept.  Four children in a 14 ft trailer with broken windows and no heating.  Housing did not want to know.  I had to argue as to why this family were expected to live in third world conditions in the 21st century. They got rehoused to a block of flats primarily used for asylum seekers.  No schools, no health services, no real support.  The day I called the kids were carrying plastic bags down the stairs with a few rags in.  One particular little girl of about 6 years with a becoming smile told me they were moving. I gave her a lipstick out of my bag I think out of shame at the situation this family were in. I lost a lot of hope for the future at that very point in time.

I often wonder how my knowledge of the situation and family values influenced my management of the case for not once did I consider case conferences or care orders.  Travellers like privacy and in many ways prefer to be on the fringes of society so support can easily be viewed as oppressive and intrusive.  Despite my background and knowledge I knew that in this families eyes I was a representative of state power. The enemy.  It's difficult to know how a relationship of trust can begin when professionals bad mouth travellers on a regular basis.  I went to an educational session around Domestic Violence where the role play referred to an actress as a 'dirty pikey'.  I challenged the contents of the 'training' both verbally and in writing and got a written apology. It made me wonder how far we had come in terms of respect for diversity.  Not very far.

I don't know what the answer is Dan. Despite this semi rant I am so proud to be part the of the travelling community.  We look after our own very well and family loyalty is unrivelled.

I have considered looking at research for travellers and accessing health care and in particular looking at cancer and how travellers access services but day to day cases prevent the time to dedicate to this at present.”

 

[tikay]

This Diary gets better & better, Tom in a reflective mood is like listening to one's Dad.

[boldie]

Amazing really isn't it how it is still perceived to be OK to discriminate against one group in society..Noone considers it OK to discriminate this way against Black or Asian people anymore (Noone in their right mind, I have to add) but you still hear this a lot. "Pikey bastards" is still a phrase I come across a lot in my industry and companies I deal with...you never hear the same people say "Fucking N*ggers" though. Admittedly we have had a few issues with travellers stealing stuff our guys have left on Telecomms sites but no more than we have with ned vandalism.

[tikay]

14st 9lb

What's the target weight, Tom?

[tikay]

It's a wild night here.

A freezing northerly wind is whipping through panic stricken trees. Screaming fury as it flings itself against the flimsy walls of my caravan.
Creaking in protest, they flex and they bend. The floor moves, but to my preconditioned senses, this very act of yielding is reassuring. It's like a serf bowing his head to a great ruler. It says "Go in peace, I'm not here to oppose you."  

Big fat raindrops ping off the tin roof or splat against the windows in short staccato bursts, like soft wet machine gun bullets.

Everyone is asleep. I douse the light to better see outside, and the darkness is absolute.
Kneeling on the floor, I shuffle slowly forward until my nose makes contact with the streaming pane. I stare, but I see nothing.

I wait for my eyes to adjust to the blackness. It's a pleasant wait. I'm lost in the sound of the storm, and in the motion of my little world.

My dog, conscious of my unusual behaviour, rouses herself and comes over for reassurance. She rests her head against my leg and I scratch her ear.  

I wait a long time. Nothing.

There is a brief lull in the storm, no more than a second or two, and I see the dark silhouette of a frenzied tree thrown into sharp relief against the small patch of pale sky momentarily illuminated by a glimpse of the waxing crescent moon.

The moon itself seems to ride upon the clouds, pitching and rolling like a boat riding the waves.

The darkness returns.

I continue to stare, looking slowly over the image that remains clearly visible in my minds eye. Something about the scene is puzzling me, tugging at my mind from somewhere within my subconscious.

Then, all at once, I have the answer.

"The moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas"

My late father had described this moon in a poem he wrote as a boy, almost seventy years ago. Tonight was my turn to see it as he did.

The ability to see things a little differently, to live life a little differently, is the legacy of a Gypsy.  

It was my dads legacy to me, and to future generations.

The dog gave a contented sigh and leaned more heavily against my leg.

I turned away from the window and smiled into the darkness.

 
  

How long did it take you to write that, Tom?

How many times did you tweak & fettle it?

How do you feel about sloppily composed Posts?