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Production Line.

Still very very very dry here in Yorkshire.

Students with Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) are significantly more likely to be excluded from school than their peers. Data shows that pupils with Education, Health and Care (EHC) plans are five times more likely to be excluded, while autistic students make up the largest specific SEND group facing exclusion.

The school I went to all those millennia ago was truly AWFUL. A look back at its alumni and you can find one quite famous magician and an array of convicted felons, that’s it really. It was that bad, that every few years they would rename the School in a desperate attempt to erase all the bad memories and headlines. One strip of waste land maybe 50 yards square, with hardly any grass served as the football, rugby, athletics and cricket pitch. Half of the classrooms seemed to be permanently closed off due to a combination of leaking roofs and asbestos in the walls. Rumour has it there was a library but I never found it in 5 years. There was some great teachers, but just not enough of them, leading to massive class sizes.

At that time there was a national push for every student to learn a foreign language. Problem was that just after I started, one of the two language teachers left and was never replaced. Maybe it was a budget issue, maybe it was just the prospect of teaching our rabble. As attractive a career move as the poor sods sent in with a bucket to feed the Raptors in Jurassic Park. So half the kids learnt a language and the other half (including me) did something loosely called European Studies. Randomly shown pictures of various national flags and European Capital Cities for two years, zero exposure to any foreign languages.

Fast forward to Hawklad’s school days. He wanted to learn a language but the problem was that the school didn’t have enough teaches to offer individualised learning, AND actually weren’t allowed to. Languages had to be taught in a set way, one standard production line. If the teaching method didn’t work for the student, then tough…. At that time his dyslexia meant that he just couldn’t follow the text book method. We asked if he could switch to a graphical approach, something like Rosetta Stone, but the school refused. As he dropped so far behind eventually the school informed us that he would be removed from Foreign Language learning . A phrase sticks with me ‘one less subject for him to worry about’. It wasn’t just French, same thing happened in Computing. The classroom IT teaching was focused obsessively on Coding. Trying to accurately type words into a computer while trying to keep up with the class was a nightmare for Hawklad. The School again would not consider different teaching approaches, so inevitably the letter came saying ‘one less subject for him to worry about’. The School had classes organised on assessed performance levels. Sadly to be in the ‘Bottom Set’ seemed to consign the student to the educational scrap heap, no prospect of getting any positive final exam results. Teaching in that Class was often more about minimising trouble and disruption.

The scary thing is that unlike the dreadful school I went to, Hawklad’s School had a great reputation. It was always highly rated for its teaching by the National Auditors. The School clearly knew exactly what it would be assessed on and made sure it was good in those areas. It delivered on the prescribed national schooling production lines and it didn’t seem to matter if a few students dropped out of those production lines along the way…. How many are getting disillusioned, discouraged and disaffected within our schools.

ITV News has found that many parents of SEND pupils are increasingly opting to deregister their child due to poor provisions within the state sector.

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Strikes

Walking on the Moors and another childhood memory floods back in. Walking above the wonderfully named village, Chop Gate. In the distance the huge Bilsdale Transmitter. Before Satellite and Cable, that mast sent out the TV signal across North Yorkshire and Teesside and when I was a kid, to our little black and white family TV. Every Lightning strike here (and there was many) and we lost our 3 TV channels (Hawklad thinks I’m joking when I say only THREE channels). It was radio or nowt for days, sometimes weeks,until some poor soul, climbed this monolith and fixed it. It’s over 300 metres to the top. No internet back then to keep you constantly informed of service restoration, Dad just would keep the TV on, static relentlessly flickering across the screen, waiting patiently. I remember Dad setting off to the Working Men’s Club and leaving me on TV watch, with instructions to come and fetch him if it came back on. He didn’t want to miss the Horse Racing and Wrestling. I wanted it back on as well, they scrolled the latest football scores across the bottom of the screen while the likes of Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks lumbered across the ring. I lived with the faint hope that my so called football team would manage to actually win a match. Bilsdale got hit by lightning more times than that happened…..

Chop Gate, pronounced here as, ‘Chop Yat’ is a proper Moors Village. If we had been a day later, Hawklad could have seen his first Brass Band concert in the Village Hall.

A few minutes steep climb and you are in the wilderness.

We walked for 3 hours and only encountered sheep. Even walking through the village, we never saw another soul. It’s wonderful that we still have places like this in our crazy, mad world.

We so need places like this. Trump Free Zones……Quiet, Peaceful, Unspoiled.

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Easter Storm

Easter brought more rain, thankfully some Sun and a Storm. 90mph winds brought some trees, some poor folks lost their roof slates and chimneys. One household in the next village lost a large stone chimney, which crashed down conveniently perfectly between two cars parked 3 ft apart underneath. Not a scratch on either vehicle.

A common sight currently around here is Farmers walking around fields like this, checking just how wet the fields are. Like this Field, very very very WET indeed.

As one of the Farmers said to me, ‘Not Good, Way TOO WET. Over my Boots in places. Ducks have even moved into one of my Fields, I wonder if they are cheaper and easier to keep than Sheep.’

That took me back.

When I was a kid, my Dad decided to build a goldfish pond in the garden. I’m not sure Mum was entirely impressed by the eventual size of the pond, Dad had a tendency to get carried away with his plans. It was a big old pond in what was a not very big garden. Only problem was as soon as Dad had filled it with water, two ducks arrived from out of nowhere and claimed Squatters Rights. On and off, we had those ducks for weeks. These days, I would have shed loads of photos to show you those ducks but not back then. No photos, just faded memories. Thankfully I can still see those Ducks and the Pond, but only after the Farmer reminded me.

But without the aid of ever expanding data clouds filled with digital photos, I wonder just how many memories of my childhood are hidden from view. A few too many I FEAR.

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Still Grey

Another grey Yorkshire day, just a bit stuck under this blanket of greyness. It’s also still very green for this time in Autumn, usually it’s way more yellow and red. Definitely feels like it’s been a longer growing season here. We also still have a handful of Swallows still hanging around, these fellows are usually back in Africa by now. They clearly are not hanging around because of the sun…. Maybe they are just putting off trying to get through the chaos and queues that is UK Passport Control these days. One of my neighbours foolishly tried and failed to get out of the country a couple of weeks ago to go on holiday. Apparently she didn’t look sufficiently like her passport photo anymore. In her words “you try looking like you did 5 years ago when you hit 84…”

Made me check my passport photo. I’m ok, still looks like me, still looks like Shrek.

I remember going to a fancy dress themed party years ago at University. Themed around cartoon characters. I went as Fred from Scooby Doo, back then I could rock an orange ascot….. A friend of mine put in way more effort to go as Shrek. He was mortified when the first couple of people thought he had come as Alfred Hitchcock.

Hitchcock was famed for talking about “always make the audience suffer as much a possible”. My so called football team have clearly been following that principle for decades now….

Another thing Hitchcock talked about was ‘DRAMA is life with the dull bits cut out’. I always think you could take out DRAMA and substitute that with SINGLE PARENTING. I’ve had a few people tell me they were sorry I was a single parent. Don’t get me wrong, it happened for tragic reasons, but actually being a single parent is such a wonderful privilege and experience. Being a parent has been the best experience and it feels like because of circumstances I got the chance to get just a bit more of that wonderful experience. It has been a wonderful experience.

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Accountant

I have a confession, a secret deep inside that haunts me. Something deeply embarrassing and just rather sad. Yes I’m an ACCOUNTANT. A pretty bad one, but still a BEAN COUNTER. I have no idea how I managed to first qualify and then subsequently fool several employers with financial skills that never really progressed much past counting the fingers on one hand, even that would need to be an estimate. I’m one of those FINANCIAL WIZARDS who as quickly as possible moves the conversation away from those problematic and eternally perplexing numbers.

But recently there is some mathematics that I can’t seem to move on from.

I don’t know why it popped into my mind suddenly, but it did and now it’s THERE….

Hawklad’s Mum who passed away in 2016 has now missed well over half of his life. She missed out on well over half of his childhood. I just find that thought so deeply sad and tragic. Definitely for Hawklad, I so wish no child had to ever go through that trauma. But also for his poor Mum, she has missed out on so much, so many experiences, so many years. Too many years, I do keep hearing a variant of that sad Clapton song in my head, would she even recognise him now.

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Years

I wonder how many years these wooden poles have survived the North Sea….

Looking in the mirror most mornings, they have clearly weathered way better than me. The front one has even got more hair than me. I’m not jealous, much 😂😂😂😂

We’ve been coming here since Hawklad was just starting school. Always the same routine. Find a parking spot where you can see the beach, let Hawklad see how busy it is. Too busy for him and we drive off, no questions asked. If it’s quiet enough, we hit the beach. Sometimes we don’t even park up, if the car park is busy, the beach will be.

So how does he manage concerts and now a F1 race.

We have a routine. Always try to buy the two seats at the end of a row, the back or front rows are best. If those seats aren’t available, then we don’t go. It’s the same for the cinema, has to be the two end seats on the front row. Hawklad takes the end of row seat. Sometimes that’s not enough and Hawklad decides it’s still too much. There have been a few concerts, movies and a football matches where it just never happened, still feeling too crowded, just never felt right for Hawklad.

At Silverstone it was even better, 168,000 watching an F1 race. But we still were able to find two end row seats, with no seats behind us. Plus next to our two seats was a roof support column, three more seats missing. Hawklad found space amongst the masses. All we had to do is arrive really early to miss the queues to get in, let Hawklad get to his seat before the crowd mayhem started. Setting off at 3.30am sorted that out.

That felt early, too early. Probably one of the reasons I’ve weathered worse than those beach poles.

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Grand Old Castle

Brough Castle, built around 1092 on the grounds of an old Roman fort.

Once a grand old well kept castle. Once an impressive, seemingly impenetrable fortress. Attacked by an army from Scotland, destroyed and rebuilt. Rebuilt to be stronger, even more impenetrable. It was for 250 years…..

Then it met its new destroying army in the form of a Christmas Party… in a desperate attempt to cook the Brussel Sprouts properly, a fire broke out, destroying much of the castle.

OK I’m guessing on the Pesky Green Veg Villain, but something went badly wrong with that Christmas Feast in 1521.

The castle was partly rebuilt in the 17th century, but within a couple of years, fire struck again. Maybe don’t have 24 fireplaces…..The harsh northern weather has subsequently taken its toll since then.

Far too many children in the UK never get the support they need from the health and education systems. Hawklad was fortunate, it took over two years but he finally started to get some of the support he needed. Over the years that support made a real difference.

Then the day he reached 18, it was pulled. There is no equivalent adult support service. It’s only been a few months since then but I have started to see some changes, not positive ones. Hard earned progress starting to slow, halt or even reverse.

How many more are in the same position.

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Sky

Over the last few weeks we haven’t seen much of the sky. Mostly it’s been like this….

But when it has parted….

On another misty, dark day, we were heading back from the City and passed a stricken smoking car. Suddenly I was taken back years. Back to when I was young and Dad’s 4 wheel pride and joy. His MK1 Ford Cortina, 1% Silver 99% Rust and Holes. Top Speed, who are we kidding, there was nothing TOP about that thing. Stationary to walking pace in about 2 days before the inevitable smoking breakdown. I had completely forgotten about that Henry Ford Miracle and strangely I was smiling.

Maybe that caught me off guard….

We drove past a Children’s Play Barn, I brought Hawklad here countless times when he was a toddler. Fun times, so many happy memories. But life moves on, he became too old to venture there. The Xbox world became way more attractive than climbing around a Pirate Ship Climbing Frame. Now he’s doing College and the Christmas Present list is way different now. As I took another glance at the Play Barn in the Rear View Mirror, feelings of melancholy swept over me.

Where did that time go……

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Dracula and Captain Cook

Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. Famed because of Captain Cook and Dracula, not many places can claim that….

Whisper it, I read Bram Stokers vampire novel when I was about 12. I had just started Senior School and on the way home would walk past a little dusty old library. A tiny place, maybe not much bigger than a large living room. With so few books, I quickly exhausted the readable options. But on one visit, as I desperately tried to find something new to read, I noticed sat on the returned counter, a little book with DRACULA emblazoned across a gothic cover which had clearly seen way better days. Picking up the courage, I sandwiched the horror book between a couple of nondescript nonfiction books and hoped. Hoped the librarian wouldn’t notice. It was noticed….

A long over the top of the glasses, Paddington stare, was followed by clearly a few moments contemplation. Unbelievably the book was then stamped with the quiet warning…. ‘Don’t have nightmares…’

Little did the Librarian know, in-fact little did my Parents know, that for months I had been sneaking down stairs on a Friday night to watch the late night Hammer Horror movie on TV. As a result I was already well versed in Christopher Lee’s Dracula.

The book didn’t give me nightmares. But I loved it. I loved it because for the first time I was reading a story set in a place that I knew, a place where I had been. The book came alive to me, it still does.

Move forward several decades and I was summoned to see the Teacher at Hawklad’s first school. The Teacher was concerned that I had let my 7 year old watch horror movies. Hawklad had in class told the Teacher that he loved watching Dracula, Werewolf and Frankenstein. One little detail that Hawklad had left out was the name Scooby Doo. Scooby meets Dracula, Scooby meets Werewolf, Scooby meets….

On a sunny day like this one, Whitby even with a Dracula Museum, is probably as intimidating as a Scooby Doo cartoon. But come back here during winter, when a nighttime storm is battering the Port, when a thick fog has descended. Then try reading Dracula and not feel just a little bit on edge. That book can still bite…..

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What did it cost them

I ended up with way too many missing pieces from the jigsaw which painted the life of my parents before they had our family, before me. I never took the time to ask for those missing pieces when I had the chance…..DEEP SIGH.

But I can sketch some details with the pieces I do have.

Dad loved playing cricket, loved to go and see Yorkshire play. He would go for long bike rides, go fishing, loved to ride on steam trains. He was also a bit of a party animal, putting on his suit and heading to the dance halls. He liked to look after himself, liked to be fit. Apparently he was also a bit of a comedian, very gregarious.

Mum loved to dress up and go dancing with her friends. Way too much dancing for her parents liking. She loved music, especially the likes of Crosby, Martin and her always favourite Sinatra. She also loved the cinema but only to see musicals or romance. She also really wanted to travel, wanted to see Paris and New York. In a word, apparently she was FUN.

Then they had three daughters and two sons.

Dad never talked about it, but looking back I’m convinced he fought depression for years. Boughts of heavy smoking and drinking. Hours sat in his chair, pretending to read the same newspaper page yet eyes fixed on a blank wall. Volcanic eruptions of anger, followed by days of silence. Those eyes, eyes filled with suppressed tears, frustration and anguish, was that why he frequently avoided eye contact. Some days he seemed unable to function, rooted to his bed, did sleep bring some temporary relief. Maybe he opened up at Work or at the Pub, not to his family. At home, one word summed the mood, UNAPPROACHABLE. Maybe DISTANCED is better. One word definitely didn’t fit Dad, HAPPY. I can’t remember him smiling or laughing. He worked, he gardened, he went to the pub.

Mum was more open. She said she struggled. She would apologise sometimes simply saying something like she wasn’t feeling like herself. Yes I can remember Mum laughing and smiling, but I can also remember way too many tears. She often seemed so sad. I remember a doctor visit, mum rooted to a sofa, talk of a nervous breakdown. She soldiered on. She had never touched alcohol but started to drink some sherry to calm her stomach. She went shopping, went to see her parents, went to her part time job, went to school evenings when school needed to see a parent, she looked after the house and US. She never went out socially, never met friends, never seemed to listen to music. She never put on a dress, she never made it to Paris or New York.

What did life, marriage and parenting COST THEM….