So my Scottish friend and I had an interesting experience this week!
I took my son, as always on a Thursday, to his National Theatre Stage Management course. The plan was for us to visit the Reform Exhibition at the Southbank while waiting for him!
http://www.koestlertrust.org.uk/pages/exhibitions.html
My Scottish friend. currently staying down here but still with no permanent decision, came along too!
When we arrived it was closed for a VIP event. Being very disappointed, and also struggling to know what we would spend three hours doing while son was teching, I decided to question what was happening, Spying the Sodexo name badges I was keen to discuss my own experiences at the hands of Sodexo! We ended up being invited into the VIP event by the CEO of Sodeo, Janine McDowell! She was very excited to have two ex-Bronzefield ladies at her event!!
It was an interesting experience! We met up with Simeon the chaplain, Caroline from education, Nathan one of the officers, the chief finance person, the guy who planned Bronzefield. We were approached by many as the token ex offenders!!
It was an enjoyable evening, with many opportunities to state all the issues faced by prisoners on a daily basis. To be honest both myself and my Scottish friend have very few issues with Bronzefield. The prison offers good work opportunities, good education, officers who treat people fairly, management who make use of prisoner skills and an excellent visitor experience with a family room.
We also met up with ex offenders who were tour operators for the exhibition, and it was lovely to find out later that a twitter friend had been one of the people we had met It wasn't great to watch Prison staff have a freebie on the back of prisoner art...... but I hope the Koestler trust continue their good work. I personally cannot draw or paint or sew to save my life! But I have seen first hand the good that Koestler offers to prisoners.
I bet we are the talk of Bronzefield this week!
Sunday 29 November 2015
Alan RIP; my big (little) brother I love you.
It's my brother Alan's birthday tomorrow. He was born in 1966, 3 years 11 months and 17 days before me!! Being a mathematical prodigee, as a child I always quoted these figures!
Sadly I am now older than him. Alan died in September 2008. He died in Darwin Australia, I hadn't seen him in several years. He fell and ruptured his spleen, severely damaged because he was an alcoholic for many many years. He died from internal bleeding.
Alan and I went into care in 1975, we had suffered a very abusive and mixed up childhood. I was 5 and he was 8. We had been through several years with a lack of parental attachment and with parents who were immature, selfish and incapable. We went through a children's home and a short term foster home before being fostered by a very middle class and educated couple in Barnes. Their plan was to mould us into middle class successful individuals. We were both very intelligent, but unfortunately there was no awareness in those days of the emotional harm and attachment issues caused by such an erratic early years experience.
Alan always claimed he never had a childhood. He was so severely damaged by being taken from the parents he loved , albeit completely awful and abusive, that he failed to have any normal adult relationships. Looking at my own autistic spectrum children, and my dad who was obviously on that spectrum, and Alan and my half brothers who are also probably that way inclined, I am not surprised he couldn't manage in society and cope with a normal lifestyle.
Alan was my superhero, my only constant in an erratic and awful childhood... he was my north, my south (as the poem goes) ...
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Alan's life was destroyed by poor parenting and appalling Social Services care in the 1970s and 1980s. He never managed to live a normal life. He was an alcoholic and had such an addictive personality that everything was a struggle
Alan, I love you. xxx
Sadly I am now older than him. Alan died in September 2008. He died in Darwin Australia, I hadn't seen him in several years. He fell and ruptured his spleen, severely damaged because he was an alcoholic for many many years. He died from internal bleeding.
Alan and I went into care in 1975, we had suffered a very abusive and mixed up childhood. I was 5 and he was 8. We had been through several years with a lack of parental attachment and with parents who were immature, selfish and incapable. We went through a children's home and a short term foster home before being fostered by a very middle class and educated couple in Barnes. Their plan was to mould us into middle class successful individuals. We were both very intelligent, but unfortunately there was no awareness in those days of the emotional harm and attachment issues caused by such an erratic early years experience.
Alan always claimed he never had a childhood. He was so severely damaged by being taken from the parents he loved , albeit completely awful and abusive, that he failed to have any normal adult relationships. Looking at my own autistic spectrum children, and my dad who was obviously on that spectrum, and Alan and my half brothers who are also probably that way inclined, I am not surprised he couldn't manage in society and cope with a normal lifestyle.
Alan was my superhero, my only constant in an erratic and awful childhood... he was my north, my south (as the poem goes) ...
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Alan's life was destroyed by poor parenting and appalling Social Services care in the 1970s and 1980s. He never managed to live a normal life. He was an alcoholic and had such an addictive personality that everything was a struggle
Alan, I love you. xxx
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