The 4.30pm London to Berkamhead, Return (Berkamhead 1996: Diary Entry 15th September 1996)

Berkamhead 1996

Diary Entry – 15th September 1996

After months of persistent complaining about the lack of staff and all number of extra hours overtime, the manager, along with the company that run Red Brick House, finally got around to putting out an advert for another full time support worker. Unfortunately it coincided with twelve positions coming available at Romany biscuits and it appeared that the appeal of becoming a packing assistant was just too strong for Berkamhead’s unemployed. Still, after six weeks waiting, we finally got around to holding interviewing for three prospective employees.

Even on the day that could ultimately help keep the bloody place from closure; the manager still couldn’t muster up enough enthusiasm, energy or good health to come into work. So after much discussion with the powers that be, I, in my new role as senior support worker, was given responsibility of choosing the ‘one’. While I had my faceless wanker employer’s attention (the only contact I have ever had with them is by phone) I knocked out the idea of a possible pay rise and maybe even a promotion. Surprisingly they seemed quite responsive.

Back to the interviews. My first potential candidate, an ex farmhand called Brian, was nervous from the moment that he walked in the door and reacted poorly to the one client that was home. You would think that working with people with disabilities that I would overlook physical ‘issues’, but all I could think, as this thirty something ranted on about his entire life story, was how his left eye pointed in a different direction to his right. And do you know, I am convinced that neither one was looking at me. I almost held up a hand and asked him to count how many fingers I was holding up; but in the end insulted him enough by telling him he wasn’t suitable.

At least candidate number two, a youngish guy called Roger Farrely, had some experience, and had been ‘temping’ with Gutterford’s ‘Premier’ agency. Everything seemed fine and I thought that I would at least get him back in to do the basic literacy and Numeracy tests that they’ve taken to insulting prospective support workers intelligence with. If ‘they’ honestly believe that proving someone is able to add two numbers together on a calculator gives that person the ability to talk down a six foot two autistic man with paedophilic tendencies from using a razor blade to slash his wrists, then, hell, we might as well leave our residents to look after one another. Sadly for Roger, his criminal record put paid to any potential that he may have shown. I’m all for over looking misdemeanours, but this guy had driving offences as long as my arm and had received a suspended sentence for an assault.

As it turned out the final candidate of the day would have walked if it had come down to making a decision, very much to my own personal relief. No matter how much I hate the job at times, with the pressure of registration and the fact that one bad report could spell the end for what is ultimately eight people’s home, we needed to employ some staff and quickly. Having flicked through her application, the first thing I noticed was that she had a nice clean criminal record. I also noted that she had very fine hand writing; my own has often lacked character, but hers; well, it was warm and rounded, each letter flowing into the next, almost longing for you to read it. I flicked to the front page. Miss Juliet Cardean.

First impressions certainly did count and everything began well as she was the only one of three who actually made an effort to greet David and even told him why she was at Red Brick. Of course, David, being David, said nothing at all, but his raised eyebrows told me everything I wanted to know. She was extremely well spoken throughout the interview and completely justified wanting the post. I threw the usual support worker type questions at her, which merely exist to catch people out than really testing ability. I’d love to tell you how she answered, but I was totally caught up in just looking at her. I could have just looked. And looked. Her skin looked warm, almost scarlet under the light. I couldn’t figure out whether she was blushing. Her eyes were just sparkling.

Anyway, my only real concern was that she had stated leaving her last job due to ill health. I couldn’t take on manager take two, so had to press her a little, concerned as I sensed it was clearly deeply personal. I think I took it in my stride though, helped of course by her willingness to share. I couldn’t believe she had had a heart attack at such a young age and was almost grateful to hear that she had made such a quick recovery.

After she left, I quickly phoned around all her references, asking them to fax me details as soon as they could. I also phoned head office, telling them how confident I was that she would easily pass the tests; that her references would be fine and that we should just get on and employ her. In my own excitement I phoned her home number, just happy to be offering someone new to the area a fresh start. At the same time as undermining my incompetent manager and getting one over on that bloody biscuit factory! Of course, she was out, she had only just left. It would mean that we could start offering the type of support to the residents that they deserved. And of course another hundred extremely professional reasons for employing her…ha ha… yeah right!