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Helping Adam to Climb Mountains

A memory from the early 1970s

By John WelfordPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
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A chance meeting on a street in Leicester, twenty years ago, brought back a host of memories for both of us. I was sure that I had seen him somewhere before, and clearly the same applied to him, because we looked at each other with that “where do I know you from?” expression on our faces.

I was the first to speak.

“Sorry, but I’m sure we’ve met before, a long time ago”, I said.

“That’s just what I was thinking”, he replied.

“Got time for a coffee?”

He did have time, and so we made our way to Costa Coffee and, over an Americano and a Cappucino, went through the brain-wracking process of finding the common meeting point of all the places we had lived in during our past lives.

We reached that point at the same time, expressions of mutual recognition crossing our faces.

“You’re Adam Connors!”* I said, just as he said, “You’re Bonnie Prince Charlie!”

Let me say at the outset that that is not my name – just a fanciful nickname I had among Adam and his colleagues because they fondly – but inaccurately – thought that I bore a passing resemblance to the Prince of Wales!

The place where we had known each other, for a relatively brief time in 1971, was Chafford School near Harwich in Essex. This was a Community Home or School, a successor to what was formerly called an Approved School. It was designed to house around sixty young offenders, aged 13 to 15, and to give them a caring, yet semi-secure, environment in which their behaviour would be controlled but at the same time they would get a basic education and training in a practical skill.

Nearly all the boys at Chafford came from the east end of London, and some of them had grown up surrounded by some very malign influences. There were several, for example, who were the sons of members of the Kray and Richardson gangs, which had been active only a few years before, and one problem at the school was ensuring that the gang rivalries did not descend a generation.

I was at Chafford School as a Community Service Volunteer, filling in time between school and university. Adam arrived shortly after I did in March, and I was asked to give him some extra coaching because, at the age of 13, he was still completely illiterate and these days would almost certainly have been singled out as having special educational needs. His early years had mostly been spent bunking off school and getting into trouble, so this was just about the first opportunity he had had to gain any sort of education.

I did not know the first thing about teaching someone to read, and I still wonder today if my efforts were all that helpful to Adam. I got the impression that he was happy to simply memorise the words on the page, based on what I said they were, and parrot them back to me. Was this really what was supposed to happen? As my wife – a highly experienced teacher – now tells me, at least I was paying Adam close one-to-one attention, which was something he had probably not had much of in his life to date.

Adam did respond to my efforts to help him, although the way he showed this was not quite what I might have expected. I bought a second-hand bicycle from a local dealer while I was at the school and mentioned to Adam that, although I had a padlock for it, I was short of a chain to attach it to. The next day, Adam produced a chain that he said he had found, and which I was very happy to accept. It was only several days later that a member of the college staff complained that one of the old-fashioned toilets was missing the chain for its high-level cistern. I said nothing!

Although not a loner, Adam clearly found it difficult to make friends and was never part of any “gang” within the school. Always a follower rather than a leader, he tended to hang around on the edge of any group of boys that might get together for any purpose, good or bad. It was this trend that had led to many of his brushes with the law in the past, so getting him to take part in activities for which he had real self-motivation, and in which he could take some pride, was clearly something to be encouraged.

The first such opportunity that came his way was the annual 50-mile walk in May. The idea was to start off at 2pm, walk for 25 miles in one direction, camp overnight, then walk back along the same route, arriving within 24 hours of having left. This was a voluntary activity insofar as the boys who did not do the walking were expected to set up the camp, help with the preparation of the evening meal and breakfast the following day, then clear up afterwards.

I was very pleased that Adam decided to do the walk, although he only did so when I told him that I would be part of the staff contingent. Fortunately, the weather was just right for walking – dry and not too hot – and most of the boys took part. It was nearly all along roads, leading westwards along the south side of the River Stour, which was crossed at Flatford (deep into Constable Country) before camping near East Bergholt.

Adam was one of the slower walkers, so he was at the back of the group. As I was given the job of guarding the rear of the “crocodile”, he was not far from me at any stage. He just plodded on, mile after mile, saying nothing and not giving any sign of tiredness or distress. The same applied to the return leg.

Adam was delighted with the certificate that was given to every boy who completed the walk, which was everyone who had started out. At our meeting at Costa Coffee he told me that he had kept it ever since.

Then came the Snowdonia camping trip. This was a week’s camp near Llanberis, led by a teacher who had a particular interest in birdwatching. It was only open to ten boys who were selected to take part – Adam was not originally one of them, but when one of the original ten blotted his copybook for some reason and was left off the list, I persuaded the teacher to let Adam take his place.

The birdwatching trips took us to some fascinating places, such as clifftops where we could see choughs and ravens, as well as all manner of seabirds. But the highlight of the week was the ascent of Mount Snowdon. I had done this walk several times before, but this was all new to Adam and the other boys. Adam thought this would be just like the long walk he had done before – on hearing that it was a total of nine miles, four-and-a-half each way, he reckoned that he could take it in his stride. After all, he had completed 50 miles in a day, only a few weeks before. But the Stour Valley between Essex and Suffolk is practically flat all the way, and the Llanberis Path to the summit of Snowdon is certainly not.

Although the ascent is only steep in a few places, particularly near the top, walkers climb more than 3,000 feet, and there is little relief from climbing for what takes most people around three-and-a-half hours (it then takes another two-and-a-half to get down again.)

But Adam made it. Just like his other experiences since joining Chafford School, he had been taken out of his comfort zone and had met all the challenges. For the first time in his life he had been made to face and deal with difficult situations, and had come to see that he was capable of much more than he had ever thought possible, whether learning to read, walking round the clock or climbing a mountain.

As he told me at Costa Coffee, life had not always been easy for him since leaving Chafford School. He had not stayed out of trouble and had done a stretch at Glen Parva Young Offenders Institution, to the south of Leicester. While there he had learned how to drive a fork-lift truck and got a warehouse job in the city on his release. He had been going straight ever since, although he had always had problems making relationships with women stick and was currently getting over his latest bust-up.

I wish I had kept contact with Adam, but sadly did not. I wonder where he is now, just as I shall always wonder whether those few months in the distant past when I watched his small steps up various mountains made a lasting difference to him.

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About the Creator

John Welford

I am a retired librarian, having spent most of my career in academic and industrial libraries.

I write on a number of subjects and also write stories as a member of the "Hinckley Scribblers".

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