Gervase Phinn
A Special Memory - I cannot remember my father ever shouting or swearing or smacking me. I just picture a small, quietly spoken, loving man with fingers as fat as sausages, a shiny bald head and a smile which lit up my world. I do recall, however, the time when he was very angry with me.
I must have been about eight at the time. Dad said we were going to the baths with a friend of his and his son. In the car he told me that I would be meeting Reg whose son Francis went to a special school and was about my age. I was warned to be in my very best behaviour and make a bit of an effort with Francis who hadn’t many friends. I thought this Francis would be like the boy at the top of the hill who went to Rudston, the posh private school on Broom Lane, that he would be toffee- nosed and full of himself. I had no idea what a special school was. When we arrived at Reg’s house, I fully expected to see this boy waiting in the step dressed in coloured blazer and wearing his fancy cap. I followed Dad into the front room to find Reg’s wife sitting in the settee with the boy face down across her lap. She was rubbing some ointment into his bottom. The boy wore nothing but a thin white vest. I didn’t know where to look or what to do but stayed rooted to the spot. None of the adults seemed the slightest bit awkward or self-conscious and continued to chat away. The little boy himself didn’t appear at all embarrassed and looked up at me and smiled. If Mum had done that with me I would have prayed that the floor would open and swallow me up. I could see now that the boy was disabled. In those days the word used was handicapped.
‘ Nearly done,’ said Paul’s wife pulling on these sort of plastic pants. ‘Francis has been so looking forward to today. He loves the water.’ The boy made a gurgling sound and threw his head back. ‘This is Gervase,’ she continued, ‘and he’s come to take you swimming.’ My heart sank into my shoes. I was unsure and frightened. At school the word ‘spastic’ was used as a term of abuse. ‘You spastic!’ boys would shout if you missed a shot at the goal or did something stupid. I had passed so many times the plaster figure of the smiling boy with callipers on his legs holding the charity box, which stood outside Davy’s Café in All Saints’ Square, but had never met a real spastic. And now I was to go swimming with him. Suppose my friends were at the baths? What would they say? And why hadn’t Dad told me?
The wheelchair was put in the boot and we set off for the swimming baths with Reg next to my father in the front of the car and me sitting with Francis in the back. The boy smiled a lot and pulled funny faces and when he tried to speak he dribbled. I remember feeling so embarrassed at the baths, seeing people staring at us as we headed for the water and I quickly swam on my own in the deep end instead of playing in the shallows with Francis. I made no effort at all to be friendly or kind. When my Dad waved for me to come and join them I flipped beneath water and ignored him.
Dad didn’t say a word as the four of us left the baths. Reg thanked me for coming and Francis smiled and nodded. I felt awful. On the way home I could see that my father was angry with me. He dropped Reg and Francis off and after we turned the corner, he pulled over and switched off the engine.
‘ I think you should be ashamed of yourself, young man,’ he said quietly. He only called me ‘young man’ when he was mad at me. ‘I am very disappointed in you.’
I hung my head and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘ I should think you are,’ said Dad. ‘It costs nothing to be friendly and Francis is just like any other boy but he’s got a lot more than most to put up with.’
‘ I’ll play with him next time,’ I promised.
‘ I shouldn’t think there will be a next time after the way you behaved today,’ said Dad starting the car. And he never said another word. I can’t recall my father getting angry very often but that day I remember well his quiet voice and the look in his eyes and I still feel bad about the visit to the swimming baths. I never did get to play with Francis.

Gervase’s latest books include:
‘Don’t Tell the Teacher!’
The word in the playground is that there’s a whole Assembly Hall full of notorious characters in Gervase Phinn’s wonderfully warm and witty collection of poems.

‘ Little Angels’
“ Have you ever thought that when I’m twenty one you’ll probably be dead? “
“ Grandad, we’ve been asked to take something old to school tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

You know the situation. You either want to hide when your child says something extremely embarrassing, or you join in the laughter. In this follow up to his best selling book ‘Little Gems’, Gervase once again spills the beans on all the amusing things that children say.

For more information about Gervase Phinn, visit his website at
www.gervase-phinn.com