As the days dragged on, I fell into a routine of checking every morning and evening with Staff to see if I could get any more details about the placement they had dangled in front of me whilst I was ill.
Gradually, they let details slip, just to keep me quiet. It took two weeks to discover that the facility was a Young People's Unit in Macclesfield. A Child Mental Facility, designed for maladjusted youngsters that lacked inter-personal skills enough to prosper in "normal" schools, children's homes and other facilities. It was the last chance saloon for delinquents and mini-whackjobs.
As the weeks dragged on, I began to give up hope of Macclesfield, although I'd already started staying at my Mum's each weekend so life was bearable. At least I wasn't running a risk of being included on the "Flat list" any more. I would go home on the Friday, then go to the pub, crawl home late Friday night, pass out, rinse n repeat til I had to return to Skircoat.
It was some time around March when my Social Worker turned up, with my Mum in the car and announced we were headed for Macclesfield. My assessment day was finally here.
It was a single storey building, Very clinical-looking, both inside and out. The Dr's and other staff all seemed friendly and welcoming. I can't remember much of my assessment, it flowed over me, as I sat there somewhat in shock that there were actually some nice people involved in the care of children. After the staff attitudes at Skircoat things were looking up. I was accepted as a "student" at the Y.P.U and my Social Worker set about the paperwork.
My last few days at Skircoat flew by, as I packed and said my goodbyes to people. Explained to some of the younger kids that I would be back every Friday teatime to collect my train fares, before going to my Mum's for the weekends. So they would still see me, I wasn't leaving, I just wouldn't be there.
Macclesfield was a 5-day Unit. Residents presented themselves on Monday morning, unpacked and got settled in before lessons started. The school was also used by the Macclesfield Education Panel as a depository for their own delinquents, catering for around 20 "outpatient" students along with the 14 residents.
Classes included the basics along with Art therapy and psychodrama.
Throughout the week there were individual and group therapy sessions, although I was quickly excluded from group therapy after being deemed an "antagonistic aggressor" which I took to mean "arsey lil bstrd". We all helped out in the kitchen with food preparation. My main job was scrambled eggs each morning, for breakfast.
I was given that task after I complained about the watery eggs they made. I was told "If you can do better, get in there and do it." So I did. After the first morning of decent eggs, I found my name on the roster every morning for the kitchen.
There were regular Community meetings to make sure we felt included in the decision making that would ultimately affect us. Any problems were aired and dealt with at these meetings, so we could all see action was being taken, issues were being solved and we were in a certain amount of control of our own lives. For the first time, I felt almost Adult with the level of consultation each of us was given.
The only problem I foresaw was the reluctance of staff to allow a resident off the property alone, before Friday. If you wanted to go to the shop, everyone had to go. It was a group event. No staff accompanied us, just the residents, with the longest term in charge of the rest of us.
Now I'm older, I can see the sense in this as a team-building exercise but at the time it just seemed bloody stupid.
Thursday night was movie night. 14 residents all sprawled out in the lounge watching a video which more often than not, turned out to be Dirty Dancing. I soon learned to hate that film.
Friday after classes, we would all go to our rooms, pack our stuff for the weekend and head off to Macc centre for the train home.
I would get off the train in Halifax every friday afternoon and head up to Skircoat Lodge, collect my pocket money and my train fare for the next week, along with bus fare up to my Mum's. Say Hi to whoever was around when I arrived, spend a few minutes catching up with what had gone on through the week and then head out again, back into town and straight to the Upper George pub.
<Part 6
Further reading:
http://brynalynvictims.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/macclesfield-young-persons-unit.html
Gradually, they let details slip, just to keep me quiet. It took two weeks to discover that the facility was a Young People's Unit in Macclesfield. A Child Mental Facility, designed for maladjusted youngsters that lacked inter-personal skills enough to prosper in "normal" schools, children's homes and other facilities. It was the last chance saloon for delinquents and mini-whackjobs.
As the weeks dragged on, I began to give up hope of Macclesfield, although I'd already started staying at my Mum's each weekend so life was bearable. At least I wasn't running a risk of being included on the "Flat list" any more. I would go home on the Friday, then go to the pub, crawl home late Friday night, pass out, rinse n repeat til I had to return to Skircoat.
It was some time around March when my Social Worker turned up, with my Mum in the car and announced we were headed for Macclesfield. My assessment day was finally here.
It was a single storey building, Very clinical-looking, both inside and out. The Dr's and other staff all seemed friendly and welcoming. I can't remember much of my assessment, it flowed over me, as I sat there somewhat in shock that there were actually some nice people involved in the care of children. After the staff attitudes at Skircoat things were looking up. I was accepted as a "student" at the Y.P.U and my Social Worker set about the paperwork.
My last few days at Skircoat flew by, as I packed and said my goodbyes to people. Explained to some of the younger kids that I would be back every Friday teatime to collect my train fares, before going to my Mum's for the weekends. So they would still see me, I wasn't leaving, I just wouldn't be there.
Macclesfield was a 5-day Unit. Residents presented themselves on Monday morning, unpacked and got settled in before lessons started. The school was also used by the Macclesfield Education Panel as a depository for their own delinquents, catering for around 20 "outpatient" students along with the 14 residents.
Classes included the basics along with Art therapy and psychodrama.
Throughout the week there were individual and group therapy sessions, although I was quickly excluded from group therapy after being deemed an "antagonistic aggressor" which I took to mean "arsey lil bstrd". We all helped out in the kitchen with food preparation. My main job was scrambled eggs each morning, for breakfast.
I was given that task after I complained about the watery eggs they made. I was told "If you can do better, get in there and do it." So I did. After the first morning of decent eggs, I found my name on the roster every morning for the kitchen.
There were regular Community meetings to make sure we felt included in the decision making that would ultimately affect us. Any problems were aired and dealt with at these meetings, so we could all see action was being taken, issues were being solved and we were in a certain amount of control of our own lives. For the first time, I felt almost Adult with the level of consultation each of us was given.
The only problem I foresaw was the reluctance of staff to allow a resident off the property alone, before Friday. If you wanted to go to the shop, everyone had to go. It was a group event. No staff accompanied us, just the residents, with the longest term in charge of the rest of us.
Now I'm older, I can see the sense in this as a team-building exercise but at the time it just seemed bloody stupid.
Thursday night was movie night. 14 residents all sprawled out in the lounge watching a video which more often than not, turned out to be Dirty Dancing. I soon learned to hate that film.
Friday after classes, we would all go to our rooms, pack our stuff for the weekend and head off to Macc centre for the train home.
I would get off the train in Halifax every friday afternoon and head up to Skircoat Lodge, collect my pocket money and my train fare for the next week, along with bus fare up to my Mum's. Say Hi to whoever was around when I arrived, spend a few minutes catching up with what had gone on through the week and then head out again, back into town and straight to the Upper George pub.
<Part 6
Further reading:
http://brynalynvictims.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/macclesfield-young-persons-unit.html