Just afterwards, we managed to leave the event with some aplomb, a modicum of dignity intact-or at least faked. Torn between hooting with laughter over council-man’s trifle covered shoes and lower trouser legs, and seriously thinking over the consequences of the action, we rested languidly in the warm evening light of the nearby park to consider the position.
I have known my good friend Alice for years. We’ve shared holidays and secrets as well as heartbreaks and terrible times. I’d say she’s a pretty good humoured person, except for her occasional explosive outbursts. I’m not saying she’s bad tempered, not at all, and rarely has a bad word for anyone.
What upsets Alice is someone being unkind or unjust. It just gets to her and you can sense the fuse ignite. It’s a long slow burn, and the explosion can be spectacular. More so because it is so rare and unexpected.
Alice works as a teacher, and volunteers at a play scheme for local children on a pretty poor estate during the holidays. She is passionate about this work and has an acute sense of the political solutions required to address local problems. Alice can definitely hold her own in any discussion of social injustice, we both can.
On this occasion, we got invited to a civic event for people working with youngsters in the town. It was casual, although there was a smattering of the town’s great and good; the odd councillor and a few managers of relevant services. We each brought food to share (austerity ruled).
Alice and me mingled and greeted, listening briefly to snatches of conversation. Alice stopped by one group where a young man was holding forth about poverty from a position, it must be said, requiring a deep well of ignorance to sustain.
I mean, you can’t expect the state to feed your children. If you can’t afford children, you shouldn’t have them.
Some in the group concurred via unarticulated grunts. Others were embarrassed and looked for other circles to join.
I could feel the Alice-fuse alight and burning. She tried some reasonable arguments and questioned whether it was only the employed and well paid that should be allowed children. There was no debate to be had, simply a further shower of arrogance.
Detonation was close at this point and Alice walked off abruptly and
picked up the large bowl of trifle she had contributed and returned to the group.
You, are a bigot, and you have no place working for a local authority which has the care of all its families. I hope you learn greater compassion as you grow up. If you ever do.
Just before walking away, she let the bowl of trifle drop at the young man’s feet where it made a satisfyingly sloppy mess over his shoes.
It wasn’t Alice’s finest hour. As we talked it through afterwards we agreed that whilst it wasn’t a perfect gesture, it probably made the point louder than words.
