Over the years I have raised money through organising quizzes and other bits and pieces for some of my favourite charities which have included The East Anglian Air Ambulance, The East Anglian Children's Hospice, Star Throwers cancer charity and various sports clubs.
But the charity I was probably closest to was the Samaritans.
I remember a television drama series called The Befrienders which I believe was based on a book by Monica Dickens. It only ran for one series in 1972 and followed Samaritan helpers and the cases they came across. Actually I think the word cases is wrong here to describe the people that the Sams come across but I can't think of a more appropriate one at the moment as I write this.
That 1972 series must have made an impact because I still remember it. Whilst working as a young reporter at Lowestoft I had occasion to write a feature on the local Samaritan group. As a result of my article (long lost in the mists of time - see I have got that phrase in again) I was contacted and asked if the branch could reproduce my article and use it as a publicity vehicle to promote the group.
Of course I said yes, passed it through my editor and the leaflets were duly produced. That again must have left an indelible stamp on me. Many years later when I was back working in Norwich after a year or so in the Midlands, I decided to grasp the nettle and apply to become a Samaritan helper.
The training was quite tough and a number of people alongside me fell by the wayside as they realised it wasn't for them. I persevered and became a Sam and was supported for my initial probationary period by a long-term Samaritan. Then I was allowed to fly solo and things really took off. I eventually became a trainer of new recruits, a deputy director of Norwich Samaritans and public relations and press officer for Norwich Sams.
I loved the training sessions as my primary role was to be a drunk. As a Sam you have to deal with many and varied scenarios and you have to be prepared for virtually anything. So I played a drunk which is about as far away from my real character as it's possible to be. I drink very little alcohol - an occasional beer, gin and tonic or glass of wine and that's it. So being a drunk was completely out of character. I took over from Henry who was a legendary drunk (whilst in reality being completely sober of course).
So I put on very old clothes, threw some methylated spirits over myself, took a swig of lager so my breath smelt of beer and then knocked on the door of the training room. It was opened by the trainees whose job it was to deal with any callers. We had polite callers, aggressive callers, suicidal callers and me as a drunk caller for these training sessions.
I lurched into the room shouting and swearing, leering and behaving in a manner that I would never think of behaving in real life and the response was amazing. The trainees slunk back in horror, got out of the way or tried desperately to deal with the situation.
And the best bit was when we did the debrief and they realised that I wasn't a dirty old lascivious drunk but a reasonably intelligent sober human being who had been acting a role.
I spent a number of years being a Samaritan helper and the press officer for the branch which brought another amusing incident. By day I was a sub editor on the Norwich Mercury Series of newspapers. One day our chief sub editor had occasion to ring up a reporter on a story he or she had written and tell them that a quote was needed from the Samaritans on their story. This reporter obviously rang the Samaritan centre in Norwich and was given my number (this was the procedure in those days). So the call came through to my desk which was a few feet away from the chief subs desk. I told the reporter that I would put together a quote and insert it into their story which would have confused them anyway.
So I went up to the chief sub and said "Geoff here's the quote from the Samaritans." I think at that point he cottoned on.
At this time I was a member of a village group of young married couples which was based on the Methodist Church. We called ourselves the Candlelight Group due to the fact that at our first meeting there was a power cut and we had to use candles.
This group met in various homes and quite often arranged speakers.
"It would be good to have a Samaritan come to talk to us," one member said.
"They do talks but I think there's a long waiting list because my friend tried to get them to speak and had to wait months," another said.
"I'll contact them if you like," I replied.
You have to remember that these were the days when you didn't divulge that you were a Samaritan. It was all rather secret squirrel stuff. Not sure what it is like now.
Anyway I got onto a friend who was a fellow Sam and arranged the speakers and the result was we had a speaker for our next meeting.
"It's amazing how quick we got a speaker from the Sams," one of our members said. I just nodded but I think one or two may have twigged about my involvement.
I enjoyed (not sure that's the right word) my time as a Samaritan. I'm not sure it's something you can do for a length of time, but I managed a number of years. I left when there was a conflict between being a Sam and working for the police. I found it difficult to tie in the two.
Samaritan helpers were expected to do a night duty once a month. This meant sleeping at the centre and answering telephone calls as they came in during the night. That meant you could have little or no sleep and even if you did doze off you could be woken up by the telephone going at any time of the night or early morning. It also made it difficult to then do a full day at work without keeling over.
The only person really allowed to know where you were at these times was your partner. The problem was I was also on 24 hour call to the police and one night my wife received a call out from the police whilst I was doing a night duty.
Can you imaging the response when she said that I wasn't there and she didn't know where I was? Didn't look good for me did it? Also she hated lying and knew very well where I was spending the night.
So I had to make the very difficult decision to withdraw from being a Sam. I still hold that organisation in great affection and I believe somewhere I have a badge stating that I am a life member of Norwich Samaritans.
I was quite fortunate as I left what happened when I was on duty in the branch and never took it away with me. I found I could divorce myself from any horrors I dealt with whilst on duty. I found able to do this by telling myself that it was great if I helped people in any way but I couldn't do anything about it if I had failed. "If I've done just a small amount to help somebody this evening, well that's all I can hope for" was my attitude.
There were only a couple of occasions when I got really rattled. One was when I was trying desperately to talk a caller into allowing me to call an ambulance after they had said they had taken on overdose. I did manage to get their address and call an ambulance before they hung up. I never knew the outcome of that. On another occasion I accompanied a caller to our centre to the emergency department at the hospital which, at that time, was a two minute walk away. I was asked any amount of questions about who I was and what my relationship was to the other person and had to tell them I was from the Samaritan Centre.
The one call that did worry me was from somebody I worked with at the time, telling me that they were being physically abused by their husband with whom I also worked. I quickly worked out from what they were saying that they were a couple I knew and handed the call over to another Samaritan on the pretext that I had to go (something that never happened in reality. We always saw the calls through however long that took).
And of course the real reason we were there was to listen. Certainly not to dominate a call but just to listen. I hope I'm still a good listener although I do probably talk too much.
When I gave up being a Sam I always thought I might return some day but I'm afraid that's not going to happen now due to my involvement in so many things that now fill every day. I will always remember my time as a Samaritan with a great deal of affection and I will continue to support the organisation whenever and however I can.
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Went to Cambridge for the day yesterday. Drove to the Park and Ride in Newmarket Road and had a good look round. All the colleges were shut to the public which was a great shame.
Ate at the very historic Eagle Pub in the RAF room which I have mentioned before. I have to say that this time around the food was disappointing. I wanted the pulled lamb hot pot which sounded nice but wasn't available. How many times does this happen? You fancy a dish but find it's off. So I plumped for the sausage and mash which should have been called sausage and cabbage as there was twice as much cabbage as mash and I'm certainly not a lover of cabbage.
Judging from the amounts of food left on plates, others may have been slightly less than enamoured by the food and not believed the claim on a board outside stating "best fish and chips in Cambridge."
As I walked round Cambridge I mentioned a lovely walk along the Meadows by the River Cam to Grantchester and recalled the Pink Floyd song Grantchester Meadow. Pink Floyd was formed in Cambridge and I have always found founding member Syd Barrett a fascinating figure. Got home to find the following on my Facebook feed:
On June 5, 1975, Pink Floyd was recording their "Wish You Were Here" album at Abbey Road Studios in London.
Syd Barrett, who at this time in his life was heavyset, with a completely shaved head and eyebrows wandered into the studio while the band was recording. Because of his drastically changed appearance, the band could not recognise him for some time.
When they eventually recognised Barrett, Roger Waters was so distressed he was reduced to tears. Apparently, when "Wish You Were Here" was played, "Sid stood up and said, 'Right, when do I put my guitar on?'" Richard Wright recalled. "And of course, he didn't have a guitar with him. And we said, 'Sorry, Syd, the guitar's all done.'"
Wright has also said "Roger Waters was there, and he was sitting at the desk, and I came in and I saw this guy sitting behind him--huge, bald, fat guy. I thought, "He looks a bit...strange..." Anyway, so I sat down with Roger at the desk and we worked for about ten minutes, and this guy kept on getting up and brushing his teeth and then sitting--doing really weird things, but keeping quiet. And I said to Roger, "Who is he?" and Roger said "I don't know." and I said "Well, I assumed he was a friend of yours," and he said "No, I don't know who he is." Anyway, it took me a long time, and then suddenly I realised it was Syd, after maybe 45 minutes. He came in as we were doing the vocals for "Shine On You Crazy Diamond", which was basically about Syd.
He just, for some incredible reason he picked the very day that we were doing a song which was about him. And we hadn't seen him, I don't think, for two years before. That's what's so incredibly weird about this guy. And a bit disturbing, as well, I mean, particularly when you see a guy, that you don't, you couldn't recognise him. And then, for him to pick the very day we want to start putting vocals on, which is a song about him. Very strange."
I will have some photos of Cambridge tomorrow. Today its off to Southwold if the weather behaves itself.
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A few days ago I mentioned a young girl in Norwich who had used the word Mayonnaise Going Up An Escalator. Her mother told her it made no sense. Well apparently it does. My friend Janet told me it's a play on words of the Aerosmith song "Love on an Elevator." So now I know.