I was saddened to read in the situations desperate pages of the "Liverpool Echo" under Public Sector, a vacancy for a "Kensington Street Games Office".
According to the advert the job is to target 8 to 24 year olds. OK little kids might need teaching how to play safely and parents might need convincing that it was ok for their little darlings to play in the street, but 24 year olds - please! Nanny State.
Have things got that bad that kids have to be shown how to play in the street?
When I was a child, which was a long time ago, how different it was. From dawn to dusk we kids played out. There were no couch potato distractions, like expensive computer games and there was not that much television.
From hide and seek to building dens on Potts Field. Lord Sefton's estate was our private playground, so long as the gamekeeper didn't see you. Catching frogs or better still frogspawn to be taken home, put in a tank and watched until it magically turned into small frogs that were then returned to the pond from whence they came. Newts were a prize beyond measure and catching a newt was cause for celebration. We did put the creatures back, eventually, usually when our mums had got sick of the smell.
There were a few comics, "Eagle" "Dandy and "Beano" being the most popular. American imports, DC comics, "Superman" "Batman" and the other titles that are now common were so valuable that you had to swop them once read.
We had very little money and "Woolworths" was a place to go for our sweets. The sweet counters were just right for pocketing handfuls of sweets. Shoplifting, it's called. Mea culpa.
If every small boy, now grown, who had ever done this, had sent "Woolies" a pound, "Woolies" would still be a fixture of the High Street.
When we were 12 or 13 and in the Scouts, we would decide on a Friday night to go camping at Bispham Hall near Wigan or Tawd Vale, near Ormskirk. We would get there, either by jumping on the 311 bus to Tawd Vale, cadging a lift from my Uncle Bob in his Morris Minor or cycling the 20 or so miles to Bispham Hall.
We never saw a Parental Consent Form, much less filled one in, or even asked permission from our Scout Leaders, we just went.
It was what we were in the Scouts for, to have fun. We would spend a great weekend and we didn't starve, we always seemed to have enough for 5lb of spuds and a tin of corned beef, which we called 'corned dog'. Then, somehow get home on a Sunday night and be ready for school the following morning.
One year, my friend Les Ball and I spent more time camping than we did in our houses and it wasn't because of a bad home life.
We played street games, depending on the time of year, summer games included, British Bulldog, a game so violent that it would now be banned in schools where children are only allowed to "walk not run" across the playground, in case they bump into another child and the school gets sued because little Johnny has a bruise.
Marbles, which we called ollies, was a favourite and you could build up a large collection of ollies, if you were a good player.
Cricket and football, were the boys' regular stand-bys and-when Mr Sproston got the first car in the street, he told us kids to stop playing in the road. When our local, friendly beat bobbie, told him that we kids had as much right to play in the street as he had to park his car, he tore up his privet hedge and turned his garden into a car park. Saved cutting the privets.
Skipping and Hopscotch for the girls. Do girls chalk on the pavements these days or is that regarded as "anti-social"?
An anti-social game was Knocker Down Ginger, where one person would knock on a door and run away, we would all hide and watch as the person answered the door, looking for the phantom caller. When they went in we would knock again.
Now the thing about all these activates was that there was not an adult involved. That was the whole point: we didn't want dads or any adults spoiling our fun.
We did have Scout Leaders when we went on Summer Camp, which usually involved a trip to Gilwell Park in Epping Forest for a 2-week camp. I'm sure if I had said to my parents that I was going to Tawd Vale, they would have been none the wiser. We never phoned home. I went off to camp and they did not see me until I walked back in the house, with my clothes smelly from wood smoke.
It taught us independence and responsibility. How many of today's kids could produce and meal from scratch? How many could produce a meal on an open fire? I don't want to sound like Davy Crockett, but we are afraid to let children be children and just go and play, in case something happens to them.
Yet the "something happening to them" is so rare that it makes international news when it does.
Men and women are now afraid to volunteer as leaders in any youth organisation, in case there is an accident or even a suggestion of improper behaviour and they end up being sued. There is a shortage of volunteer leaders in most youth organisations
Which is why Kensington, one of the poorest areas in Liverpool, with multiple social problems has to advertise for a person to organise street games. The kids can no longer do that for themselves.
I feel that £18,000 (pro rata Part Time (18 hours) enhanced CRB disclosure) could be better spent and we could let the kids learn some responsibility for themselves. The type of adult that wants this kind of job is the last kind of adult most kids want or need as a role model. As my teenage kids never tire of telling me I am a grumpy old man but I really don't want my council tax to go on paying wages for someone to try and get kids playing games in the street.
This really is a toy job from a pointless quango.
"It's a Wonderful Life"
(Thu 02/12)
TURN IT DOWN.
(Thu 11/11)
Do we need another Beatles book.
(Mon 11/10)
President or Pope, who is most welcome?
(Mon 16/08)
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