Southend U3A

AA - Maureen Rampersaud

November 2012

My wife gave me an ultimatum. Go to 'Alcoholics Anonymous' or leave. I don't really blame her, she's put up with a lot from me over the years. It started when things went wrong at work. I used to be confident of my managerial power. However, as I matured, the young 'whizz kids' had a knack of flagging up my mistakes, however minor, making it clear that I was out of touch with new ideas and developments. They chipped away at my self esteem until there wasn't much left.

I started calling in at the pub on the way home, postponing the inevitable question from my wife, 'Did you have a good day at work?' It felt good to be around people who had no expectations of me, people who didn't think I'd let them down. Of course, the longer I stayed, the better I felt, that smooth slide into oblivion.

I always thought that when I retired things would look up, all would be well again. In fact, it got worse. All that time on my hands, with nothing to do. When our daughter said she didn't want me to look after little Phoebe any more, well, that and my wife's statement, were the turning point for me.

After months of monotonous meetings, our leader suggested we volunteer to help in various organisations: to think about others rather than dwell on our illness, she said. I was never much good at 'opening up', and I avoided the volunteering idea as long as I could.

Eventually, I ended up hearing readers in the local comprehensive. Apparently a lot of boys 'slip through the net' and their reading difficulties only come to light when they move to Secondary School.

I was allotted the most anti-social, unpromising group of specimens you could imagine. They were embittered and labelled as failures . . . I understood them. They felt this, I think. Although it wasn't easy at first, they did their usual thing of swearing and throwing chairs around, but I wasn't going to give up. We were kindred spirits.

I brought in manuals and magazines from my former world of mechanics and engineering. I discarded the babyish remedial reading books. Over many months I ignited an interest and enthusiasm that no-one had so far seen in them. I told them about work and the many skills that were needed to make it all successful. The manuals and instruction booklets had given them a reason to read, and they all progressed . . . some slowly, some rapidly.

They loved to hear me tell stories of the funny things that happened day-to-day and about the different characters I worked with. I had given them a purpose in life, and they had done the same for me. It's incredible what can change in a year. I'm sitting here in a special assembly in order to receive an award to recognise, to quote, 'my outstanding contribution to literacy in the school'. This is amazing enough, but the fact that my family, including my darling granddaughter, are here with me . . . well, my cup overfloweth . . . and this time with happiness, not the demon drink.