Memoirs of a social worker: what happened to keeping our children within their communities?

Published by Professional Social Work magazine, 8 June, 2023

“You need to get back in Anthony”. My shoulder was beginning to burn, the light cotton T-shirt he was wearing stretched to the point of tearing.

He had come home in what we now call a “heightened” state, disrupting the other young people who were calmly playing cards. Whether due to distress or seeking attention he had decided to climb out of the first-floor window onto the ledge.

This was my first week of working in a children’s home. I wasn’t really prepared for what I encountered. Eventually, through physical force and careful persuasion, I managed to drag Anthony back through the window.

My colleagues told me that prior to his admission the unit had been very settled. Anthony’s bizarre behaviour had quickly blown the lid off this. It emerged that he had been sexually abused by his uncle and, as a consequence, his relationship with his mother had broken down.

Part of my new role was to try family mediation with a view to reintegration. I spent a fair amount of time with his mother trying to persuade her to have him back. We drew up a behavioural contract and he returned home on the basis that he would adhere to the agreed boundaries.

Within hours he had torn up the contract and was quickly readmitted into our care under what was a voluntary arrangement, in part due to him being about to turn 16.

The authority did not share parental responsibility, thus their obligations towards him were about to come to an abrupt end. Despite this there was a willingness to accommodate him as part of a family support package.

Unfortunately his behaviour became increasingly bizarre. Our African cook turned round to find him crawling across the floor like a snake. This continued for some weeks until Anthony reached his 16th birthday. At this point I was given the task of taking him to homeless services in the middle of the city, to what was known as direct access.

I have a distinct memory of helping him to put his meagre belongings into a black bin bag before we jumped into my battered car. I felt uncomfortable as we drove, thinking "how can what I am doing be considered good practice?"

I dropped him at the hostel, apologising that he was on his own from now on. I gave him a tenner from my own pocket and wished him well. The homeless hostel was known to be full of sex offenders. There was a strong likelihood that Anthony would be abused again.

For many years I thought this was the worst piece of practice I had ever been party to. It left me with a feeling of guilt. Surely over the years we would move away from such a cold, callous culture.

***

Neil staggered up the pathway, a can of lighter fuel protruding from his sleeve, black gunge crusted round his mouth. He plonked himself down next to the front door, slumping forward. Why does he come herw every day, I asked? "Cos he used to live here, and so did his brother," replied my colleague.

He wasn’t the best influence on the other young people. Their eyes lit up briefly at the sight of him before becoming as glazed as his, leaving them in a soporific state.

The residents were not always so docile and would wander off into the estate looking for excitement. It didn’t take much to agitate Frank, the vigilante, and he seemed to take pleasure in chasing them back to the home, allegedly wielding a baseball bat.

The kids would burst in breathless, their hearts in their mouths. They rarely went to school - had they chosen to it was only round the corner. They were very much integrated into their local community, even if it was in a dysfunctional way.

During the time I worked in residential, I don’t recall any child being forced to leave the homes they were living in. In fact, few of them were placed outside the local area. Some years later, I would bump into these kids in town, now young adults. They’d smile, ask how I was and we would reminisce about the staff the other young people and catch up with who was where. Some, inevitably, were in the local prison. Many had gravitated back to their families once they had left care, a typical outcome.

***

While qualifying, I was given the task of supervising a young man with learning disabilities. My role was to closely supervise him throughout the day. He was on bail for repeatedly returning to his school. He had repeatedly assaulted a lad for taunting him, in breach of his conditions. I was paid £6.50 an hour and we were given an allowance of £15 per day to keep ourselves occupied.

Unfortunately, he was to go on to become a prolific car thief and bounced in and out of custody. I would supervise him one-to-one whenever he was out. He would often boil up, threaten to abscond, even saying he was going to assault me. Yet in all the time I was with him he would not offend.

***

All of the above was challenging and often stressful but the mantra was it came with the territory. The ethos was that family, relationships were vitally important to young people’s psychological wellbeing.

I could cite more extreme examples but don’t recall any young person ever being moved out of authority. Our understanding of the psychological impact of moves has improved - an esteemed psychologist wrote a seminal work on minimising the associated trauma, and this continues to be revered today.

We now have greater resources, much more detailed assessments and therefore practice must have surely improved? Indefensibly, this is not the case. During the last years of my career I observed what I can only be described as a cattle market.

Local authority-run homes and foster placements have been repeatedly run down. Troubled young people are no longer placed round the corner. If a child needs a placement contract, commissioning will circulate an anonymised profile. Private providers will bid to provide a placement. In-house provision is reserved for those children least likely to challenge and compromise Ofsted ratings.

The philosophy is how do you maintain good if a young person is volatile? A further complication is that demand outstrips supply, making it a seller’s market. This results in young people being shunted hundreds of miles around the country.

It is a lamentable state of affairs when notice is given on a an in-house placement because a 17-year-old returns home drinking a can of lager. In another example, a 13-year-old girl was thrown out for “twerking”, the allegation being that this was unacceptable sexualised behaviour.

A severely neglected 11-year-old was accused of theft by her foster carer due to “hoarding” chocolate under her bed. Any disruption in the community is deemed as disruptive and likely to impact negatively on future inspections. The list of disproportionate responses to minor misdemeanours goes on.

The private homes we are placing our children in are often ex-council flats staffed by inexperienced agency workers who have no investment in building relationships. On occasions Airbnbs are used, the epitome of temporary.

There are often ratios of two staff to one, yet as soon as a young person becomes slightly disruptive the provider holds the authority over a barrel, demanding up to an additional £5,000 per week to provide another member of staff, who is likely to be paid little more than the £6.50 I used to get. Once these unscrupulous providers have made their profit they dispense with the child, knowing another one is about to be auctioned.

Millions of pounds are being pocketed by big business. In return, our children are being severed from their families and communities, having no chance to develop lasting networks. The psychological damage being inflicted is immeasurable.

I reminisced with an experienced senior colleague about my first task with Anthony three decades ago, the black bin bag and the tenner. Without any sense of irony, he said I hope people don’t look back at our practice in 30 years’ time and conclude it was dreadful…

Sam Waterhouse is a newly retired social worker who spent most his career working in the south of England. BASW members can read the next extract from his memoir in the July/August edition of Professional Social Work magazine. Names and some details have been changed where appropriate to protect identities