paul was affected by the assault of his friend and the legal aftermath.

Summer 1989-90

After hustling my way into a part-time job (see related post), I had settled into the summer life of a pool attendant. I enjoyed the responsibility of opening the pool complex, keeping the place tidy for patrons, and patrolling the pools to keep people safe. I had my best mate working beside me most of the time, and we were fair but firm in our use of authority. We would blow our whistles to stop children running near the pool; we would blow our whistles to stop kids doing dumb things roughhousing and trying to drown their mates; and we would blow our whistles to announce the slide winder was opening for slip sliding fun. We had a pretty cool “office”to work in each summer, and we were fit, tanned and wore mirror sun glasses like Tom Curse in Top Gun.

There were down sides too, but not many. George Town is by the sea, so it is windy most days. Sun burn and dry cracking lips were health hazards. Cleaning the urinals of faeces was not fun. And missing out on being in the pool on a stinking hot day was also a bummer. The behaviour of patrons was rarely an issue. Most kids that pushed the envelope of questionable behaviour would quickly come into line if we used our deep voices. But it was the behaviour of one man that is burnt into my mind all these years later.

On pool duty by myself toward the end of a long day, I was watching over the pool while talking with Jay. Slightly taller, and a little thinner than me, Jay was a fellow student that had started at our school mid way through the year. He was athletic and girls adored him. I interrupted our chat when a guy, 20 years of age, topless but dressed in denim jeans, ran from the top of the hill to launch himself into the deep end of the pool. He bombed into the water with such force that the splash carried to the other side of the eight lane pool. He didn’t hit anyone luckily, but that behaviour was not on. I blew my whistle before he hit the water and kept blowing it until he surfaced. Most of the patrons stopped in their tracks, but this guy turned my general direction, told me to “get fucked” and gave me the middle finger as he dove under water again. De-escalating situations, or not further escalating situations, was our goal. So when he went about his paddling quietly I let him be.

As was protocol, I rotated around different parts of the pool to maintain line of sight to all corners.  I kept an eye on the belligerent guy, and had that pessimistic fear that he could turn it up another notch. Jay followed me around the pool edge. When we passed the guy again he swang his arms around like a typhoon and purposefully splashed water at Jay and I.  A quick head nod to Jay and I signalled “let’s leave it be”. I gave the guy his space and we moved positions again. The offender, getting no push back from me, tired of trying to provoke me and returned to his towel high up on the hill. I didn’t think much more about him once he was out of the water. I resumed my duties and slowly moved back across the concourse to check the smaller pools.

With Jamie in tow I was about to return to the main pool when the guy in denim jeans – now wearing a black t-shirt and basket ball boots – began running from the hill. This time his trajectory was not the pool, but us. As he got closer he was shouting and threatening Jay and I. I indicated to Jay to move back toward the main building. When the offender passed the pool and began to pick up pace I instructed Jay to run, and we headed for the security of the ticket office. I tapped on the glass to alert the pool manager, and unlocked the office door.  Thinking Jay was behind me, I turned to let him in, but he had slipped or being struck and was now on the ground. The offender was in a frenzy. Jay had curled up to defend his face and head, but the offender was kicking him in the stomach and back with violent force. Jay was screaming in pain. I worked with the pool manager to ring the police.

When Jay stopped moving and laid still, the offender approached the ticket office and punched the glass that stood between him and me. He called me a “pussy” and invited me out from behind the glass. I shook my head, while the pool manager yelled at him to stop and that she was calling the police. He stormed around the complex for a moment, presumably looking for something to break the glass. Unable to find anything, he lost interest in me, and returned to give the limp-less Jay another kick. He then stomped off to get his gear, threw it over the fence, and jumped the fence on the hill to flee. We provided first aid to Jay when it was safe to do so. He had significant marks to his stomach, ribs and back, his nose and mouth were bleeding and his eye was closing over. When the police arrived Jay was seated in the office wrapped in lost property towels to keep him warm. He was in shock and was taken to the doctor surgery just down the road. The pool manager and I provided statements to the police. In conversation, they indicated that they knew the name of the likely offender.

I didn’t see Jay for the rest of the summer, he reported recovered physically within a couple of weeks. But I didn’t feel good at all for a very long time. I struggled mentally with what I had witnessed. My sleep and my mood were affected for months. What we now know as ‘post traumatic stress’ was not considered back then and it was expected I would just get back to work and slot back into school when it returned. But things changed in my head because of that day. I was constantly on the lookout for danger. I had become hyper-vigilant. I became reclusive, not wanting to go anywhere, and I feared going down to the fish’n’chip shop end of the Main Street where I knew the offender and his mate hung out.

Things settled down marginally with the routine of study when school returned in mid-February, but it all resurfaced when I received a summons to appear at a hearing. I was unsure what the legal document meant, but Mum supported me to attend the hearing at the Council Chambers in early March 1990. We sat and waited, but there was no sign of Jay nor the offender. We were confused as to what was going on. An officer approached after an hour and indicated that the matter would not proceed. There was no further discussion. I went back to school. I didn’t mention any of it to my peers. I did share my concern with a teacher I trusted, and he shared the news that Jay now hung out with the offender and his younger brother, two years our junior. As the year progressed the world had moved on, but mentally I couldn’t. I carried that fear forward for years to come.

Postscript

Services to those who experience trauma are vitally important. Quality, accessible and affordable care is essential if we are to assist people following traumatic events.  There are too few psychologists, social workers, and mental health counsellors in our health, education, and primary care systems. We must train more, and embed more in the places and spaces where they can be accessed.