A little support can make a big difference

The first was for a prominent Canadian youth researcher whose name has been put forward for a prize of some distinction. The second was for one of last year's mature students who had applied to be a volunteer with a youth offender panel. The third was for an ex-youth club member and reminded me how we remain of significance long after any direct and everyday practice has ceased.

I have written about Cassie before. She is, today, a young woman with mild learning difficulties. When I first met her, she was a girl with, at times, severe behavioural problems. The youth club was, however, her haven. Her parents trusted us. We persevered with Cassie, weaving her into the fabric of our work, giving her small responsibilities, involving her in discussions. We took her away on weekends, which was sometimes very challenging.

Over very many years, we provided support and direction in Cassie's life, to the point where, as she moved into her twenties, she was still attending the youth club, though by then as a volunteer and "helper".

She went to college to study vocational qualifications and achieved an NVQ level 2 in catering. She was very proud of her achievements and, if you asked her what she wanted to be, she would say "I'm gonna do cheffing".

Then the depression set in. Job applications were repeatedly ignored or rejected. One day she turned up, dejected, at a youth project run by someone who used to work with me. By chance, she knew there were vacancies - in the kitchens - with one of those private companies that runs holiday programmes for children.

My ex-colleague suggested Cassie ask me to write a reference. I wrote something to the effect that Cassie would be a steady worker and the value-added aspect of appointing her would be that she was very familiar with youth work settings having attended the youth club right through her adolescent years and into adulthood as a volunteer.

Cassie called to thank me for doing this. I said, no problem. And if it was unsuccessful, we would just have to have another go next time. "There won't be a next time", she said, and, as she hesitated, I was somewhat anxious about what she would say next. "I'm gonna get this," she blurted out.

That is the unmeasurable confidence we had, like a dripping tap, instilled in her over many years. I will keep you tabbed.

Howard Williamson is professor of European youth policy at the University of Glamorgan, and a member of the Youth Justice Board. Email howard.williamson@haymarket.com.