Stories by Anne Knight
The Day I Met Ben
Today a meeting was to be held at a Youth Hostel in Derbyshire. The
year was 1966 and it was November.
Getting the train to the place near the Youth Hostel I started walking
along the road. It was rather a cold day. When I arrived at the Hostel I
handed in my Youth Hostel card, the warden booked me in, giving me a
dorm number. That was what we called it for short but the real name is a
dormitory. Ladies usually had a large dormitory but not always. It
depended on which Youth Hostel you stayed at. After making my bed, which
was the norm, I changed into something a little more comfortable.
Leaving my rucksack by my bed I went to make my dinner in the kitchen,
wishing to cook. The kitchen cost three pence old money to use the gas
ring. Putting my food in the pan, I waited for it to boil. In those days
dried food was so easy to do as long as you followed the instructions.
Milk you ordered from the warden so you would not have to carry it. We
talked to each other as the meeting was not until next day. If my memory
is right while doing our cooking someone said: ‘Have you finished with
that gas ring?’ Being me, I replied: ‘Yes!’ He could use it as I had
finished.
In the 1960s, the Hostel kitchen had little boxes, like pigeon holes.
This was the space you would claim for the weekend to put tea, your mild
from the warden plus other things such as bacon for breakfast plus eggs.
I had a small box for two eggs, which fitted into a box with other
foodstuffs that I carried in my rucksack.
It was a very busy and full weekend with people coming from different
places. Macclesfield was one and there were others. I got my dinner. It
was crowded! Well, that’s how I met Ben. With great difficulty, I asked
if I could sit at his table. Ben was not the only one sitting at the
table but there seemed no space. The other hostellers had finished their
dinner so they got up, leaving me with Ben. Ben said, with a stutter, it
was OK to sit there, but in his way this was a struggle. Words from his
mouth would not come easily. ‘My name’s Ben, what, what’s yours?’ This
is how a stammerer would speak. My Ben did this stuttering. He would get
annoyed with his difficulty.
After a while, we went out together. As I got to know him I tried to
tell him, think slowly, this would let him speak slower; also to breathe
properly, so helping him. With a lot of care, it improved. One evening,
long ago, Ben was invited to meet my parents at our house. He was rather
nervous of how to speak, even then he felt a little frustrated, in case
he said the wrong word. I had forewarned my parents about his stammer.
As we got to my house the door opened, mum was waiting. ‘Glad to see
you,’ looking at Ben, ‘you must be Ben.’ Ben managed to say: ‘Yes!’
‘Come in, take your coat off.’ Ben was introduced to dad. He sat with
Ben on our settee. Mum went to make the tea, bringing the sliced cake on
small plates. It was soon time to leave as Ben had a train to catch, the
last train to Macclesfield was eleven o’clock.
Ben started to say full sentences without a stutter or stammer. It was
like icing on the cake. It melted away forever. We are now pensioners,
Mr and Mrs, a long marriage. He speaks just like everyone else.
Our radio told of two young people who both stammer and how they are
overcoming the problem. This prompted me to write our story.