On this day 30 years ago I was summoned to the main office where Peter Howarth announced “there’s a warrant here for your train”. “Train”? I asked. “Yep… your off lad”. Two minutes later David Birch walked in rattling the van keys smiling. “Come on Darren, your train leaves in 20 mins we don’t want you missing it do we”? My mouth was agape. I walked upstairs to my dorm put my stuff in a rucksack threw it over my shoulder and made my way down stairs, then outside to the mini bus. No goodbyes no handshakes no hugs from my favourite staff member (Joyce Bailey) nothing. Just me, Birchy and the mini bus. Birchy dropped me off, “try and look after yourself Darren lad, it’s a fucking jungle out there”. I turned around to say goodbye but he was already driving off. I handed the ticket in to the man behind the glass window. He stamped it and I walked onto the platform. Someone had left a newspaper on the bench, The Daily Post, 6th June 1983. The train pulled up, I lit a fag opened the door and stepped on board. I found a seat next to the window and watched as Wrexham faded into a small spot and eventually from sight. I began to cry.
Arrival at Chester station was 20 mins later. A quick train swap and I was on the train to Llanfair PG. Another home, another life another episode. This time it was going to be different. I was going to gt a job
and meet a girl and enjoy my life away from social services.
30 years later and it feels like yesterday. Upon arrival at the halfway house/home one of the helpers at the establishment commented “you know what day it is don’t you Darren?….It’s D-Day, you could call it Daz’s Day”. I have every year since. Every year, every June 6th has been Daz’s Day. Today is no different.
RIP to all those who’ve failed to reach this far, you’re forever in my thoughts.