On the occasion of retiring from social work

Beautifully written by my daughter Seonaid Stevenson on her train journey through to my social work leaving party on 15 March 2019 - and much appreciated.

When I was wee
My Dad asked me what I wanted to be
When I grew up.

I said I wanted to work in a cafe,
And if I couldn’t do that… then I’d just be a Social Worker.

Like Dad.


I think - I hope - this stemmed from an ignorance of social work
Rather than a disregard.
I’m sure I couldn’t have told you then what Social Workers are
Or what they do.

I never knew
For ages
Because my Dad didn’t talk much about work,
At least not with me and Rob.
I don’t think we noticed, because his job
Was the least interesting thing about him.

You must understand
This was a man
Who built trains and made them move.
Who, if he was in a good mood
Would make for us, what we deemed
Five Michelin Star restaurant food,
Could surprise us all by speaking French,
Made our garden from scratch - including the bench,
Annually burned his precious shed
With Catherine Wheels
- Being the only one with enough nerve to light the fireworks.

There’s also the endless quirks
And mysteries.
His earring, his squint nose, the countless stories.
I won’t list his past jobs, it’s too long a list.
I’m still not entirely sure what ‘The Order of the Iguana’ is.

Also, he’s a Magician.
And actual Magician.

‘Dad can I have some pocket money?’
‘Aye it’s behind your ear.’
‘Dad not now, my friends are all here.’

If you had seen him do magic on your birthday
The last thing you’d ask him would be about his work day.

I mean right enough - he knows kids.
He is a kid.
If you disagree, fine, have it your way
But you obviously never saw him on Christmas Day.
You could say ‘Cheerio’ to any new toy because he was trying it first.
And you could bet
Once you were tucked up in bed
That he’d be showing it off in the pub

Not everything he said was in jest
And no one does sincere like Dad.
As someone who as once his teenage daughter,
Trust me,
If you’re in a stand off
You don’t stand a chance.
If he’s talking about something he cares about
You’re in the palm of his hand.

And sure,
Some of it was politics.
Mandela is a saint
Thatcher’s the devil etc etc

But mostly he preached
Empathy
Tolerance
Rights
Freedom
Weighty concepts for anyone, let alone children
But he made - makes - them understood.
A standard Stevenson day out could be a six mile march
But it was okay
Because we knew it was for those who maybe couldn’t say
Their bit.

Plus, there was face painting at the end

And a damn good effort to make things right
Or at least a bit less wrong.

So I think in a way my Dad was talking about work
All along.