A haven from an unsympathetic world

Feb 25 2008 by David Charters, Liverpool Daily Post

Forty years ago, determined parents vowed that their children would have a safe place in a special community for people who will always be a little different. David Charters reports

HE WAS a handsome chap, a fine looking baby, everyone could see that, but his devoted parents sensed something different in the solitary nature of their second son.

This was a puzzle and a worry.

But one day, when he was 18 months, Simon McParlin, normally so quiet, said “Hallejulah” – loud and clear as a church bell.

“Praise the Lord,” thought his mother, Beryl. In the coming years of despair, frustration and occasional jubilation, she would say those words to herself many times, giving them a very personal interpretation – when Simon stood beneath a lamp in the room, spinning on his feet, ceaselessly, eventually making a hole in the carpet and floor.

And there was that time when he was out walking with his big sister, Vanda, and other boys started laughing at him. Why, Vanda wanted to know. He was just her little brother.

But there would be little triumphs as well.

Many years later, another man, Neil Benson and his older sister, Cathy, were at an aquarium, where an assistant was feeding otters with mice which had been frozen and defrosted.

“They don’t eat their souls, do they?” asked the man, who seemed distressed.

“Yes, they eat the whole mouse,” said the assistant.

“But they don’t eat their souls,” said the older man with more emphasis and in his expression was a yearning for reassurance.

“Oh no, their soul will be frolicking in the mouse heaven by now,” said the assistant, suddenly realising how important it was that the answer he offered should be kind.

The older man, who, as a child, had filled a row of bottles with all the colours of the rainbow, smiled. It was as it should be.

On another occasion, Neil had engaged a clergyman in a theological discussion. “Did you know that the eyes of your soul can see right through the moon, but the eyes of your body can only see the front?” he asked.

“No, but I’m sure you are right,” said the cleric. Simon and Neil are now the elders at a special community run by the Wirral Autistic Society at Raby Hall, near Bromborough. Most of the 91 “clients” live here, but some live in eight nearby houses, which have been adapted by the Riverside Housing Association.

Of course, we are all a little different, but to adapt a quotation from George Orwell, some are more different than others.

To cater for the extraordinary needs of such people, the society began.

On Wednesday, it will celebrate its 40th anniversary with an appeal for a £1.3m respite centre to be launched by the Duke of Westminster, its president, at his home, Eaton Hall, in Chester.

Autism was not identified as a condition until 1943 and its causes and development are still the subject of much research. In broad terms, there is no “cure”, though there are many ways of assisting the autistic person to achieve his/her potential.

It takes on many forms, but typically the autistic child finds it extremely difficult, or impossible, to relate to others. They might display obsessive or highly repetitive behaviour patterns, hardly communicating at all. This is obviously extremely distressing for loving parents and brothers and sisters. The extent of these characteristic can vary greatly from the profoundly shy person, who is probably able to look after himself, to the extreme cases of men and women whose frustration could occasionally lead to violence. The condition is four times more likely to occur in males and 535,000 British families are affected.

It is generally wrong to confuse the peculiarities of people with this disorder and genius, as has occasionally happened in TV programmes and films.

Most autistic people have extremely restricted imagination, which explains their failure to anticipate the feelings of even those with whom they are in regular contact. Love affairs and emotional feelings rarely break into their hidden shells. But, in the fields of mathematics or computer/electronics, where the work follows rigidly logical forms, they might excel.

The same applies to music in which the pressing of a key or the plucking of a note should produce the same sound. Any tiny variation will be heard.

Thoughts such as these troubled Helen and Keith Benson in the 1960s, when they were considering the future of their son, Neil, now 51. Other Wirral families had similar anxieties. There were days when Beryl McParlin and her husband, Tom, a liaison officer, were so worried about Simon, now 41,

They were the pioneers of the Wirral Autistic Society. Keith had graduated in zoology from the Liverpool University and worked with the academic staff in the Faculty of Veterinary Science until 1981.

He had met Helen at the university, where she was a secretary. Their lives changed after Neil’s autism was diagnosed.

Keith was the society’s chairman for 34 years until his death in 2002. Helen was the honorary secretary and a brilliant fundraiser until her death last October. She was responsible for £3m being raised, and Helen House in the four-acre grounds is named in her honour.

The great worry for parents such as the McParlins and Bensons was what would happen to their sons in adulthood when they were gone.