Let me tell you a story...
After visiting a friend last night, I made the short walk from his home to the local tube station, which involved traversing Ealing Common and an adjacent small green. It was dark, and as I was approaching the southwest corner of the common, I became aware of a woman making stilted progress in front of me. As she heard my footsteps, she stopped dead in her tracks and froze. Always conscious of unintentionally unsettling women in such situations, I gave her a wide berth and muttered "excuse me" as I passed her to announce my presence. She said nothing as I passed, nor did she so much as move her head. For my part, I was just glad to no longer be 'following' her.
A few seconds later, as I first put foot on the common, I heard a voice calling behind me. It was her. She had plucked up the courage to ask me to escort her across the common. How unusual in this day and age, I thought. I became aware that she was quite unsteady on her feet, due to her being more than a little tipsy. My instincts told me to look around, lest I was being lured into some sort of trap, but my better nature took over and I acceeded to her request in good faith.
At this point her inebriation became quite apparent. She thrust her arm into mine, apologised for using me for support, and began to shower me with profuse praise for coming to her aid. I naturally advised her to be wary of who she placed her trust in - for all she knew, I could have been her worst nightmare.
As we started to make stumbling progress across the common I established that she was also heading for Ealing Common station. Her height all-but matched mine, and as she maintained her close grip on my arm, I was having to make a concerted effort to keep her upright and avoid being pushed off the path. She was extremely loquacious, in marked contrast to my own rather taciturn nature, and proceeded to tell me her life story. She apologised for being slightly tight (not her choice of words...), saying that she had been entertaining friends and family that evening. By the time we had crossed the common, she had told me her name, her age, the names of some of her seven siblings, the fact that she was of Irish-Spanish parentage and that she had been convent educated. She went into minute detail about a family feud that had been rumbling after one of her sisters had recently announced she was a lesbian, and how she (my companion) was the only member of the family now speaking to this sister...
We crossed the North Circular Road to complete the remainder of the walk to the station, and still in full flow she pointed out the trees and hedges to our right which had apparently been thinned substantially after a young boy had been raped by two older youths. She asked whether I had a mobile phone, and told me how she condsidered them a vital tool for anyone walking alone: she had developed a technique of just talking into her handset as she walked, clearly announcing details of her location, to create the impression of being in constant touch with someone, which she said was an excellent deterrent to would-be attackers.
As we neared the end of the path, with the lights and bustle of the Uxbridge Road a little way ahead of us, I reflected on my encounter with this woman. I began to wonder why someone so seemingly self-assured had craved my company for this short but rather desolate journey; why had she so readily placed her trust in me? Was the close grip she'd been maintaining on me a pick-pocket's ploy? Was she about to ask me for money, having won my confidence?
Just then a small, mixed-race boy, no more than ten years old, loomed in view walking towards us, and she stopped in her tracks. "This is my son," she said. Before I had time to process the information, they had greeted each other, and with impeccable manners he extended his hand to me and said "Pleased to meet you." She told him she was just heading to the shops, and that he was to go straight home. At this point, he despondently uttered the chilling words: "You're drunk again." and walked off in the direction we'd come from.
All of sudden my mind was in turmoil. I suggested that she go after him, and offered to accompany them both back home, but she was having none of it. "He always makes his own way home, he's used to it." As I began to wonder how many other men he may have seen his mother hanging from in similar circumstances, I could only imagine what might have been going through his mind seeing her with me, and what impact all this was having on such a young impressionable mind. Yet there were no words of reassurance I could have offered him that might have sounded even faintly credible. I supressed the urge to say "I'm just walking your mother to the shops," as in truth I now had no idea where she was going or what mission she was on.
Then her mood turned darker. Still gripping me tightly for support, she explained in overtly racist terms how his father had abandoned her and, somewhat alarmingly, how this mere slip of a youth, standing no more than four foot tall, had taken over his father's role of using her as a punchbag. At first I assumed I'd misheard her and that she was talking about some other man she'd met, but no, she really was laying that unlikely charge at her son. By now, the boy was a speck in the distance, and we were just a few hundred yards from the station. With a heavy heart, I escorted her the rest of the way and bad her farewell. By now, I was convinced that she was really in search of the nearest off-licence. At this point, she became quite maudlin, telling me what a "lovely man" I was and how there weren't enough people like me; as I bristled at the awkwardness of the situation, she turned her grip of my right arm into a shambling embrace. I peeled myslef from her grasp and entered the station, and even as I passed through the ticket gates she was still standing at the entrance shouting her goodbyes.
The words of that little boy and the despondent tone in which he delivered them will stay with me for a long time. He was well dressed, well-spoken and from what little I could gather in the situation, seemed mature beyond his years. But he was also surely a victim of a long and drawn out abuse. No youngster should have to be resigned to seeing his mother in a drunken state; or be expected by his mother to make his own way across a path that she herself had just faced with trepidation; or, perhaps, be left wondering whether the person he'd just seen with his mother was just the latest in a long string of people looking to take advantage of her.
Apologies for the length of this post, but I just had to record my thoughts about last night somewhere, and this seemed as good a place as any.
IMHO in this respect we have followed the USA as being to willing to view everything as being someone else's fault rather than accepting some responsibility for our own actions. Compensation culture gone mad
. Sorry I digress!
I might carry one in the car switched off if I'm travelling on holiday for example but that's about all.
. As for standing by, I didn't, I walked by I don't see it as being a spectator sport. As I said in an earlier post the fact is if you try to help a small child in distress nowadays you are as likely to end up in trouble yourself, accused of abduction or such. 
