Joe Wyatt and the Severn Dwarves

We first met at a Dwarf Sports Association event in 1995, when we were all five years old. Our parents were forward thinking people, who having realised that, they had a daughter with restricted growth, thought of the likely complications of this. Their immediate thoughts related to the physical difficulties we would encounter. Subsequently, they thought about the less obvious repercussions for their small children. Amongst other things, they anticipated that, their offspring’s lack of stature would make it difficult for them to join in sporting events with their average height peers. They were also aware that, we were likely to suffer ridicule throughout our lives, and so would need to build resilient personalities. Upon researching ways to increase a child’s self-esteem, they individually found that, success in sport, and/or belonging to a social group increased a child’s confidence. And so it was that, early one March Saturday morning, we were all taken to the Whitehall Sports Complex, to try out various sporting activities.

           Some of us showed a natural aptitude for a particular sport, others enjoyed the physical activity in general, and a few were disinterested. Irrespective of our views, our parents persevered, and the second Saturday of every month, we were transported to the sports grounds. Friendships flourished between the parents and us girls. When we were old enough to decide for ourselves, there were four of us who remained close friends. Our common disability forged a close bond between us. We had all grown up being the objects of curiosity, and often the recipients of unkind remarks. Together we were able to share the difficulties of finding fashionable clothes to fit our bodies, the discomfort of being unable to reach sinks in public toilets, and our outrage when people assumed that our diminutive height also entailed a less than average intellect. This, in a world, where surgical interventions to achieve society’s concepts of beauty were becoming accepted practice. Botox, breast enhancements and lip fillers were routinely paid for by the privileged. Whilst appreciation for less tangible concepts such as intellect, kindness and humility appeared to diminish.

           By the time, we were in our mid-twenties, none of us were taller than four foot ten inches. Nonetheless, we were all gainfully employed. Becky had always been the most academic of us, and had taken a law degree at university. She was currently working as a personal injury lawyer for a local firm of solicitors. Her sharp intellect and caustic wit, gave the impression that she was determined and self-confident. She was, but underneath her brittle exterior, she was also sensitive and empathic. Socially, she enjoyed clubbing, and an occasional cigarette.

           Elle was a self- employed gas heating engineer. She had fought hard against prejudice and practical difficulties to undertake an apprenticeship and achieve her gas safety certificates. Due to the physical challenges of the job, for instance, she did not possess the strength to lift a boiler from a wall, she found it nigh on impossible to find employment. She solved this, by setting up her own business, and employing an academically challenged eighteen year old to be her ‘brawn’. She worked long hours, not only fitting, repairing and servicing gas appliances, but also undertaking the necessary paperwork for her own business.    

           Jasmine was working for an estate agent as a sales negotiator, and had undertaken several years’ part time study after leaving school. In her spare time, she continued her interest in physical fitness, started all those years ago at Whitehall Stadium. She regularly jogged twice per week, and attended a weekly aerobics class on Wednesday mornings. She was loud and impulsive, but totally trustworthy – you could confess your darkest secret to her, and it would go no further.                    

           And last, but not least, Naga who was currently employed as a sales assistant in a shoe shop. Of the four of us, she had tried the most jobs, having worked as a waitress, childrens’ nanny and in several retail outlets. She had a fiery temper and was sensitive to criticism; both attributes had resulted in her storming out of jobs. She was the most creative of us all, enjoying dressmaking, oil painting and the construction of flat pack furniture. She also loved travelling and spoke fluent French and German.

           We could all drive, and had our own modified vehicles. Apart from when Becky went to university, we all continued to live at home with our families. Practical constraints prevented us from moving out. Anywhere we lived would need adaptions to accommodate our restricted height. In a climate where there was an abundance of available tenants, landlords were reluctant to make the necessary property alterations for us. Social housing designed specifically around our needs was few and far between. It was the ever practical Elle who found a solution. Her profession bought her into contact with many builders. She had been talking to one, who had bought a four bedroomed property in Bewdley with the intention of renovating it. Her idea was that, we offered to buy the property, and retained his services to alter the house to our specifications. And so it came about that we were sharing a house. Initially, there were teething troubles about who did what chore and territorial infringements, but all in all, we settled well into our new home. Bewdley is located alongside the River Severn, so we collectedly began to refer to ourselves as the ‘Severn Dwarves.’

           It was a dark January evening, approximately sixteen months after we first moved in together, when Becky brought the boy home. The outside rain, which rattled against the windows, contained frozen needles capable of piercing any clothing. Inside our house it was warm and cosy. It was Naga’s turn to cook, and she had left a lamb casserole in the slow cooker. Its smell wafted enticingly around the ground floor, almost beckoning us to come and eat, and summoning rumbles from deep down in our bellies. Becky let herself and the lad hurriedly in through the front door, and they stood on the mat for a few seconds, dripping and shaking the freezing rain onto the floor. The boy did not look up; instead he gazed at the floor, drops of water falling from his straggly fringe onto the floor. In his arms he held a sodden lump of fur - Max.            

           Elle was still out working, but Jasmine and Naga were lolling comfortably on the sofa watching TV, when they heard Becky say:

           ‘We need to get you out of those wet clothes, and get Max dry. Hang on, I’ll run up and get some towels and things.’ The girls were instantly on their feet, peering round the doorway at the sorry trio in the entrance hall.

           ‘Naga, Jasmine. This is Joe and his dog Max.’ Later, when Joe was sleeping soundly in Becky’s bed, with Max lying on top, at right angles across his feet, she explained: she had left her office for the day, and was walking towards her car, when she noticed movement in a nearby doorway. Closer inspection revealed that, it was the boy and his dog, apparently using flattened cardboard to make a bed for the night, and so she had brought him home with her –simple! The girls’ reactions varied. When Elle returned home, she took a typically pragmatic approach, asking.

‘Where’s his parents?’ Joe had been unforthcoming on this front, only saying that he could not go home. In truth, he was uncommunicative on all subjects. Jasmine’s contribution to the conversation was. ‘Why’d you bring him here?’ To which Becky replied. ‘Well, I couldn’t leave him out in the cold, could I?’ Jasmine’s thoughts were that, Joe and his dog should have been dropped at social services’ offices, but none of the girls knew where these were. Initially, Naga concentrated on the immediate difficulty of where he would sleep that night, but Becky willingly offered her room, saying that she could sleep on the sofa. Before retiring, Joe and Max hungrily ate the lion’s share of the lamb casserole, and then snuggled into Becky’s bed.

The girls sat up late into the night, discussing their unexpected guests. When Joe had removed his wet clothes, and handed them around the bathroom door to Becky, she had seen that they were filthy and tatty. They had immediately been put into the wash, and were currently rotating in the tumble dryer. The girls had doubts that they would emerge in tact enough to be wearable. Joe came out of the bathroom wearing Becky’s towel dressing gown, and the girls could see enough to detect that he was painfully thin. But there was more than that. He answered their questions monosyllabically, and there was an air of wariness and dejection about him. Eventually, they agreed upon a plan, of sorts. The next morning was Saturday, and so Becky would not be working. When Joe got up, she would take him to the police station, and explain the circumstances in which she had found him. She was far from happy with this arrangement, but understood that, this was probably the best that they could collectively do.

However, Joe had other ideas. The next morning, when the girls got up for work, he had gone. Initially, there was a frantic checking of belongings, but not a thing had been taken. Jasmine, Naga and Elle set off for work, leaving a somewhat despondent Becky to her own devices. Later, as she stood ironing in the kitchen, an item on the local news caught her attention. It related to a seventeen year old boy, who had disappeared from Wolverhampton four days earlier. A bleached blonde, middle aged woman held up a photo of Joe. Tears streamed down her face, as she said to the camera.

‘Please come home Joe. We love and miss you.’ A microphone was shoved towards her, as an interviewer asked.

‘Have you any idea where Joe might be?’

‘No, none. He’s a bit of a loner. People think he’s a bit strange. He thinks he can talk to animals and things, but he’s harmless. Not a nasty bone in his body.’ With that, her face vanished, and the newscaster in the studio reappeared on the screen. Becky turned off the iron and the TV, she needed to think. Should she contact the police and tell them that Joe had been with her? Would she get in trouble for not contacting them earlier? And why had Joe left his home?

Meanwhile, Joe and Max were wandering through Wyre Forest. It remained bitingly cold, but the rain had stopped, and as long as they kept moving, they felt warm enough. As soon as he had woken up, and remembered where he was, Joe had sprung out of bed, found his clothes lying neatly, dry and clean, outside the bedroom door, dressed and fled. Common sense told him that he would be unable to stay in the girls’ comfortable home. Safety lay in the countryside, where the woodland animals would warn him of approaching danger, show him places to shelter, and try to help him to find food. Food was his biggest challenge, whilst he might be able to exist on fruit and nuts, Max needed meat. The woodland creatures would not help a dog to eat one of their own.

A red chested robin flew down onto the path in front of them. ‘Snow is coming, you need to go back.’ he said. ‘I daren’t’ replied Joe. ‘She’ll find me, and make me do bad things again.’ A blackbird joined his rosy friend on the ground. ‘The little ladies are kind, they will help you.’ A wood pigeon added to their chorus. ‘They put seeds out for me.’ And then a jay. ‘You can feel the snow in the air.’ More and more birds joined the clamour, some swooping and fluttering in the air, others anxiously hopping around Joe’s feet, all urging him to return to the dwarves’ cottage. Until, suddenly, the noise and motion ceased, and a mighty, white stag strode into their midst. All the birds flew to branches, and watched as the deer approached Joe. Solemnly shaking his head until his mossy antlers rattled against each other, he said.

‘If you will not listen to reason, come with me. I sleep in a dry ditch, you can nestle against me for warmth.’

Early the next morning, a fine icing sugar coating of snow covered the ground and trees. Jasmine jogged through the forest. Her breath made plumes of smoke in the air. She had to be carefully not to slip, as she steadily pounded along a remote path. Suddenly, a stag unexpectedly erupted from amongst the trees, and bounded further into the forest. She paused in surprise, and lent forwards with her hands on her knees, panting. She saw the outline of a human figure, curled in the ditch. Its frosty covering gave it the semblance of a marble carving. From underneath, Max crawled out, and ran towards her, whimpering and moaning. Jasmine realised that the snow sprinkled body was Joe. She clambered down, and placed a hand on his face. It was barely warm and he did not stir. She used her mobile ‘phone to call for an ambulance, and described as best she could where they were. Whilst she waited, she rang the other girls, more in need of moral support than anything else. The ambulance crew arrived first, lifted Joe from the ditch, wrapped him in a foil blanket and placed him on a stretcher. As they slipped and slithered along the woodland path, the stretcher precariously balanced between them, Becky appeared panting and out of breath. ‘Is he alright? I’ll come in the ambulance with him.’ Elle and Naga were close behind, and from the other direction came Jasmine and Max. They watched as Joe was loaded into the ambulance, and Becky clambered in behind him. Max tried to follow, but Jasmine scooped him up and held him firmly in her arms. He wriggled and howled, but she soothed him, saying. ‘Come on, he’ll be alright. Come home and get some lovely breakfast.’ The dog seemed to understand, at least, he calmed down, and relaxed into Jasmine’s arms.

An hour or so later, Joe lay in a hospital bed, his body neatly encased in crisp white sheets, a drip inserted into the back of his hand. Becky sat beside him, gently asking him about the previous day’s events. Behind them, there was a flurry of activity, as the ward doors were flung open, and the blonde woman from yesterday’s news bulletin ran dramatically towards Joe’s bed. In her wake, a young, tired looking woman followed more sedately.

‘Joey, my baby. I’ve been so worried about you.’ The blond screeched, seemingly oblivious of the other patients and staff around her. Becky did not miss the look of fear, which flitted across Joe’s face. The other woman reached the bed, and introduced herself.

‘Hi Joe. I’m Miriam Pritchard, a social worker with Wolverhampton Social Services.’ And then turning to Becky. ‘And you are?’ Becky explained her involvement, at times being interrupted by Joe’s stepmother, with interjections, such as. ‘Probably a group of nympho paedos.’ And ‘You know they’re all morons, these midgets, don’t you?’ She was ignored by the rest of the group. Miriam was cautious.

‘It was a kind thing to do, Becky, but you know that, you should have brought Joe to our office or a police station, don’t you?’ Joe piped up. ‘I’m not a kid, I can look after myself.’ Miriam answered. ‘Legally you can’t, not until eighteen.’ They were interrupted again by Mrs Wyatt.

‘Well, it don’t matter now. He’s found and he can come home.’

‘I won’t.’ This was spirited defiance from Joe. His stepmother angrily returned ‘You ungrateful, little bastard, you’ll do as your told.’ Miriam had something to add. ‘It’s not as straight forward as that Mrs Wyatt. We’ve been running some background checks, and have some concerns. It would be better if Joe didn’t return home, until we’ve straightened them out.’ ‘Do what you like with him then.’ Exploded Mrs Wyatt, and with that turned on her heel and stormed out. A few moments of stunned silence followed, until Miriam continued, as though nothing had happened.

‘You’ll need to stay here, until we can find you some form of supported lodging.’

‘And Max, my dog?’

‘Probably not, there aren’t many places that will take dogs.’

‘I won’t go anywhere without Max.’ Miriam looked at a loss, before finally answering. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but its doubtful Joe.’ To which, he stuck his chin out determinedly, and said. ‘I mean it, I won’t go anywhere without him.’ Becky intervened. ‘Would our home be suitable? I’d need to ask my housemates, and that’s if Joe would want to come.’

And so it was that, Joe came to stay with us a few days later. He and Max were overjoyed to be reunited. The arrangement was only meant to be temporary, for a few months, but we ended up having a man cave constructed in the garden for our ‘foster family.’ When Elle’s brawn moved on to pastures new, Joe stepped into his shoes. Later still, Joe found a girlfriend, and they had a child together. For a short time, they stayed in his man cave until they found somewhere more suitable to live. When they married, we were guests of honour, and to this day the family still visit us.

Eventually, Joe told us that after his mother died, his father remarried. Unbeknownst to his father, his stepmother was a drug dealer. A few years later, his father also died, and she tried to force Joe to run drugs for her, and that is why he left home. And that is the story of Joe Wyatt and the Severn Dwarves.