What are you going to do to help me?

Labour of Love

By Simon Buckley

Not long after I joined the Labour Party I received an innocuous email from a man called Tom, casually asking if I’d take some pictures of a local candidate. Just 12 months later, I was outside a row of shops being photographed for my own candidate’s leaflet, whilst young lads straddling bikes made w****r signs at me.

After outing myself as a candidate in front of the cast of the Inbetweeners I was ready to start the campaign and I started ringing Labour members in my area. I felt like a double glazing salesman as I dialled the numbers, but the enthusiastic response inspired me to send an email inviting people to come door knocking with me the following Saturday.

On the eve of my first canvass my wife thought it might help to do some role play. She closed the kitchen door and called for me to knock, which I did. She opened the door, folded her arms and leant against the frame, just like Deirdre Barlow on Coronation Street. “Yes?” she said icily. “Hello, I’m Simon Buckley, your, your, erm..your local Labour representative”. She stared back at me as if I’d just called her mother a walrus. I panicked and blurted out “You’re very pretty!” She shook her head. “You can’t say that on the doorstep.”

As I parked on the estate the next day this little cameo was still haunting me. A souped-up hatchback packed with young lads sped past, dust spitting up from the gleaming wheels. I got out of my car and Tom, the guy who initially groomed me as a Labour candidate, stepped forward, pinned a rosette onto me like I was a prize heffer and started calling out house numbers. The air was filled with the wailing of dogs, like we were on the set of Hound of the Baskervilles.

The first member of the team set off into a garden but was immediately driven back by two giant German Shepherd dogs who leapt up in front of him. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead as I went to the gate of my first house. The yard was enclosed by a tall fence and, to ensure there were no dogs, Tom made me wait two seconds before going in. I crept up the path and rapped on the door, fighting my inner child’s desire to play knock-a-door run.

A man in his early fifties answered and, after he indicated that he voted Labour, we happily talked about the local area. About ten minutes later I shook his hand and made my way back out onto the street. There was no sign of my team anywhere. I looked across to the myriad alleyways that formed the estate but couldn’t see anyone. I wondered if this was some kind of initiation prank for first time candidates.

Just as I was getting ready to call out “One hundred, I’m coming to find you!” I spotted Tom and the rest of the team emerging from various houses, clutching their notes. People seemed delighted we were making an effort to visit them outside of election time and were only too happy to tell us about the issues affecting their lives.

I soon became comfortable with approaching stranger’s houses and began to relax. I listened as residents told me about the need for more things for young people to do, a mother and daughter complained about gangs kicking down their fencing and a determined woman and her husband explained the wonder of credit unions.

I was feeling buoyant as I entered the last cul-de sac and saw a man in his thirties sitting out in the sun, listening to Radio 1. I walked up to meet him, smiled and introduced myself. He gathered his bull terrier closer to him and invited me in to his garden. As I sat down ready for a cheery end of day chat a woman in her forties came from another garden and joined us. Her skin was slightly greying and she wore no make-up. She eyed me warily and, after I explained who I was, began to talk.

She’d been unemployed for several months and, due to a mistake at the benefits office had been living on handouts from friends for a month. The guy had a similar story. He too had been without a job for most of the past year and his spirit was broken. He wasn’t even getting replies to his applications, never mind interviews. The woman listened and then began to cry. “What’s the point of living? I’m desperate to work and I try to do the right thing, but there’s nothing. I have no worth, no value.” She wiped the tears away, fighting to restore her pride.

Leaning back in her chair she fixed me with a dead stare. “So,” she said, “You say you’re a politician. What are you going to do to help me?” In the distance, a dog barked.