āMy days are never the sameā
Gravedigger turned war poet Peter Street on his extraordinary life.
Peter Street started his working life as a gravedigger before becoming a gardener, running a restaurant and teaching in prisons.
The author grew up with epilepsy and a learning disability. But it was therapy for PTSD stemming from his time as a war poet in Croatia, which lead to an autism diagnosis aged 64.
Humorous stories about losing five inches in height in a forestry accident, reading fairy tales to young offenders and his two week stay at a brothel keep Robyn and Jamie entertained during this wide-ranging chat.
With Robyn Steward, her support bat Henry, Jamie Knight and Lion.
Produced by Emma Tracey.
Subscribe to the podcast on Ā鶹¹ŁĶųŹ×Ņ³ČėæŚ Sounds or say "Ask the Ā鶹¹ŁĶųŹ×Ņ³ČėæŚ for 1800 Seconds on Autism" to your smart speaker.
Email stim@bbc.co.uk
Transcript
This is a full transcript ofĢżthe 1800 Seconds on Autism podcast āMy days are never the sameā as released on 30 April 2020 and presented by Robyn Steward and Jamie Knight.
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[Jingle: 1800 Seconds on Autism. With Robyn Steward and Jamie Knight.]
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PETER - It was quarter to nine on 22nd March 1967, and I just went up to her and kissed her, not saying anything else, and that was it. Fifty years later weāre still together.
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ROBYN - Where did you kiss her?
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PETER - On the lips.
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JAMIE - I wish you were my grandad. You sound bloody awesome! If youāve got a spare vacancy for a grandchild, you know, can I apply somewhere?
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[Music]
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JAMIE - Hello. This is 1800 Seconds on Autism, a podcast about autistic life with a pleasingly literal name. Iām Jamie Knight.
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ROBYN - And Iām Robyn Steward. In this episode we meet the extraordinary Peter Street. Now aged 71 heās been a gravedigger, a war poet in Zagreb and a cook and restaurant owner. All of these were intense interests of his which he turned into successful careers.
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JAMIE - This guy has had an incredible life and is full of some awesome stories. His personality and varied experiences shone through from the moment we pressed record. So much so that on occasion even our producer, Emma, struggled to know if he was being serious or pulling our leg.
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ROBYN - Which doesnāt mean that your leg is literally being pulled, because that would be impossible, because he wasnāt in the same room as us. Pulling your leg means having a joke. Enjoy!
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[Music]
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ROBYN - Welcome in, Peter. Although youāre not actually in because youāre in Manchester, but welcome.
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PETER - Itās wonderful to be with you.
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ROBYN - Letās go through our usual opening checklist. How are we all doing for spoons today? Peter, do you know about spoon theory?
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PETER - No. Spoons?
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ROBYN - S-P-O-O-N-S. Jamieās going to explain it.
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JAMIE - Yes, because itās also good for the audience. Hello, audience people. The basic idea is that spoons are like a unit of measurement for energy. If I have a really good nightās sleep I might wake up with say eight to ten spoons, and then everything I do during the day takes spoons from me, and a few things that I do gives me more spoons back. So for example the taxi ride this morning and getting dressed and trying to find my watch and my shoes and stuff, that all takes spoons, but actually sitting here, giving Lion a hug, having a chat to my friends, that doesnāt take many spoons at all. So when I get to the end of the day if I run out of spoons thatās when I really start to struggle, thatās when my communication gets really tricky and I start getting really muddled and spaced out. So thatās spoons.
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PETER - That sounds really complicated.
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JAMIE - Iām an engineer, so I like it because it puts numbers onto things and it makes things repeatable.
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PETER - I am to numbers as Hitler was to the peace movement.
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JAMIE - I donāt understand.
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ROBYN - Peter finds numbers like a chocolate teapot. Chocolate teapots arenāt very useful to him and nor are numbers.
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PETER - Yeah, numbers are a bit like paper wellingtons.
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JAMIE - Chocolate fireguards. There we go, Iām following the trend. You see, Iām awake, I know what you mean.
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PETER - Excellent. Tip top.
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ROBYN - So how many spoons have you got, Jamie?
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JAMIE - Right now?
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ROBYN - Yeah.
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JAMIE - Iām going to say five or six. Itās pretty good.
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PETER - I have soup ladles.
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JAMIE - Oh, small, medium and large?
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PETER - Large.
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ROBYN - How many have you got?
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PETER - Oh, at least half a dozen.
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ROBYN - Well, thatās a good start for a podcast. [laughs]
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PETER - That was more of a joke really, because I donāt understand the spoon things. Iāve not a clue what youāre talking about.
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JAMIE - So, you know on an iPad or a phone itās got like a little battery meter?
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PETER - Right.
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JAMIE - The same idea, Iāve got a battery meter, and because I have quite a routine life I can quite well gauge how much energy Iām going to have. So the same way that if youāve got a mobile phone you might turn off wi-fi or bluetooth to make the battery last till the end of the dayā¦
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PETER - My days are never the same.
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JAMIE - That sounds chaotic and crazy and scary, but also I knowā¦
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PETER - I am chaotic and I love change.
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JAMIE - Like Alan Gardner. Heās the same. He likes loud noises and change.
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PETER - Iām not good with loud noises but I like change and I like chaos.
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JAMIE - How are you for spoons, Robyn?
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ROBYN - Ermā¦ I donāt know. What are your stims at the moment, Jamie?
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JAMIE - Right now Iām bouncing my foot because when I bounce my foot the little pop shield in front of the microwave bounces up and down which is incredibly satisfying.
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ROBYN - Oh, I canāt see a microwave in front of you.
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JAMIE - A microwave? Did I call it a microwave? I meant a microphone. Oh, god.
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EMMA - So Robyn, you said you donāt know how you are for spoons. That doesnāt sound great to me. Are you low on energy today?
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ROBYN - Iām a bit sleepy, but I think itās because I have heavy periods and I take a painkiller that makes you sleepy.
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EMMA - So youāre actually tired and in pain?
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ROBYN - Yeah. Going to sleep doesnāt necessarily help because Iāll still be in pain when I wake up.
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JAMIE - Would a Lion hug help?
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ROBYN - Oh, thatās very kind. Iāve got Henry.
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PETER - Whoās Henry?
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ROBYN - Heās my support bat.
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JAMIE - Small plushy bat. Heās lovely.
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PETER - Gosh.
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ROBYN - Peter, do you have anything that you carry around with you as a support?
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PETER - Yes, my rucksack. I have it everywhere I go.
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ROBYN - Does it have a name?
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PETER - Yeah, itās Bert.
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JAMIE - Does it have a personality? Because when we were stood waiting for the lift and the door was sneaking and Ollie the support person went, āJamie, donāt give the door a personality,ā because all of the inanimate objects around me get personalities. So does Bert have like a backstory and does he have like preferences?
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PETER - I like the backstory. How you said back, as in on my back. But no, it likes to leap onto me every so often, [laughter] and we catch the bus together. Gosh, me and Bert do go on some adventures.
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JAMIE - Love it.
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ROBYN - Someone asked me recently would I marry Henry if I could. And I said, āNo, heās a support bat. Thatās a job.ā
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[Jingle: email stim@bbc.co.uk]
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ROBYN - But some people marry bridges.
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PETER - Hmm-hmm.
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JAMIE - I donāt know how to respond to that.
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ROBYN - Shall we go back to the script?
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PETER - Itās probably to cover something up.
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ROBYN - Do you have any stims, Peter?
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PETER - My stims are watching programmes or listening to music over and over and over again. One of my ones for years and years has been āThe Magnificent Sevenā, and IĢż first saw it in 1963 and I must have seen it hundreds and hundreds of times. And I watch it and then spin it back and then watch it again.
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ROBYN - How does it help you?
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PETER - One, with me being a writer it takes me away from writing for a while and sort of relaxes me. And sometimes I get quite agitated, sometimes for no reason at all, and so I put the film on.
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JAMIE - I do something kind of similar, and the way that Iād phrase it is that if the environment isnāt very structured I can make the environment more structured and predictable by putting on something that I know and like, like music or a certain episode of āThomas the Tank Engineā or whatever. Iām not even necessarily watching it and enjoying it but it makes my home feel more familiar and that can help me feel more settled. I also get this sensation of the words from the show flow through my head without being processed in a way thatās actually quite nice.
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PETER - Well also for me itās that I like listening and watching and picking things out whether theyāveā¦ I know they wonāt change, but I like to see whatās in the background of films and sort of see if anythingās moved. And sometimes when you see people talking in a film and thereās a clock in the background I like to keep an eye on that after theyāve done one cut and I like to see if theyāve missed something out by moving their fingers.
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JAMIE - Continuity. One of the autistic people I know who works in the film industry is a continuity specialist. She does things like make sure that the creases in peopleās coats are in the same place from scene to scene when theyāve been shot three months apart.
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PETER - Thatās right, yeah. I like that sort of thing.
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JAMIE - Maybe thereās a thing here about intense interest as well, because I get a similar thing with mountain bikes. I do digital accessibility work. If thereās a problem that I canāt solve itās actually quite useful for me to go and do something on the bike. That might be take off a piece of bike thatās perfectly fine and put it back on again, for no other reason than itās enjoyable and it gives my brain time to focus on a thing and then a solution to the problem will pop into my head.
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PETER - Well, I canāt fix things. Iāve no logic in that sense, and putting things together, a lot of people think that people on the spectrum like Lego and all them sort of things. Taking a wheel off a bike, and then taking the tyre off and doing all the business what youāve got to do, thatās horrendous for me.
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EMMA - I think Robyn, itās time for you to say your regular thing. When youāve metā¦
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ROBYN - When youāve met one autistic person youāve met one autistic person. Peter, do you have intense interests that you havenāt mentioned already?
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PETER - Yeah, Iāve had massive interests with trees and plants and cooking, I love cooking. The same with photography, some of my photographs, theyāve had exhibitions, especially when I was doing photojournalism for the disability movement in the late 1980s. I like intensity at some stage, and then they just seem to fade away. But the trees, theyāve been with me for a long, long time, they donāt fade away completely.
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JAMIE - Youāre in your 70s and only discovered youāre autistic three years ago. How did that happen? Weād love to hear the story.
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PETER - I was 64. Iām almost 71, and weād had some trauma within the family, but also I was suffering from PTSD when Iād been in the war in Croatia in 1993. Iād been a war poet, and the blood and all that sort of business didnāt bother me. Well, I didnāt really see anything like that. What did bother me was the emotions of people in a state that they were almost dying. That traumatised me. But also when I was in a village called Lipik in Croatia and weād been, believe it or not, the whole convoy, the UN had been funded to make us steak and chips in this community centre, like a town hall. And we were being served by teachers and lawyers and things like that, and we had sandwiches, we had army rations in the wagons, and there were two or three little boys outside who were looking through the window, and you could see they were suffering from malnutrition. And I didnāt have the guts to get up and go and give them my meal. And so it was that really that started the PTSD, and then I went to my doctorās, and Iād had this over the years, but he said, finally, āYou need to go and get some real therapy.ā So I went and I was there for maybe six or seven sessions, and she said, āI want you to see a colleague of mine.ā So I had a few more sessions with her and she said, āI think youāre on the autistic spectrum.ā And she was a specialist consultant who diagnosed older people. And thatās how it came to be, but one of the things that came out of it was all the jobs that Iāve done over the years, ranging from being a grave digger to being a writer in prisons, a poet in residence with Greater Manchester Radio to owning a restaurant ā have I said that? ā and it came out that one of my traits is I donāt have a fear of failing.
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JAMIE - Since the diagnosis howās that affected your sense of identity or how you feel about your place in the world?
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PETER - I cried happy tears on the way home. But itās made me who I am. Iāve had an incredible, exciting life. Yes, sometimes itās been brutal, sometimes itās been turbulent, but overall Iāve had an incredible life and thatās all thanks to my autism.
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JAMIE - One of the notes I have here from the producer is that you say that your stint as a gravedigger early in yourĢż life was one of the best jobs you ever had. Could you tell us a little bit about why?
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PETER - [laughs] These were guys who you wouldnāt want to meet in a dark alley. They were all on the outside of society, and so they didnāt bother about whether I knew maths or English or anything; as long as I could dig a grave that was okay. And they saved my life a couple of times. There was one episode where I was digging a nine foot grave and it was in sand. When they mentioned sand I thought of kiss me quick hats and donkeys and things like that, but this grave was sand and it was all seeping down and covering my legs up and I had to be pulled out. But there was a kind of freedom in it, they supported me in every way. Nobody knew I was on the spectrum. Yes, they knew I had epilepsy but that was about it. It was one of the most humorous jobs you could ever do.
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JAMIE - I have a vaguely similar experience. So I was homeless for a short while, living in a homeless shelter, and again, nobody around me knew I was autistic. They could very much pick up that I was different, but they didnāt mind, I didnāt mind, people had things they had to do this form or that, or this needed dropping off there, or, āOh, Jamie, could you pop upstairs and grab me a kettle?ā I was helpful, they liked me, I liked them, they made me feel safe, we got productive things done together because we were all in the same kind of situation and there was no pointā¦ By collaborating we could get stuff done and make life happy for ourselves, even if the situation we were in itself wasnāt exactly the thing that people would want to be in.
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PETER - Yeah. I ran away from home when I was 18 and the guys, the gravediggers, they all played tricks on each other. And they knew Iād run away from home and I was sleeping in the gravediggerās cabin because it was nice and warm and things like that, so they gave me an address to go and stay that they said Iād be looked after. Oh, I was looked after all right. I was told to go into this little room, to stay there, not to go down the corridor. If I went down the corridor I would be thrown out the building. It was a brothel. I stayed there for four weeks. Finally my mum found out where I was because she went to the same church as the brothel owner, believe it or not, they all knew each other. I had to leave because I dislocated my shoulder, and I came out of gravedigging and landed in society again, which I hated.
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JAMIE - Hmm-hmm. A little bit like I did the transition from being homeless back to being housed and theyāre two completely different universes. One is on the edge of society, one is part of society. Itās a weird feeling.
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ROBYN - When you found out that you were autistic did youā¦? Like some people, they look back on their life and it all makes perfect sense, but sometimes people feel sad that they feel like, well if Iād known I was autistic maybe my life would be different.
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PETER - No. In the 1950s the teachers could do whatever they wanted. I was beaten around the head with the board duster because I couldnāt do my maths and the rest of it. And I was also made to stand in the waste basket. But, saying all that, in a way itās made me the person who I am. Yes, when I found out I was autistic everything made sense, but most of all I then realised all that time none of it was my fault. Because I couldnāt do any maths or anything or learn to read and write properly, and they used to beat me because of this, because they thought I was just wagging it, so none of it was my fault, and that for me was the biggest thing.
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JAMIE - Yeah, that sense of relief. So we do this thing at home where we are interested in finding the root cause of a problem so we can engineer around it, but thereās no point apportioning blame. If I canāt do something I canāt do it, thereās no point getting upset or someone going, āWell Jamie, try harder, try harder,ā that wonāt work. And when I started to understand the autism stuff more and I could say, āHang on a minute, itās not that Iām a defective lazy person, itās that my body is set up this way, not that way.ā I can exploit my strengths while working round my weaknesses and I can still get on and do stuff. Itās not my fault, itās not that I am making a decision to be a bad person. Iām a good person, this is how my body works, so I need to get on and make the most of it rather than keep trying to be someone Iām not.
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PETER - One of the things that came through after my diagnosis, a lot of my friends said, āWell, we all kind of already knew that,ā but also it made a difference to our marriage as well. Because Sandra, thatās my wifeās name, she likes things stacked up in the cupboard and all nice and neat and she likes maybe stacking things up maybe four and five, but I canāt cope with that, I like everything landscape. So we came to a compromise once Iād been diagnosed that we just stuck to two cans high. So thatās a very simplistic bonus, if you want to call it that, from being diagnosed.
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ROBYN - I was going to ask about whether you were married or not and I was trying to work out whether that was an appropriate question or not, so Iām really glad you mentioned it becauseā¦
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PETER - Oh yes, itās my 50th wedding anniversary in two months.
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ROBYN - Oh. How did you meet Sandra?
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PETER - Oh, gosh. We met at a dance hall, and dating for me had been an absolute nightmare, I didnāt know what to say or do or anything. So I donāt know how it clicked but it was quarter to nine on 22nd March 1967. Weād talked to each other, sheās very introvert, and I just went up to her and kissed her, not saying anything else, and that was it, 50 years later weāre still together.
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ROBYN - Where did you kiss her?
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PETER - [laughs] On the lips.
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ROBYN - Thatās really nice.
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[Jingle: Send any questions or thoughts to stim@bbc.co.uk]
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ROBYN - I realise that a war poet is someone that goes to a war zone and writes poetry about it, but like is that something that the United Nations pay for? Is that something...? How does that work?
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PETER - I was poet in residence for Ā鶹¹ŁĶųŹ×Ņ³ČėæŚ GMR.
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JAMIE - What does GMR stand for?
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PETER - Sorry, Greater Manchester Radio. And the war had started, and I was noticing like everyone else, all the newscasts and radio programmes, they were all about what I call the bang, bang of war, and nothing was being mentioned about the women and children. So some police officers were coming in, they were building a convoy, and I said, āCan I come?ā Sandra absolutely freaked, she shouted, āDisabled peopleĢż come back from a war, they donāt go to a war.ā And so she noticed things already, she said, āYou canāt cope with the sound of the Hoover and blending food, how are you going to cope with the sounds of war?ā But I was away from all that, I started writing about the women and children there, the problems that they were having, and that really no one was caring about them. So I had to sort of hitch a lift with the convoys and then once there I would walk around, sometimes on my own, and write about what I saw.
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ROBYN - Did you ever worry that somebody might try and shoot you or something?
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PETER - It never entered my head, things like that donāt, but itās a double headed sword, because I can get into trouble without knowing Iām getting into trouble. I felt quite privileged that I was seeing it, I was given the chance to write about it, but also because I could go along on my own and sometimes lead the convoys and I wasnāt afraid. I was traumatised by what I was seeing but I wasnāt afraid, if that makes sense. And Iāve always been able to keep separate from things, even when I worked in the prisons. I was writer in residence in a prison working with both category A and category B guys.
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JAMIE - What does that mean?
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PETER - Category A is the very serious, like murders, and category B is more sort of drug takers, car stealers, burglars, that sort of thing. And they were only 16 to 21s, and one of the things that I was noticing, and why I was safe, is a lot of these guys had never been told childrenās stories before. So I used to tell them stories about āJack and the Beanstalkā or whatever, and I was treated like god. Also, Iād told them that Iād left school barely able to read and write, and I really only learned to read and write, well not properly, [laughs] I still canāt do it properly now, but I only really learned, or began learning, when I was 32. That gave them a kind of hope, but also because I was disabled in a way itās quite similar to being in a prison because youāre out of society. They thought I just had learning difficulties, not being diagnosed then. They knew about my epilepsy, and so we were almost on a level in a way.
JAMIE - Iāve got that thing now, weāve got so many questions I donāt even know which ones to shortlist.
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EMMA - Weāre going to run out of time.
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PETER - We could do it all again another time.
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EMMA - Oh, I think we could get three programmes out of you.
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JAMIE - Oh yeah, definitely. We could do the Peter Street special subseries at this rate.
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ROBYN - Do you have any children?
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PETER - We have two daughters and six grandchildren.
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ROBYN - Oh. How old are your daughters?
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PETER - My eldest is 45 and the other one is 43.
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ROBYN - Do you get to see them and your grandchildren?
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PETER - Yes, we do. My youngest daughter, Suzanne, sheās very poorly with epilepsy, so weāve brought the two boys up, Thomas and Ryan.
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JAMIE - Are they autistic?
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PETER - No.
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JAMIE - How did you find the experience of being autistic raising neurotypical kids?
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PETER - Crazy. They watched me and sort of theyāve got used to me now. And one is very logical, heās doing a PhD at the moment.
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JAMIE - Oh, what in?
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PETER - Chemistry.
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JAMIE - Nice.
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PETER - And so the other one, heās done his degree in sports coaching, so when I talk about poetry or writing itās completely alien to them. One of the things that I canāt cope with is the sound of the boys playing certain music, especially high pitched music, it drives me absolutely crackers, and I have to cover my ears up or go out into another room, but theyāve come to terms with it and so if they want to listen to loud music they just put the headphones on and leave me to be free.
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JAMIE - Did you find it difficult to find that balance of your needs and their needs? Because if need something, like for example, a quieter environment but somebody is enjoying something Iāve always found it very guilty and difficult to ask them to change what theyāre doing, I tend to remove myself instead.
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PETER - Yeah, I do. We have a large garden with a large shed in and itās my man cave. So I can escape when things are on and theyāll leave me there and let me be on my own, and I like that.
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JAMIE - Iāve got so many questions, I canāt pick which one to answer. Weāve only got nine minutes.
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EMMA - I know, and well do you know what, weāve got nine minutes, but that includes a poem and weāve also not asked him how he became a poet which is an interesting story.
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ROBYN - How did you become a poet?
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PETER - Oh, gosh. I had a forestry accident and broke my neck in Manchester.
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ROBYN - Wow.
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PETER - And my vertebrae completely collapsed and I lost five inches in height.
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JAMIE - Blimey! What was the forestry accident?
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PETER - I was climbing into a wagon and it was a big joke within the hospital that I fell off the back of a wagon. Which I did.
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JAMIE - Because thatās a metaphor for getting a knock off isnāt it? Like getting somethingā¦
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PETER - It is indeed. The guy in the next bed to me, I was in nine months and he was an English Lit teacher, and he tried to teach me how to write in prose. So he said, āTry poetry,ā and I didnāt really know what it was because I canāt write poetry in rhyme. Thatās what I thought it was all about until he explained. The humour is one thing whatās kept me going on all the time. When theyād come round and they had to bathe and wash me and all the rest of it, on April Foolās Day I thought I have to get them back. So I got into my wheelchair and the urine bottle from underneath the bed, I went to wash it out and got back in bed and put some orange juice in it. [laughter] When the nurse was coming round, āCan we do your obs, Peter?āĢż
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JAMIE - I know where this is going.
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PETER - So I flipped the blankets back, got the urine bottle and started drinking it. And they hit the emergency bell and all the doctors and everybody else came rushing up and I shouted, āApril Fool!ā These people werenāt impressed, but it got a laugh.
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JAMIE - I donāt know if this is appropriate to say, I wish you were my grandad, you sound bloody awesome! If youāve got a spare vacancy for a grandchild, you know, can I apply somewhere?
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[Jingle: 1800 Seconds on Autism. With Robin Steward and Jamie Knight]
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ROBYN - I want to ask what happened to the poems that you wrote when you were in Croatia?
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PETER - ITV made a 12 minute documentary about me being a war poet. That was the first thing that happened in 1994 on a Remembrance Sunday special. But theyāve also been published in the book that Iāve got in front of me, called āThumbing from Lipik to Pakrac, New and Selected Poemsā
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ROBYN - Can we hear the poem please, Peter?
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PETER - Yeah, this is from in Croatia, Zagreb camp, and this was an incredible experience. Zagreb Camp. āOur wagons rock, jerk, through lines of potholes a foot deep in a cinder path where children walk barefoot. Itās a ride down into something I donāt understand, a dog shelter where at least 100 families live who beg out their hands on cough loud barking coughs. Naked kids swapping boredom for disease under a tap thatās splashing cold silver into mud pies. Our interpreter, an English Lit student, his family wiped out, is talking of Shelley in a wasteland, such as Eliot never saw.ā Thatās it.
Ģż
JAMIE - Wow. I think we need to start wrapping up, and this has honestly been a pleasure. I hope in one day live long enough to be half as interesting as you are.
Ģż
PETER - [laughs]
Ģż
JAMIE - Well, the producerās blind but Iām waving at her with a thumbs up, two thumbs up. Lion doesnāt have any thumbs and heās giving you a thumbs up.
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PETER - And Iāve got my thumbs up as well.
Ģż
JAMIE - Sweet. Robyn, can we borrow your thumbs? Robyn, thumbs up too.
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ROBYN - Yeah. How about, has Bert got his thumbs up?
Ģż
PETER - He has indeed.
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ROBYN - Oh, thatās good.
Ģż
JAMIE - What a character Peter Street is. We really enjoyed hearing his stories and I still want him to be my grandad. Just imagine what it would be like getting an autism diagnosis in your 60s.
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ROBYN - Thatās almost it for this episode. If you have a story to tell or an idea for 1800 Seconds do please email us on stim@bbc.co.uk. Stim is spelled S-T-I-M. Itās our word, although itās not actually, itās the autism communityās word, and itās our email address. Bye.
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Podcast
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1800 Seconds on Autism
The podcast that makes you think about how you think.