It was with that muffled anxiety that we launched into the music. All was well but I had to warn Jim about thrashing about with his feet. I took him aside and explained the reason for stopping his ‘Flymo’ style of dance and, with a friendly word, sent him back to his friends. The quiet Salesian word in the ear seemed to do the trick. I began to relax and wandered around the hall joining in the odd dance and during a rare quieter record even managing to chat. Things were going well.

The tuck shop was doing brisk business and the DJ seemed to be keeping a Solomon like balance between the musical demands of the older lads and the masses of dancing girls. It was going to be a good night. At least it would have been but for Jim. I’d already spoken to him a couple of times that night. I felt I knew him well. He looked rough and surly but we’d had some good chats. His Dad had disappeared a few years ago and his Mum had been forced to work nights ever since. He had been thrown off his youth employment scheme just a month ago. “Too much like school!” was his only comment. I knew he was unhappy but at eighteen years old I was pleased that he still felt at home with us.

Pleased, that is, until I saw him reverting back to his previous bizarre style of dancing; he was rolling on his back and kicking out with his DMs in all directions. A large part of the floor cleared and he moved about on his back intimidating others until they just gave up trying to dance at all and just watched his writhing. The lights pulsed onto an empty floor and more than a hundred anxious faces turned to me, sensing confrontation.

We eventually had to stop the music before he would take any notice and come to his senses. Something told me I shouldn’t touch him and I was glad of Liz’s presence as she eased him out of the circle towards the office at the side of the big speakers. The music started and the floor disappeared again under a ripple of dancers. There was less than half an hour to go and having calmed him down we both offered to talk to him at the end of the night. We both knew he needed the time right then, but we were too thin on the ground to leave the whole group and attend to him.

There couldn’t have been time for another record before Jim was back doing the same thing. We knew that we had to get him away from the rest quickly and sort it out. Jim’s mates knew his mood and sensed action as I moved into the circle described by his thrashing feet. I was off guard and angry as I went into the circle. To make matters worse, the DJ anticipated a repeat of the previous incident and switched the music off. It made matters a lot worse: the circle suddenly thickened up with a layer of tense faces and I felt trapped. I was in a boxing ring, the spectators were waiting, the tension was tangible.

I wasn’t prepared for the next move: He was suddenly on his feet and squaring up to me. The boxing ring scenario was suddenly complete. It wasn’t his raised fists that caught me off guard. It was the torrent of abuse that poured out of him aimed at me. My head told me that I was just the convenient  target, nothing personal. But it hurt me none the less. I felt my fists tighten up. I knew I suddenly wanted to hit him and hurt him. The anger and resentment found more of a foothold inside me as I thought of all the hours I had spent trying to help people like Jim. Here, in public, it was all being thrown back in my face. I remember saying something. I don’t know what it was. It was received with a sneer. My self-control seemed to evaporate. All the eyes in the circle seemed to will violence and I was being engulfed by the whirlpool of anger.

The action came thick and fast, but not from me. It was Liz. She slipped into the ring, Her cool anger inflating her to what seemed twice her five foot three inches. The circle silenced to listen to her quiet words. Words that deflated him, as she announced her intention to see his Mum tomorrow and sort him out. Suddenly it was all over, he melted into the crowd and disappeared. The music rolled over us again like a sigh of relief and the dance floor heaved into life again.

Shaking with un-sprung anger, I took myself off for a few minutes to unwind before finishing the evening with the youngsters. I knew all the theory about Salesian Youth Work, the preventive system. I’ve helped other people catch onto the importance of staying calm and friendly. I realised that somewhere along the line I’d lost my balance and nearly lost control along with it. I shook myself into action and launched myself into a re-mix of a song I used to know when I was a teenager. It helped me shake out some of the tension as I ended the night feeling a bit more buoyant and relieved it was over for that week.

Afterwards, sitting with Liz, we reflected on the experience over a muddy coffee as the DJs wrestled with speakers and tripped over wires. “The Salesian magic didn’t seem to work tonight.” I said ruefully. Liz didn’t agree “I wouldn’t say that” she replied seriously. “I think everyone’s come out of it better off.”