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you would like to read the start of this story, click here.
James is telling his wife Jane about his early life for the first
time – a conversation triggered by her suggestion that it
was time for his koala bear, Sydney, to be thrown away.
So
I started with what my big brother Simon had told me. About the
loving young couple, wandering about, having fun, without anybody
telling them what to do. Trouble was they didn’t have anybody
to help them much either. So mother started to drink and Simon’s
father started to wander off. At first the excuse was he could
get work more easily if folks thought he was on his own. But really
I expect he just wanted to get away from the crying child and
the drunken woman. He still tried to take care of them, brought
money, the occasional toy for Simon, something pretty for my mother.
But
it got harder for both of them to remember why they had loved
each other so much and harder for them to want to be together
any more. When he was away, (strange I don’t remember hearing
his name. Simon only ever referred to his as “my dad”
and my mother never mentioned him other than to blaspheme) my
mother started to get money for drink anyway she could. A bit
of petty pilfering, a bit of hustling and of course in the end
she sold herself to men.
At
the beginning that wasn’t so bad I suppose. She still looked
good and the blokes she went with didn’t seem to treat her
badly. Anyway rural Wales was not like Bradford where she ended
up for a time after hitching a lift, where there was a well-known
red light district, vicious pimps and some psychos among the kerb
crawlers. Even by the time I was born she had plenty of scars
from some of those encounters, physical and mental.
Anyway
she was soon pregnant with Richard. Simon’s father was pretty
sure he wasn’t the father, but perhaps for old time’s
sake, or because he still wanted to love her and take care of
her and Simon he moved them to the South West. Most people think
it is a picturesque holiday destination, which it is. But outside
the towns it had its dark side, rural poverty, low expectations,
little cultural stimulation, narrow-mindedness, suspicion of strangers
and in those days drinking and incest.
They
carried on pretty much as before, with Simon’s father trying
to provide for the expanding family by doing any job he could
get. Only now they had a rented flat and bills to pay. Mother
also had domestic responsibilities for the first time. She had
no idea how to cook or clean, or how to use the launderette. But
she still knew how to get money for drink. She also found that
now she had an address she could get stuff on credit and ran up
bills all around the neighbourhood pubs and shops.
A
few years after Richard there was another baby, my brother Paul.
This time Simon’s father was sure he was not the father
and walked out. It was not long before the three boys were in
care because neighbours had called the Police. Mother was found
unconscious after taking a cocktail of drink and anti-depressants.
Simon, who was about eight at the time, had been looking after
Richard and baby Paul for two or three days. Simon went into a
children’s home and Richard and Paul went into foster care.
As
soon as Simon’s father found out he came back and took all
the boys back home. He worked really hard to get things back together
and keep mother sober. She kept promising. He kept going to any
job he could get, but he never knew what he was going to come
home to. Sometimes it would be great and mother would have some
kind of meal ready and they would play Happy Families with baby’s
bath time and bedtime stories. But more often she would be drunk,
or sunk in deep depression and Simon was coping as best he could.
Then, after a hard day at work, Simon’s father would cook,
clean and pay attention to three very different boys when he was
only certain he was the father of one of them.
I
used to feel it was my fault he left. Then I hated him for going
and blamed him for causing all the problems that followed. Now
I just wish I could meet him and talk to him. Somehow or other
he knew how to be a good father, and now I so need to know.
Things
kept going like this for several years. All three boys were intelligent
and enjoyed school, so that took care of a lot of the time and
helped out both mother and Simon’s father. Unfortunately,
mother got put on anti-depressants and tranquillisers. She learned
to play the game by seeing different doctors and was soon addicted
to prescription drugs. They kept her on an even keel, although
most of the time she didn’t know what time it was, much
less what day it was. She also started smoking. So I suppose it
was inevitable that she would move on to other kinds of drugs.
This caused another set of problems as she cheated and lied to
feed her growing habit.
But
the beginning of the end came when she became pregnant with me.
Because they hadn’t shared a room for years there could
be no doubt that her husband was not my father. He still struggled
on trying to look after my brothers. Despite all he tried to do,
she wouldn’t take care of herself in the pregnancy and once
I was born she could scarcely raise a finger to look after me.
Simon told me he thought his father just got tired out and perhaps
met a woman where he was working at the time who would look after
him. First he started staying out late, then being away over night,
and then one day he didn’t come back at all.
Mother
descended into mental illness, or drink and drug-fuelled episodes.
She started to have violent episodes and suffer from delusions.
Despite the fact that my big brothers were so intelligent and
loved school she often forced them to stay at home with her. She
got frightened that they would run away to find their father.
If
anybody argued, or looked the wrong way they would get bashed.
The three big ones did what they could to protect me, but we all
lived in some kind of half-world. We never knew when we were going
to eat. We didn’t wash and nobody ever cleared up. Little
boys’ paradise really, but we were all pretty unhappy. Mother
started to wake in the night and get us all up. We would then
fall asleep during the day, and night turned to day for us.
*****
In
the end, after she had beaten Simon about the head with the frying
pan because he told her we were hungry and there was nothing to
eat, he waited until she went to sleep one morning and then walked
out. He wanted us all to go, but Richard and Paul didn’t
want to leave her and I was too little to decide what to do.
Simon
went to Social Services and asked to be looked after. He showed
his cuts and bruises and told them some of what was going on at
home. He got sent to an Assessment Centre. He came back and brought
us some food he’d stolen from the kitchen. He waited until
mother had passed out and crept in. He promised he would come
back and take us all to safety. He told us about the Assessment
Centre, a big house in the country, with clean beds and lots to
eat. He said there were lots of other kids and some good staff
who would look after us. He said there were even some little kids
like me because most of the staff lived there as well and some
of them had children like us. Well, of course not actually like
us, because they all had two parents who took care of them, made
sure they ate, washed and went to school.
By
this time we were all dozing when we could, when mother fell asleep
and was not rambling on with long stories full of complaints about
all and everybody, or trying to get us to join in card games,
or guessing games, which she always had to win. When Simon brought
the first lot of food we couldn’t remember when we had last
had anything to eat. She still seemed to have a supply of booze
hidden in various places and one day Richard found a bottle and
we all had some of it. It made Paul sick and it made me feel funny.
I didn’t know where my arms and legs were and in the end
I fell over and went to sleep. At least that was one good thing
about drinking I suppose, but I did not keep on trying it. Sadly
Richard did, which is why he is no longer around, but that was
yet to happen, in the future.
It
was when Simon told his social worker about us drinking that they
decided to come and get us. First they tried doing it nicely,
with just one in the house and one outside in the car. “Agree
to us taking the boys voluntarily, Mrs. Jones, and you will be
able to see them every day and have them back in no time, once
you are back on your feet.”
My
mother made it very clear what she thought about that plan. She
was always very articulate and could enunciate perfectly no matter
what she had drunk, or pushed into her mouth or veins. Looking
back, I think she must have come from quite a posh family and
if things had not gone wrong I’m sure she could have gone
to university and had a brilliant career. She certainly passed
on some brains to the rest of us.
Anyway
it was not long before two or three social workers were back with
several police officers. There was a lot of shouting. Richard
locked himself in the bathroom and tried to swallow some of mother’s
pills. Another first that was to come back and haunt us later.
Paul just sat on the stairs crying, while mother took a knife
to Simon’s social worker and waved the frying pan at the
WPC who was trying to get a hold on me. I remember mother shouting,
“Not at Christmas. Don’t take my babies away at Christmas.”
I wondered what Christmas was.
To
be continued next month.
