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Chapter 2 – Children’s Home
There’s a place, some place, away from this place,
where the people all tarry and care.
They love one another like Sister and Brother
and I pray that one day
He’ll take me there; I pray that one day I’ll go there
Don’t know where I’m going or where I come from
but I do know why things are so bleak
A woman who said she’s my Mother decided
she could not keep her boy on eight bob a week;
am I really so dear to keep?
Cause I don’t want money or riches or things,
I’m quite happy in hand me down clothes
I don’t eat a lot but I eat all I’ve got
and I do try to not decry those
who are more lucky than me, with their own family
and a house of their own to call home
I wonder if they know how well off they are
that they don’t have to wake up alone, in a world of their own?
There is some affection from some older children
though some days I do wonder why, oh why,
is it always at times when the lights have gone out
or the doors are all locked, and I just want to cry.
There are times when I just want to die
With so many children in such a small place
you don’t get much time on your own
Yet even with so many people about,
I never did feel so alone before; even when I have been on my own
The people come shopping, they choose who they want
to take ‘home’ from the home for their own
So we line up on Fridays and smile at them all
with our ‘how can you leave us alone’ face on
One day the Mister and Missus will come
and they’ll love me and take me away
To a house that is home with a bed of my own
where forever and always I’ll stay (stay if I may)
No one can tell by the look on my face
if I’m happy or if I am racked in pain,
’cause knowing the way to not show how I feel
is the way I survive, though the strain inside is the cross that I bear for my pride
There’s a place some place, away from this place
where the people all tarry and care
They love one another like Sister and Brother
and I pray that one day He’ll take me there, I pray that one day I’ll go there
2.1 1956 – 1962 (1) Childrens Home West Boldon Co/Durham (The building)
Although I’m not exactly sure about when I went into the children’s home, other than believing it was sometime during 1956, I do know I remained there until 27 December 1962. Forty two years later, I would return and drive straight to it without the need of a map, to the astonishment of my Wife Carol and my niece Mia.
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9 Owen Drive, West Boldon, Co. Durham, was two semi detached houses knocked into one and was situated on a street of houses which I often think of as un-Geordie. Compared with the two-up, two-down terraces synonymous with the area, the Home was very modern for the day. Instead of a front and back yard, the house had front and back gardens with properly laid lawns and finished with knee high fences and a gate.
Inside the house, the downstairs was split into three rooms. From the back door, which was always our entrance, the kitchen/parlour was the first room we would enter, and this was where we spent most of our time. A very long coat rack housed around 20 sets of coats, hats, scarves and boots belonging to the children who were aged up to 18 years old. An equally long wooden table ran almost the length of the room and a chair was provided for everyone. The room was equipped with cooking facilities and Belfast sinks which (when they weren’t being used for pot washing) would double up as a means of scrubbing some of the smaller dirty children. Meals were taken at the table and many of the social activities took place in this room.
Through the kitchen was a community sitting room which I remember being considerably more comfortable than the kitchen. I think the presence of a carpet and armchairs is what gave me that impression although I don’t recall having the pleasure of using it very often. As with most communities the pecking order dictates the way of life and the sitting room had a tendency of being the domain of the older children. At some point during my stay a black and white television was installed although I’m not exactly sure when.
Through the sitting room a lobby housed a front door, the stair well and ‘Aunties’ office; an area we would not normally use during the course of the day unless we were in trouble. The front door was for Auntie and her staff to come and go; the stair well was the way to bed; and Auntie’s office was the last place we wanted to be.
Up the stairs on the top floor one long corridor travelled the length of the house. To the left of the corridor, the girl’s room faced the back garden and to the right the boys’ room faced the street. At the end of the corridor was a bathroom/toilet. The corridor ended with a left turn leading to a fire exit which led out onto the roof of an out-building in the garden.
Perhaps having strong memories of every room in the house is one of the reasons that I could drive there so many years later without directions.
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2.2 1956 – 1962 (2) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (The youngest child)
Many years after leaving the children’s home my sister Christine would tell me how protective she was of me during those 7 years but I have no recollection of this. She would also tell me how she had taught me to read and write, which sounded plausible, but again I have no memory of her reading to me or teaching me in any way. In reality I am ambidextrous but I’m not sure if I have developed this as I have grown older through doing the many creative activities I pursue, or whether it was something that came along during an early unorthodox education.
Strangely I don’t have a single memory connecting me to my sister at that time, nor do I have knowledge of her experiences in the Home. It’s almost as though we didn’t see each other from the day we arrived until the day we left.
One recollection I do have, however, is that there were no children younger than me when I arrived and from what I remember there were none of my age when I left, although that was probably very unlikely; it’s just that I had no firm friendships with any of my peers.
To this day though there are two people I have very clear memories of; Jimmy O’Brien, who was far older than me, and B.L. (Belle) a girl who I believe was around 13 or 14.
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2.3 1956 – 1962 (3) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Jimmy O’Brien)
Jimmy O’Brien was the oldest of the children at Owen Drive and with sketchy recollection I would say he was of mixed race, which I imagine was quite rare at that time in the North East of England, although that is only my opinion.
As the Home ‘elder’, the children all deferred to him, particularly on issues of falling out, with which he seemed able to wave a magic wand and resolve everything whilst, at the same time leaving both parties satisfied. His approval carried far more weight than that of the staff and he would be the first person to see the ‘Good’ marks in exercise books, or be told of someone’s achievement that day. Young as I was, even I couldn’t help but notice the unending patience Jimmy had when it came to comforting his smaller companions or giving them time and support with school work and problems. Just the vision of him picking up the football and going into the back garden turned him immediately into a Pied Piper with us all running to follow, shrieking with delight. The children loved him.
As an observer, I was always envious of the confidence the other children had; they seemed able to go to Jimmy with their problems without the worry that he would tell them to sort things out themselves. They went, he sorted, and they left happy. It wasn’t something I was ever able to do. I think I was terrified that I may have been the exception to the rule, the straw that broke the camel’s back. The very thought of rejection from Jimmy helped me develop the skills to carry anything I may have considered a burden, and in retrospect there were a few.But in a strange way I think he knew me far better than I gave him credit for at that time. It seems more than coincidence that it was always him who found me in a corner crying but who never asked why. It was him who sat down on the cold tiled floor with his arm around me giving me the first hugs of my life. It was Jimmy O’Brien who knew me because Jimmy O’Brien had been there. I adored him.
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2.4 1956 -1962 (4) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Meal times)
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Meal times were never a happy occasion for me although they seemed to be the highlight of the day for the other children. Everyone had their own place at the table and there would invariably be a race to get there first. Pushing, shoving and jostling each other were par for the course, which was something I found very frightening; everyone was so much bigger than me.
 Dinner time
It was also the norm to hear verbal threats under the breath of some of the more assertive boys. “Shift or you’re dead”, was typical ‘pecking order’ speak, which means nothing, but which at that time absolutely terrified me. I believed everything I heard. It wasn’t unusual for me then to cower somewhere, hoping to be forgotten about, but since meals were not served until everyone was seated it wasn’t long before I was verbally hounded out. It became something of a sport.
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2.5 1956 – 1962 (5) Childrens Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Cowed)
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When I sat on my chair at the table the only thing I could see was the underneath of the table and so, in the absence of a cushion, I developed the strategy of sitting on my heels which was very uncomfortable. The chairs were solid wood and so apart from getting painful knees, cramp was a close friend.
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Given what I now believe was the trauma of my family break up, I didn’t have the best appetite in the world, and found that much of what I was given made me gag. To this day my memories of the cuisine include tripe and boiled onions, although I’m sure there were more palatable meals often because I’m still here. Long after leaving the home, however, I was still considered to be parky.
The other problem at meal time was that no one could leave the table until everyone had finished, which for me was a rare occurrence and which put me back into the firing line of those who had long finished and wanted to go and play. The solution to the problem usually depended on whether there was any Staff present in the room. If staff were not around I would be given a range of incentives to encourage me to eat. Staff resolutions usually included bringing back uneaten food the following day; people were starving in Africa.
I couldn’t say which method I preferred.
2.6 1956 – 1962 (6) Childrens Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Rejected and ridiculed by the boys then stitched up)
The back garden was the hub of our recreational world and assuming it was still light after dinner, everyone would pile out with the football. Team captains were voted in by the girls for their team and the boys for theirs, and were normally the biggest and gobbiest from each gender. Loosely speaking then, this could be described as democratic. There was something of an assumption that I knew the rules of the game and so not wanting to attract unwanted attention did not enlighten anyone that I didn’t. Of course all Geordie boys are born with this sacred knowledge and for me to admit that I hadn’t would have made me (without a shadow of doubt) a girl. Perishing the thought I took my place on the ‘pitch’ and tried to look as though I knew what I was doing.
To coin a phrase, it doesn’t take many ‘balls-ups’ before one’s skills come under question and in my case there was multiple choice. Giving away goal kicks, corners and penalties for reasons which were beyond me were regular crimes punishable by what was known as a clip round the ear and a kick up the rear. The unforgivable crime of scoring an own goal however brought in an entirely different range of penalties which began with my being sent off by my own team! It would be days before I heard the last of it and the situation wasn’t helped by the girls congratulating me and making me an associate member of their team. At length and by mutual agreement I didn’t take part in the football games but sat on the side lines passing the ball back in when it went out.
It was expected, weather and light permitting, that everyone would be in the back garden after dinner allowing the staff the space and time to clear away the plates and things, and so it wasn’t long before I began to feel isolated sitting out watching something I didn’t really understand. Even in the summer months the ground always seemed to be cold and the draught whistling up the legs of my short pants didn’t help.
Often as the games progressed they would become more and more noisy and volatile, especially if the scores were close as the time began running out. On one occasion the ball was kicked so high that it went over the fence into the next doors garden, and as it was my job to retrieve it quickly I shot up and went off for it. Part of my enthusiasm was a need to ingratiate but I also wanted to be known as being ‘good’ at something even if it was just getting the ball quickly back into play.
The out building in the garden formed part of the fire escape for the home and had wrought iron steps leading up onto its roof. Climbing the steps I got onto the roof and tried to scale the fence between our house and next door. When I fell, I landed with each leg astride the barbed wire fence and was left dangling upside down with the knot of the barbed wire impaled in the top of my inside leg. I learned later that Jimmy had cut the wire and brought me down with the knot still in my leg, which doctors were later able to remove before sewing up the wound. My first recollection of the sitting room was being held down in there as the doctor darned my leg with thirty six stitches while I screamed blue murder. The silence in the garden was deafening.
After being jobbed, I remember thinking that one more inch and I would have qualified for the girl’s team on merit. Jimmy sat with me for what seemed like days. Eventually he gave me a drawing book and crayons. I don’t recall saying thank you to him. In fact I don’t recall saying anything.
And I didn’t realise it at the time but that one gift opened a door for me.
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2.7 1956 – 1962 (7) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Bedtime in the cold North East was a sanctuary)
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Back in the 1950s in the North East of England it always seemed to be cold. There were hot days because I remember spending much of the summer holidays bursting bubbles in the newly laid tarmac on the roads. It lived in my memory that the main roads were all laid with red tarmac which, when I saw them again forty odd years later, gave me a peculiar sense of belonging. But the winters were invariably very bitter.
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The warmest place in the Home seemed to me to be the kitchen, which was in stark contrast to the boy’s room at bedtime. And the shock of going from one to the other was further exacerbated by being half damp, and clad in baggy ‘jama’s after being scrubbed in the Belfast sink.
There were several beds in our room which were gradually filled up as the evening wore on. Being among the youngest I was one of the first to go to bed along with others who were around about my age, and we all occupied the same bed. As with other things there was a pecking order and the bigger boys got to sleep in the middle of the bed where it was obviously a lot warmer. Being on the end usually meant at least one visit to the floor during the night, either by falling out or being pushed; either way my place got nobbled and it wasn’t unusual for me to have to crawl round the bed and climb back in on the other side. Which ever side of the bed was wet in the morning was because I had done it and then moved round into the dry side! The fact that the middle was also wet was because it had rolled in from where I had been sleeping. The new day had a habit of starting the way the old one had ended with a mass scrub in the Belfast sink which was, naturally, my fault.
2.8 1956 – 1962 (8) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Clothes)
Clothes were something I was never short of. The fact that I was too short for the clothes was more to the point. Being the runt of the litter meant that I inherited everything that didn’t fit everyone else.
The fashion of the day, for young masters such as myself, were gigantic off-white Y-fronts and vest, flannelette shirt, short grey pants buttoned-up-the-fly held up with braces, and long grey socks with garters. Top and bottom was balaclava and hob nail boots, with matching tatty jacket and scarf at amidships to complete the outfit. Owing to the length of the jacket sleeves it was some years before there was a need for me to wear a pair of gloves.
Apart from the fact that baggy clothes are draughty in the cold weather, going to the toilet was something of an art. With my vest touching my knees and tucked into my y-fronts (the top of which were somewhere around my armpits), this simple task usually meant a complete strip. And since the braces keeping up my pants were too long and therefore crossed around my neck to shorten them, I was soon left with the choice of developing the necessary acrobatic skills usually displayed by Houdini, or strangulation. And doesn’t the cold just want to make you go more?
Looking back, the smell of urine seemed normal although I don’t think I had connected it to me until now. Obviously I didn’t always get my clothes off quickly enough.
2.9 1956 – 1962 (9) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Isolation)
 You can't see me
The daily journey to school was something like a camel train with a line of children walking up the street, eldest at the front, smallest at the back and all holding hands. I have no recollection whatever of attending a school in West Boldon, although obviously I must have; but the walk to school was a bit like running the gauntlet. In fact walking anywhere was a nightmare. The very sight of us all in the community at any one time gave an air of ‘Here come the Clampets’, which to the delight of other children was an open invitation to enjoy themselves at our expense.
‘Snobblin’ was the art of snow-balling as many of us as possible which, when occasionally looking back on as an adult, I have seen the funny side of, but which was far from that at the time. Being hit by a rock of ice and then laughed at hurts as much on the inside as it does on the outside. Strangely though, at times like this our community closed ranks and I became very protected by my peers only adding to my confusion at the time; one minute love, ten minutes hate? In hindsight I can see it was a ‘united we stand or divided we fall’ strategy but it was also ownership. We will do to ours as we will, but you will not (for he is ours).
By the time I had grown old enough to venture out on my own I had developed a mistrust of almost everyone and had mastered the art of going everywhere unseen. Before going anywhere I would first of all try to not have to go at all. If there was no way of avoiding going out I would endeavour to do it after dark when everyone else was indoors. If I had to go out alone during the day I would avoid all routes which passed places where groups of children would congregate and always make sure there was an adult within shouting distance. The balaclava was a must on any excursion, I walked as quickly as I could and my face always faced front. All conversation from anyone was ignored. If necessary I would walk literally miles out of my way. With the best will in the world, however, there were times when I would be spotted by ‘enemies’, chased, caught and beaten. It was during these early years that I became something of a good runner and for a time as an adult enjoyed it as a pastime.
Somewhere around the age of six I had come to the conclusion that I wasn’t safe at home and I wasn’t safe outside either, and began living in a constant state of fear. My stomach was always knotted up, my appetite was poor, and more and more I tried to disappear from view; only to be rooted out by who ever, depending on where I happened to be at the time. School teachers, Home staff, peers, children outside, all seemed to have the need to deflect their own failings by making an example of me in public.
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2.10 – 1959 -1962 (10) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (My pencil is my best friend)
 Children's Home 1950s
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As time went on I became more and more isolated particularly from the boys. That is, with the exception of Jimmy who, when he saw me drawing in my book would always stop to look at my pictures, and would always be complimentary. Drawing became my true passion; I didn’t need anyone to draw and I could draw anything I liked. Strangely, many of my pictures were of things I had never seen, such as elephants and pyramids, which were probably something to do with a longing to escape. The wonder of what the world was like ‘somewhere else’ became a fascination for me and as the wonder grew, so my artistic skills began to develop.
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Almost without my being aware, much of my time at the Home was spent increasingly in the company of the girls, which really came about through default. The boys didn’t want me to be in their group and I was very happy not to be, in fact it was a blessed relief not to have that burden on my shoulders. And as the girls occupied themselves with girlie activities they were content to let me sit on the periphery of their circle with my drawing book and ‘not cause grief’.
Some of the duties in looking after the younger children often fell upon the older ones to carry out, such as bathing and dressing, and putting to bed, and since I had transitioned into the girls group it seemed natural to me that one of them would tend to my needs. Presently, however, it became the norm for one particular girl to tend my needs; whilst at the same time attending her own.
2.11 1956 -1962 (11) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Pecking order)
Belle was older than me. I think she must have been about 14 but I don’t know how or why I came to that conclusion other than the fact that children see age as very important in terms of the pecking order. Someone 6 and three quarters would feel they had far more rights than someone merely 6 and a half, including the right to thump them without being hit back, regardless of whether their victim was bigger than them. And the younger of the two would accept this as normal.Obedience to Belle, therefore, was natural to me and never something I questioned, even within the safety of my own mind.
2.12 1959 -1962 (12) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Sex)
Having sex as a six year old boy with a 14 year old girl was like having your privates scrubbed with a Brillo pad, but that’s the way it was. And that’s the way it was until I left the Home in 1962. The most regular memory of this happening was in nearby corn fields where I would lie down as Belle sat astride, allowing her to keep an eye for anyone coming. The bathroom of the Home was also a regular venue.
It’s a strange thing to say but for some reason I felt that I had a responsibility to protect both Belle and myself from being found out, and would quickly assume an explainable pose whenever we were disturbed. In the absence of any other affection there was no doubt it met a need within me too.
2.13 – 1956 – 1962 (13) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (As Jimmy left a part of me died)
Cattle market day was on Friday. Prospective foster parents would come and view the children who would line up; tallest to the left, shortest to the right, all scrubbed up and with a smile to delight.
I think by now there were children younger than me because I have vague recollections of being somewhere in the middle, but there was never any question of where Jimmy would be. As the oldest, he was always the first to be seen and the first to be rejected; in fact he never was chosen to be taken home by a family.
At some point, he finally reached the age of eighteen which meant he could no longer stay at the Home. When the day came for him to leave, he was given new clothes, some money and after saying emotional farewells to us all was ushered out of the door, leaving me (and no doubt others) in a state of absolute shock. I believe they had found him a flat and a job; but I never saw him again.
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The void was almost unbearable. And the terror of sharing that same fate, in being sent off into an abyss, was probably the first time I had ever been faced with reality. It was as though he had died. A part of me had also died. Any faith or belief I had in being a ‘chosen’ one was just no longer there. The once ingratiating smile that Jimmy had encouraged me to develop had gone, and the cattle market became just another day. As the prospective foster parents passed down the line I saw nothing but shadows; through glazed over eyes.
 We lined up on Fridays and smiled at them all
2.14 1959 -1962 (14) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Indifference)
From time to time a big fuss was made over me by the staff. A sort of sycophantic kindness. A hot soapy bath would be followed by my hair being combed, my teeth being cleaned and a set of well fitting (Sunday) clothes being carefully arranged on my skinny little body; after which I would be sat to wait with Auntie in her office.
“Now you will be a good boy won’t you?” seemed to be the code for ‘or else’, to which the required reply would follow “Yes Auntie”.
It was from this routine I knew I had a visitor who would be taking me out for the day, but I had become devoid of the ability of showing pleasure. To look pleased was not a good idea. Anything given could so easily be taken away; there were no real certainties. The art of sitting as inoffensively, and as invisibly as possible, had become one I had mastered long before, and which had replaced any natural outburst a child should have had when anticipating a treat. Coupled with no aspirations whatever, a state of indifference was both natural, and painless.
2.15 1959-1962(15) Children’s Home, West Boldon Co/Durham (My beautiful Auntie Joan )
Auntie Joan was my Father’s sister, and if I were to talk as a man of over 50 I would say she had been sent from Heaven itself. As a 6 year old boy, however, I had no real appreciation of her in that respect.
Every so often, possibly three or four times a year, she would come to the Home and take me, and my sister Christine, out for the day. I have fairly strong memories of a place called Roker Park which had a large lake, and where we were able to feed the ducks which I loved doing. I had grown to love all animal life mainly from pictures I had seen in books and so to be actually among them gave me immense pleasure.
It was on these outings that Auntie Joan would bring my sister Kerrie who I remember as being very pretty and nicely dressed, although that is the limit of my recollection of her; other than somehow knowing she was taking horse riding lessons. It seemed natural to me that as I obliviously fed the ducks the girls would do whatever girls did; and I presume that is what happened. They had their day and I had mine.
Obviously mindful of this, Auntie Joan never left my side and must of had the patience of a monument as she sat watching me feed ducks for what must have been hours on end. Although the sun always seemed to shine on these outings, a whipping North Eastern wind would usually come around towards the end of the day and she would engulf me in her coat to keep me warm. Only when we had to leave, for fear of missing the bus, would she eventually say ‘Howay hinny, will adda gan yame’; and taking us back to the Home broke her heart every single time.
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2.16 1959-1962(16) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (My little sister Brenda)
 1959 with Christine and Brenda at Seaburn
At some point along the way, our rare day trips began to include another woman who I didn’t know, and who was accompanied by a little blonde haired girl.
The child was about two years younger than me and I remember thinking there was something unusual about her. It was something I found very endearing though I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time although I think I had sensed a similar vulnerability, and I felt almost protective of her.
Playing with the little girl in the sand is one of my most treasured memories of childhood. There were no complications; and I don’t think there was a single conversation either. Just two children playing.
The woman and girl never came to the Home but would just appear from nowhere at wherever we went for the day.I think there was an expectation on me to know who these people were, it was sort of taken for granted and although I liked the little girl and we had become friends, I disliked the woman intensely. Eventually, Auntie Joan asked me if I knew who they were and I told her I didn’t.
“Alan, this is your Mam. And this is your little sister Brenda”.
2.17 1959-1962(17) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (A woman, three daughters and me)
The day trips eventually evolved into short holidays of either a week or a weekend, and these were taken in the seaside resort of Seaburn, which for me and Brenda meant hours of playing together in the sand on the beach.
For one reason or another, however, Auntie Joan did not come on these holidays, and as I began seeing less and less of her, so too I began to feel that loss.
My older sisters Kerrie and Christine spent time with each other and occasionally with Elsie, our Mother, who would squat in a hired deck chair with almost nothing pleasant to say. On the rare occasion she spoke to me it would almost certainly be to chastise; which in due course went in one ear and straight out of the other. It was a toss up as to which of us was less emotionally attached to the other.
 1959 with Brenda (far left) and Christine
It would be many, many years later before I learned that Elsie did not like, nor want boys, but tolerated my presence to enable her to see my sisters. Paradoxically, I tolerated her presence in order to see Brenda and it was scenarios such as this which formed the basis of our relationship.
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A measure of how this ‘Spit-Spat’ relationship began developing could probably be summed up in a couple of anecdotes. One tale told how Elsie could cut an orange expertly into three pieces giving my sisters a piece each, but was unable to quarter the fruit. Not to be outdone, I remember receiving a Parker ballpoint pen in the post for my birthday and sending it back the same day with a note to say ‘No thank you’.
Those who know me these days know how much I love fresh fruit and eat it in copious amounts, although I cannot cut an orange into three portions. And given my love of writing and drawing it wasn’t easy for me to return such a beautiful pen at that time but over the years I have found that some of my most favourite drawings, poems and songs have been produced with the cheapest of materials. It isn’t what you have; it’s how you use it.
2.18 1959-1962 (18) Children’s Home West Boldon Co/Durham (Escape)
As the years rolled by, and Fridays came and went, so too did the yearnings for anything other than what I had. From what I had seen of my Mother, the thought of going back to her was the last thing I wanted; but I did miss Brenda. And Auntie Joan. And what of my Father? And Kerrie? And how come I have a younger sister anyway if my parents have parted? Questions, questions. Every question that came into my head was answered with another question. After a while, I stopped wondering. I had to; it was the only way I only could deal with the ‘now’.
Visits during the winter months were less frequent which, in a way, helped me to cope with the ‘now’. The worst thing about a trip out was having to come back to the Home again at the end of the day, and so at least I didn’t have that burden.
Unusually however, sometime during the Autumn of 1962, I was scrubbed up, sat in Auntie’s office, and made ready to receive someone who I didn’t know. “You will be a good boy now, won’t you?” said Auntie, to which I returned the reply expected of me “Yes Auntie”.
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| It wasn’t long before I discovered that being awake alone at night was something I found very safe. I could think about anything I wanted to. I could dream. I could wonder. I could imagine. I could wish. I was free. |
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