1962

The winter of 1962-3 was arctic. Especially in the North East. Looking out from my bedroom window, the back yard had completely disappeared under what must have been six foot of snow; in fact the back lane was buried too. It was so sudden that it was almost unreal, but the silence was magical. For a boy of seven the whole thing was so exciting, and I just loved it.

From a practical point of view, however, the outside ‘nettie’ was unreachable and so needed to be made accessible; thus providing the first opportunity for me to spend time with ‘me Dad’ on my own, something I had really looked forward to. Armed with a shovel each we set about digging away the snow from the back door and down six steps into the yard before tunnelling our way to the toilet door.

Although I spent most of the time trying to make conversation as we worked, most of what I said was either ignored or met with a grunt and I soon began to wonder whether I was in the way, or hindering the task. I thought afterwards that Dad could probably have finished the job far more quickly had I not been there as he was used to hard labour in the pit; it wasn’t a rejection of me. No doubt the men worked so hard that they didn’t have the time, or the energy to talk to each other. It wasn’t a rejection of me.

The nights during that winter were absolutely perishing and the warmest room in the house was the kitchen by the open fire. Around teatime it would be my job to fill two buckets of coal and bring them in, to save Mam having to go out after dark in the cold.
After stoking and building up the fire, me Mam would get tea ready while me Dad got himself ready for his nightly visit to the club. The only time he didn’t go out was when me Mam had no money to give him which wasn’t very often, and which meant he would sit with a face that said everything; in a silence that made my stomach tighten. I’d seen her empty her treasured copper jar so often for him that I began to think she had to buy a peaceful life with the little bit she had managed to put away for emergencies.
As young as I was, I was very perceptive and quickly became aware of the dynamics of the relationship. The atmosphere at home when Dad was out was relaxed and harmonious and yet there was a part of me that so wanted him to be close to me, and to me Mam.
At that time, we didn’t have a telly and so spent the evenings listening to the ‘wireless’. My favourite programme was ‘Sing something simple’ on a Sunday night with either the Mike Sam Singers or the King Singers although I don’t remember which it was. But I did learn every song I heard. And when we finally did get a telly I was absolutely hooked on the Black and White Minstrels.
As I got changed into a warm vest and flannelette pyjamas by the fire, me Mam would be warming up a house brick in the oven on the range to wrap in a towel and put into me bed. Not that I needed it with the amount of blankets on there, but I loved the care. And I loved the candlewick bedspread on top of the blankets. Being in bed with all that weight on me felt as though I had been nailed to the mattress. Dead cosy.
But cosy as I was I couldn’t sleep. Not until me Dad came home, hopefully not too drunk and nasty. Hopefully not shouting at me Mam. And hopefully happy enough to go to bed at the same time as her. Then I could sleep.

In many ways I was still a bag of nerves even though I had left the Home, and now had a family of my own.

The feeling that I was there because it was what me Mam wanted became stronger when I overheard drunken rows. Katie would tell Billy not to shout or he would wake the bairn up and he would respond with: ‘This is my hoose and ah’ll dee what a want; if HE dissent like it he can gan back to where he cyame from’.
When he was sober, however, he didn’t say anything like that in front of me. Come to that, he very rarely said anything at all to either me or me Mam, and when he did it wasn’t complimentary.

For a long time, I put me Dad’s behaviour down to the hard working life he had to endure, and the culture of the men of the Tyne of that era. Working conditions in the pits were dreadful, scary, dark and dangerous, and the hours were long and unsociable. No doubt it was normal for all of the miners to shout and abuse their families after a day like that. It didn’t occur to me that I lived in a street full of pitmen who had happy, well balanced families. I thought the kids were happy because they had never been to the Home and had always lived with their Mams and dads. And I thought the Mams did what Katie did and put a brave face on it all in public.
It would be many, many years later before I would change that viewpoint and see hard working Geordie men for what they really were; loving, loyal and dependable.

3.5 – 1962-1963(5) South Stanley Co/Durham A seed had been planted in my head that I could, at anytime, be sent back to where I had come from and the confidence that I had so quickly developed, vanished. It had never occurred to me that I could end up being sent back at the Home, and the insecurity which came with that thought was indescribable. From being a bright eyed, curious and happy little boy with a new life and a new family I had ‘morphed’ almost overnight, into a cowed, insecure bed wetter with a mind saturated by a sense of impending doom. Being certain that something horrible is about to happen; knowing there is no one you can turn to for help; knowing there is nothing you can do about it, does something to you which you never ever forget; even if the event never happens. It was this powerlessness, and the shock of betrayal I felt from those I had begun to trust which literally turned me mentally from a boy into a man at the age of seven. Someone once wrote: ‘Show me a boy of seven and I’ll show you the man’. It’s a saying I hate because I personally find it too painful. But if I ever met the author we could probably communicate without ever opening our mouths.

3.6 – 1962-1963(6) South Stanley Co/Durham
I think Katie had become aware that something was wrong fairly quickly from my behaviour. I had also reverted to calling her Aunty which eventually, and subtly, she brought into a conversation while she was making my favourite meal of corned beef and tatie pie. I used to wait for the bowl so that I could lick out any spare mixture not used in the pie.
“Aa thowt aah was ya Mam hinny, wit ya started caalin us Auntie for?” she asked. “Aye ya wor me Mam but ya ganna send uz back to the yame” I replied between licks of the bowl. At this point she realised that I had overheard the rows when she thought I had been asleep. She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes welled up.

Kneeling down with her arms around me, she put my world right in just a sentence “Alan ya my laddie noo and ye’ll gan back to the yame ow’er my deed body”.
“And divent pay nee heed to thee Faatha, he says some daft things when he’s been oot on the toon”.

I think me Mam must have had a word with me Dad because there was something of a change in the way he behaved towards me. He still went out and got well oiled on a regular basis but was notably quieter when he came home. I like to think that he’d finally realised that he was now a Father, although the truth was probably more to do with him getting a kick up the backside from me Mam.
More and more, though, Dad began taking me out to places where we would be seen by people who were important in his life, and made the point of letting them know that I was ‘his lad’. Notably, I would often go with him to the pit to collect his pay packet which exposed us to many of his workmates; and beneath his thick skin I sensed immense pride, particularly when someone would say “He’s got a look o’ you aboot him, Billie”.
Although in public Dad was able to play the part, and clearly enjoyed the recognition it brought, he seemed unable to be anything at home. He was a man who had somehow arrived at the age of 42 without developing a strong interest in anything at all, but who did everything which was expected of him. He would weed the entire garden, dig the soil over, even mix manure into the soil, but would never plant anything. Not only would he do this to the front garden, he would also do it to an allotment he had. As time went on I realised it was me Mam who would plant the vegetables, including the revered Geordie Leek although he would always take the credit if a prized specimen was produced.
One thing he did do, however, was to go to work every day and hand his pay packet to Katie every week, which in her eyes defined ‘wor Billie’ as ‘good man’. The fact that he was emotionally constipated became less of an issue now that she had a very tactile son who seemed to fill that gaping void in her life.
There’s no doubt a gaping void in my life was beginning to close too; slowly.

Following the issue of my Father’s drunken behaviour, Katie too began making concerted efforts to make me feel more secure. The fact that I had reverted to calling her Aunty was something which I imagine had quite shocked and hurt her, but which also incensed her into addressing the issue. To begin with she invited all of my new relatives to our house to meet me.
Katie was the second of four children from the Campsell family which spawned from a tiny village near-by called ‘No Place’. The eldest was her brother, my Uncle Tommy who was married to Aunty Mary, and they had two children; Edith and Thomas. They also had a pug dog called Ling Field Fair Man (Ling for short), who grunted a lot and ate sheep’s hearts.
Katie’s younger sister Isabelle was my Aunty Bella and she was married to Uncle Wilf (Pollard) and they lived in East Stanley. Their children were Ken, Lorna, and Alan who was just a bit older than me. Alan and I were fairly near in age and became good friends often taking a bus into Newcastle at the weekends. Ken worked as a journalist for a local paper and as Katie would say ‘Blaa Hole Bella will never let you hear the last of it’.
All of Katie’s relatives lived in East Stanley which was about a mile and a half away, and where she would often take me on a walk to visit them. All, that is, apart from her younger brother, my Uncle Eli, who I only met on a few occasions. It seemed he lived something of a secretive life, although I don’t know why, and only ‘turned up’ when he was in some sort of trouble; much to my Dad’s annoyance because Mam adored him and would never turn him away.
On me Dad’s side there were two sisters, one older and one younger than him. Aunty Eva was the oldest and lived in Chester-le-Street with her son Billie whose claim to fame was his enviable collection of bird’s eggs; although it turned out later that Billie wasn’t Auntie Eva’s son he was the son of another member of the family.
Aunty Mona, the other sister, lived in Newcastle and worked as a Stewardess in various clubs in the North East. Her son Paul was in the Royal Navy and I worshipped the ground he walked on. When he came home on leave he would take me rowing on the lake and tell me stories about his travels to far away places.
And so the clan gathered in our little house in Tweed Terrace although how we got them all in was a mystery to me, and Katie beamed and beamed and beamed. Quite recently I watched the DVD ‘The March of the Penguins’ and saw a similar look on the faces of the adults when their chick finally hatched from the egg. I never called her Aunty ever again. She was me Mam.

There’s an old tradition in Scotland, and the North of England which has abounded for centuries and this is called ‘First Foot’. Basically what it means is that the first person over the threshold of ones’ home on New Year’s Day should be a dark haired male carrying a lump of coal and this would ensure the family would enjoy good luck in the coming year.
Although I had been born platinum blonde, and was fair for many years, by the time I got to Stanley I was very much a darker haired fellow and so qualified for the prestigious job as First Foot. My Dad, by now, was almost bald and what hair he did have was silver grey, and so prior to my arrival their custom was to borrow a child for the job and reward him with a Pokie (a bag full of nice things to eat).
And so at 11.55pm on New Year’s Eve, I was put out into the backyard with a lump of coal and told that I wouldn’t be allowed back in until past midnight. Un-amused I sat on the cold back step waiting to be let back in when a voice came over the wall from next door’s yard, “Alan, is that you?”. I hadn’t made any friends yet and so didn’t know who it was, other than it was the voice of another little boy about the same age as me. “Aye, it’s me. Who’s that like?”.”It’s me, and ah’m wor forst foot” came the reply, at which both back doors opened simultaneously. “Hey ah’ll see ya the morra an we’ll swap stuff oot o’ wa Pokies”, at which he went in the house and the door closed.
When I went back into my house, I gave me Mam the coal and she gave me my Pokie saying “Happy New Year bonnie lad. And who were ya taalkin to oot there?”. Rummaging through the Pokie with delight at the apples and sweets I told me Mam that I didn’t know who it was but that I was going round to see him the next day.
I can’t remember the name of the little boy next door, but we became firm friends; and he introduced me to the rest of the gang of children who played on the cobbled back streets of South Stanley at that time. Games of Jacks, Marbles and Conkers were all regular pastimes but it was Bogey Racing and flying home-made arrows on the field that were everyone’s favourites.

Sunday evenings continued to be my favourite times of the week. After a roast dinner and a scrub in the sink I would settle down in front of the fire with me Mam to listen to the wireless. As well as the ‘Sing Something Simple’ show I also got to hear the songs of Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Matt Munro, Sammy Davis and the like, learning them off by heart. My absolute all time favourite was (and still is) Dean Martin who’s voice still stops me in my tracks.

Being a foster child I was appointed a Social Worker which I hated, not least because it was a different one every time he or she came. I also hated the way they would check me Mam’s cupboards to see if she had bought enough provisions; and the way they would swan around every room in the house without expressing the common courtesy of asking first.

One day a new Social Worker came and didn’t do any of the usual things. Instead he sat down and talked to me about things I liked. I was gob smacked! “Ah hear ya like music Alan? Ya Mam sez ya lissen to the wireless all the time. Whey, av got a present for ya. Here y’ah” and he gave me a mouth organ. I was thrilled.

Every day I practiced me songs quickly building up a repertoire of songs of the day. Me Mam’s favourite was ‘Moonlight and Roses’ and mine was ‘The Blaydon Races’.

Naturally, I never saw that Social Worker again but another door had been opened for me. Jimmy had opened the first one when he gave me my drawing book, and now a Social Worker had brought music into my life. All I needed now was talent; but that is in Gods hands.

Although I had settled well into my new abode, liked my family and had made a few friends I was still quite nervous about where I belonged and where I would eventually end up.
Me Mam would say that I’d go back to the kid’s Home “o’er her deed body”, while me Dad had said almost the opposite, albeit in drink. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to my sisters (Brenda in particular), while another part of me dreaded the idea of ending up back with Elsie. Life was a sort of hybrid between grief and ecstasy.
But once in a while I did get one or two questions answered by my Auntie Joan who (to my delight) continued to come and see me, whenever the powers that be allowed her to. The process of our meetings was quite strange in that the two families never actually met. A Social Worker would collect me from me Mam and take me to a cafe on Stanley Main Street where Auntie Joan would be waiting. The Social Worker would remain with us for around an hour before taking me back to me Mam. Heaven only knows what they thought we might be plotting.
From Auntie Joan, I learned that my sister Christine had been fostered out to a family called Bell but after two weeks they had sent her back to the Home because Mrs. Bell apparently couldn’t cope with her. I was horrified. Not because of any emotional attachment to Christine but because it reinforced my own insecurities. And not wanting them to be known to anyone, I could do nothing but sit silently although the shock was obvious.
I can only imagine that my reaction was perceived by everyone as being one of deep concern for my sister  because shortly afterwards Christine too was fostered by Katie and Billy, and came to live with us at South Stanley. It was my belief that Katie genuinely believed that this was what I wanted and that in some way it may help to ease some of my pains.
The selfish truth is that although I was mortified at the idea that Christine might end up back in the Home, I felt my new life was about to be absorbed by a past that I was still terrified of, and I still lacked the skills or the courage to communicate such things. Complicating things more was that I felt divided loyalties. In later years, Christine would voice loud and often her belief that I was a ‘chosen’ one who always got what I wanted, and that she was where she was for that reason.
Life, once again, was about to change. And there was still no news of Brenda.

The first change to occur after Christine’s arrival was the sleeping arrangements. All of a sudden I lost the sanctuary of having my own bedroom; the space to think through things which bothered me, and the place I would practice my music. Worse still my drawing books were vulnerable and though me Mam had never commented on them they were certainly a major outlet for my feelings at that time. It wasn’t until after the event that I realised how important it was to me, having that haven to escape to; that privacy which allowed me to assimilate things in a way which made me feel secure.
As a consequence I, once again, began to internalise everything; developing a mind which could do almost anything in my head from drawing pictures to writing songs. More refined still, I mastered the art of retaining banks and banks of such things until I felt safe enough to express them in a tangible way.
The importance I placed on my creative mind, and the safety of my innermost feelings, was such that everything else became quite mundane to me. As a result, Christine became somewhat more dominant (although in her words more protective) making decisions about what we would do that day and with whom, which I suppose I appeared quite happy about in the main. In truth, as long as she left my head alone I couldn’t give a monkeys but it was only a matter of time before she would realise that.
It’s an odd thing to say but even at such a young age I had a feeling that I would, one day, need to recall certain memories fairly and truthfully, even if I was the only one to ever read those memoirs.
Perhaps in some ways I am pedantic or autistic, even boring. As a child I had no voice, no status; no presence. As a man the truth is extremely important to me.

Now and again, on a Saturday, I was able to ‘escape’ on a bus to N’yuCassel with my cousin Alan and we’d spend the entire day ‘gannin roond the Toon’. I loved it.

Alan knew Newcastle like the back of his hand and took me everywhere. He had an amazing confidence in crossing busy roads, zipping up back alleys, whistling at the girls, and generally being cheeky to anyone whose paths we crossed. Fortunately for us both we were good runners.
I admired Alan enormously and loved his mischievous way. I think he too quite liked the way I looked up to him as my older cousin; he was always very considerate of me. Somehow he knew that my favourite part of the day was going down to the quayside to see the boats on the Tyne and he always made sure there was plenty of time for us to do this.
At the end of the day, we would both catch the bus home to Stanley with Alan getting off a few stops before me, reminding the driver to tell me when it was my turn to get off.
One day, however, although I can’t remember why, Alan wasn’t with me and I was travelling home alone. On the bus with me was only one other passenger, a young girl who at first glance I thought was quite ugly. As the journey continued, I couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, and the strange thing was that the more I looked the prettier she became. By the time she got off the bus I was in love with her, and totally distraught that she had gone.
I never forgot that experience. It taught me something quite difficult to put into words at the time although many years later I was finally able to write  a song about the tale. It’s called Gypsy Blue:

3.13 – 1962-1964 (14) South Stanley

Gypsy Blue

There in the rain, I was standing, I was waiting; I was waiting for a Tyneside Bus to take me home.

It was a long time ago and though memories are faded, still the lesson that I learned that day, remains inside my bones.

Just a young Geordie-boy, so naïve, so full of innocence, I climbed aboard, I paid my fare, then I travelled on my way.

The only other passenger, sitting opposite I looked at her; nature is unkind sometimes I turned my head away.

I don’t know what it was that made me look at her again. If ever I was less inclined I can’t remember when.

But the whole journey through, I couldn’t take my eyes off her; something in her wonder had captivated me.

Behind her not too pretty face, her untidy hair and clothing, was everything I’d wanted; my very heart she’d stole.

When I came to read the book I knew I’d taken off the cover; I had seen the unseen beauty inside her very soul.

In the blink of an eye I found myself alone again, staring through the window as the young girl walked away.

There was a pain in my heart, for which I had no explanation, until suddenly I’d realised that I’d wanted her to stay.

Gypsy Blue, Gypsy Blue, you know I never did forget you, though I don’t suppose you ever even noticed I was there.

Gypsy Blue you taught me everything yet never knew I loved you, how I often wonder where you are today, my Gypsy Blue.

Gypsy Blue, Gypsy Blue, you know I never will forget you even though I know you didn’t even notice I was there.

Gypsy Blue, you taught me everything yet never knew I loved you, how I often wonder where you are today, my Gypsy Blue.

3.14 – 1962-1964(15) South Stanley Co/Durham

Whilst living in Stanley I attended Stanley Main Street School although I remember very little about it; other than the fact that I was caned on a regular basis. I can only hazard the guess that this was because I was behind with my schoolwork; I was far too shy and timid to be disruptive.
The days of ingratiating my self with dominant, bullying children were long past and if anything I spent the bulk of my time keeping a low profile. In hindsight, given the energy I put in to keeping myself safe probably explains the reason that my schoolwork suffered.
The very fact that I tried to keep my head down was excuse enough to be picked on, either by teachers in the classroom or children in the playground. Several times a week I could be found standing in the corridor having been kicked out of class for lacking in some way, only to be collared by the head who’s speciality seemed to be inflicting the greatest amount of pain with the least amount of effort. As for break times, assuming I wasn’t kept in, the chances were I would be found in the centre of a group of boys chanting “Scrap, Scrap, Scrap”; more often than not on the ground, taking a thrashing. I wasn’t the sort of child who could hit someone back even when they were pummelling me.
Either the boys had different break times to the girls or there were separate playgrounds (I don’t remember which) but the only time I saw Christine was going to and from school. Whilst I was scared of my own shadow, Christine had quickly developed a reputation for being as hard as nails and took great delight in ‘sorting out anyone who so much as touched her brother’. On the one hand, I suppose I was safe when she was around, though on the other hand became even more vulnerable when I was on my own.
The hypocrisy of the situation was that Christine was in fact my biggest threat; not so much physically, although she wasn’t adverse to giving me a hiding. More, emotionally. Which she knew only too well was my Achilles heel. Echoes of the Home came back into my life: We will do to ours as we will, but you will not (for he is ours).

3.15 – 1962-1964(16) South Stanley Co/Durham

The annual holiday with Elsie still continued until 1965 at which I refused point blank to go. For now though, although it wasn’t something I readily looked forward to, it did at least give me the chance to see Brenda.
Being a little older I realised that Brenda had a serious visual impairment which explained why I had previously thought that there was something unusual about her. It was never something we talked about but its very existence brought out a protective side in me I didn’t know I had. Very much the coward, I couldn’t stick up for myself, but where she was concerned it was a very different story.

Probably the most poignant thing of all for me was whenever we needed to walk anywhere; from the beach to a cafe, or from the park to a shop. Christine and Kerrie would walk either side of Elsie vying for her attention, while Brenda would always seek out my hand with hers as we trundled on behind.
No one in my life had ever needed me before, or wanted me for that matter. But that one gesture from my little sister gave me hope.

3.16 – 1962-1964(17) South Stanley Co/Durham

In some ways, for someone on the outside looking in, I suppose it appeared I was quite lucky really because as well as the annual ‘holiday’ I had with Elsie, I also a holiday with the Dixons; which for the first few years were taken in Blackpool.

During the early sixties, Blackpool was a very popular destination for Geordies, boasting a seven mile long beach, the Golden Mile with its illuminations, and of course Blackpool Tower which was a replica in miniature of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
I did, on one occasion (though only the once) ascend the Tower with my Dad but was so terrified I was almost sick. The platform on the top was made of a sort of see through grid which meant that if you looked down you would see people the size of ants; as well as all the greasy rickety mechanisms and cables that powered the lift. Worse still was the fact that the top of the Tower moved continually giving you the impression that it was going to tip over at any minute. Never again.

One thing I did like about the Tower though was the famous ballroom at the bottom where Reginald Dixon would appear playing an organ which came up out of the floor. I thought that was fascinating. It was also the place where me Mam taught me ballroom dancing to the strains of Glenn Miller as me Dad propped up the bar and Christine sat bored out of her face.

I think there were times when me Dad decided he’d knock the ‘wimp’ out of me because not satisfied with petrifying me atop the Tower he took me for a ride on the Grand National, which I believe at that time was the fastest big dipper in the U.K. I still have no idea how I hung on long enough to survive that ride and could never decide whether I hated it more than the trip up the Tower (or less). If I had to make a choice between experiencing one or the other now, I think I might just commit Hari Kari.

There were many facets to our week in Blackpool; brilliant meals from our lovely chubby landladies, the beach and the donkeys, bingo for me Mam, the boozer for me Dad, and even a chance for Christine to enjoy a flirtation or two. 1963 Blackpool with Billy But if anything brought us together as a family it was the live show that me Dad always managed to get tickets for. Over the years we were lucky enough to see a myriad of famous entertainers of the day, including Ken Dodd, Freddy (Parrot-Face) Davis, Des O’Connor and Shirley Bassey; who coupled with the various cabaret acts, dancers and magicians gave us all a reason to laugh together. I remember wishing that we could somehow keep that feeling forever and ever, and live like that. But of course that was never going to happen. 3.17 – 1962-1964(18) South Stanley Co/Durham For me to say that Christine didn’t care for me would be wrong. There were times when she was very protective for all the right reasons; or loving toward me because she genuinely felt that way, at that particular time. The inconsistency in her approach however, given my past experiences, meant that my defences were always up and she was kept at arms length. With a lack of trust being the basis of the relationship it sadly became one in which we tolerated one another, or just used each other for our own ends. Someone once told me, many years later that you are the ‘sum total of your life experiences to date’. If that philosophy were to be true then I can only surmise that Christine was who she was, and was the way she was, because of her upbringing up to that point. Whilst I had no knowledge of her experiences in the Home, there were two things which I knew beyond doubt would always prevent her from settling in normally. The first, which she voiced often, was that she felt she was fostered to the Dixons almost out of pity and because I, who always got his own way, had wanted her to be. The other thing was that she genuinely grieved over our family splitting up, and never stopped harbouring  the dream that we would, one day, all be reunited. “One day we’re going back to our real Mam and Dad where we belong” she would whisper to me, which was just about the last thing I wanted to hear. I never replied to her. Although something in me understood her far more than she understood me, we were two sides of the same coin. 3.18 – 1962-1964(19) South Stanley Co/Durham If I found it difficult to get on with me Dad I think Christine found it impossible. Not because he was reserved with her, quite the contrary; particularly in drink. When sober, he had a tendency of leering at her out of the corner of his eye, which at times even made me feel uncomfortable, but in drink his behaviour was very questionable. One of his favourite habits was to tickle her all over quite manically (which he had convinced himself she loved), and wherever his hands happened to land was because he was unsteady due to the alcohol. It doesn’t need me to try to describe how Christine felt about this kind of thing, but I thought it was important to note in order to understand why she did not settle quite as easily as me into the Dixon household. Suffice to say that she grew to hate him. In fairness to me Mam, she always intervened, was always on Christine’s side and always gave him a piece of her mind, which was no mean feat for a tiny woman challenging a six foot miner. The impact on me, and no doubt on Christine too, was the sad realisation that there was no real love between Katie and Billy. And as time went on we both grew closer to her, and more protective of her. Especially me; I had to. 3.19 – 1962-1964(20) South Stanley Co/Durham As time went by, and life went on, I suppose in the main that Christine and I were just like any other sister and brother with the one difference being that she actively kept up a communication with Elsie. In those days (before technology) their interactions were by post, and on the arrival of a letter I think me Mam found it quite painful watching a delighted Christine run up the stairs to read her mail in private. It was farcical really because before the day was out the contents would be forced into my head, and the first thing I would do was go and repeat the lot to me Mam anyway. On the bright side I did at least get updates on Brenda. Something happened then. Something that had quite a profound effect on Christine, on me, and no doubt on me Mam and Dad. There hadn’t been a letter for some time and so I think we were all quite tense. In my case, being a bit of a sensitive soul, the tension went straight to my stomach; I never could cope with negative atmospheres. The sense of dread, of not knowing what was going on consumed me almost into paralysis. With Christine, such things created mood swings which at times could be explosive; impacting on everyone and anyone. Finally, one day, a Social Worker arrived. 3.20 – 1962-1964(21) South Stanley Co/Durham From time to time I had wondered why Elsie had not made the effort to have all of her children back (notwithstanding the fact that she didn’t like me very much) but things became clear with the visit from the Social Worker. Their very profession had become synonymous with bad news and so I pinned my ears back and waited for the worst. It transpired that Elsie had gone into a hospital which specialised in mental health issues although I still don’t know if her admission was voluntary or if she was sent there by doctors. What I did know, however, was that her stay would be long term; I felt nothing but indifference. What did concern me was Brenda; where she was and who she was with. Whether it was a consequence of Elsie going into hospital or whether it was for some other reason I don’t know, but I found out that Brenda had been fostered to a family called Cooper who lived in Lancashire who were unable to have children of their own. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand I decided that it was wonderful that my sister was now part of a family of her own, away from Elsie; there was no more reason for me to have to visit the woman again. On the other hand I was terrified that I would never see Brenda again. Where was Lancashire? It sounded a long way away. And if I ever did manage to find it would her new family welcome me or not. The realisation that I may never see her again hit me very hard. Around the same time as Christine and I wrestled with our own emotional roller-coasters, me Dad announced that the pit where he worked, Beamish Mary, was to close and that the miners were to be relocated to the Midlands. The news shattered me Mam. So much so that it was many, many years before I even gave Brenda another thought. Katie’s entire life was centred round the North East. Her family and friends, her past and her present, her culture and traditions. Seeing me Mam cry was far worse than anything I had ever experienced before and there was nothing I could do about it, other than cry with her. And while the outside cried, so too did the inside as I watched me Dad show no regard whatever for his Wife’s feelings. 3.21 – 1962-1964(22) South Stanley Co/Durham Angel of the North And so began the end of my life as a boy Geordie. We were to move to a town called New Ollerton near Newark in Nottinghamshire and our removal expenses would be paid by the National Coal Board. Plus, as me Dad would remind us all often, we would be living rent free for the first 12 months. Big deal. I suppose a part of it all, for a young lad like me, had an element of excitement about it. At least I would be out of reach of the bullies who continued to make my life a misery; their current reason for giving me a pasting being that they had realised I had a different surname to that of my parents and I refused to tell them why. But there was no escaping the sadness of me Mam and the increasing isolation she felt from her Husband. Whilst Billy was on a roll, Katie continued to try to keep things emotionally stable for both Christine and me. Her usual simple, but wonderful, dinners of corned beef pie or pease-pudding and ham shank graced the table bang on the button of teatime, and all other usual routines were stuck to rigidly. But the day finally arrived for us to leave, and as we saw our entire possessions loaded onto an open pit lorry, they looked as pathetic as we did closing the front door for the last time.