Uncontrollable - my autobiography

Frome

When we had settled into our house in Nunney Road, Tim and Wendy went round the corner to the Oakfield Road Secondary School opposite the Police Station and I was sent to Milk Street Primary School which was down the hill and through a few back streets.

I am not entirely sure why but I never really settled in Frome.  I didn’t last long at Milk Street Primary and apparently I nicked my sisters dinner money.  Looking back, I think that the problems I was having settling were related to my insecurities.  I didn’t like change it seemed.  My life at home felt so insecure and hostile that to add to my insecurities with a new environment outside of the home, like a new school, was just too much for me to cope with.

I only have two real memories of this school; one is that instead of getting a free bottle of milk at break time as I did at my previous school, we got a free bottle of orange squash! 

My other memory was being embarrassed in class when the teacher asked me if I had brought any pumps.  I looked blankly at her - what on earth are pumps I thought to myself?  She shouted the question again at me.  I shrugged my shoulders and mumbled about not knowing. 

The class started laughing at me until someone said "plimsolls?"  Oh plimsolls - "yes miss I have some plimsolls".  The whole class was laughing at me as we trekked out to the playground for PE..

My only other memory of this school was the walk home.  At the bottom of Nunney Road is a big junction with a car park.  Each day when we came out of school there was a woman who was always sitting on the bench in the shelter at the back of the car park.    She was aged about 55, grossly overweight, dressed in dirty old-lady type dresses.  Apparently her name was Mavis and she was a prostitute.  Even at my age I knew what a prostitute was, and I also wondered why anybody would pay to have sex with someone like that.  The car park was her patch and she would be there until late at night plying her trade and all day Saturday.

Nan and Grandad Garland

Prior to moving to Frome Nan and Grandad Garland had not been anything special to me.  They were nice people we used to visit each week as they lived about 2 miles from us in Molesey.  They were my 'mum's' parents - I think my dad's family were in South Africa.

However, when we moved to Somerset, they moved with us and I became much closer to Grandad.  I think he could see how I was treated at home and tried to befriend me and make up it up to me.  At every opportunity I would walk the 4 miles or so through the country lanes to go and see grandad.  As well as after school I used to spend most Saturdays and Sundays there.  Dad just wanted me out of the house as much as possible.

When I was over at grandad's for whole days I used to go for walks along the quarry railway lines.  Walk up to the quarries and throw stones.  Put threepenny bits on the railway tracks and watch the trains squash them.  Alongside the railway line was a little river.  Me and Grandad or sometimes Timothy, used to go fishing for trout there too.  I really enjoyed my life away from home and in the countryside.

I used to enjoy helping grandad with his vegetable garden, digging it over, planting and picking.  I never got into his love for his aviary and cage birds though.  I never did manage to learn whether it was a finch or a canary - to me it was yellow, brown or whatever.  The best thing about the birds though was the special feed we used to give them on Saturdays.  Boiled eggs and digestive biscuits all mashed up and mixed together - it was delicious.

I used to admire and look up to my foster brother Tim a lot.  He is about 10 years older than me so I never really got involved in his life, but he got involved in mine and treated me like a real brother.  On occasions he came up to the quarries with me and we rode the quarry trains together. 

He used to have a James 125cc motorbike that he taught me to ride.  We used to ride through the woods, over the fields and have a good laugh together.  We even explored over the land at the top of the quarries.

Shortly after we moved to Frome Tim bought an old three wheel bubble car.  He was going to do it up and use it.  I have loved bubble cars ever since and wish I could afford to buy one. 

Wendy

I never really had much to do with Wendy.  She was about 8 years older than me and very pretty.  She was also very talented and artistic.

Patricia

'Tricia was a nice girl.  There was only a couple of years between us, she being the younger.  I think we used to play well together. 

Highlight of the Week

Highlight of my week used to be the shopping trip on Saturday mornings.  I used to love walking round the streets of Frome.  Dad used to drop us at the car park at the bottom of Nunney Road and the main supermarket was just across the road.  He used to come and do the main shopping there with us which we then took back to the car and he would take it home. 

We kids could then relax and start to enjoy ourselves and Mum would then take us down through the town.  Without 'him' around Mum was ok. I don’t think I ever remember her being 'fun', it wasn’t her way, but she was a kind woman and loved us.

We used to stroll down Catherine Street, Catherine Hill and Stony Street.  This is a steep hill with lots of little local shops of all descriptions.  I used to love all the little shops.  I was so pleased as I wandered down there recently to find it is largely unchanged. 

We used to turn right out of Stony Street into Bath Street and just a few shops along we used to pop into the Wimpy bar.  Mum always had a coffee.  I usually had coca cola or milk shake.  I don’t remember what Tim and Wendy had, I think it was cokes though.  Patricia usually had orange juice I think.  We then used to wander down Market Place to the river and back up the other side of the street strolling up Cheap Street with the stream running down the centre of it and down King Street. Dad then used to pick us up outside the cinema which was nearby.  Very occasionally we kids would then be allowed to go to the cinema.  This was where I first saw one of my favourite films of all time - Blackbeard's Ghost.

Unmanageable

My 'parents' decided when I was about eight years old that I was totally unmanageable and sent me to a children’s home called Woodrough.  It was set in a little village called Bramley near Guildford in Surrey.  I don’t remember too much about this period except that I was very unhappy and confused and kept on running away.

I was in this home for about nine months and was then sent to a boarding school at Marnhull near Sturminster Newton in Dorset.

to be continued...........

Running Away to Australia
I do know that even at this stage in my life I was very unhappy at home.  A friend of mine, Billy Price, who lived just a round the corner in First Avenue and his family were emigrating to Australia.  On the day he was due to leave I ran away from home.  I crept out of my bottom bunk in case I woke my 'brother', grabbed my clothes and took them to the bathroom to get dressed.  Having completed that part of the operation the problem was now to get downstairs.  We had stairs that creaked.  I knew where the creaky steps were, and I thought I had worked out how to get around them.  Miss that one completely, step on the far left of that one, far right on that one, and just on the edge of that one.  The stair creaked... too bad. Nobody moved. Everything was still quiet, so I continued downstairs.

I got out of the house and ran round to Billy Prices house.  It was light but must have still been very early in the morning.  I sat on his front step with a small bag holding a few clothes, waiting for him to wake up.  I awoke with a start when his mum opened the door and I fell through it.

She took me inside and asked me what was going on.  I told her I had runaway from home because I was so unhappy and my dad hits me.  I asked if I could go with Billy and them to Australia? 

She took me into the kitchen for a hot drink and some toast and called Billy from his bed.  When I told Billy what I done and planned he begged his mum to take me with them. 

After a little while she explained I couldn’t go with them and that I had to go back home.  I begged her not to send me home.  As I recall I even cried, mainly with unhappiness but also with fear at the thought of what 'Dad' would do to me if I went back home.

Billy's mum 'phoned mine and 'Dad' was going to come and pick me up.  I said goodbye to Billy and said I wouldn’t go back home.  I ran out of the front door straight into my dad who was just walking up the garden path.  He grabbed me and put me in the car and took me home.  I was grounded for a month, though we didn’t call it grounded in those days.  I wouldn’t be allowed out with my friends or on my bike at all.  I was allowed to go to school and straight home and that was it.

I don’t know whether it had anything to do with the Price family moving to Australia, but my foster parents started to make enquiries at Australia House in the Strand in London about us moving to Brisbane, Australia.  The whole process was very lengthy and I didn’t have very much to do with any of it.  But when we were all called up to Australia House a while later for an interview we all went as a family.

There were health checks, and work checks and all sorts of stuff going on and a long while after the interview we received a letter from Australia House saying we couldn’t move.  I am not sure whether it was because I a foster child or because I had a weak chest (I seem to think it was the latter) but we couldn’t go and it was made clear to me it was my fault!

Illnesses

As a child I suffered greatly from asthma and chest complaints.  The doctors now say that this asthma is largely an emotional illness, and from experience I can see that this was so in my case.  It was nearly always after an emotional upset at home, usually my 'father' abusing me one way or another, that I suffered worst.  My 'illness' always upset him more and so the vicious circle went on.

My worst experience was an asthma attack that I thought was going to kill me.  As always I never called anyone for help.  It was a really bad attack in the middle of the night and the only thing I could do was to open and hang out the bedroom window to try and get some air.  'Dad' walked in and belted me without asking what was going on and threw me back into bed.  I remember wondering what was the point of living with a life like this!

I had my tonsils out when I was about 6.  I went to Kingston Hospital for this and remember having the pre-med injection and I got as far as 5 in the countdown.  I remember waking up though as they carried me on a stretcher down the stairs.  I don’t know if this because the lift was out of order, or maybe there was no lift.  But the experience has given me a fear of hospitals that has stayed with me ever since.

I do remember at some time going into West Molesey cottage hospital but I don’t remember what it was for.

Park Street Primary

In the natural course of things I moved to Park Street Primary School.  I was not happy at this move.  I had been very happy in my infant school (Chandlers Field Primary School as it is now called).  I remember being bullied extensively at Park Street.  I started having all sorts of difficulties because of my fears and insecurities.  It didn’t help that when I got home I was then humiliated and abused over those!!  It didn’t last for long fortunately as it coincided with us moving to Frome.

MOVED TO FROME

It was only a year or so after we couldn’t go to Australia that we moved to Frome in Somerset.  We moved to 84 Nunney Road, which mother named 'The Hollies' after her favourite band of the time.  Nan and Grandad Garland moved with us.  They bought a cottage in a nearby village called Great Elm (pronounced 'Gert Elm').

to be continued..........

Holidays

An amusing incident occurred when we were on holiday at a place called Ugborough in Devon.  I was aged about 4 or 5 at the time.  'Daddy' decided that he wanted to emulate his hero, Stirling Moss and went speeding down a country lane and had an accident, hitting a car coming in the opposite direction.  We all got out of our car and there was this rather good imprint of the front of the other car on the front of ours.  We kids were standing around giggling and sniggering and this other chap was telling Dad that he didn’t realise Woolworth’s still sold driving licenses.  'Dad' was getting more & more embarrassed, when yours truly stepped forward in all innocence (honestly) and said, within earshot of just about everybody, "Don't worry dad, it's only the firm's car".

As I explained earlier, in those days it was not as socially acceptable to have a company car as it is today.  I think it is probably true to say that my 'Dad' was not too impressed with my command of the English language.  I remember not having any supper that night, which didn’t really matter as I would have been unable to sit down and eat it anyway.

On one occasion, we went to a coastal resort for a holiday.  When we down to the beach for the day.  On the beach my 'dad' started teasing me about not going swimming and what a coward and baby I was.  I ended up crying and told him I could swim and would show him.  I stripped off my clothes ran into the water and started swimming.  And kept on swimming and kept on and kept on and kept on.  I was heading out to sea and not really thinking about it when I heard all this screaming and shouting from the beach.  I stopped swimming and looked back at the beach.  I saw all these very tiny people waving their arms about.  My brother was swimming toward me and eventually caught up.  I thought we were going to play a game or something but he told me were going back to the beach.  It seemed to take ages to swim back but our feet touched sand and I noticed dad was standing on his own; nobody was talking to him as they looked at me as if to say things like "Oh poor boy with a wicked daddy".  I didn't particularly like my dad and was secretly pleased he was being told off.

Religious matters

Considering that my 'Mum' was a Quaker and used to march with CND (dragging us all along including 'Dad', prodding us to keep moving and if we moved too much it was the old slapped legs routine), I suppose they were quite nice people really.  Everybody has their good points, it was just a pity I discovered few of theirs.

My foster parents must have been one of the last to send children to Sunday school in the great British tradition.  Whether it was a ruse for the grown-ups to have an hour's peace and quiet or truly for the spiritual benefits I don't know.  What I do know is that along with the other children I had to go each and every week, and I can remember absolutely nothing of these occasions and so presume they had little or no impact at all on my life at that time.

However it did lead to my joining the church choir at St. Mary's Church of England Church in East Molesey.  I'm not too sure how long I was in the choir but I recall spending almost the entire service sending slips of paper to the girls in the choir around the stalls throughout the service to relieve the boredom.  I was eventually 'removed' from the choir. I don't quite recall exactly why - for which I am sure I am extremely grateful.

Piano Lessons

My 'sister' Wendy used to have piano lessons each week and it was decided when I was about 5 that I would have them too.  I used to have the hour long slot after Wendy on a Saturday morning.  We used to travel to Ember Court Road near Hampton Court which is where the elderly lady lived who gave us our lessons.  I often found it laborious, especially learning scales, but I persisted and am glad I did.  Wendy became a very proficient pianist and passed a lot of examinations and for a short while she taught piano to others.  I used to practice at home, but more out of fear than desire as 'dad' stood over me.

to be continued........

THE EARLY YEARS (June 1955)

I was born in Kingston-upon-Thames hospital quite a long time ago, on 6th June in 1955 in fact.  This took place when I was very young so I don't remember too much about it, nor did I have an awful lot of say in it.  My mother's husband was not my father, and in 1955 this was quite a serious scandal.  My mother and her husband split up, as did my mother and my father.  My poor old mum couldn’t cope with bringing me up on her own so she put me into the care of the local child welfare office.

I had lived happily in a nursery at Woking until I was two when I was fostered by some people who lived in Belvedere GardensWest Molesey in Surrey.  He was ex-RAF, and at this time a fairly successful business-man selling the latest Crittal windows to the building trade.  She was very respectable and had two children of her own, Timothy and Wendy, but yearned for another.  Unable to have another in the natural course of events they fostered me and a couple of years later adopted a young girl, Patricia. in

Horace Charles (foster father).......

My relationship with my 'father' was always strained. He always seemed to resent me but wanted to keep his wife happy.  I am not sure why they adopted Patricia a year or two after fostering me, maybe he needed another 'play-thing' for his wife.  I not sure if he ever knew what fatherly love was, or even thought about the role of the father towards me or his own children; maybe his lack of positive feelings for me was just because I was an 'outsider'.  Our relationship was based on his wife's need, so I was tolerated, and over just 9 years our relationship deteriorated to the point where I held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him if he ever touched me again.

My 'daddy' was a very proud man, and very proud of his car.  It was a black baby Austin (Austin A30/35) as it was called in those days.  He would wash and polish it relentlessly.  He was not proud of the fact that it was a company car though.  Today nobody thinks twice about having a company car, in fact some people are affronted and offended if they DON'T have one!!  In the 1950's and 60's though, it was considered socially unacceptable to have a company car.  Or maybe only to snobs!!

As a child I suffered very badly with travel sickness.  I only had to look at a car and I would feel sick!!  I brought the subject up once, all over the back seat.  I got a good hiding for it, but that failed to cure me.

It did make afraid to say anything though whenever I did feel sick.  What always used to make the situation worse was that my 'brother and sisters' sitting with me in the back seat used to find it all hysterically funny and roll about the car laughing.

My father knew this amazing cure for my sickness.  It involved first slapping the left leg, then the right, then the left ear, then the right and then back to the legs again.  This "cure" used to continue until Dad thought I was feeling better again.  I really don't know where he learnt it, but it never worked.  He never seemed to realise that it didn’t work either - twenty miles later we would be back at the cure again and Mum would be cleaning the car and sure enough the kids would be laughing hysterically.

As this section is about my 'Dad' perhaps I should conclude it with these two notes. 

I only learnt one thing from my 'dad', the art of hate.  He stirred up in me all that is negative and horrible in human nature.  He taught me about snobbishness and hate for 'lower classes'.  He taught me about everything that was wrong with men, but more than anything he taught me how to hate, hate society and hate people.

My last note on this man is this:  I got in touch with the family in 1984 when I was preparing to get married to my first wife, Ginny.  I felt it was an episode I really needed the closure of.  It was as if I couldn’t fully love my wife to be if bitterness and hatred towards him was still in my heart.  I needed to forgive them all and especially him.  I put it off for ages, only because of 'him', however when I did get to Frome where they lived, I managed to trace the family who had all moved across town, and found that he had died just months earlier from heart failure.  Inside I rejoiced, but I kept quiet. 

As I spent the day with the family I asked them about his death and not one was bothered.  I got the impression they would all, including his wife, dance on his grave at regular intervals given the chance.  His wife was so grief stricken she ran off with a man friend just month's after.  I guess I find healing in that even today, that it wasn’t just me that he hated and abused, it was everyone.

Grace (foster mother).....

Grace was a wonderful woman really.  It is a real shame she was let down by her husband.  She was very caring.  Whether it was towards people, kids, animals, the planet, her parents - she cared.  It was her that was the driving force behind the local Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) group.  It was her that was a Quaker.  I think she probably had issues with needing to mother, hence her fostering me and adopting 'Tricia, but that doesn’t matter when you are as compassionate as she was.  She often tried to stick up for me, but she did what she was told by her husband.  She was a peace loving woman who was easily emotionally and intellectually beaten into submission by her husband.  In stature she was a little woman - probably just about 5 foot tall - in comparison her husband was a giant in stature standing at about 6 foot and well built.  In moral stature though - he was dwarfed by her inner beauty and gentleness.

 TO BE CONTINUED......