Some take the biscuit.....Others get the crumbs
A social insight through everyday experience and the funnier side of life
“Some take the Biscuit.....others the crumbs” is testimony to the principle that there is a book waiting to get out of all of us. It’s not a book that will ever be published because a publisher is only interested in a mass market and in this case there is no Genre. It’s just social comment from a simple perspective - mine. It’s made people laugh, cry, ponder and think. It’s found agreement and likely disagreement.
It may never find itself finished but is preserved here for posterity as opposed to prosperity!
If you suffer from Insomnia try it as a cure.
If you are a book reading Group, feel to discuss the heart of the theme and where it might resonate in you.
We can agree on one point before we begin....I am not a professional writer, but someone who simply allowed my thoughts to flow.
To those who like it and to those who didn’t I thank you for looking.
After all, the book set out to get your reaction and at worst was likely to achieve that at least.
Dedication
Of all the joys that life can bring, no matter what you consider life’s original origins, none can be a greater blessing than children and grandchildren.
I give grateful thanks for happy days shared with my grandchildren, Brad, Tom and Emma.
Through them I see the glory of life and a world unfold.
May they seek and find the truth of life and remain the loving and caring people they are throughout their lives, finding fortitude in the face of challenges with good humour their constant companion.
They should know that they have already made a difference to all those who love them dearly.
My life has been enriched through theirs.
I cannot forget Blackie of course, my loyal German Shepherd Dog, for his companionship and shared liking for Robin Hood.
Foreword
Whenever we consider our origins we engage our thinking. How far it takes us depends on the importance and relevance we see to our personal life.
There is no doubting the imagination of the human mind but the challenge for us all is to find real answers to the questions that have been troubling for centuries.
I grew up in the 1950s and like most people looking back, I readily acknowledge the world has changed.
It has shrunk! Whilst once the issues of the future remained local and national, we now engage with the global picture. Even beyond to the fascination of the Universe around us.
Who can avoid the simple truth that such change has drawn greater attention to a world in trouble and a human family that finds itself in an “Eleventh Hour”?
Decisions today affect tomorrow. That’s not intended to sound like a political statement. Never will the truth lie in politics.
Politics feeds perception rather than reality. The evidence of this is in the constant discontent that returns when people find their trust was misplaced. How odd that despite the evidence, people return to the same mistakes.
The purpose of this book is to stimulate and challenge thinking. Whatever you’re existing opinion, at the end you will have benefited by revisiting that thinking and either reinforced your existing view or found some room to re-evaluate.
Either way you will accomplish something of value.
I ask you to consider one vital aspect of life - accountability. This will become clearer as you take a journey with me that you can be personally involved with. You will be looking at your own life and how the views you hold impact on everything you do and how you relate to others.
I have found society places itself in four distinctive groups.
The order I give them has no relevance to importance, since all of them must face the challenges of this book.
Group 1 are those who seek political solutions to the problems of life, putting trust in fellow humans
Group 2 feel that politics are part of the root causes of mankind’s problems and that the solutions rest entirely in the hands of a creator, from whom most of society has long since fled.
Group 3 are firmly of the belief that only Science can be trusted to help us understand the past and help us find our way. The theory of evolution has been presented as reliable fact and the power of men in white coats is now increasingly called upon to help us direct our steps.
Group 4 favour a blend of all these, assuming the shared expertise increases our prospect of solutions in a world that faces a terminal stage in its existence.
My view is that man has not only a limited understanding of the problem - he has simply lost the map and no longer knows where he is!
The problem is he will not admit it, and even worse, he knows we will forget soon enough and he will just choose another route to restore his control.
I believe politics is a temporary state, a plaster over a severe wound that has allowed us to exist, but taken us far from where we needed to be.
The intention of this book is to find optimism and value in the obvious, which many have sought to rob us of understanding through confusion.
I am reminded of a lovely saying. The past is history; the future is a mystery but now is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present.
I hope to prove that the lessons of the past and the evidence of the present will clear up the mystery of the future.
This is a serious issue approached in a simple way with added humour, which will urge you to make choices.
When you know what you really think, you will know who you really are.
Chapter One
In The Beginning
It is commonplace for us to be asked when we were born, where we were born and many other things that trace us back to our beginning. We generally have the answers, so it presents us with no dilemmas. It’s the information we lack that we rely on others having to tell us to make greater knowledge satisfying, since birth is the start of our personal history and needs to become a complete puzzle with no pieces missing to have real value.
Inevitably, however far we move into the future this first foundation remains significant and can never be forgotten.
We like traceability. It provides order and helps us to explain many things about ourselves. Having a foundation, a mother and father, brothers and sisters, gives us a sense of being part of something and an identity. We may take them for granted but roots help us to become stronger.
Looking back on my own beginning I can see that the modern description of the family I was born into would be “dysfunctional”. My father saw politics as the answer to everything and was repulsed by his Catholic upbringing. His years in the Royal Air Force, where he claimed hypocrisy in religion was easy to see, especially during the war years of the 1940s, left him cold towards the idea of a God, whilst not accepting it was governments that sent people to war.
My mother was Church of England if you asked and was a mild kind of person. Most of the things she came to believe were the ideas of others, as she saw them as being more intelligent and more likely to know best. She was so eager to be pleasing I never did understand what she felt was important. How sad.
I was the firstborn son and in no time at all, my father was revealed to have little in the way of parenting skills. Drinking and gambling skills were abundant and mum spent most of her time in the “pub” as her only means of spending time with her husband.
This gave me absolute freedom and my life became a blank canvas to develop a set of rules without guidance. There were many adventures ahead. That’s another book in the making but I remain grateful for two things.
The fact that I became strong enough to avoid peer pressures by making my own mind up and the gift I have not switched off 61 years later! A brain that drives me to think, to listen, but importantly to rely on sifting the truth and not to be misled to suit someone else’s cause. Popularity is the desire of us all but respect has greater value.
I have come to hate arrogance and love truth. In the end, whatever I have come to believe and trust, I can give an argument for, always recognising it may not fit commonly held ideas. This too has become my identity. It fits well the idea of who I am, being best seen at the end rather than the start.
Start we all must though, if our existence is to teach us anything.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing and I often wished life had given the lesson before providing the test. That is until I realised it was me that was not paying enough attention to the evidence and facts around me and the confusion I allowed to exist was filled with presumption and so hindered any genuine validation.
The saying that truth has a ring to it is accurate. Lies have a bad smell. The enormous amount of information we receive every day will inevitably be accurate or inaccurate and without thinking about it we store what we receive according to how we view the detail or the source. However you look at it we are given information as a way of influencing us. Lies do not have to be deliberate. Information can be passed with sincerity from people who failed to recognise what they had received was untrue.
That means that all of us have the capacity to reinforce something that may seem innocent but creates damage.
Even as a young man I could see that people liked to debate. Communicating required people to share opinions and it was a social need. It struck me that satisfactory answers to the debates were often missing and the influence on the direction of discussion was led by the more forceful personalities, who said a lot and were assumed therefore to have considered the subject. The less people found to raise searching questions the stronger the talker became. In the end the force of argument, rather than any substance, often influenced the outcome. I began to realise that ignorance could win a debate and it struck me that such a condition could be inherited. Everything we learn and do is inherited and this made me wonder what the lesson was?
My mum, when saying she was Church of England said it because her parents said it and their parents before them. No evidence of religion or faith was ever apparent. It had become a habit without substance, a need to feel part of something without knowing what it meant. It is often equally true of those who project evolution as a reasoned look at life. They ask us to accept the falseness of religion and then suggest that we should judge creation had no hand in our design. Let’s look at more of that later.
In the end I have concluded that convenience plays a huge part in people’s choices. If a religion demands too much, it is easy to find another. Others say that science demands we accept evolution, so a creative God is not an option. Both are accountable for creating false influences. Religions history makes it plausible for people to turn away and science contributes to further alienation of decent people by suggesting God is a myth, that he does not exist and is not worthy of credit for the life we gain.
When mainstream religion tries to blend both creation and evolution together, we must wonder what they believe and whom they represent. Even worse, we must wonder what damage this does in its spread of confusion.
Being one or the other I understand. Being undecided I understand. Being both is something to be challenged. They are like oil and water, an incompatible mix.
Where has the yardstick gone that tests the truth?
My early life, whilst having many difficulties provided one blessing. The advantage of a blank canvas allowed me to become a student of people. It soon became obvious that there were great varieties in people. What came to surprise me was that the variety of opinions were even more diverse and wherever I looked I had a sense of people being lost, uncertain, unsettled and often having low self esteem, wondering where they had come from and not knowing where they were heading.
All this, because information received was unclear.
This book of course is a source of information. You will be the judge of the substance. Assume nothing and verify anything that needs clarity. Where you disagree, step back and ask why? What is it based on? At the very least you will not only know what you think but also why you think it.
My intention is not to support religion or science. Both are a force for good and bad. The real issue is our origins, what we can trust and what we can learn. Neither religion nor science can take credit for it. Our existence is either purposeful or accidental.
Before we begin, confirm to yourself where you stand on this issue of origin. Then compare whether that position holds when we have shared some well-known facts that often get blurred. If nothing else you will be reminded of the wonderful provision on life and all it achieves.
My own experience will have comparisons with yours, some serious, some amusing.
Finding what makes us different and the same will not be wasted.
Chapter two
First and Only Home
All of us know our first address, the setting that was provided to help us flourish and grow. If we remained in that early setting long enough, we will remember details and be grateful for its provision and security. Our parents provided it as a loving gesture to meet our needs. It was essential.
Extend our thinking more broadly and we must accept that the Earth, our planet of residence, is the permanent home that sees us through our life. We accept that bricks and mortar give evidence of our parents care. Many then tell us everything else that surrounds us and sustains us may be a product of accident. We should begin then by looking at the detail that accident has produced.
The Earth is 93,000,000 miles away from the Sun. This brings precise levels of light and heat. Any closer and water would vaporise, too far and we would freeze. Earth orbits the Sun at a speed of around 66,600 miles per hour, a speed that is just right to offset the gravitational pull of the Sun and ensure we maintain the distance we need to avoid being pulled towards it. This is comforting since at its core, the Sun is around 27,000,000 degrees Fahrenheit! The Earth completes a rotation on its axis every 24 hours. As it rotates, its tilt is 23.5 degrees. This precise tilt provides the seasonal changes we experience, winter through to summer, enjoying spring and autumn in their individual glory. Such seasonal changes ensure the balance of our food sources, since a 12-month winter would not only be depressing it would be calamitous.
To help us appreciate size, 1,300,000 Earths could fit inside the Sun. The Earth’s atmosphere consists of 78%Nitrogen, 21% Oxygen and 1% other gases. We all recognise the need for Oxygen, but pure Oxygen becomes toxic. Too much Oxygen and things will burn more readily. Nitrogen combines with Oxygen to carry compounds to Earth in rain, from which plants gain fertiliser. Carbon Dioxide forms less than 1% of our atmosphere. Too much would harm human and animal life and too little would not support plant life.
Even with this small amount of the enormous evidence around us we must face our first questions.
Is it reasonable that pure chance provides the right distance from the Sun, with its source of vital energy and light? Is it pure chance that the Earth’s rotation, tilt and speed that protect our home are accidental? Is the precise balance of these and a protective, life-sustaining atmosphere, with just the right level of gases compelling evidence of something at work?
This is without considering the relevance of water, the beauty of the skies, mountains, trees and a million other enjoyable things that add to our pleasure. All things we see but give little regard to.
The diameter of our galaxy is so vast that even if we could travel at the speed of light (186,282 miles per second) it would take 100,000 years to cross it. About 10 billion galaxies are observable.
Our solar system is superbly organised. The Sun, which is a medium sized star, is a nucleus from which our Earth and other planets with their moons move in precise order. This accounts for why astronomers can predict where they will be with mathematical certainty.
Scientists do acknowledge the universe did have a beginning. A common explanation is the “Big Bang” theory. It is described as a chaotic moment like the explosion of a nuclear bomb.
Have you ever seen the order we described earlier, as likely resulting from chaos?
If you place a blindfold over your eyes, have 10 numbers 1 to 10 in front of you which are mixed up, your chances of putting them in sequence is 1 in 3,628,800.
As we indicated earlier of course people are often pre-disposed to either the Evolution or Creation argument. What we need to agree on is that belief before investigation is of no value to anyone.
Failure of religion in both what it teaches and does seems enough for many people to draw away and favour Science or Politics or both. Hypocrisy, oppression and a lack of moral teaching have brought religion to an all time low in commanding respect.
Some live by the “seeing is believing” code, asserting that what cannot be measured cannot exist. They are only moved by physical evidence. Faith is a step too far for them so creation ideas cannot hold their attention for long.
The common issue here is the ability of humans to maintain an open mind and be ready to reason from the evidence. Science would never have progressed unless reasoning had formed part of the motivation to learn more.
The real challenge is to accept the weight of an argument when it is seen. Fear to confront new ideas or evidence leaves us poorer.
Here lies a problem, one that seems to be increasing. If wisdom is the application of knowledge there can be no doubt that education will play a large part in our ability to reason. Let me say immediately that this does not make the truth the possession of the academics. I learned very early on, how poverty could focus the mind and create a high sense of awareness. Our education greatly affects our approach to learning though and increases or decreases our fascination with the world scene. Good teachers and bad teachers impact on us for life. Just as good parents and bad parents can help or hinder us.
Developing values helps us to become a good citizen. As we develop into our teens we all become aware of the way adults have fudged many subjects with us, whilst asking us to conform to family traditions, good or bad.
I had to start thinking for myself at an early age. It made me inquisitive. I developed a knack of knowing how to get attention when I needed it but also how to become invisible and seem anonymous. I sifted endless pieces of information and experiences and spent time asking myself how I could learn from my parent’s mistakes. It seemed to me my happiness would depend on it.
Wherever I looked I saw unhappy people and I yearned for everyone to find a level of contentment with life. Having developed a happy disposition I had not come to understand why people could not be grateful for simple things in life.
As I got older I could see how people limited their thinking to daily challenges, having long since accepted that life was meant to be a test and was seemingly meant to be a mystery.
Luckily for me I had not surrounded myself with people likely to suppress my enthusiasm for life and with it my desire to understand it a little more and work along with it a little better. It was as if my anonymity was giving me the chance to observe and reason, without a need to conform to one thing or another to fit in with people.
These early influences, when looked back upon explain the fibre of our character.
Other crucial factors that are vital are those rare moments of influence on us, when someone enters our circle and leaves a lasting example and impression that increases our desire to find satisfying answers to everyday questions.
What may sound easy on the surface was going to demand resolve as I set off to compare what I was told against what I would find.
Chapter Three
Life Begins
Following a difficult pregnancy for mum I arrived in October 1951 in the City of Nottingham
I would develop good football skills, going on to excel.
Mum often said she should have guessed, as I had done a lot of kicking and after being born was famous for dribbling! She said it often and we laughed every time.
Dad’s humour did not show itself often. As I got older he would joke that when I was born I was so ugly that the midwife smacked my mum. In his limited way this humour reflected a brief moment of warmth that I recall often.
Many have since said he was telling the truth for fun but the irony was that I had taken a strong resemblance to him so my retort was to say “I was certainly unlucky. It would have been better to look more like mum”. He would smile and give me a look, like answering back for fun was a sign I was growing up. He knew what small guidance I would receive would come from her. In my early years I could not understand his aloofness.
At birth, we all have cause to be grateful to our parents. It’s hard to imagine any greater inheritance our parents could pass on than life itself.
Development of an embryo in the womb is a remarkable achievement. All of us rightly celebrate its life. From it come the continuation of our existence and the hope of fulfilling our full potential.
Where did it all begin though?
One argument is of a loving creator, a father figure, creating the first man, adding the woman to make him complete, and tasking them to begin the human family through the reproductive powers they were given.
Some view this as simplistic. If they do then I assume they would accept the alternative argument that Science gives is complex.
Evolutionists speak of a spontaneous generation of life. It’s generated initially from an Earthly atmosphere composed of Carbon Dioxide, Methane, Ammonia and Water. Then, through energy supplied by the Sun, they break apart and turn to Amino acids, gradually accumulating in the oceans and eventually with volume form a “soup”.
Then, a molecule is formed by accident, capable of reproducing itself, and ultimately results in the first living cell being generated. And so it all began. I hear my mum’s voice in my mind sifting through this and saying, “It makes my pregnancy seem very simple!”
Does it sound complicated to you? It will to most people. My mum would have assumed the complexity made it sound right because it sounded very clever.
For me it provides other possibilities. If the circumstances were known, Science would surely have tried to reproduce it as firm proof, since they often say Evolution can be trusted.
Interestingly, in the 1950s, in fact two years after I was born, an electric shock was placed through the same atmospheric conditions. Amino acids, the building blocks of proteins, were produced. The problem was that twenty were needed to support the theory and only four were produced.
Perhaps you are thinking that Science has advanced since so maybe we could do it now. Well, it was done thirty years later and the truth is no further progress was made.
The four Amino acids had been removed from the energy. It is likely that these acids, formed by the energy, if left in contact with it would actually decompose.
The idea of spontaneous generation from oceans raises a further question. Why does Science assert that Polymerisation (Linking small molecules to larger ones) could be likely, since water favours De-Polymerisation, the opposite?
One argument that amuses me is the one that asks “Which came first, the chicken or egg?” The argument stems from looking at our genetic code, the requirement for cell reproduction. Proteins depend on DNA but DNA cannot form without pre-existing proteins. Which came first then? Science says they arrived in parallel. This would mean neither came from the other! Sounds more like scrambled eggs to me. Feel free to make your own mind up.
It strikes me that when you raise questions religion and science often react the same way, to suggest these things are a mystery and best left to those who are qualified. Perhaps it’s a human trait. Is it because they want to appear on a higher platform or is it that searching questions provide an uncomfortable challenge? The idea of these people providing interpretations or writing the textbooks from which we learn worries me. Perhaps this explains the condition of humankind. Where there are no satisfying answers given, you deprive people of reassurance and place them in a state of confusion. You make them more reliant on you and this provides control over them.
This explains why history reminds us how many have died for their sincere desire to understand important issues and find the truth.
I know from my own case that persistence in seeking accurate responses has put me at odds with many people. A combination of my youth, when I had to care for my younger brother and myself, created an early sense of responsibility. I inherited the adoptive role of mother and father at age ten. I grew up quickly and became streetwise in the art of dealing with adults. I had a sense of needing to learn quickly to protect our future.
I decided very early that my approach to life should be not to think too much of myself, to maintain positive interest in people, to be an influence for good, to respect authority but equally to guard against those who would seek to mislead me. It struck me that life would seek to deal me a poor hand but the key to progress was how well I played that hand. I was to be proved right.
What was good was that I was not pre-disposed to anything. I knew nothing but wanted to know everything. I am certain that this outlook ensured I would develop opinions but never let prejudice form. After all, everyone, regardless of colour, creed or location aspired to knowing more about life. Whilst individual circumstance may have given greater advantages to some, I never doubted my goal should be self-improvement not competition with others.
If the conclusion was that where I was, I wanted to be, I knew I would find satisfaction in life. The instability of my home life setting over the first seventeen years of my life would help to focus my search for stability.
Chapter Four
Tracing My Ancestry
At birth my immediate family were mum and dad. A sister born four years earlier was around for a little while, though I would have no recollection of it as she would soon be in the care of my Grandparents and never live with us, her natural family. As became ten years of age a baby brother appeared, born in the early hours of the morning, as I listened and wondered what all the activity was. Like me he was born at home. From our first introduction I knew this would be no ordinary relationship. The words in my mind as I touched his little fingers with fascination were “It’s going to be hard but I will take care of you”. How true that turned out to be. My ten years of experience, that was more like twenty would be greatly called upon.
Here we were then, a new generation that could be traced back to whatever started the process.
It could be I was related to a first couple named Adam and Eve. Their names had a warm ring. If so I needed to accept they, like my brother, were God given and I should be very grateful. I certainly know I felt excited and happy.
Of course, as we have noted before there was a more complex possibility. What did that involve? It meant accepting that we progressed through different stages to arrive at our human form. Fish to Amphibian, Reptile to Bird, Mammal and finally to Humans.
Given that my understanding was that one thing produces its own kind, this seemed a brainteaser.
Fish are distinguished from invertebrates by a backbone. Modifications needed to live on land would see the need for a pelvis. Fish fins would need to become jointed limbs with wrists and toes, with major alterations to muscles and nerves. Gills would change to lungs, never forgetting the blood of a fish would be pumped by a two-chambered heart to a three - chambered heart as an amphibian. The sense of hearing would be very different. Amphibians can blink so a membrane would be needed over the eyeballs to keep them clean.
Surely this is a dramatic change in anyone’s book! Let’s be gracious though and assume it happened and see if we can press on from Amphibian to Reptile.
Creatures prior to reptiles laid soft jelly like eggs where they were fertilised externally. Reptiles themselves are land based and so lay their eggs on land. Their eggs are shell like requiring internal fertilisation. New sexual organs, mating procedures and instincts would be needed.
Imagine now the challenge of progressing from a Reptile, which are cold blooded, to a Bird, which is warm blooded. This means that a reptile’s temperature increases or decreases according to the outside temperature, whilst a Bird retains a constant temperature regardless of the external temperature. One similarity is that each lays eggs but only the Bird is required to incubate them. Feathers of course are unique to Birds and we must wonder how reptilian scales made this amazing change. Given it flies, a Birds bones are thin and hollow unlike a reptile that has solid bones. Resembling the idea of braces inside an aircraft wing, Birds have struts inside their wing. Imagine too the need for a suitable respiratory system. Wings beating for long periods generate heat, so a system of air sacs reaches into important parts of the body and generates air circulation for cooling. Birds have more sensory cells giving superior eyesight. Somewhere in the process a Bird loses a toe, having four when a Reptile has five! Finally, the one that really amuses me? The nose of a Reptile evolves into a beak.
Finding this hard? Already made your mind up? Remember what we said. We must consider all the pieces of this puzzle if we are to support any conclusions. Not far to go now so hang on. Where were we? Oh yes, Reptile to Mammal.
Mammals have mammary glands that provide milk to their young so how was this passed by the Reptile, which does not even have sweat glands that might be the only argument for adaptation. Female Mammals have complex placentas whilst Reptiles do not.
There is no diaphragm in Reptiles, yet Mammals have one that separates the thorax and abdomen. Mammals maintain a constant body temperature whilst Reptiles do not.
Look closely at ears and Reptiles have just one bone whilst our Mammal has three.
I can hear you taking a breath so shall we say that ought to be enough to be certain or uncertain.
As it turned out my brother was not as complex. Yes, I had to help him adapt to soap and water and getting out of bed, but the only changes I saw him making were the ones I had already experienced.
When I first saw him he looked small, fragile and very dependent. This little brother would grow and become more demanding. I had some anxiety as I realised what a large part I would play in his development, safety and approach to life. I recalled in my mind that in my eagerness to learn I had read of the Earth’s biggest living thing and a moral entered my head I would keep in mind.
From a seed no bigger than a pinhead, a tree was known to grow three hundred feet tall. Its diameter reached thirty-six feet. Yes, thirty-six feet. You could build fifty, six-roomed houses from just one tree! It is as fireproof as Asbestos and its roots could cover three or four acres. Even more staggering was that it lives for three thousand years.
From a tiny seed sprang this great giant. For reference this is the Sequoia tree.
Whilst we must ponder what takes credit for this marvel it fixed in my mind that my brother would need good roots and would one day grow tall, certainly not three hundred feet maybe but an above average six feet two inches.
Something else in common that reminds me of the tree was his insistence that he grew to be a giant amongst men. I never tired of telling him the diameter of his head already resembled the tree!
One thing would certainly prove true. There were giant tests ahead of us.
Chapter Five
Reasoning My Way through Life
One thing that I can be certain of from my own experience is that the capacity to reason has life saving value. I began like anyone else, having no real knowledge
or experience to act as my guide through life. You could say that in those early years I was what many have described in my adult life, an empty head! This confirms that the influence on a child will be great. How many children do you know that did not look at their parents as the truth they could trust? Only when teen-age years arrive do most youths start their challenge to assert their own ideas, usually based on gaining something they want. For me, I needed to find another formula as my parents either had nothing to offer or simply never had the inclination.
Either way, it soon became clear I would find my own way, almost as if I was an experiment.
Many would say correctly that this was a recipe for disaster, a wild child in the making. The reality was to be very different and serves as a lesson that behaviour blamed on disadvantage, has more to do with the individual than circumstance.
I was fortunate. I figured out very early in life that my father would never be a role model but that fact was to prove useful. It allowed me to see what I did not want to be and this would be a striking prompter for me when I faced choices.
I was never the brightest child. Keen maybe, but not a teacher’s ideal student. The fact that I was slower than most kids frustrated many of my teachers. What I was to learn before damage was done was that I had the capacity to learn but my pace was different. I did not just accept what I was told. I needed to know why it was the case. This lesson came from a soon to retire English teacher from Wales
Many would assume I would need to be self-reliant but in fact I came to rely on many things to direct my steps. An early example is that rather than taking my chance to stay away from school it became a refuge. It was the place I found friendship, got fed and the chance to find a way to express myself. Going home was the unattractive part of my day.
I have the urge to give thanks for this thinking ability but whom do you thank? The miracle that offered me hope was my brain and boy, this is one magnificent gift, accidental or otherwise. It took me until I was fifty to expose myself to a computer, more out of need than want. It soon became addictive and helpful as I sought to learn a new skill. It was learning so, as ever, I soaked it up in wonderment. Since my Grandchildren could get round it, I figured I should give it a go. It was time to put my abacus away.
The computer that had already got me through life of course was a brain. Before anyone asks, let me say I had the scan and they did find one. It seems that every second 100,000,000 bits of information pour into the brain from various senses. Storage must be good when you consider they say men can only do one thing at a time. Apparently the reticular formation, a network of nerves the size of your finger
are based in the brain stem. Only around two hundred are allowed through a sifting process that is deemed essential for attention.
Waves sweep the brain eight to ten times per second and the brain notes the stronger signals and acts on them.
Three weeks after conception brain cells start forming. This can be in spurts of 250,000 per minute. In time, following birth, it is estimated one hundred billion nerve cells called neurons is packed into the brain. Clever when you note the brain is just 2% percent of the body’s weight.
Neurons do not touch each other. They are separated by gaps one millionth of an inch across. In the gaps signals are chemical whilst in the Neurons they are electrical. The more we learn in early life the stronger the connections become and so learning is reinforced.
I must wonder then how such superiority originated from animals, particularly since the brain is hardwired for language and not just one language at that. I see some explanation here as to why children cope well learning multiple languages.
Like many people I would love to be able to play a piano. I can’t but those who can rely heavily on the brain to learn. No wonder then that I value this human miracle.
Intelligence is a desirable thing but it does not follow that it leads to good judgement.
I noticed this early in life by watching my Dad.
He too began in a poor setting with brothers and sisters fighting for attention. He was the bright one; you might even say the odd one out. He too valued learning, with mathematics a subject he excelled at, achieving a scholarship to Grammar school which set him apart. The only other member of our wider family that had this disposition for maths has been my Grandson Brad. He mops up numbers as much as he enjoys food. Given that we call him hollow legs with his eagerness to eat you will see the parallel. Where my Dad failed miserably was that he never developed any good level of common sense or perception. He seemed unaware of those around him and this limited his social skills. I am not saying he was not popular he was, but then you can buy popularity down at the pub. What he never saw was who was paying for it.
In these strange relationships between fathers and sons a young child will still cling to the desire to please and gain commendation. I worked hard in the same way but nothing good returned to me. Even my best, at times way above average, it was as if he expected this and more. It was as if he felt my education could never match his. One lasting damage that still exists today, relates to my writing. He made so much criticism that made me self-conscious that I devised a method to avoid it. My signature appears on many things and it is true people form conversations with me at supermarket checkouts about how it would not be easy to forge it easily. Perhaps I should hail this as useful at least. If I am signing a personal copy of this book for you the proof will be there to see. The real point of note is that I write all other script in capital letters. That way it’s readable and style does not matter. I developed this habit for safety. Even my capitals at times look confused! Shows they are really mine.
Mum on the other hand gave a good impression of not existing. Always working in the background she would never impose either herself or her opinions. She gave a good impression of preferring to spend her life unseen. Hidden in this outer coating was a woman very protective of her sons. Her sense of letting us down became great but she gave what Dad never could, warmth and humour. With me and my brother she became our third musketeer to set up jokes against Dad and I can still hear the laughter now as we got blamed but she knew she was our co-conspirator. She was mum and dad rolled into one.
Life at home though was like a war zone. It was easier to count the silences rather than the rages that turned to violence. Everyone knew that when she had the film star look, sunglasses in winter, that Dad had been throwing his fists about again.
I should say at this point that he never once raised his hand either to my brother or me. Later I will tell you a funny story about the day I was brave enough to push him back and what happened.
Mum had learned over many years how to press his buttons and get him angry. Time and time again she walked back into his fists and worse.
You must surely be asking by now if there was love between them.
I don’t remember seeing that in an obvious way. I always felt Dad had found a good slave. But what view do you put on this?
After twenty-five years of being together they got divorced. I remember being in court the day a judge granted it. But guess what happens next?
They walked out of the court and went home together. They then spent a further thirty years together in the same routine. If you think that’s odd, try this. Twenty-five years after being divorced, though never separating, my Dad sent out invites to their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Everyone knew the real facts but made it a great party for them anyway.
Mum died from Cancer, which took her from us quickly in August 2000. I gave the funeral service and recounted her life, finding lots of amusing things she had done with us for mischief. Dad was sat in the front row clearly visible. As I related her life and time with him, he began to cry. This was the first time I saw real emotion. Did he love her? Not in a way I would describe how love should behave but what happened next must have a bearing.
He looked like a man lost, wandering about calling out her name. He lost all his spirit and by May 2001 as if he could bear it no more he got Pneumonia and died, his last words still asking for her. Somewhere in this mess of life there must surely have been love.
Chapter Six
Eleventh Hour Philosophy
Dad had just two philosophies in life that I was able to adopt, but with entirely opposite reasons for believing in them. The first was that no matter how tough things got, the eleventh hour still gave the cavalry chance to arrive and carry you away from what may now seem an impossible problem to resolve. The other, with a very similar ring, was that when one door closes another will open. In truth, he was right for the wrong reasons.
Every two or three years we would become homeless. In between these years we often spent half the time without electricity and gas. I guess we were the one family that kept manufacturers of candles in business. Show me a candle today and I will tell you if it’s a good one or a poor one.
Dad’s philosophy helped him to hide and convince himself and mum that it was never the end of the world. He lived by the idea that everything would get better without ever having a plan and never realising his drinking and gambling were the root cause of our poverty. The level of his need is easy to see by the lack of regard for anything standing in his way of being in the pub or club most of the day.
He would be paid on Friday and by the time he got home, tell mum he had lost it all gambling on a horse, always arguing as his justification that if he had won she would not now be arguing with him!
His Granddaughter, my Daughter, like most kids, found ways to get the odd glimpse of warmth from him. She did not see his flaws. She just gave unconditional love. Here at least you would think he would want to share. In this regard, though he did far worse things, it is here his most despicable act resonates with me.
He never bought gifts or remembered special dates that most people treasure. On just one occasion this changed.
As I grew up with Christmas as a depressing time, since unlike other kids it never happened in our house, I developed the knack of letting others enjoy it whilst wanting to get past Boxing Day as quickly as possible. Not surprisingly then, I was taken aback when Dad turned up a few days before Christmas 1977 with the biggest Teddy Bear I had ever seen. Finding it hard to look me in the eye he said, “Here, this is for our Helen”. No more was said. He did not stay as the pub awaited, though even now he had been drinking. Since such gestures had never been seen from him before, I took the positive from it, that Grandchildren can at least reach the good in us. I was to be disappointed. Worse still, Helens tears would break my heart and leave me regretting that this man was my father and remind me that parenthood is not for some.
Helen was a beautiful child in looks and personality. At this tender age of five what happens next would be familiar to me but cruel for her.
On Boxing Day my Dad returned, a rare event indeed. This time of year was a good excuse to drink and he had already started to take advantage of it. We hoped he had come to see Helens joy.
In truth he wanted the Teddy Bear back! Can you guess the reason? I think you may have already worked out the answer. He wanted to sell it to get beer money and was walking out of the house ignoring Helens plea not to take her new friend. If you are a parent you will know the contempt that filled me. It was bad enough that my brother and I had suffered but this was a step too far. Before he reached the door I prevented his route. Most of the conversation we then had was made through the look in our eyes. This was the closest I ever got to feeling hatred.
If it took beer money to adopt Helens new friend, that’s what had to happen. For thirty pieces of silver, or in this case ten pounds, my Dad had achieved his aim. It was a depressing moment. Not bad for him when we later learned he had won it in a raffle!
Here we were, surrounded by the idea of reasons to celebrate what was described as the most important birth in history, and all I could think about was the millions of broken lives that would be finding it hard to be optimistic. Even worse, as was the pattern every year, people’s despair, reflected in an increase in suicides would remind me that not everyone was happy. Even some of those now pretending to be, had inner anxieties.
My mind wandered to the celebrations all around. Some partying because the holiday provided the atmosphere and opportunity. Others fixed on this birth as the sole provider of mans eventual salvation. There was no doubt about us needing to find a better way to face the future. On balance this man that people felt they could mention at this time of year without sounding like a God botherer, Jesus Christ, was at least remembered for his love of people and sound advice, long since forgotten. Here was a man whose life was filled with troubled details. A man by all accounts who, despite every sacrifice, was killed as a common criminal by those he was trying to help. Although it is historical fact his birth was actually October, there is no doubting the man’s existence or his high principles. The story of him being found at the temple of worship at the age of twelve and explaining the real meaning of scripture to adults makes me smile. If he had been around when I was a kid he would have fascinated me. I would have tried to make him a friend.
He could not begin his ministry until he was thirty years old under Jewish law. I suspect there is truth that this man was the greatest that ever lived. Why then, three and a half years into his ministry, was his life ripped from him when no crime had been committed? Here is the lesson that my life had taught me. Truth creates fear and disturbs people. It creates enemies. Which of us though if the cause were vital would not die for it. As a parent we would give our life to protect those we love. Make no mistake, such things are an issue of love. There is comfort though in the idea that his death was a legal way of solving human ailments later in time and he knew that it was necessary. Be it fact or fiction to you this is a remarkable story. Outstanding men are rare.
As a young boy I wanted my Dad to be a hero and in my eyes it would have taken little effort. I have never been given to hero worship. Joe Baker and Jimmy Greaves were footballers I admired but I knew they just had talent and commitment to their love of the great game. Real heroes are those without faces who save lives and never blow a trumpet. They have true grit, resolve and commitment to others.
To me everyone was equal and from that I learned to show respect. Only when I encountered self-serving, self-centred people with egos to match, did I ever find conflicts, and find them I did.
Most parents hope their children will amount to something. I was a child hoping his Father could do the same.
Chapter Seven
An Age Of Cynicism
The progress of time is inevitable. What fills that time and what we learn from it has a great bearing on our well-being. People often equate time with experience but this is not always the reality. My Dad was a good example of filling time but learning nothing. As I have now reached my sixties I am aware of two sides to me. I am mostly very aware of the need to leave people feeling good about themselves. However, when I find someone who thinks so much of themselves that they don’t care how they use and abuse people, I feel a high charge of negativity. Over the years I have tried to balance my dislike of people by telling myself it is the action they take that I have a problem with. This helps me to avoid making issues personal, since I can point to a problem, not an individual, as the root cause of the dispute.
This does not work of course with people who take everything personally and can see no reason why you might be reasonable with them. Something in their background has created this approach and since none of us know the story behind another person’s life, we need to either make some initial allowances for them or get to know them better. People who have been hurt in life often become a little withdrawn and less trusting. It acts as a protective shell. So never give up on someone, who with a little effort will prove to be a diamond in your life. People with baggage can often turn into very loyal people because they have learned much from their experience. When we give up on people it is we that have failed. Unless they are a corruptive or destructive influence, a little human kindness can melt the hardest of hearts.
The general definition of the word cynic is a person who believes a person’s motive is bad or selfish. That means that at an early age I became a cynic. Use of this word is often to suggest a person is negative. I doubt any reader would say they had not encountered this feeling, so here we are then, a bunch of young and old cynics! I don’t think we need to go into therapy for it. If anything it helps keep you alert.
I promised earlier to tell you a funny story. It illustrates the frustration that builds in all of us when a difficult situation is not improving. It also illustrates that children, not just adults get frustrated.
Every day in our house was a routine of dispute between Mum and Dad. The year was 1964. In the middle of the night my three-year-old brother, our German Shepherd Dog Blackie, our few possessions and I were collected together in the small living room of a council house that had been our home. Quietly we left the house, having no idea what was happening.
Within the hour we were boarding a Robin Hood coach out of Nottingham, whose destination was Manchester Manchester
We finally arrived in a suburb of Manchester
When we stepped back into the house my eyes tried to draw Dads attention to tell us what was happening.
I felt horror as he told us that this was our new home, a new start. He had not told anyone. My school with all my friends would find out later that we had moved. I would never see them again. Everything I had and had learned had gone.
My new school had normal northern friendliness but part of me felt ripped from all that had been mine. Within the week the school bully came looking for me. I dealt with provocation well, knowing that if and when it became too much I would deal with it. There is a lot of truth in the idea that a bully feeds off what they see as your weakness if you wait too long to respond and it seems to empower them to belittle you more. Eventually I followed the school tradition, a showdown after the school day.
A hundred kids must have gathered to see the outcome. My enemy at first found me confusing. I was not going to run but he had to give me a reason to fight. A good enough reason would be to throw a punch. Sure enough we were soon in the throes of battle with what sounded like the cries of a football crowd around us, eagerly egging us on. It’s fair to say we had reached the point of looking like two boys who had been scrapping, when suddenly the huge crowd began to disappear at speed! As a gap appeared I saw an elderly lady waving a dark wooden walking stick in the air. Her words were like blows. This was uncivilised behaviour that would be reported to our headmaster. She had got our attention.
What happened next says something of the human condition. My sparring partner, whose name was Neil, asked me if I wanted to come to his house nearby for a drink!
It soon became clear to me his parents were never around either. Next morning, sitting with our wounds on display in class, we gave the usual answer to our form master when he asked what we had been doing, “Nothing Sir”. Neil and I became great friends. He was a brilliant football goalkeeper and we went on to play some outstanding football together. I am happy to report his bullying stopped and he later developed into a fine parent.
I was never at ease with violence as a means to resolve issues. It was a last resort for me. Inevitably there came a time when Dad stood in front of me and I would need to take such a decision again.
Close to midnight I heard Mum and Dad return from the pub. Actually I had heard them coming when they were half way down the street, as had everyone else. Once in the house the argument increased. My Brother lay asleep. It was time to act.
I walked downstairs in my striped pyjamas, not quite knowing what I was going to say. I walked into the living room. The TV was on and Dad sat in his sacred chair. He would be master in his own home. I told them Mike was asleep and they would wake him up.
In a dismissive voice my Dad told me to go back to bed.
I began to reinforce my point that they would wake my Brother but even before I had finished my sentence he was out of his chair. He looked like a man on the deck of a ship in raging seas. As he wobbled towards me he said, “You are not too old to get a slap”. This had never happened before but perhaps at thirteen he was now seeing me as a threat. This did not seem to be the new start he had predicted.
In good Mancunian tradition he “asked me out”. This meant we should take our jackets of and fight. It seemed more sensible to keep my pyjama jacket on! It was cold outside and I had nothing on my feet. By now he had gone into our backyard and was beckoning me. Mum told me to go back to bed, but this was a man thing.
Here I was then, in our backyard, freezing, frustrated and sick of this man, who called himself my Father, being a dictator.
My fight with Neil had prepared me. I offered him the first punch. Dad delivered it but it was more likely to land next door, it was so far wide of me. No doubt embarrassed he promised his next effort would be better. He decided getting up close and cosy would help, so we stood nose to nose. By now my fear had gone. As in everything else I had seen in him, he looked pathetic. His breath had more power so to make him step away I pushed him in the chest with the tips of my fingers on both hands. I must have caught him off balance, because he began to move backwards, each step looking unsteadied until he found a place to land. That place was in the bin that had no lid. It was if he had sat on a chair where the bottom had fallen out! Even funnier, he was stuck and could not raise his backside out. His hand reached out. I walked back into the house, locked the door, told Mum not to let him in and then I went back to bed. I looked in on my Brother who was still sleeping. It seemed a very satisfying night’s work.
Next morning it seemed like a dream. We had heard nothing of him since I had locked up. It seemed to me I was in for some trouble but my priority was to get to school. Curiosity made me check he was not still in the bin and sure enough he had escaped. As I was about to go back in I heard a noise. Walking to the back gate, what I saw next is imprinted on my mind.
There was Dad still dressed in his suit, fast asleep on the coal with his arm around next doors Dog! It was priceless.
Chapter Eight
RAF and NMF
I feel sure Dads happiest days were as a teenager. Those days between getting away from home and still being a teenager and the war years that would follow were his best. It was the time of his early service with the Royal Air Force. He was a Brylcreem boy and it suited him. Over the years it has been a source of amusement for people to suggest that one thing proves the genetic code, Dad and I both felt incomplete if we lost the comb we carried to run through our hair! It seems we both suffered from vanity, or is that just a man thing. I certainly never inherited his interest in Brylcreem! Come to that, not even the hair gels my Grandsons have found popular today either!
Dad would be at home in the laddish environment of the RAF as he was never as comfortable in the company of females. Born in Manchester in 1920 to parents originating in County Galway , Ireland
When war loomed the world would feel very unstable. When the time came to take the fight to the German enemy it was well accepted that the life expectancy of aircrew was short. He would grow up into a man overnight and no doubt value every day as his last.
He was more fortunate than many who were killed in the very early stages of the conflict. Those friends who were beginning to become an anchor in his life were gone. The stark reality was that war, however noble the cause, was paid for in lives. Whereas aircrew found an emotional way of disassociating themselves from the death they were dropping with their bomb loads, the loss of those friends was personal tragedy that revealed war for what it was.
Accepting the stresses and risks being undertaken by aircrew, the authorities established a cushion to rest the minds of those constantly in danger. They established a rest period for those achieving a certain number of flights. When such a tour of duty was complete they were to be rested. Through good flying, good fortune or just sheer miracle, Dad completed his tour and lost no time staking his claim on his rest period.
What happened next was to stay with him beyond the war.
His Commanding Officer sent for him and asked him to forgo his privilege of rest. He was told bluntly that all able officers were needed to fly without a break, as aircrew casualties were increasing.
By now Dad was courting a pretty girl from Chesterfield
Dad’s nickname to fellow crew was “Weasel”. As a child I hung on to the few glimpses I gained of his service. I laughed at this name. It was a term of endearment given to the flights Mr Fix it who was resourceful when it was needed. If you wanted something you could not get or even a day’s pass, you went to Dad. This gave him popularity. His rank and duties gave him access to things others did not have and he exploited it. One of those areas of access was admin where service records were kept. Curious about what was recorded in his regarding recent events, he looked. The discussion was recorded but what stood out in bold capital letters was- NMF. He was relieved at the idea of No More Flying.
A serious incident then arose that revealed his state of mind. He joined flight crew in the bar and in no time they were in silly mood and Dad appeared agitated. The events leading up to it are unclear, but apparently at being pressed by my Dad aircrew took an unauthorised joyride, using the aircraft they flew. Without doubt this was irresponsible and waiting on the ground after an unsteady but safe landing was Military Police.
Dad was to lose all three stripes and privileges, everything that meant anything to him and his only symbol of pride. In submissions to the court the truth came out. Here was a man who had undertaken high-risk flights, completed his required duties and survived. After looking at his file his relief had turned to anger when someone explained new service language. NMF actually meant No Moral Fibre!
This would be a devastating disappointment to someone who had honoured all his obligations within the duties given to him but had been made to feel worthless. After giving your best, if someone then says it was less the impact is clear. How can you ever meet people’s expectations? Why would you ever try?
Sadly Dad played into the hands of those who saw an opportunity to remind him he must conform to higher authority. Such authority had now lost his respect. After all, what more can anyone offer others than their life.
This was not a period in British history when empathy was mixed with perceived duty. Getting the job done was primary. Following orders was the way of controlling the situation. What Dad had trusted now seemed hollow.
The lesson from this experience is that security can soon disappear and what a person thinks, feels or trusts today, can change tomorrow. Nothing in life can ever be taken for granted. Sadly, total trust in human ability often leads to a fall. Often motivated by power, position, control or self-interest that is hidden from us, people will place us second to their own needs. This is hard for us to accept.
In Dads case he put all his faith in fellow humans not realising that as soon as you put people on a pedestal it is generally not too long before disappointment follows. History is filled with human conflicts where one privileged and powerful nation has sought domination over another. This is a reflection of people thinking that becomes strong when it reaches a mass.
If this is mans best testimony to his ability to survive in the absence of a creative God it has potentially left us self-destructive. It strikes me we are ignorant to claim success in improving ourselves. This may account for the strong feelings that most generations feel, that the past represents a more civilised world. Two world wars in the 20th Century undoubtedly changed the world scene. Much sacrifice was asked and given but we must ask what was really sacrificed in mans pursuit of dominating his fellow man?
By the end of war in 1945 he had regained two of his stripes. He had survived and that seemed enough to put it behind him. On August 6th 1945 he took the next natural step in his life. He married that pretty Chesterfield
In her he would find someone who wanted to put him first and her easy going nature would make him feel at ease, perhaps suddenly back in control.
Chapter Nine
A Girl From Chesterfield
Mum was five years younger than Dad and was fortunate to have been brought up in a loving home. Her parents Albert and Clara were also good Grandparents and my Grandma was to play a vital role in my young life. The first thing you noticed about Albert was that he had no right hand. He had lost it in the First World War. Like many fathers he did not take to Dad at all as a potential husband for his daughter.
Mum had identical twin brothers and a sister. The brothers were very mischievous, using people’s inability to tell them apart to play tricks for fun. I think my Mum got used to boys being playful and this showed later when both my brother and I were to constantly pull her leg. Years later, having left home I recall a typical piece of fun with her. My Brother and I would make a point of visiting most weekends, more to see that she was alright than to see Dad. We would tell her days in advance and her excitement could be seen as she told anyone who would listen “My sons are coming at weekend”. She would tell us she would get something nice for tea and ask us what we would like. Knowing how well she knew the local butcher I asked if he could get a new liver that was popular. Eager to please she wrote it down. Imagine the scene next. Mum would rush off with her piece of paper and get a friendly greeting from the butcher. She would appeal for his help and he would be glad to help. “I need this new liver,” she would say, handing over the paper to be sure he would understand. “Don’t tell me, your sons are visiting are they?” “
How did you guess?” “Because they are pulling your leg, they have asked you to get Cirrhosis liver” Our trusting Mum would take a while to see the explanation but when it hit her the butcher told us she would always say “Wait till I see them!” followed by giggles. Mum was known and liked for this innocence that made her trust everyone and her ability to laugh at herself would be a great part of her nature. Thankfully, my Brother and I inherited this gift from her.
Like many of her generation Mums expectation of the future had been to be married, look after the home and have a family. Based on her own parent’s marriage she would feel this was a fulfilling goal. As a courting couple Mum and Dad would have made a handsome pair.
Dad had been awaiting release from the RAF as he prepared for marriage. What was ahead was a difficult time adapting to civilian life and a struggle to find stable work. This made for a difficult start to marriage.
Within two years their first child was born, a daughter. This was a happy event for Mum, which made the other surrounding struggles disappear for a moment. Dad saw this as an occasion to “Wet the baby’s head” and head for the pub. He returned later as he would increasingly in the future, very much worse for drink. On this occasion it was forgivable since it had the label of a celebration.
It’s hard to know what was going through his head but he became increasingly aloof from his wife and daughter, finding it hard to express joy or be involved. An inability to maintain work and a tendency to take his sorrows to the pub began to increase tensions. Money was tight, if it existed at all at times.
The natural outcome in these situations is that onlookers become concerned and so offer help. Mums parents were first on the scene and it led to tensions with Dad. No doubt it increased his feelings of failure but rather than view offers of help as vital and a means to help in the short term until things improved, it merely increased his resentment. It resulted in arguments that would see Dad seeking solace in drinking.
At times like these, having her loving parents nearby would be a blessing for Mum.
The model of family life she had in her head would never resemble the reality in her life.
She had hoped for a husband with leadership qualities, able to take decisions and provide some direction. She would know that no marriage could be perfect but she would set out to be a helper to her husband, wanting to respect him and help her train the children for life.
Sadly Dad had forgotten, if he ever knew, how to take an unselfish interest in others and be reassuring and caring.
What Mum got was a harsh man who would simply dominate everything in her life. What we would know fifty-five years on was that, despite all the physical and mental beatings she would suffer, she would stand by her man. Some would describe this as extreme loyalty, others as foolishness. I feel it was both but I know one thing for sure. Every man wants to find a wife who has these inherent qualities. Sadly, many men seem incapable of seeing the great value their partner seeks to add to their life. A man who gives his wife love and honour is a great rarity today. Look at life’s problems and they are often about breakdown in relationships in our modern world. People seem to have forgotten the building blocks for success, the greatest of which is love. Love is like a comfort blanket that covers over the daily stresses life throws at us. If love is not real, a person will not remain unselfish for long and selfish people are unaware of anything but themselves. What a recipe for disaster and failure!
Why not take a moment to remind yourself of all the good things your own partner adds to your life. More importantly, why not tell them you were thinking of them today and even though you don’t say it enough, you really love and value them.
A real man has no difficulty making his true feelings known. Couples that talk share far more than those that don’t.
I have lost track of all the severe injuries my Mum suffered at the hands of my Dad. As a young observer of my Dads cruelty to Mum I became sickened. Two things stand out amongst many examples that serve to condemn Dad.
The first describes the level to which alcohol had become a demon that drove Dads behaviour to degrading lows. Mum would guard what little money existed. Literally!
She saw this as the little means she had of keeping her children afloat. When a parent sets out to protect their children they are willing to risk anything. Frequently Dad would search for Mums purse. Each time he found it and removed what little money existed for drink, Mum would try to find a better hiding place. However long it took Dad to find it determined how beaten she was. I would appeal to her to give it to him but the need to feed us was enough reason to take blows from fists and feet. On this occasion we retreated to the main bedroom, pushing the bed behind the door as a way of feeling more secure. I recall readily the sense of fear as Dad set out to demolish the door. Mums purse was under the mattress. Fuelled by drink and anger Dad made the door seem like paper literally knocking out the hinges and climbing into the room. By now Mum had got the purse in what she must have thought was a vice grip but several more blows and Dad had what he wanted. The violence stopped suddenly. He never even looked back at Mums bleeding wounds as he angrily left the house to join his drinking mates, as if nothing had happened.
Inside I was heartbroken but tended Mums wounds with water as best we could. In the height of this misery she always appealed to me not to tell anyone. I felt helpless and angry. In my mind the idea that I would one day make him pay for this festered in me.
The second and earlier event happened when I was seven. It was a Saturday morning. To impress his friends Dad had bought an old car for its name. It was a Daimler and huge. We all left to go to the busy Nottingham Market where many a bargain could be found, especially meat that Dad loved. In real terms what you got was what you paid for, poor quality in our case. I am not sure what started it but an argument began. In full public view Dad beat Mum to the ground and amazingly no one stepped forward to stop it. He then grabbed my arm and dragged me away towards the parked car and as I looked back Mum looked dazed.
Dad threw me into the back of the car and I climbed on the large back seat to look back out of the back window. I could see Mum running towards us. I shouted “Wait for Mum Dad” but as Mum grabbed the back door handle he drove off. This movement caught Mum unaware but she could not let go. I could see the fear in her eyes and she could see mine. Hanging on she was being dragged down the street with her legs behind her. Only when Dad stopped at the road junction did she let go, collapsing to the floor. I saw people rush towards her as we turned the corner and suddenly she was out of view.
Dad drove home as if nothing had happened turned the television on and watched horse racing. Five hours later we had heard no more and I recall no sign of anxiety from him. At six hours I heard the back door open and in walked Mum with her arm in a sling. An ambulance had taken her to hospital and she had coped on her own. Dads view? She had brought it on herself!
Amongst my own characteristics I can see that my respect for women and my protective nature was formed from this setting. I also formed a high regard for human dignity and justice. These combinations were to serve me well in the years ahead.
Chapter Ten
Driven To Survive
I developed survival instincts very early in life. I would soon learn that with ever increasing challenges facing my family I would be needed to make a big contribution to our continued existence. What is interesting is that despite the horrible circumstances that were normal in our family, I retained a passion for the values of home life.
At a young age my sister had gone to live elsewhere and it was clear to anyone who bothered to look that I was being neglected. This raised serious issues of child protection and inevitably Social Services soon came to visit. Mum was horrified at this attention and the risk that I might be removed from the home. I recall thinking they were very dry and serious. Not happy people at all so I felt they were more miserable than me!
I recognised the threat to breaking up our family though and I soon learned how to create the illusion that I was safe. My experience over the years has been to view Social Services as well intentioned but devoid of any understanding of real life. This was to be reinforced many years later during my service as a Police Officer. I had detained a runaway who had escaped care and had a history of crime and violence.
When they collected him I offered to act as escort. I remember the young man who arrived well. Not very tall, academic looking, glasses, elbow patches on his jacket. He only lacked chalk on his jacket to give him a fresh-faced teachers look that was about to be eaten by his first class! His view was that by treating people with respect you earn respect so there was no need for me to be concerned. He would be fine.
When he left a fellow officer and I took bets on how long it would be until we heard from him again. The call came within ten minutes. Having stopped at traffic lights the lad had beaten the Social Worker and escaped! Perhaps as he waited for his black eye to heal he would recall one of life’s lessons. You may not seek advice but when it’s given, consider it. Sadly my life’s experience is to view Social Services as much for the harm they do as the good. I accept of course, that a society that is breaking down must demand such a service.
I created a network around me as support. All our neighbours liked me because I was positive, considerate and helpful. I did the shopping for elderly residents and found them to be interested in me. Even those that could scare my pals with a look always had a smile for me. When they baked they never forgot me. No wonder I still have a weakness for cakes today! I came to have a high regard for my elders from this exposure.
One family in our street were poor. The Dad lived off benefits through work injury. I will never forget the Dads name. Georgie Glenn. They proved that poverty does not have to come at the expense of love. They adopted me into their family. After all what was one more added to their eleven children! It was like the Walton’s. I wonder how the Mum and Dad coped with the reducing silence as they started to leave home. I hope all of them went on to have happy and fulfilling lives.
Then and now I have always had a deep affection for people and a desire to help where I can, if only with a friendly word. It costs nothing but does so much.
Because Mum and Dad were always in the pub, if I needed to find them I would know the two most likely places they would be. My favourite was the Newcastle Arms. In a covered foyer area outside was a box that the landlord placed empty milk bottles to be collected. It was big enough to sit on, as I would often, kicking my legs. In no time I was striking up conversations, patting people’s dogs and generally being polite. I guess some were concerned to see me there so often, especially on cold nights when most kids were at home in bed.
Out of the blue people started giving me money because I was a nice young man. In no time I worked out peoples drinking times and made sure I was around when they were. One lovely, smiley West Indian man arrived every Friday night around 8.00 p.m. and gave me half a crown. This was a small fortune! I then went and bought fish and chips, a packet of coconut macaroon biscuits and a bottle of Tizer and I felt like a King.
When Christmas arrived I saw my greatest opportunity. My friends laugh when I say I was a really good child singer but it’s true. Before my voice broke I was as good as the Stylistics! I won many contests in the Nottingham Schools competitions held at Nottingham ’s Albert Hall. I made a fortune carol singing at Christmas. It got us over the holiday period and made sure we ate. I remember well Mums relief, so sure enough I went out every night, competing with the previous nights return. If I could have got away with it I would have still been singing in February! I lost the voice of course so had to find a real living later!
I acquired one posh friend, posh in the sense that the family owned a removal business and had far more than anyone else in the area. This was one place that if you got to eat you needed to work out a bit of etiquette. They ate at the table that had a tablecloth on it. That was a step up for me, as we didn’t even have a table! Come to think of it we didn’t eat much so a table had no place in our house. The parents of the house expected much of their children and this seemed to depress the boys. I was much better off. The most my parents expected was that I was home by midnight.
I did not sense love in this home. Life was rigid and it showed in their personality. I soon figured out that the Mum thought I was all right if I made a drama out of the importance of washing my hands before eating! It made me seem less of a street urchin, though when I sent her son home bald one day I was definitely out of favour. He asked me to cut his hair and a hairdresser I was not!
Many people perceive our value by how we conform to their higher virtues. In reality it’s not what we see on the outside that matters, it’s what we will find on the inside that should interest us.
I was left with a lot of time to fill but I found it easy. My best friend was our dog Blackie. A beautiful German shepherd that Dad had taken to get unwelcome visitors to go away. The only thing I could not get from this dog was words. In every other sense he was tuned into me. The only bad habit I let him develop was jumping on the bed at night. Many mornings, as I woke, I would sense breathing, open my eyes and find a cold black nose facing me on the pillow!
On dark, cold winter nights we would sit alone with a blanket around us waiting for our favourite TV programme to appear, Richard Greene as Robin Hood. I would join in the opening song and Blackie would cock his head left to right. He knew a good singing voice when he heard one!
We were fortunate to have a TV. Most had been repossessed. This one had a coin meter so we took care not to waste viewing before our money ran out. They weren’t very secure. Dad soon worked out how to open it and the box was left off until the collection man was expected. We were able to put the same coin through repeatedly in the end. Blackie would not miss his favourite programmes then.
The TV set had dials on the front that tuned in the channels. If they worked loose the picture suffered. To steady it once, dad put a nail behind the dial. It worked. As remote controls had not been invented and he did not have the custom of getting out of his sacred chair, he would beckon someone else to turn to another channel for him.
On one occasion I went going to oblige. I started to turn the dial when I felt the most enormous electric shock that threw me across the room. Typical of Dad the nail was metal and had touched something. The lesson was “Use wood”!
When Mum and Dad were out we were under strict instructions not to answer the door. Blackie and I often played the game “Hide behind the sofa”. He had a good bark on him though and people gave up quickly.
There’s always one though and he was to spoil our evening. It was dark and the curtains were shut. This would not have hidden the light from the TV screen. Bang, bang, bang. Whoever it was meant business. We were getting ready for Robin Hood and I swear the dogs barking got louder to see our visitor off quickly. Suddenly all went quiet and we waited for our programme. With paws over his ears as he waited for the title song…Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen….
suddenly the TV picture went off. We would not get to watch it. Dad was not pleased at all when he wobbled home. Even less so when we worked out our visitor had cut the aerial wire on the wall outside the little sneak.
A bigger shock awaited Dad a few days later. It was raining buckets and Dad was due home from the pub around 4.00 p.m. I heard him come in the back door, shortly followed by loud pleading from him. Mum was not in so could not have ambushed him. I ran into the kitchen, which was dark. Blackie was on his hind legs with his front paws in Dads chest pinning him to the wall, looking like Dads throat was about to become his dinner. Dad shouted, followed by me. Blackie went suddenly calm and Dad looked ashen faced. As it was raining a drinking mate had given him an overcoat and beret to wear. To Blackie, this was an intruder with a different smell. For once Dad knew what terror was like, only he was not handing it out. I never saw anyone sober up so quick.
I made sure Blackie got rewarded with treats with the next money that came my way.
Chapter 11
The good old days
Looking back arrives with us all at a certain age, simply because years of life accumulate pictures in our minds.
It gives us the chance to understand things better and going back generally has a sense of fondness.
The danger is we find a distorted picture because with age comes a less reliable memory. It’s easy to minimise the problems we had in the past but at the same time exaggerate our joys. It gives a sense that things were better back then. It may be true.
You look at photographs and see all those smiles but of course few Images are aimed at looking miserable when a camera is around.
It’s possible of course to wonder what might have been and it can add dissatisfaction to the outcomes. Life may seem to have been unfair when you look closely and engender some regrets.
We tend to look at history as a record rather than realising it is revealing.
One observer made this observation of the 20th century:
“The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider motorways but narrower viewpoints. We spend more but have less, we buy more but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge but less judgment, more experts yet more problems, more medicine but less wellness. We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much and pray too seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom and hate too often.
We have learned how to make a living but not a life. We have added years to life not life to years. We have been all the way to the moon and back but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbour. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We have done larger things but not better things.
We have cleaned up the air but polluted the soul. We have conquered the atom but not our prejudice. We write more but learn less. We plan more but accomplish less. We have learned to rush but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable nappies, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, pills that do everything from cheer to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom”
We have multiplied our possessions but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom and hate too often.
We have learned how to make a living but not a life. We have added years to life not life to years. We have been all the way to the moon and back but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbour. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We have done larger things but not better things.
We have cleaned up the air but polluted the soul. We have conquered the atom but not our prejudice. We write more but learn less. We plan more but accomplish less. We have learned to rush but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable nappies, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, pills that do everything from cheer to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom”
It’s difficult to argue with the points but it’s easy to forget this is how it was and how it is. The real question must surely be “What has progress brought us versus what did we lose in the process?”
Many might argue, as they always have, that the answers lie in the science of the future. If you believe in the proven principle of “cause and effect” which is entirely scientific, it’s hard to see any evidence that is not founded on blind faith.
Human intervention so far gives little reassurance for future generations but if you insist that it is the credible answer, how much more time do you need to measure the outcomes?
Will Religion or Politics individually create the influence that’s needed?
Do you trust the mix of both to do better?
Both seek power and prominence and I predict a big falling out between them in the pursuit of dominance.
Politics will prove the stronger of the two when the clash arrives, simply because Religion gave away the fundamental values society needs, for expedience and gain that never had the Interests of people at its heart.
It would not be too harsh as to describe them as spineless.
The danger is that it’s not then a huge step to see this as evidence of no Creator but the alternative argument is that it failed because a Creator was never in their thinking and so we got human thinking that changed with the wind.
My own Dad hated Religion with a vengeance. His Catholic upbringing and his military service introduced him to gaping holes of hypocrisy.
As the RAF prepared to destroy life over Germany
At no time during his life did he ever trust religion again. Church actions proved irreversible for him.
I am convinced it was this that turned his life towards what would follow for us as a family.
No doubt, as much as it’s impossible to prepare someone’s mind for war, much of the man would be ruined before parenting arrived. We can only imagine how the mind might be broken and the former character damaged.
Even now I feel a gap of understanding the core of my Dad and it was only at his funeral service, which I undertook as I had Mums that I began to crave answers to so many things.
To be continued........maybe
