Family. What an odd word that it to my ears. It is bandied about on Eastenders as a term of affiliation; something that has to be adhered to and cherished.
I can honestly say I have never felt such great emotions about the concept of 'family'.
I was born into a family of 6 children, 5 boys and one girl. There was roughly two to three years between each of the children. Mum and Dad got married because Mum was pregnant with my eldest brother H. I was later told that my Mum had a miscarriage of a girl. To this day I don't know where she fitted in.
I am the second youngest. My Dad died 12/12/1960 leaving the family virtually penniless. I was 4 years old.
I never felt like we were part of the same group, we had the same parents but in my opinion strangely never were part of a 'family'. We seemed to be 7 individuals under one roof. My Mum was a depressive and never seemed to instil any feeling that we were to stick together. She did not actively encourage us to tear each other apart but her mental state was such that she often hid herself away in her bedroom.
My older brother, the one 2 years older than me, saw it as his duty to bully me. He made my life a misery. He haunted me. I lost sleep and used to stay awake so he couldn't get me. It wasn't a joshing or odd clip around the ear, it was outright vicious bullying. He had so many, I think with hindsight, psychosomatic illnesses. I have a vivid recollection of him rolling around in 'agony' on the floor when my Mum was doing what was called a 'Rounder', that is working virtually 24 hours without stopping, she was a Bus Conductor at the time. Anyway he was rolling around on the floor groaning, my sister was trying to console him and I was in the corner of a downstairs room praying that he died. This was not in a childish, petulant, 'wish you were dead' way. This was an outright plea for God, I am atheist, to take his life away. Not the act of a brother is it? Not in a 'normal' family. whatever that is.
The bullying became so vicious and nasty at one point that, aged 11, I decided that I had enough. I sat on the highest windowsill we had in the house and planned to jump from it in an attempt to kill myself. It wouldn't have anyway but the thought was there. My Mum found me perched, window open, on the third floor teetering. Her response to this?
'Go on then, it'll be one less mouth to feed.'
My response?
'Right, if that is what she wants I ain't gonna do it.' I climbed back in and sat and cried on my bed with no comfort given or any feeling of safety. Just a lonely boy that had enough of life.
My end of the year school report read, 'David must try and take that worried look off his face.' Not one teacher asked why. Not one.
My older brother, Chris, was a boxer and a sportsman. I can never remember having a buzz go the house when he was competing. He came home a Boxing Champion one evening and that was it. No one celebrated or danced round congratulating him. We just got up the next morning made the porridge ate it and went to school. He was a racing cyclist too, again it met with a perfunctory shrug by the family, including myself I must say. It just wasn't done to exhibit any form of enthusiasm. He often came home with trophies and medals for that sport. They too were shrugged off. No celebration. Nothing. I cannot imagine how he must have felt for he is no longer here to ask, he was killed in 1971 by a lorry driver doing an illegal reverse.
My bullying brother lives on an island both of his making and a natural occurrence. I want nothing to do with him. He has two sons, one I have never met and one I looked after as a boy. And that is another story.
The petty thefts of Birthday money, this was given by two aunties: Aunty Peg and Aunty Win, went with him. As did the small time stealing of small toys, cars, soldiers and toy guns. The veil lifted. My Mum fretted on where he was. She need not he was one of the blaggers sitting on Desolation Row at the Isle of Wight festival. Typical of him, something for nothing. She got bills from hostels he stayed in. She didn't have the money to pay them. Guess who did without?
Anyway. His time of fun at the Festival drew to a close and he came back home. I say home, he lived in a squat at the top of Sach Road. He burgled our house twice in the time he lived there. Our, my misery returned. He targeted me with his new found 'peace and love' wanky, hippy friends to take the piss out of as I walked home form school. I was 14, gauche and nervous of his new found friends and him.
He came home with a girlfriend whom he duly and hippily made pregnant. This was the beginning of a new chapter of terror for me. The squat was closed down by the Police and big brother had to move. He moved to Hereford in another squat. Inside I cheered. One the hippy types he lived with had a rich Dad, as most of them did. Hippy son thought all property was theft and occupied one of Paters farm houses. How revolutionary of him. That squat was dissolved soon after it began.
Guess where big brother ended up? Back at the house. I use house, it was never a home to me.
That's when he, my brother, brought a child into the house. Everything changed from that moment on. He cared little for the kid. It was me who often collected him from the child minder. It was me who took the flak from the minder when he couldn't be bothered to collect Chris and she 'phoned me to come and collect him. It was me who often put the kid to bed after bathing him. It was me who was often stuck with a kid who wasn't mine, I was 16 going on 17. I looked after him. I haven't seen Chris since 1974 or so.
Family?
I can honestly say I have never felt such great emotions about the concept of 'family'.
I was born into a family of 6 children, 5 boys and one girl. There was roughly two to three years between each of the children. Mum and Dad got married because Mum was pregnant with my eldest brother H. I was later told that my Mum had a miscarriage of a girl. To this day I don't know where she fitted in.
I am the second youngest. My Dad died 12/12/1960 leaving the family virtually penniless. I was 4 years old.
Victorian values.
I was brought up in what should be described as a Victorian household. My Mum was born into a big family with many brothers and sisters. How many? Who knows? She never, ever, told us that fact, we had to divine it. Her own parents were born in Victoria's reign. She grew up in such circumstances so we were going to as well. How many of you had a roster of chores that had to be done? Very few I'll bet. How many of you had to scrub wooden tables using Vim and and a floor brush and were then inspected to see if you had left any residue of the scourer? Even fewer I bet. There was no room for play. No room to become a person.I never felt like we were part of the same group, we had the same parents but in my opinion strangely never were part of a 'family'. We seemed to be 7 individuals under one roof. My Mum was a depressive and never seemed to instil any feeling that we were to stick together. She did not actively encourage us to tear each other apart but her mental state was such that she often hid herself away in her bedroom.
My older brother, the one 2 years older than me, saw it as his duty to bully me. He made my life a misery. He haunted me. I lost sleep and used to stay awake so he couldn't get me. It wasn't a joshing or odd clip around the ear, it was outright vicious bullying. He had so many, I think with hindsight, psychosomatic illnesses. I have a vivid recollection of him rolling around in 'agony' on the floor when my Mum was doing what was called a 'Rounder', that is working virtually 24 hours without stopping, she was a Bus Conductor at the time. Anyway he was rolling around on the floor groaning, my sister was trying to console him and I was in the corner of a downstairs room praying that he died. This was not in a childish, petulant, 'wish you were dead' way. This was an outright plea for God, I am atheist, to take his life away. Not the act of a brother is it? Not in a 'normal' family. whatever that is.
The bullying became so vicious and nasty at one point that, aged 11, I decided that I had enough. I sat on the highest windowsill we had in the house and planned to jump from it in an attempt to kill myself. It wouldn't have anyway but the thought was there. My Mum found me perched, window open, on the third floor teetering. Her response to this?
'Go on then, it'll be one less mouth to feed.'
My response?
'Right, if that is what she wants I ain't gonna do it.' I climbed back in and sat and cried on my bed with no comfort given or any feeling of safety. Just a lonely boy that had enough of life.
My end of the year school report read, 'David must try and take that worried look off his face.' Not one teacher asked why. Not one.
Family?
Family? Is that where you know everyone's birthday dates? I certainly didn't. Birthdays were nothing special, nothing to be celebrated. I can honestly say birthdays passed with same terrifying certainty as any other ordinary day.My older brother, Chris, was a boxer and a sportsman. I can never remember having a buzz go the house when he was competing. He came home a Boxing Champion one evening and that was it. No one celebrated or danced round congratulating him. We just got up the next morning made the porridge ate it and went to school. He was a racing cyclist too, again it met with a perfunctory shrug by the family, including myself I must say. It just wasn't done to exhibit any form of enthusiasm. He often came home with trophies and medals for that sport. They too were shrugged off. No celebration. Nothing. I cannot imagine how he must have felt for he is no longer here to ask, he was killed in 1971 by a lorry driver doing an illegal reverse.
Over the years...
Nothing has changed over the years, as we get older we are drifting further apart. My brothers and sisters are all down south. My younger brother rarely talks to me now after a falling out a few years back. My sister had children of her own and involves herself with their wants and needs, quite rightly too.My bullying brother lives on an island both of his making and a natural occurrence. I want nothing to do with him. He has two sons, one I have never met and one I looked after as a boy. And that is another story.
Looking after your brothers child.
When my dear brother left home in 1970, the house sighed with relief. I certainly did. The years of him breaking my toys just days after Xmas were gone. I found my Etch-A-Sketch under his bed with a hammer put through the screen. The hammer was still in place when I found it; smashed through the screen because he was too thick to work out how the thing drew pictures. Too stupid and too spiteful.The petty thefts of Birthday money, this was given by two aunties: Aunty Peg and Aunty Win, went with him. As did the small time stealing of small toys, cars, soldiers and toy guns. The veil lifted. My Mum fretted on where he was. She need not he was one of the blaggers sitting on Desolation Row at the Isle of Wight festival. Typical of him, something for nothing. She got bills from hostels he stayed in. She didn't have the money to pay them. Guess who did without?
Anyway. His time of fun at the Festival drew to a close and he came back home. I say home, he lived in a squat at the top of Sach Road. He burgled our house twice in the time he lived there. Our, my misery returned. He targeted me with his new found 'peace and love' wanky, hippy friends to take the piss out of as I walked home form school. I was 14, gauche and nervous of his new found friends and him.
He came home with a girlfriend whom he duly and hippily made pregnant. This was the beginning of a new chapter of terror for me. The squat was closed down by the Police and big brother had to move. He moved to Hereford in another squat. Inside I cheered. One the hippy types he lived with had a rich Dad, as most of them did. Hippy son thought all property was theft and occupied one of Paters farm houses. How revolutionary of him. That squat was dissolved soon after it began.
Guess where big brother ended up? Back at the house. I use house, it was never a home to me.
That's when he, my brother, brought a child into the house. Everything changed from that moment on. He cared little for the kid. It was me who often collected him from the child minder. It was me who took the flak from the minder when he couldn't be bothered to collect Chris and she 'phoned me to come and collect him. It was me who often put the kid to bed after bathing him. It was me who was often stuck with a kid who wasn't mine, I was 16 going on 17. I looked after him. I haven't seen Chris since 1974 or so.
Family?
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