tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2009-11-13:/An honest tale of a man's journey from childhood to adulthood and how he became the person he is today.MokoFeed2009-11-13T02:08:29+01:00tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-03-09:/2008/03/09/a-muffled-thud-3839946/squirrel19682008-03-09T01:53:25+01:002008-03-09T01:53:25+01:00 <p>I was awakened from my dreams of beaches and sandcastles by the sound of shouting male voices in the room next door.</p> <p>I know this room was the bathroom as my headboard was right against the wall and i would hear the door banging most nights until i fell asleep as the other children where waiting their turn for wash and bedtime. This was late though everyone in my room was asleep and no light was on. But within a few moments other boys in the room were waking because of the noise and the bed lamps were switched on. One boy was missing from our room and we guessed by the voice it was him next door shouting back at the other voice which was the male carer. The conversation was loud and angry and even with glasses against the wall the other boys could not make out what was said it was too muffled. But then came a thud against the wall and another and all the boys ran back into their beds as fast as they could. We all thought we could be heard against the wall and it was the carer telling us by hitting the wall to get back into bed. So we lay there with the lights turned back off still listening to the shouting a little more subdued since the thuds on the wall. A while passed and then the bedroom door opened and the bright light shone through and in walked the missing boy. He didn't say a word but was holding his head and you could tell he had been crying. Gradually one by one the other boys began to creep over to his bed quietly and then the whisper of questions began asking what was going on. He had tried to run away and had been picked up by the police and brought back in the early hours. We were all fast asleep when he made his dash for freedom. Why he did it , well he had a girfriend outside of the home and wanted to go away with her somewhere. So he had had enough of being in a home and wanted out. I didn't know any different i hadn't been treated badly here and had a warm bed and nice food and felt safe. But this boy had been on the end of the male carers temper a few times as he was the eldest i think he got most of the stick of it. This time his punishment for trying to run away was a couple of head bangs against the bathroom wall. I guess that if you have been around violence and abuse you know its there but you just close your eyes and ears as a child and think of nice things instead or pretend it has not happened, i think that's the place i had gone to. Again writing this memoir brings back the things i have seen or had done to me to the forefront again and reminds me to try and be a better person than those who commit these deeds. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/03/09/a-muffled-thud-3839946/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-29:/2008/02/29/the-tin-bath-3795233/squirrel19682008-02-29T01:05:11+01:002008-02-29T01:05:11+01:00 <p>Back to another new school after my little getting to know where i live tour.</p> <p>Strange school this one though although they did talk English here. The men had dresses on and collars round their necks. Yes it was to be my first foray into religion, that blessed comfort for some and the cause of turmoil and centuries of war for others. I myself am an atheist thank god, i talk to myself and give myself the answers may not be the right ones all the time, but it is what i have learnt to do thru little trust of others. So yes the school was a church one which religion i don't really know, not that that meant much to me , but there was lots of singing, praying and shushing to the noisy children by the men in black dresses. i can recall the beach and the sea out of the window so close to the classroom and yet so far away during lesson time. But hey the life of a child isn't meant to be all hard work is it. So when it was home time we couldn't get back to the children's home fast enough for tea. Why well, after your chores it was swimming trunks on and down to the beach for a swim, i can still recall it, the careers from the home all sat on their towels watching us, this group of children in front of them splashing around in the sea all excited. Even on the days we couldn't go to the beach we had another way of cooling down in the summer sunshine. We had our own tin bath in the garden filled with cold water. The type your great grandmother used to bath in every night in the house in front of the open fire. I had a photo of me in the tin bath my only one from my time in Hastings but unfortunately have lost it on my travels. From memory i can recall nice times in this home a feeling of belonging and really the first time i felt a part of a group, we all had meals together at the table and all had our own coloured napkins, plates and cutlery, plates and cups, which we had to look after or the fear of being put into the naughty book was threatened and that meant no swimming. So these small things became your pride and joy to look after. The carers were called sisters and i can only recall one man present in the house at all times but i think he was the main person of the house. As with many stories of children's homes that have come out thru the years since most have been closed i was too witness some abuse that was served upon some of the children by supposedly responsible adults and even my first witness of children abusing themselves. I was getting older now and i think i was beginning to realise that sometimes the way you think your life was quite normal as you put things you see to the back of your mind. When in fact it is really inst normal and shouldn't happen that way. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/29/the-tin-bath-3795233/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-22:/2008/02/22/oh_we_do_like_to_be_beside_the_seaside~3764626/squirrel19682008-02-22T13:24:42+01:002008-02-22T13:24:42+01:00 <p>It was to be a short stop over in the care home in Welshpool, so short i cant really remember much of it at all. Where to now with my bag and my little purple car.</p> <p>All i can say was it was another long and endless car journey who with i don't know but i arrived somewhere new and another house full of children on a hill in Hastings. Social services must like sending you on holidays as ive done a fair bit of moving around so far. I share a room with another five boys and there are another five girls who live here too. The place has a massive garden and best of all its by the beach. You can hear the seagulls all day squawking and smell the sea air. I do the usual Chris thing and try to fit in playing with the other kids, we all have meals together around a massive table and all have to join in with the chores of washing up after mealtimes. I have a little time to settle in before i start my new school, so i am taking around this new town and shown the sights. The beach , not a sandy one but a pebble one, with little huts all in a straight line and multi coloured. A big cliff with a railway coming down it, A pier heading from the beach into the sea, i had never seen anything like this and was dying to go on it. All you could smell while walking along the main front of the beach was candy floss and hot chips and there was so many people here, it was unnerving after being in such a small place in North Wales even frighting to see so many people and the noise wow, coin arcade music, the sound of money hitting slots and people shrieking with excitement at what they had won, and children's voices all happy at being by the seaside and having so much to do and see. I was taken to the cinema for the first time, i think i never took my eyes of the screen once i was fascinated at the huge telly in front of me, i haven't watched telly for ages and here is this huge screen that makes people look like giants. This is child heaven, i am doing things so new and exciting what a difference a car journey can make to your life. But its all cosmetic really , after all i don't know how long i am going to be here but to a child the seaside is such a great place to be and it will make up for a time for the holiday i was promised by my dad when i taken to North Wales. After all this fun and excitement i was having it was night-time i didn't like. Even when the other boys had stopped messing around or chatting away and finally got to sleep, i would still lay in my bed not able to sleep, why , too much noise, cars and people going past the windows on the road outside, sounds i haven't heard for ages while waiting to sleep and i miss the one comforting sound of the dog underneath me and the running river. But i am sure that little Mr adaptable will get used to it in time. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/22/oh_we_do_like_to_be_beside_the_seaside~3764626/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-17:/2008/02/17/reflection_time~3738356/squirrel19682008-02-17T02:41:35+01:002008-02-17T03:18:39+01:00 <p>Well here i am before the next step of the journey.</p> <p>I so far have lived with both my mother and father and have been taken away from both of them , so i guess parenting skills were not the best asset they both possessed. Although saying that life seemed more normal with the short time i was with my father as no physical abuse was present, maybe a little mental abuse from his childlike mind and used abuse for a purpose but nothing that i can say at the time remembering to have affected me in later life, only the question where was he for all those years. Where as with my mother well that’s a different story, lots of questions to ask why things happened and answers still to come forth to this day as the one that have been given just don’t sit well with me.<br> Well so far i have been in three different children’s homes and have had numerous carers and social workers. Schools well i cant remember how many but i guess my education academically has suffered and my social interaction with people has become misguided , after all who do you trust, who do you get close too. Childhood friends and people you should trust and look up to will be there one day and then i wont be the next or they will have gone themselves. So in real terms i must be one mixed up little lad by now, but i don’t recall it that way, its what i am used to, if you have never had the security of family and close friendships do you miss it if it isn’t there anymore. It would be something i would and still in a way carry with me part of my defence mechanism. But i do have times now to remember that were good and fun and one thing i can take take from living with my father in later life is my appreciation for wildlife and the great outdoors. Years later i would be drawn back to that place i lived with him and remember that place with some warm feeling. I would also visit many other places i have lived or stayed as a way of piecing together my early years where the memories were blurred by the not so important or eventful times.</p> <p>But on i go now with the next part of the journey and wondering where and with who i will end up next.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/17/reflection_time~3738356/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-16:/2008/02/16/happy_christmas~3734989/squirrel19682008-02-16T11:03:56+01:002008-02-16T13:35:09+01:00 <p>Christmas.</p> <p>The time for sharing and caring, love and understanding, the giving of presents and the smell of turkey cooking in the oven and the sound of excited children playing with their new gifts.</p> <p>Not this one, it was about to be binned this year, why, well my fathers past was about to catch up with him and i was going to be going on a little trip not of my choice. I cant really recall if i was excited about Christmas, everyday day here seemed like it with all the snow and as mentioned before there wasn't really the feel of it in a caravan with no tree or decorations. All i can remember is being out in the snow in the forest playing around and then returning to the caravan to have something to eat and a two car,s one a police car that didn't belong were parked outside. My fathers wife was inside, a man and a woman and a policeman were there also. Lots of conversation was going back and forth between all these adults and my fathers wife looked pale and shaken. In later years again i was to find out that not only had my father been enjoying the non spectator sport of burglary, but he had also decided to rob a post office. So he was a man of many talents and he new one was to run and hide. The reason we were living in a caravan in the middle of the forestry was made clear to me then. But his time to pay for his crimes had come and he was now a hunted man and the trail was hot. So life for the few people who were close and around him was about to be shattered. So lets get them bag,s packed again, no need once again it was already done for me and i was told by my fathers wife that i would be going with this man and woman. So where too now who knows. Coat on, bag packed and a hug with tears for my fathers wife and a surprise of a small present in wrapping paper was put in my hands. Into the car and and on the way down the gravel track road once again ,will i see my dad again , yes i would because he would be hiding in the with Andrew watching to see when the coast was clear and i would spot him as i knew where he hid from many a time,s of his game of jumping out to scare you in the dark. So we passed him , his green eyes staring out form the undergrowth and that was that . Out of Corris and on the way to another place i didn't know. Where would it be , well it would be a care home in Welshpool an hour or so away. Would i be staying here now in this house full of children, after all they all seemed to enjoy it there , but it was Christmas and they had the nice things like a tree and decorations. I was taken to a bedroom and was sat down by a lady who told me i would be staying here for a little while as something had happened with my father and to try and enjoy my self as it was Christmas, so with me she opened up my present, what was it, it was a bright purple racing car, no card, no gift tag just the car. I was asked if i wanted to come downstairs and play with the other children, which i did but clinging onto this little car for dear life as if it was the only thing i had in this world, well in a way it was and to be honest i think the whole day had become a bit of a blur, confused and dazed with it all again. But at least tonight i will have something other than rabbit to eat, a warm bath and a warm bed of my own to sleep in and maybe just a few tears to get me off to sleep. </p> <p><a href="http://feedjit.com/">Feedjit Live Website Statistics</a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/16/happy_christmas~3734989/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-13:/2008/02/13/the_wrong_hole~3719703/squirrel19682008-02-13T01:21:35+01:002008-02-13T01:21:35+01:00 <p>Winter was well and truly here , cold , cold , cold that's all it was day and night. Waking up in the morning all you could see was your breath infront of you and you didn't want to take the blankets off to get dressed.</p> <p>No school so must be the Christmas holidays, not that you would know, no fancy shops in Corris with windows of tinsel and lights the village was too sleepy for that , just a post office , small shop and the slaters arms pub. This village died years ago when the mines closed down and became a very small blot on the landscape, most young people left to find lives and jobs elsewhere. But no Christmas really in the Caravan what with no electric, could have put a tree up but then just open the door look around and there's a whole forest of them, take your pick. What to do, river was frozen, ice on the slippery rock faces, so dad takes Andrew and myself rabbit hunting. The Jack Russell could smell them sleeping in the burrows and would flush anything out into the path of dad with his rifle. But on this occasion the dog picked the wrong hole and went into a badger hole wrong move on the dogs part. He went in and never came out, we heard what was the sound of animals fighting and ran towards the woods to see. We found it by the way the ground was all torn up and my dad realised what had happened. He took a look in and could see the rear end of the dog in the hole. Well all the small space training i had came into greater effect, yes he was told to crawl in and drag the dog out. Was i scared well yes, i didn't know what was in the hole, i had never seen a badger before , but believe me you wouldn't want to be cornered by one. They will kill most things while protecting themselves. I too could see the dog not that far away in the hole so did what i could and grabbed it by its tale and pulled it out with me, not a sound form the dog or a movement. When it was out, i had never seen such a horrible sight, its face had been nearly bitten off by the vicious attack of the badger and i remember it vividly as you would. Upset, yes of course i was , this little Jack Russell came with me everywhere when i went exploring , my one and only silent when not barking friend. The other dog was my dads, big like him , but the jack was my little dog in my head and if he passed away in the middle of the night well it wouldn't have been so bad, but to see your friend and companion like this was horrible. So we buried him in the field opposite. </p> <p>That was the start of a Black Christmas and very soon it would be the end of my stay in Corris unbeknown to me. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/13/the_wrong_hole~3719703/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-11:/2008/02/11/the_chill_of_it~3714303/squirrel19682008-02-11T23:51:24+01:002008-02-11T23:51:24+01:00 <p> The day visit was over and no more was said of it, not a mention of them again, almost like they never even came at all.</p> <p>Back to the norm then, i was learning welsh, even though i was still behind in the classroom i was picking up more and more. Still no friends to go playing with after school, it was either straight back to grandmothers or the bus back to the caravan. I must admit i preferred the caravan as my grandmothers brother gave me the creeps, always trying to give you a kiss and saying come here. A horrible creepy man and like i have said before the features of Albert Steptoe. I spent most of the time hiding or trying my best to get outside to play to be away from him. Once in the car with my father he passed him on the side of the road as apparently he would beg for change from passers by on the only one road in and out of Corris. My father was talking to him and he spotted me in the back in the dark and was trying to grab me from inside the car saying give us a kiss, my dad was laughing as he thought it was funny i was terrified of the dirty old man. Life apart from that i suppose wasn’t that bad, but some things were made worse by the oncoming winter and the cold it brings. It get gets real cold in the mountains of North Wales especially if you have to bath in a rock pool when not at the grandmothers, did i forget to mention there was no shower or toilet in the caravan. don’t forget this wasn’t a haven holiday park, no fancy club house, electric or hot running water apart from what you boiled. Milk from under bridge of the stream , bathing in the rock pool when it was warm enough and yes the pleasure of going to the toilet with a piece of newspaper whilst hanging onto a branch of a tree while crouching over the flowing river and yes i did fall in sometimes, saves hanging on though. Oh yes the joys of caravanning and outdoor living, i felt more sorry for the dogs to be honest having to sleep out in it. I was lucky i had the blankets for the cold nights and it was cold. The first ever snow i remember seeing was in Corris and it was fantastic all the hill and tress covered white. Not the one inch of snow that seems to bring places like London to a halt these days , but masses of it , deep and soft and would last what seemed like forever, well the gritters cant get there to melt it all away, you would be lucky in the village to have any electricity if it snowed hard. It never stopped my dad though he was always up to something weather sun, rain or snow.</p> <p>Up to no good mostly<a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/corris_in_winter/2338622" title="corris in winter"><img src="http://data3.blog.de/media/622/2338622_39b7eecd5c_s.jpeg" alt="corris in winter" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/11/the_chill_of_it~3714303/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-11:/2008/02/11/stop_and_stare~3711703/squirrel19682008-02-11T15:39:54+01:002008-02-11T15:39:54+01:00 <p>Stop and stare<br> I think I'm moving but I go nowhere<br> Yeah I know that everyone gets scared<br> But I've become what I can't be<br> Stop and stare<br> You start to wonder why you're here not there<br> And you'd give anything to get what's fair<br> But fair ain't what you really need<br> Can u see what I see</p> <p><a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/stop_and_stare/2337568" title="Stop and stare"><img src="http://data3.blog.de/media/568/2337568_173e08ac4a_s.jpeg" alt="Stop and stare" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/11/stop_and_stare~3711703/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-11:/2008/02/11/surprise_surprise~3709613/squirrel19682008-02-11T04:21:36+01:002008-02-11T11:41:42+01:00 <p>A normal day i thought.</p> <p>The same routine Dogs barking first thing in the morning and me and Andrew go off into the forest to play. We make our way back for dinner and can hear strange voices, well i say strange but in fact they are English voices , you don’t hear many around these parts, not many people come off the beaten track to the middle of the forestry. But i recognise them, Its my mum, step dad brother sister and step brother. I must be going home i think. I don’t know how i feel about this, have i missed my mum, the answer has to be no, but i have missed my brother and sister. So we appear from the forest and the children all run up as kids do, my mum is there talking to my dads wife and my dad to his old best mate my step father. Mum says hello and asks if i am enjoying myself and i answer yes and she gives me a hug. My step dad picks me up and squeezes me , he was always nice to me so i don’t mind. I am told by my dad that i am going out for the day with my mum , so off we all get into their car and away we go. Out of Corris and up the main road past the old slate mine and up into the mountains. This is the furthest i have been in the daylight since i arrived here, up and up and then what seems to me then to be the steepest road you have ever seen. The road is in-between two mountains with a massive lake at the bottom, its amazing. over the top and we make the way down to a town called Dolgellau, a small town with tall grey houses in the shadow of a mountain called Cader Idris. We make our way thru the narrow streets and stop outside a house. Out we get , mum knocks the door and a white haired old lady answers, a great grandma and my great granddad and my mothers mum. Well again i don’t know these people but strange thing is the others do, but no surprise there. All i can really remember is playing in the garden and a photo being taken as i was busy with my bothers and sister. Before i know it we are back in the car and heading back the way we came, back into Corris, are we going to stop or go straight back to Kent. No we turn off and thru the village towards the forestry. Back at the caravan a cup of tea is had by the adults and then i,m beckoned and everyone hugs and kisses me and says goodbye. what’s going on, why are they going without me, too many questions for my young fucked up brain to handle. So i guess i,ll go back to Chris world once again and shut it all off, don’t get upset then do i. When i was older i would come to accept that i was picked up just for the sake of appearances, so my mother would not be embarrassed infront of her own family and have to explain that their great grandchild was in fact living about 15 minutes away from them without their knowledge and the reasons why. Pity she didn’t think about how a 8 year old boy would feel after they had up and left or wonder what mental scars it would leave on him. But thanks for the visit<br> <a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/corris_visit/2337079" title="corris visit"><img src="http://data3.blog.de/media/079/2337079_012f08666c_s.jpeg" alt="corris visit" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/11/surprise_surprise~3709613/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-10:/2008/02/10/welcome_to_the_dark_side~3704894/squirrel19682008-02-10T02:42:33+01:002008-02-11T20:36:35+01:00 <p>The dark side was the side of my father i didn't know as it was a cunning way of abuse in a new way i had not yet met. Mental and selfish abuse, not physical as i had been used to, nothing in anger just planned and meticulous in its execution</p> <p>I would now find out the smell my father used to come back to the caravan at night with. It was horse, yes the four legged kind, he kept one in an old deserted cottage further up the mountain in the forestry. The reason why, it was stolen and as again i would found out years later, so were most things. Yes i am not so proud to say that now I know my father was a thief, I didn’t then but no wonder he was awkward around people, in a small place like we where everybody knew you.</p> <p>We would quite often go to grandma's to eat but at night time. Most of the time if we went out together it would be that time as well. I used to play a game with my father there where he would line up stools in various patterns and get me to crawl thru the legs of them and climb thru grandmothers small windows. Well yes a funny game but training for my role in my fathers night time activity's of the great sport of burglary. Yes a regular bill Sykes he turned out to be putting me thru small places and openings so i could open windows and doors. It again was a game to me at that age and the reward would be a pocket of coppers or a late night under the snooker table in some pub, while he played on the table and had his beer. I am glad to say that i didn't take his apprenticeship up in later life. I am not sure how long this went on for as the whole period i spent with my father was about 6- 9 months in length, the two week holiday that I was supposed to be on in the beginning with him was a distance memory by now. Although he never hit me or even if i can recall shouted at me, he had another way of getting his twisted kicks. He would often drop you outside of the forest and let you walk up the mountain path on your own and wait in the trees somewhere to jump out and scare you or tell you to cut through the village graveyard on the way back from grandmothers so he could do the same there. The worst was being asked to go and feed the horse. On a moon lit night the moon would make the trees have horrible shapes and faces and the sounds of animals and the wind really did scare the shit out of me and of course you were always waiting for him too. I guess that was his way of having fun, but not very nice for two young boys to have to run in fear waiting for it to happen. So those times stick with me as the dark side of the man.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/10/welcome_to_the_dark_side~3704894/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-06:/2008/02/07/the_big_man~3690804/squirrel19682008-02-07T00:09:19+01:002008-02-09T15:42:40+01:00 <p>Who is this man i am living with, what does he do, what is he like. Hard to sum up who my father is, he had not been around most of my life but here i am living in a caravan he calls home, why i found out again years later as i did with most questions i had. But the big man as i saw him, scary at times with his dark complexion and staring green eyes and hands like shovels and other times soft and gentle voiced.He always looked awkward around people if we ever went anywhere in the car, always looking around like a nervous fox. He was gone most mornings when i woke up , either off in a old white transit van or the pale blue ford Anglia. Most of the time he would take Andrew with him and sometimes the dogs, but what did he do for a living, i never worked it out. I never recall him hitting me or shouting at me, i heard him thru the curtain sometimes shouting at his wife and of course the grunt and groaning of them having sex at night, bit hard to escape from with just a piece of red cloth between you. He would often turn up with dead rabbits he would have shot, seemed to be our stable diet with huge amounts of potatoes and bread. His hands were always dirty , ground in dirt and oil and he had this kind of oily workman smell about him. I never recall him having anything on apart from either a tracksuit bottoms, boots and a jumper or a checked quilted workman shirt on like the lumberjacks have. He would always show you things if he was around, although he did not have academic skills he knew everything about the outdoors and would put Ray Mears to shame. I learnt what nuts i could eat of trees, how to treat stings from nettles and insects and how to tickle salmon in the nearby river, so for a young boy pretty exciting stuff really. I often say about the man you could give him a box of matches and leave him for weeks come back and he would have built a house from them. But still what did he do when he was not there and i was left either to go to school or play in the forest and the waterfalls, building shelters and hideouts of my own with Andrew when he was there. Evening times he would wander up the forestry track and come back smelling more than usual of animal, i would find out soon what the smell came from. We never had visitors to the caravan and occasionally a car would pass but would never stop, usually the forestry commission ranger as they had houses and their small headquarters at the start of the forestry we lived in. When a car was heard we were ushered into the nearest bush or in the caravan quiet as mice. Something wasn't right i hear you say , well i guess not but it was all a little game for me then and any other reason i never crossed my young mind.<br> So this man , i guess i never really did get to know him, there were so many secrets he carried around with him, he was just dad by name, no emotional bond as such just another man in my life , but on times would spend a bit of quality time with me. As time went on we spent more and more time together but that was for another reason and if i was a bit older and knew better i would realise what his job was. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/07/the_big_man~3690804/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-05:/2008/02/05/no_comprende~3685173/squirrel19682008-02-05T22:35:26+01:002008-02-05T22:35:26+01:00 <p> I am walked into a classroom of children and shown a seat, the lady speaks english, then she goes to the front of the classroom and speaks Welsh to the rest of the class. I hear my name in what she says and the whole room turns round to look at me. Now i crawl into that big black hole that has appeared infront of me as you do when faced with a wall of embarresment. After a few minutes i think the curiosity for the children passed away and its back to business in the classroom. They all have books , me too now, not that i can read them, they are all in welsh and not a word of english is spoken. Great, im back in chris world , silent world , do i open my mouth for fear of what i say and how it will be taken world, so no i’ll sit here in my quiet place and wait and see. Well i am in a classrooom of children and not able to say a word to any of them or understand what they say to me.</p> <p>Playtime is definatley over.</p> <p>Breaktime comes and i go for the bottle of free milk that every child had before Margeret Thatcher stopped it for all us lactose lovers and i supposse i hide away in a corner, shy and somewhat nervous. Well the day passes and the odd word from the teacher is spoken to me in english and i am told she will help me learn to speak welsh. In real terms i am now the dunce of the class the backward one. But with everything else i have had to deal with in my small amount of years it will just be one more hurdle to jump over and i have done it before and will do again. I think that had become my way , sit and study others , mimic and like a chameleon just fit in. School time ends and back on the mini bus i get, i am glad this day is over, the bus does not take me to my grandmothers but up the forestry road to where the caravan is and out i get with all these faces from the bus window looking. I bet they all live in houses and wonder why is he being dropped off here. Back down the road the bus goes with a cloud of dust behind it and now i feel better , the dogs come to greet me wagging tales as usual. Then into the caravan , where my fathers wife is as usual, either cooking or sowing and listening to the radio, waiting for my father and her son to arrive back from wherever they go to during the day. She asks me how school was , i explain i dont know what people are saying and she says it will get better. Should i have guessed there and then that i was on no holiday at all, years later i realise that this secluded place i had been brought to in Wales was really where it all began, so back to the beginning i suppose a new chapter had began, back to my roots and new places and people to explore. Yet as always it wouldnt be the end there were always for me new beginnings.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/05/no_comprende~3685173/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-05:/2008/02/05/the_day_after_the_next~3680703/squirrel19682008-02-05T01:10:18+01:002008-02-05T01:30:33+01:00 <p>What did tomorow bring, well it brought more of the same , playing in the river and the forest , no school, no beach or ice cream still but holiday all the same. Into the car and a small ride down the forest road along a small valley and into a grey village with small windy roads and not many people walking about, but there were people the first ones i had seen since arriving in wales. On thru the village and up a hill to a row of cottages and the car stops. We are at grandma’s house i am told. So ut we get and into this white cottage over looking a field with a massive river beyond that. I meet my grandmother. a very tall slim lady with jet black hair also and an older man her brother, scarey looking man, when i recall he reminds me of albert steptoe the same scruffy appearance and manner. Well this is my other family and more is too come , my fathers sister and her children. Once again i cant understand a word, everything is in welsh and getting louder as the voices all join in. All the children go outside and then later we are called in for tea. When will this holiday end, when do i go back to kent to my mum, brother and sister, to be honest i dont want to, im happy, im free, no shouting or screaming , no smacks or fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, all i know is when it gets dark its tea and bedtime, apart from that it is play , play, play. But where does my father go everyday till dark , where does he work, does Andrew go to school as he goes with my father sometimes, but i dont ponder too hard. I am having fun after all for the first time in ages , i have two more friends as well , the two dogs to keep me company, they follow me everywhere and every now and then a voice calls from the caravan that some food or a drink is ready. Do i want to go back to Kent, no and i dread the day as im waiting for it, but that day never comes, one week , two weeks, still no bag being packed. Another day, another play , then one morning im am told to walk to my grandmothers and wait to be picked up, still no bag packed, am i going home, no im not i am told , im going to school. I waitand along the road comes a little blue mini bus, full of children, in i go and the bus goes quiet, me thinking who are these children and them thinking who is this boy. Off down the road we set and a few minutes later pull into the school yard full of childrens voices. Playtime is over, now the real hard work begins. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/05/the_day_after_the_next~3680703/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-04:/2008/02/04/flying_over_bus_stops~3679860/squirrel19682008-02-04T21:38:57+01:002008-02-11T11:57:33+01:00 <p>If the words I’ve ever wrote<br> on the backs of envelopes<br> I could fold to paper planes<br> I would fly them thru your veins<br> Helicopters overhead<br> Wide awake at 3am<br> Now the ink runs to your heart<br> And you know just how I feel<br> Flying over bus stops and playgrounds<br> I’m here<br> Soaked right to the core<br> Stay here forever<br> I’m safe with you<br> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/Elfenpopo">http://www.youtube.com/user/Elfenpopo</a></p> <p><a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/flying_over_bus_stops/2337128" title="Flying over bus stops"><img src="http://data3.blog.de/media/128/2337128_5772bd4b35_s.jpeg" alt="Flying over bus stops" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/04/flying_over_bus_stops~3679860/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-02-03:/2008/02/03/eyes_open~3675105/squirrel19682008-02-03T21:10:24+01:002008-02-03T21:10:24+01:00 <p>Bang of the door and barks, The first sounds i hear, i open my eyes , where am i , then i remember and smell where i am. The caravan is empty but outside i can see my father his wife and Andrew and the two dogs. I get dressed and go outside, the little jack russel comes bounding up to me tail wagging, so i stroke him and he jumps up even more. My father is stood there a huge shape of a man to me, they are all talking welsh again but his wife says good morning. I can see the river, so no beach as i thought it would be. We are in the woods, i now know its called a forest but didnt then. I can see mountains and trees everywhere. Not one house in sight , just a little clearing by a gravel road where the caravan is parked, gas bottles and car parts and big plastic containers of water. Is this the holiday park, no its where my father lives in the middle of a forest in deep dark Wales. No cars , no electricity, no running water. What am i doing here if i am not on holiday, i was later to learn i had been duped once more . I am told to go with Andrew and he shows me round, So with have trees , trees and more trees, a little crystal clear pool behind the caravan and a waterfall above it, with a big face of white and grey rock next to it. He shows me where they keep the milk, the pool of water flows to an outlet under the road and ontop of a slap at the square exit is pints on milk and silver coloured tins with butter in them. Off to the river not a gushing torrent but, something you could get your car ove to the opposite side, there is a smell of mint in the air and i can hear cows moooing from a field on the opposite side of the river. We go back to the caravan and the smell of bacon and eggs is coming from the caravan. We all sit down for something to eat on where i was sleeping the night before, strange. Then my father jumps into the car with the dogs and is off. Andrew and me go off to play in the river wadding around following it upstream. In a way i guess i was on holiday but was unaware how long it would end up lasting. So after our little exploration of the river we just hand around the caravan messing around with rusty old car parts and then the night comes and its inside something to eat and then bed. Again all you can hear is the river flowing and the dogs moving underneath you, no toher sounds , no cars passing just the still of the night. So eyes closed lets see what tommorow brings. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/02/03/eyes_open~3675105/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-29:/2008/01/30/we_are_here~3652410/squirrel19682008-01-30T00:26:44+01:002008-01-30T00:38:26+01:00 <p>The car stops and im woken up, with a deep welsh voice saying were here, must be the middle of the night its cold , dark and smells of woods, i can hear dogs barking. My eyes get used to the dark and i can see this white shape, its a caravan, two dogs are chained to it and are barking but wagging their tails and jumping around. One is an old english sheepdog and one a jack russell, Where are we, i can hear water running so must be near the sea i think to myself. So out of the car we get and the door is opened to the caravan, this is exciting, ive never stayed in a caravan before. Its smells of food and dog, im told to go and sit down at the table with the other boy whos name is Andrew. The woman is my dads wife and Andrew is her son. I am asked if i would like a cup of hot chocolate and something to eat , i say yes still not sure what to make of all this , this man is my dad ive never really seen and for the first time since ive left kent im a bit nerveous really as im having difficulty understanding what anybodys says and they are talking all in gibberish, i found out later its welsh. So where is this place i cant hear anything else from the caravan apart from the sound of water and the dogs rumaging around under the caravan, im a little scared to be honest, there are no lights anywhere outside of the windows and when you have lived in a tower block you can see for miles around. So we all sit round the table for something to eat and while i try to work out what they are saying im sipping on my very boiling hot chocolate. Then im told its time for bed at which point everyone gets up the table comes away and a few blankets and a pillow are put on the seat i was sitting on. Andrew has the same on his seat and my dad and his wife go to the back of the caravan and pull a curtain across. I follow andrews lead and lay my blankets down and wonder is this really my bed, only ever slept on the sofa before when you have watched telly after school, but where do i wee and wash i cant see a toilet just a small kitchen like sink, i havent brushed my teeth either nor did anyone else. The lights go ut with no word of good night and all i can hear still is the water the dogs underneath me and my dad and his wifes voice talking welsh from behind the curtain. This is scary but im so tired i fall asleep with no trouble at all. Wondering again before i do where am i.<br> <a href="http://technorati.com/claim/4cyjuyeq" rel="me">Technorati Profile</a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/30/we_are_here~3652410/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-28:/2008/01/29/return_of_the_myth~3647256/squirrel19682008-01-29T00:38:05+01:002008-01-29T01:44:27+01:00 <p>So it happened one day all i remember is a knock at the door and voices talking, couldnt understand what the man was saying sounded so strange. I was called into the kitchen, that was scary in itself enough, my mothers cooking was awful , always broths and stews filled with barley. Years later when i met my brother again he told me how when they were moving from the flat to a house they moved the fridge and found what looked like a wasps nest of barley stuck to the grills behind it, our secret place to dispence of that fowl tasting ingredient, as with my mother if you didnt eat it the first time it would be there every meal time until you did. At least i left them something to remember me by. Into the kitchen i went and this huge man was there jet black hair and moustace, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a jumper, Chris mum said this is your father and you are going on holiday with him. The man walked towards me and said what i think was hello, i had never really heard a welsh accent before. By the side of him was a woman, a roundish shaped lady she didnt say much at all but i understood hello and another boy a bit bigger than me. Well not much time to pack then if i am am going on holiday, but surprise surprise my bags were ready, not understanding really what was going on and thinking where are my brother and sister are they not coming after all it was there dad too. So not even saying goodbye to my step dad, brother and sister i was walked out of the door with my dad this woman and the boy a duffle bag on my back into the back of a ford anglia and was sat down next to the other boy. I do remember my mum saying have an nice holiday and that was it door closed, car started and off down the road we went. I cannot recall looking behind at my mum or even thinking about where i was going and who are these people, i suppose it was what i was used too by now and just waited to see where we were going. The journey seemed like an eternity, if you have driven as an adult from kent to the middle of North wales you will understand, if you havent then make sure you take your ipod full of music its a long trip. But to a child it seemed like days and not knowing or being able to see because of the dark made it worse i suppose. So im on holiday, when i wake up the beach will be there , sandcastles and ice cream i cant wait im excited but tired , i,ll sleep and wait till the car stops hopefully it will be light and i can play straight away, yes the thought was there but the best was yet to come. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/29/return_of_the_myth~3647256/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-28:/2008/01/28/reflection~3644400/squirrel19682008-01-28T15:12:59+01:002008-01-29T01:52:33+01:00 <p>I sit here today reflecting on what i have written and then what to write next, the questions who am i , who have i become, would i have been a different person under different circumstances. So before i continue my tale i,ll reflect on the early years a little.</p> <p>Lets see memorys,</p> <p>Sad ones first, pain, abuse , not being loved, loneliness, confused, scared and scared. Funny but these are feelings that you really cant put down to a particular point in time or place as they stay with you from whenever it happened and carrys in your subconsious as a part of your being and who you are. But if i try the happy ones not so many but a point and time, faces and names stay with me. Meeting Jeffrey, Jane and Freddy from the tv show rainbow in a fete in south london and still having the photo, a dog called benji who chewed on my shoes every morning till there was nothing left. Holding hands at bedtime from the top bunk to the bottom bunk with the daughter of the couple from london feeling safe. So at this time even after what had happened so far on the outside i seemed a normal little boy, curly hair beaming smile and peircing green eyes i was told, but still clingy to people who showed me affection and why not i deserved it. School was ok i made friends and still remeber names but i didnt like p.e time as i had to put shorts on and the scars where still evident then and occasionally the fingers would point as children do and the word yuk would appear from someones mouth and the smiling and gradually growing confident little boy would retire back to his quiet shell. Children are unfair but they have an excuse its all about growing up and learning. I had met good people and bad people and at this moment of time i was with good people and thought that was the way it was going to stay, but as most of my small life had been so far there always seemed to be a suitcase nearby ready to be packed.<br> <a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/chuffed_to_bits/2308575" title="Chuffed to bits"><img src="http://data3.blog.de/media/575/2308575_f84132278f_s.jpeg" alt="Chuffed to bits" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/28/reflection~3644400/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-28:/2008/01/28/camping_out~3642228/squirrel19682008-01-28T02:57:30+01:002008-01-28T02:58:51+01:00 <p>Fancy a game of cricket my brother said one night when we where in our bedroom, pillow cricket with a sponge ball. I should have said no, after all he was always getting me into trouble, One such time comes to mind, stealing milk and bread from the doorstop of the flats and then going into the clothes line area at the top of the tower and stuffing ourselves senseless with bread mik and yogurt. Untill the day somebody caught us and we ran and of course he was faster than me and left me behind and i was cornered by this angry faced man on the stairwell, so i headed for the nearest opening i could find and jumped out of it, trouble was it was the first floor window and i broke my leg, serves me right but as usual my brother got away with it he always did. But back to the cricket so i said yes and off we go him with the pillow on onebed , me on the other with the sponge ball took a while for me to catch the ball as there was no way i was running off the bed or the screaming from downstairs to shut up would come and nobody wanted that. So my turn i,ll keep him waiting as long as he did to me, hes never going to catch it. So pillow at the ready watching for the ball, yes i hit it. and it dosent bounce off the curtains it goes thru them and the sound of smashing glass rings round the room. Stunned silence for a second, what happened, then the footsteps came a running upstairs , we didnt move, couldnt move the fear was upon us. The door burst open and she came in screaming, what words it dosent matter, my ears had defeaned to what was said any more, you just waited for the hurt instead. In her hand was a cricket ball, a real ball, a hard ball, he has done it again duped me but this time it backfired on him. The heads were knocked togeather and the hair was pulled with the bodys following down the stairs and out the backdoor into the small space called if you will the garden over looking the green in the centre of the tower blocks. There we sat till morning and the next night and everynight for the next two weeks , so you could say it was my first experience of camping out , but these days i like to take a sleeping bag. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/28/camping_out~3642228/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-27:/2008/01/27/i_cant_get_out~3639138/squirrel19682008-01-27T14:01:26+01:002008-01-28T02:19:18+01:00 <p>Well another care home for a while then the wise old people at social services decided it was time to give my mother her her umptenth time to show her parental skills. My memories of that last stay with her were again not the best. I remember what you could call my step father, a huge man always tanned and weightlifting when he was home huge hands but a soft nature. He worked in the parks dept for the council so lucky guy was out of the house at least. My older brother was visualy like me just a bit bigger and my year younger sister reminded me of crystal tipps of the telly with her curly ringlet hair. The tower block was a maze of steps and corridors and the usual lovely smell of urine in them. So routine was like any ordinary child school home and play if we were allowed but with the mental and physical abuse when you got home. My brother and i shared the same room and every morning were locked in till mother came home from her early shift from work. Which i suppose wouldnt be allowed these days, which lead to another reason for a beating, i want to go to the loo, which was easy if you wanted to wee, you just went out the window, but what if you wanted the other well, did you go in your pants at 7 years old and get a beating or did you try to have some kind of respect for yourself and try to think of a way to minimise the forth comming abuse you knew was going to come. So the only place was the waste bin in the corner of the room, job done now just sit and wait on the bed for the sound of the front door and then hope beyond hope that it wasnt that bad and she had been made happy by something. But alas no fear of that . She would walk in and smell it and then once again it would start, may have as well just shit myself as i did anyway. Years later when i met her, the answer to the locked bedroom door was i couldnt reach the knob, mmm funny that my 8 year old brothewr couldnt either and a key was always turned from the other side. But again my burns were caused by me turning on the taps on the bath, god i was a clever baby and must have had arms like garth. But the penence for going to the toilet in the bedroom was having to wear a nappy on holiday and yes i remember the looks of the kids my age and the finger pointing a fanatastic punisment to help with your self esteem and best of all a family photo was taken with me wearing it. I wonder if that was ever put on the mantle peice in preperation for a future girlfriend to ask when was that taken. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/27/i_cant_get_out~3639138/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-26:/2008/01/26/a_tower_block~3635214/squirrel19682008-01-26T14:25:58+01:002008-01-26T14:25:58+01:00 <p>That was to become my new home, one of those ugly grey concrete things with a green in the middle of it for the resident scum to play, fight, destroy and tell the world and his dog their family domestic problems thank you the goverments of the 60,s well done youre reaping the rewards now with the children of the tower blocks<br> Well i suppose it was a little exciting at first , a flat with children in it, my year old brother and year younger sister but then it started , the smacks for nothing , the screaming of angry voices and then the quiet scary times , do i speak , do i ask , do i make a noise. Well most of the time the answer was no, so quiet was the best option. Mother had a temper which i found out very quickly and it wasnt just me she took it out on, nobody was safe but i got the worst of it, why i found out years later, i was clingy, loving and quiet, mmm was i craving for something, funny thing was that i was craving to the mother who caused my suffering in the first place of course not recalling it was her it came from, i think it shows that i just wanted some kind of love and comfort and would go to anyone for it. Also the abuse was centred on me because i looked like my dad , sorry about that mother you made me with him. genes pass down didnt you know. Anyway onwards , well it must have been a year maybe two when along came a car and off i trotted with my bag again back to a care home in West wickham, My mothers husbands sister had aparently witnessed the abuse i suffered and convinced her brother to call in the social services as she was afraid i would end up dead, she had tried quietly to see if she could care for me but was told it was too dangerous as i wouldnt be far away from my mother. So off to meet a new bunch of forgotten children in a new home and another mini adventure without the smacks screaming and fear started for a while. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/26/a_tower_block~3635214/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-26:/2008/01/26/subject_to_change~3635210/squirrel19682008-01-26T14:24:27+01:002008-01-26T14:24:27+01:00 <p>A telephone call came one day and again changed the plan that was always subject to change, my mother was on the end the telephone line asking to speak to me. I believe i was around 4 years old at the time, so of course i was handed the phone the voice said hello chris its mummy and i answered hello mummy. Did i know what mummy meant was i suppossed to after all so many people had been in my life since i was first taken into care, to me was mummy just another word a name even to call someone by. So a meeting was set up and with social workers in attendance i met my mother for the first time i can really recall the woman. Short with glasses and black hair and most rememorable a big bag of sweets in her hand with which she blatently came with to grab my attention im sure. What was said between the adults i dont know but someone decided what my immediate future would be , but i was asked if i would like to visit my brothers and sisters and come and stay with mummy. Did the bag of sweets swing it, of course like that big dangling carrot to any child, the promosies of sweets and fun, was i that shallow well forgive me i was four years old. So a new plan was hatched and my bag was packed i was collected at the door of my carers house in South london and all i can recall is a couple standing on the front door of thier house crying as i was driven away in my mothers car with another man driving, who was infact my fathers best friend my mother had an affair with. Me i was on back seat waving back at the crying couple thru the rear window seatbelts wernt law then. Did i care i supposse not, i was on another mini adventure to nothing, but i guess by the tears in the couples eyes it proved even i a small child was capable of inflicting emotional distress and pain to others as well but as before forgive me i was four years old and knew no better </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/26/subject_to_change~3635210/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-26:/2008/01/26/a_new_start_just~3635206/squirrel19682008-01-26T14:23:24+01:002008-01-28T12:49:59+01:00 <p>I had a new home , I was placed in childrens home called haydons house in chislehurst and soon became a favorite of a newly married couple who were working as care workers in the home not that i can remeber that specificaly but i was being cared for and thats what matters. I was taken for regular visits out of the care home with the couple to stay at their home but that came to and end when they left to pursue different careers and the lady became pregnant, so they moved to south london and i stayed in the care home. I was then given back to my mother for a while to see if things and situations had changed but was soon brought back into care as abuse was evident, i think the small crack in my skull from the heel of a shoe may have done it. So i ended back up in chilsehurst and came under the care of a social worker called Sandra i forget her last name , but was told she asked about my welfare for years after, if only the same could be said for social services today. I learned years later in my early twentys that even this care home which supported and cared for its children had a dark side, but it only takes one person to ruin the reputation dosent it. I had been sexually assaulted by a young female care worker whilst in the bathroom, i personally dont recall the incident but my girlfriend at the time was told by my then foster father as he was the male from the couple who i had become a favorite of in the home. This couple were to become part of my life also on and off for years because out of the blue they came from South London and took me into their home on a temporary basis. They had a Baby daughter and a dog by then so i guess it was my first experience of family. For the first time i recall fun , hugs and going out with someone holding your hand and the smiles on peoples faces. I recall the photos that were taken with these people even now , dressed up as a cowboy, sitting in the garden with a rubber band powered plane. So things then remained stable and happy for me for a little while , but as with most plans , all are subject to change. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/26/a_new_start_just~3635206/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-26:/2008/01/26/pain~3635157/squirrel19682008-01-26T14:11:13+01:002008-01-28T19:11:42+01:00 <p>People often recall their first memory, they recall a song a tv show a mad grandad usually something nice and warming to take them back to that time. My first recollection of a memory was pain , inflicted pain the start of so called abuse pain, I was 15 months old and ended up in a special burns unit in a london hospital. How well i amshamed to this day to say because of my mother. I was put into a bath of scholding water up to my waist and suffered burns to my legs and backside. Why who knows, did she not test the water , did she not see the steam or did as she say years later that i turned the taps on and that not having hormone treatments as such available at the time and suffering from depression was the reason she acted like she did, but no apologie was presant with the explanation. My questions were did she not see and here her 15 month old son scream and cry in pain, or was that what her reaction to hearing that noise from babies just to leave them i dont know.<br> I was placed in a special burns unit for 3 months and had skin graft after skin graft on my legs. After Treatment and when able to be i was taken into care in a childrens home in Kent. I did see my mother again and a catolouge of abuse followed and this was the marking i belive of me the person i am now , walls up fully defenced and sometimes unable to let anyone or anything in.<br> Why the question i always ask my self, was i a bad baby , can you be bad at that age , do you have a choice is it not the parents who shape you. Surley the love and warmth i feel for my son is in most parents , protective and understanding i hope so , but evidently not. So yes not all memorys are good ones and you can remember things as a baby if they have that much impact on you.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/26/pain~3635157/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk,2008-01-26:/2008/01/26/arrival~3635129/squirrel19682008-01-26T14:05:44+01:002008-02-07T01:30:42+01:00 <p>Now how to start, is the end the beginning or the beginning the end there’s a question i have asked myself many times. It is a story, one persons story, my storyand as honest as i can remember it. It may go back and forth in time a little because as i write the more i remember. I have left out names but a few on purpose, why because the names are not important, its the journey of remembrance and discovery for me that is the important thing.</p> <p>I was born march the 24th 1968 and even then there was confussion because my natural mother refused to accept it was the 24th but insited it was the 25th. So the seed of my fragmented being started there, so i will call it the beginning after all. I was born to a married couple whos names i wont refrence as i have left these people behind me now. They were both from a sleepy little village called Corris in the middle of North Wales, once famous for it slate mine now known for a craft centre built on the ruins of the old slate mine. My mother was a young mother she had my year older brother who i have been told was by a different father at the age of 15, not unusual in those parts. They then moved to Beckenham in Kent , why i dont know and to be honest not to a few years later do i have any recolection of it. My father became a grave digger as his mental skills arnt the best and and my mother worked as a cleaner for the council. Im lead to belive thru what i know that my mother then had an affair not long after my year younger sister was born the affair was with my fathers best friend in Beckenham. I have no recolection of my father untill a few years later as he went back to his sleepy village after i guess the affair happened and left his woes and children behind him and not a thought in his head of his children again, but he did appear again a few years later and unfortunately i was involved. I cannot rember much really until what i will call my change of life happened and from then on i could remember most things.<br> <a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/corris/2327610" title="Corris"><img src="http://data3.blog.de/media/610/2327610_16816dabf1_s.jpeg" alt="Corris" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://flyingoverbusstops.blog.co.uk/2008/01/26/arrival~3635129/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>