by Lee Shepherd
Finally, the abuse came to an end after one drunken night when Jim staggered back into the farm after a heavy drinking session with his pals. He immediately started to become aggressive towards Edna for no other reason than because he could. Jonathon had then reached breaking point, and as Jim raised his hand towards his fearful wife, he received the shock of his life as the fifteen-year-old Jonathon jumped up from where he had been sitting to protect her.
‘And what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you ungrateful bastard?’ Jim slurred. Before Jonathon could respond Jim continued. ‘You’re a worthless, pathetic excuse for a human being! No wonder your whore of a mother didn’t want you!’
Jonathon, confused by Jim’s words, retorted, ‘My mum died, you fucking arsehole!’
Edna tried to intervene and retract Jim’s words on his behalf, knowing what he was about to blurt out next. She tried to tell Jonathon to ignore his ramblings, and pass it off as drunken confusion, but Jim was having none of it.
‘Tell the fucker, Edna, tell him how his whore of a mother abandoned him because she didn’t want the worthless bastard either! It’s about time he knew anyway.’
Edna was beside herself with fury. She turned to him and, for the first time since Jonathon had been there, Edna stood up to her husband.
‘THAT’S ENOUGH JIM, SHUT YOUR BIG MOUTH AND LEAVE THE BOY ALONE!’
It was too late though: the seed of madness had been planted.
Jonathon looked straight at Edna and asked her, ‘What the fuck is he talking about?’
Jim interjected before Edna had the chance to speak.
‘Fuck it, I’ll tell you! The McMullens weren’t you’re real parents. Your real mother was a good for nothing whore of a schoolgirl who gave you away at birth. I should know, I’ve seen all your files!’
‘Is this true?’ Jonathon demanded of Edna.
‘I’m afraid it is Jonathon — well the part about your real mother giving you up for adoption at birth anyway. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.’
Jonathon was in utter shock at this news, and could not process what he was being told. His whole life had been a lie.
‘I fucking told you!’ Jim sneered.
By this point Jonathon had had just about enough of listening to anything Jim had to say. Before he could spew more nasty words, Jonathon snapped and rushed towards where the drunken Jim was standing.
‘I FUCKING HATE YOU!’ he screamed in his face.
Then, with all the strength he could muster, Jonathon unleashed a vicious combination of punches and kicks he had secretly been practicing in his room. He delivered blow after blow to the already unsteady Jim, until he finally toppled him in a heap on the dining room floor.
Edna just stood there and watched with a hint of a smile on her face as her bully of a husband finally received his comeuppance at the hands of the child she couldn’t protect. She knew in that instance that this would be Jonathon’s final night in the household, but she was happy. Happy because she knew that with it, the young man’s suffering at her husband’s hand had finally came to an end.
Once Jim had picked himself up off the floor, embarrassed and bloodied, he immediately pushed past his wife and went to the phone in the hall. He was initially going to call the police, but stopped himself — he was unsure what Jonathon might say to them. Instead, he called Brian and proceeded to tell him how Jonathon had beaten him in an unprovoked attack. He stated that he wanted him out of his house and out of their lives forever, and told Brian that he had until the morning to come and collect him, as he would not be welcome for more than one more night under his roof.
This came as no surprise to Jonathon, who was already by this point packing his belongings up in his room. Edna went and spoke to Jonathon whilst Jim poured himself another drink and sat brooding in silence on the sofa. He knew his hold over Jonathon was finished forever, and he had no further use for him. A tearful Edna went and sat on Jonathon’s bed as he gathered all his things into his bags.
‘I am so sorry Jonathon. Please forgive me for everything. I sincerely wish I could take away all the hurt and suffering you have had to go through, I really do. I’m so sorry I couldn’t have stopped it, please believe me.’
Jonathon pitied Edna. He knew he had finally broken free, but he knew that she would never be strong enough to leave.
He gave her a great big hug and kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Edna could barely look him in the eye due to the guilt she felt as she made her way out of his room.
‘I wish you all the best for the future Jonathon, I really do. Go and find the happiness we couldn’t give you.’
Those were her final words to Jonathon, as she never did see him again; she couldn’t bear to look him in the face or say goodbye the following morning. Jonathon never slept a wink that night as he waited for Brian to come and collect him. He had far too many thoughts running through his mind after what he had just discovered. He also had many, many questions he needed answered from Brian too.
As Brian pulled in the long driveway leading to the farm the next morning, Jonathon went over to where the now very old and weary Amber lay in her bed. He looked deep into her eyes; as he did so, a tear fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek. He stroked his companion one last time and told her how much she had comforted him over the years, and just how much she meant to him and that he would never forget her. He gave Amber one final hug and kiss goodbye, then grabbed his bags and made his way outside, straight into Brian’s waiting car without looking back.
‘Are… are you okay?’ Brian asked hesitantly.
Jonathon gave him a cold look. ‘Get me away from this fucking place, NOW!’
Brian was not accustomed to this new found attitude and foul language coming from Jonathon. Wary after receiving Jim’s call the previous night stating how Jonathon had allegedly battered him in an unprovoked attack, Brian decided not to delve any deeper — he did not want to be on the receiving end of Jonathon’s wrath. Instead, he did as Jonathon had asked and left the farm without even speaking to Jim or Edna.
‘So, Brian, why didn’t you tell me I was adopted, and that my real mother gave me away at birth?’ Jonathon asked a now uptight Brian.
‘Err, well, the thing is Jonathon, with you being under sixteen, and still classed as a minor in the eyes of the law, we as Social workers have a duty of care to provide to you. We do what we think is in your best interests. Besides, we can’t legally give you this information until you turn sixteen, when it is deemed you are old enough to be able to understand and cope with this information.’ Seeing the look on Jonathon’s face, he continued hurriedly, ‘But seeing as you are coming up sixteen in a few short months, what do you want to know?’
‘I want to know everything,’ Jonathon replied. ‘Who am I? Where am I from? But first of all you can start off by telling me who my mother is. My real mother!’
‘I don’t really know much about her to be honest Jonathon, as I was only assigned as your Social worker after you had been placed with the McMullen’s. All I know is her name, which is, or was, Shelley Winter.’
‘And what about my real father?’
‘He was never named on your birth certificate, so I’m afraid I honestly can’t help you on that one.’
Jonathon just sat there, processing this information. Why had his mother left him? Who was she as a person? What was so bad about him that she had to give him up?
At this moment he thought of another passage from his Bible, which he was now becoming more and more familiar with. He remembered Isaiah 49:15.
Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet I will not forget thee.
Jonathon just sat there quietly for the rest of the journey, running this verse over and over in his head, each time emphasising the last sentence: he would not be forgotten.
He spent the next couple of months in a residential care home in Wor
kington, Cumbria, with four other young people from different areas. He never really spoke more than two words to any of them.
The others never bothered him though, as he was now a solid-framed, stocky teenager with muscles bigger than normal for someone of his age; the last few years of lifting hay bales and helping out around the farm obviously had some benefits. That, along with his piercing blue eyes and rugged features, meant that the other kids were quite wary of him. His brooding, introverted nature just added to his enigma, so the others gave Jonathon a very wide berth during his time in the home.
***
Jonathon turned sixteen in the August of 1989, and as the local authorities no longer had a legal responsibility over him, they helped him get his own flat, sorted out his benefits, and sent him on his way, not before giving him the only information they had regarding his mother, which was his birth certificate, and his chronology from the day he was born and all throughout the course of his time in care. Jonathon by now just wanted to get as far away from there as possible. He wanted to forget his past. The more he thought about trying to track down his mother, the more he despised her for leaving him to endure the agonising traumas of his short life. As far as he was concerned, the McMullen’s were, and would always, be his true parents. Within the first few weeks of living on his own, in an attempt to bury everything about his past, he immediately changed his name via Deed Poll, opting to amalgamate his two heroes Charles Bronson, and Bruce Lee, giving him his new title, Charles Lee. He secretly hoped he could emulate their bravery, and felt as though this would be the start of his metamorphosis from victim to hero; and with it, he decided to enlist into the Army, specifically the King’s Own Royal Border Regiment, (KORBR).
Chapter 8
After passing his initial army fitness and aptitude tests with flying colours, Charles, to give him his new title, was accepted and enlisted into this proud regiment. Due to his high entry-level score, he had numerous options to choose from rather than just infantry fodder. He decided he wanted to become a medic, as he quite liked the idea of patching up wounded soldiers; it kind of reminded him of the times Edna had bathed and bandaged up his wounds. He was still so grateful that she at least offered some form of comfort in extremely difficult times. He genuinely wanted to do the same for others. He just needed to get through the twenty-four weeks of basic training at Catterick Garrison first, before he could then go on to do a further twenty-four weeks of training to become a Combat Medical Technician.
Charles, strangely, settled in with relative ease and discovered a new found purpose in his life. He loved the sense of unity and camaraderie that it brought him. He even made a few friends along the way — though he never allowed himself to become too close to anyone. The one thing that Charles really loved, though, was the sense of strength and power he was starting to feel. Whenever his fellow recruits would get down time, Charles would often be found honing his physique in the barracks’ gym, determined never again to be in a position where he found himself overpowered and at somebody else’s mercy.
With sheer determination and goal-orientated ambition, Charles made light work of his initial basic training, and was so proud when he and his group of new recruits received their passing out parade at twenty-four weeks.
However, when everybody else was heading home for two weeks leave, Charles had nowhere to go; he had already given up his flat — he never wanted to return to the area that held so many bad memories for him. He instead chose to stay at the barracks and throw himself into more training, something which didn’t go unnoticed by his commanding officer Marcus Lancaster. Funnily enough, Marcus was also actually from Lancaster, and it was well known throughout the unit that his family had held a long tradition of serving in the (KORBR) and that he was from a very well-respected family. This would explain how, at only twenty-one years of age, he was already a well-respected officer in the regiment.
‘Quite the dedicated soldier aren’t you, Charlie boy?’ Marcus remarked as Charles was delivering blow after blow to the heavy bag that hung from the gym wall.
‘I try my best sir. Don’t you encourage us to “be all that we can be”?’
Marcus chuckled. ‘You’re absolutely correct, Charlie, indeed we do. I see you are hitting that bag with real bad intentions. Have you had any form of boxing training in the past?’
He watched with interest as Charles wiped the sweat from his face at the end of yet another round.
‘No, sir, I just enjoy channelling my aggression through the bag, sir. It helps me to relax.’
‘I know exactly what you mean, Charlie,’ came Marcus’ reply. ‘What say you and me get in the ring and I’ll teach you a few moves? We could use someone like you in our boxing team — what do you reckon?’
Charles, not quite sure what he meant by ‘someone like you’, didn’t want to cause offence, so he just agreed and climbed through the ropes into the ring with Marcus. The older man found a real respect for the younger as he put him through his paces, thinking he would soon start to tire as he shouted out command after command. It wasn’t to be, as Charles thrived between the ropes and relentlessly delivered combinations as instructed by Marcus.
After a gruelling ten three-minute rounds, on top of the bag work he had already put in, Charles seemed somewhat raring to continue, whereas Marcus was ready for a breather.
‘How about we call it a day for now, Charlie, eh? We don’t want to be burning you out lad.’
He’d enjoyed the workout with Charles though, and the one thing he really took from it was just how much potential he had seen in the young man. He slapped Charles on the back.
‘I would really like you to come and try out for the team when the company returns, Charlie, I think you would be a great asset. Do you think that would be something you would be interested in?’
Charles was not used to this kind of praise. ‘Yes sir, I think I’ll give it a go,’ he said, shocked.
‘Well don’t think too hard, Charlie, I could really do with you on the team. It’s about time we beat them navy bastards!’
It only just dawned on Charles now that this wasn’t any old training session. Marcus had actually been watching him with clear interest over the past few weeks and, with the upcoming Inter Service boxing tournament only six weeks away, Marcus had hoped that the promising young fighter would throw his name into the hat. But without that happening until now, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. Therefore it had been no coincidence he had met Charles in the gym that day.
Charles threw himself into his Combat Medical Technician training over the following weeks. He did, however, take Marcus up on his offer, and after impressing the army boxing coach, he excitedly joined the team and was matched up to fight another young heavyweight from the Royal Navy’s boxing team at the upcoming tournament.
***
For the next three weeks he underwent some seriously intensive sparring sessions with the other fighters, and when fight night finally arrived, he was raring to get through the ropes and unleash his inner fury on to his opponent. His opponent was a big, bulky, young black male from London’s tough east end, by the name of Tyrone Williams. After knocking out his last two opponents, Tyrone was highly confident and had huge expectations from his fellow team members and coach, especially when they learnt that he was up against a novice in his first bout. This did not faze Charles, however, as he knew he was accustomed to receiving heavy beatings over the years. If he could take the pain Jim had put him through all those years and not be broken, there was no way anyone was going to beat him in the ring!
As the bell sounded at the beginning of the first round, Tyrone rushed menacingly towards Charles, planning to bully him with his size and strength until he finally succumbed to the pressure. It was fruitless, however, as Charles had a game plan of his own — although very simplistic in nature. The plan was to just keep on hitting the larger Tyrone with every ounce of strength he could find, and not stop until one of them was either knocked out or una
ble to continue.
Tyrone managed to land the first couple of shots, bloodying Charles’ nose in doing so, and sensed he was in for an easy win as he tried to pin Charles against the ropes and into the corner. Charles tried to remember what his coach had said to him about remaining calm under pressure and not fighting in anger, as this only caused you to make mistakes. He decided to ignore this advice though, as he could feel a burning rage deep inside of him. No longer would he stand back and be on the receiving end of violence.
In that split second he remembered all the action
movies he used to watch, and thought especially about his two heroes, as Tyrone tried to land yet another combination. Time to fight back, he thought.
As Tyrone swung a big overhand punch towards his face, what happened next stunned and amazed the crowd: Charles unleashed a shuddering left hook that seemed to travel all the way from the soles of his feet, right through his body, before finally landing with devastating effect right on the side of Tyrone’s jaw line.
Tyrone was instantly knocked out by the vicious blow. The crowd were in uproar; all of Charles’ fellow platoon from ‘S’ company had gathered to watch and were absolutely blown away as the nearing seventeen-year-old underdog, Charles, totally annihilated the Navy’s hot prospect inside the first round.
‘That was fantastic, Charlie boy! I knew you had a natural ability for boxing, I just knew it!’ Marcus babbled, as they made their way back to the communal dressing room where the other fighters awaited their bouts.
Charles wasn’t used to this new found adoration and positive reinforcement, but it was welcomed nonetheless. Charles’ popularity grew over the following weeks as the other recruits, many of which were a few years older than him, formed a mutual respect for their brother in arms, and any thoughts of his time at the Beatties’ farm were pushed to one side as Charles now realised he was the one in control of his own life and destiny, and he relished this new found control.