by Ralph Bulger
When we moved into our own little bedsit we were over the moon; you would think we had been handed the keys to a palace. Denise was ultra house-proud and turned the flat into a warm and comfortable home for us. Even though that first year had brought us the tragedy of losing Kirsty, we were thrilled when Denise fell pregnant again in 1990. Of course, we were also scared that we might lose another baby in the same way we had lost our daughter. All we could do was hope everything would be fine, and I supported Denise and looked after her as best I could. Everyone was anxious, including our extended families, but they were there for us both throughout. When James was born healthy we felt as if we had been given a second chance in life and, naturally, we were so protective of him from the moment he was born.
We took James home and he became the centre of our world. It was one of the happiest periods of my life. James was a small baby with a smattering of blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was named after my dad, who had died of cancer not long before his arrival. At first he cried a lot, as many newborns do, but after a while we began to get him into a routine and he settled down, becoming a lively and happy young baby. We both noticed that he was as bright as a button from a very early age. He was so nosy, and even when he was just a few months old he started mumbling his words, trying his hardest to speak to us. It was wonderful to watch, especially when he started to walk even before his first birthday. They were fantastic days for us as a family. I loved my wife and my son and, despite the lack of money, James never went without. He was showered with love and affection not just from us, but from all his relatives on both sides. That was the way it was. The children were always put first and life revolved around them. If the kids were happy, then so were the grown-ups.
We led a very simple, traditional life. The grim unemployment in the region meant that nearly everyone we knew was skint, but we all chipped in and helped each other out. When we moved into our flat, family members rallied round to get us furniture, and if you needed to borrow a few quid to get by then help was always there. Likewise, if we could help others in any way, we would. I would always do odd jobs for people, fixing things or making shelves in relatives’ homes. It was the least I could do. The women in the family all took it in turn to mind the kids, giving each other a break from time to time and, of course, we were never short on babysitters. Not that we were out a lot, as we couldn’t alford it, but on Saturday nights it was a chance for Denise and me to go out locally and share a few drinks, have some laughs with each other and meet up with others from the family. As hard as it sometimes was, life was good in the most important ways. I had a fantastic family of my own with Denise and James; we had fun together and I was really happy. I loved being a dad and Denise was a great mum.
As James began to grow up, we were able to move to a bigger one-bedroom flat in the Northwood area of Kirkby. The town is divided up into different districts, but most areas of Kirkby are similar to each other, with fairly large housing estates and local shops for basics, all within walking distance of the main town centre. With James already toddling, we needed eyes in the back of our heads to keep up with him! He was the most boisterous, outgoing baby you could meet and he was into just about everything he could get his hands on. He loved to climb onto furniture and roar with laughter all the time. His giggle was totally infectious and everyone just adored him. He would play with anyone and didn’t have an ounce of shyness in him.
Our days were spent looking after James, watching him grow into the most amazing little boy. He loved to play rough and tumble. Mischief was never far away from James, but he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. After his breakfast, I would often take him to the park. One of his favourite toys was a red go-kart but, as James was short for his age, he couldn’t even reach the pedals. It was so comical and cute. He had got into the habit of calling me Ralph instead of Dad because he had heard other people calling me by my name. I can still hear his little voice shouting out to me in the park as he played in his red car.
‘Ralph, Ralph, come and push me, come and push me!’ he cried.
‘No, James, I’m your dad, not Ralph. You have to call me Daddy.’
‘OK, Ralph, now come and push me,’ he replied.
I couldn’t help laughing. James was a little imp and got away with so much, but he was also kind and loving. I couldn’t have wished for a better son. He really was the light in my life and I cherished every moment I spent with him.
Other days we would have a gentle knockabout with a football, his little legs running as fast as he could to get the ball. It was a sight to warm your heart. When he managed to push the ball into the net he would cry out, ‘Ralph, Ralph, I scored a goal! Look at me!’
Each time he scored I would run over and fetch him up in my arms, throw him in the air and catch him before running around the park in celebration as James giggled at the top of his voice. Money can never buy moments like these and I will always remember them.
Those early days with James remain my most precious memories. You never imagine they will be all you have left of your child, but while they are my sacred, private memories, in many ways it helps to share them publicly, because so few people got to know James as a little boy. To the rest of the world he became a photo in the newspaper or on the news at the centre of a tragedy, a grainy image on a CCTV camera as he was being led away by his killers. But he was so much more than that. He was a living, breathing bundle of energy who was idolized by his family. He had his own giant, cheeky personality wrapped up in his short, stocky body. I want people to know more about this special little boy who was denied the chance to grow up.
It was as natural as breathing for James to smile and giggle, and as a result he would have everyone around him laughing too. His joy was completely infectious. Even though he was little, he was very strong and lively. He was often described as being like a human tornado or a Tasmanian devil, tearing around at full pelt until he just dropped with exhaustion at the end of each day. He would literally launch himself onto chairs or unsuspecting laps for loads of cuddles. It would wear us all out just watching him, especially when he started dancing to his beloved Michael Jackson tunes. He had followed in the footsteps of his mum, who was a huge fan of the singer. As soon as any of his records came on the radio or television, he would be up doing the funniest dances as he tried to impersonate the superstars moves, flinging his little arms in and out, giggling all the way.
James loved life; he lived it to the full, and wanted to learn everything. Denise was great at teaching him and encouraging his sharp young brain. He kept us all entertained and busy for hours on end, day after day. Like most kids, he had his favourites among his toys, and Thomas the Tank Engine was definitely at the top of his list. He would ring the bell inside the tiny train and at night he couldn’t wait to climb into bed under his Thomas the Tank Engine duvet.
Another firm favourite was The Smurfs. He was mesmerized by the sight of the little blue people and played his Smurfs video so much he almost wore it out. He had a Smurfs ball and a Smurfs cereal bowl. And then he developed a thing for chairs! Mainly, I think, because he was so short he wanted to stand taller. There was one particular white chair that he would drag around the place and climb on.
‘I’m the king of the castle,’ he would sing at the top of his voice as he stood up on it.
Other times he would climb on a chair and belt out his favourite nursery rhymes, ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’ or ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. Some chairs were just too big for him to clamber onto, and so in the end I decided I would make him his very own little throne, using the skills I had learned on my joinery and upholstery courses. I was never academic but I was good with my hands and at making things. I spent three days crafting this piece of furniture for my son.
‘What you doing today, Ralph?’ James asked me as he cocked his head to one side.
‘Daddy’s making you your own special chair,’ I told him.
‘Wow! I’m gonna have my own chair,’ he gushed as he th
rew himself on me for a big cuddle.
I measured the dimensions of the chair precisely so that it would be exactly the right size for James, and I carefully and lovingly constructed it in Denises dad’s large garden shed, which doubled as his workshop. Huey was happy for me to work away in there until the chair was done, and I have to say it was pretty good at the end. I used old bits of wood and leather, finally upholstering it in bright red. When I eventually took it home and showed it to James, all I heard was a huge roar of excitement before he was offlike a rocket, climbing all over it and jumping up and down on his very own seat. From that day on you couldn’t part my little boy from his chair. Every day he would pull it up to watch his favourite television shows and be the happiest kid ever. I loved to do things that made him happy, as did everyone else in the family.
A lot of time was spent with our extended family, and so James had plenty of other kids to mix with, as there were loads of cousins as well as aunts and uncles. They all showered him with affection and love, and in return he adored making people laugh. He was a huge part of our family and rarely was he without that sparkling smile on his face. The only time he was quiet was when he was sleeping! Sometimes he was so exhausted he would fall asleep in my arms at night on the couch and I would gently carry him to his bed and tuck him in. Other times I would put him to bed and hold his hand while he dropped off. He always took a little torch with him, and if he woke in the middle of the night, I would hear him sneaking across the room to get into bed with us.
We would often spend time at my brother Jimmy’s house, which was also in Kirkby and a short walk from our flat. He and his wife Karen already had two daughters, aged five and three, and James loved to play with them. Jimmy kept pigeons in a loft in his back garden and it was a huge treat for James to go and visit. He was completely mesmerized by them and the noises they made.
‘Cor, look at the birds, Ralph,’ he would gasp aloud, as I lifted him up to see them. ‘When I grow up I want to have birds like that too.’
‘You can do whatever you want when you get older, son,’ I promised him.
He loved his Uncle Jimmy and his Aunt Karen, who were always happy to see us at their house. Karen kept her home immaculate, like a lot of Liverpudlian women. They lived in an end-of-terrace red-brick house with three bedrooms. Everything was beautifully decorated and yet you didn’t feel like it was somewhere you couldn’t relax; it was so inviting and friendly, you felt totally at ease and able to enjoy yourself.
Their house had the added bonus of a small but child- friendly garden, which was Jimmy’s pride and joy. At the far end were his pigeon sheds, but elsewhere there was a well-kept lawn and plenty of plants and flowers. This meant that when the weather was good enough, the kids could run out the back patio doors and play outside, which they loved. We didn’t have the sort of lives where you had to book appointments to tell people you were coming to see them. It was the ‘norm’ just to turn up and stick the kettle on, day or night. It was an open-house policy.
Both Jimmy and Karen were tall and slender, but while Karen had dark brown, almost black hair, Jimmy was the blond one in the family. Neither of them was quiet! Jimmy loved to be around people, cracking jokes and having a laugh. Karen was the same and they were rarely without smiles on their faces. They were both larger than life, and it was me who was the quieter one, but I always loved being in their company. When everyone got together, their house was filled with laughter and the kids were as content as anything to tear around and enjoy themselves. It was here that many of the kids’ birthday parties would be held — there was never a dull moment in that house. Jimmy was working on the taxis at the time, and life seemed very good for him and his wife. They were happily married, enjoyed a great social life and had a brilliant family. That happiness rubbed off on anyone who walked through the front door.
James was no exception, and I will always remember the day he climbed onto Jimmy’s lap and declared, ‘You’ve got the same name as me.’
‘No, son, you’ve got the same name as me and your granddad, because we were here before you,’ Jimmy replied.
With that James let out peals of laughter before rushing off to entertain someone else. Everyone remembers his antics during a kids’ Halloween party Jimmy and Karen held in October 1992, when he was two and a half. He was the centre of attention among all the other kids because he was the youngest, and totally lovable! Karen and Jimmy’s girls doted on him and wanted to play with him like he was a little cute doll and, of course, James lapped it all up. There must have been about eight kids at the party that day, some family as well as others from the street, and just as many adults. That was quite a lot of people, and noise, in an ordinary-sized house, especially as the children were all screaming at the top of their lungs and having the time of their lives. Karen always threw great parties and sometimes I think the adults enjoyed them just as much as the kids!
As ever, James was the life and soul, loving every minute of showing off in the bin-liner costume that the kids had dressed him in for the occasion. But that wasn’t enough for our James. He wanted to go the whole hog, and so Jimmy’s eldest daughter led him upstairs with about four other kids and they set to work on his look, raiding whatever makeup and costumes they could lay their hands on! About half an hour later, they all pounded down the stairs and there was James with the biggest grin across his face. He was plastered in Rocky Horror Show-style make-up. Gone were his bright chubby cheeks and the angel face. Instead he was covered in white face cream with red devil streaks painted down from his eyes and he now had green hair under a witch’s hat!
‘Look at me, everyone,’ he shrieked. ‘I’m coming to get you on my broomstick!’
The more everyone laughed at his antics, the more excited James became. He was completely in his element, running under tables and chairs and jumping out on the grownups, trying to scare us in his Halloween costume.
But the favourite part of everyone’s day was playing duck apple in a large bowl of water. Even the adults had a go, pushing their faces into the bowl to fetch an apple with their teeth. This proved a lot harder for the mums and dads after downing a few beers during the afternoon, but it was very funny, and the children especially liked to see the adults making complete fools of themselves. When it came to James’s turn to try and grab an apple, he did it with as much energy as he did everything else in his life, and launched his head into the bowl as the kids around him squealed away. There was water and mess everywhere but no one was in trouble. This was a fun day and the kids could let off some steam and play together.
By the time James had finished with the apples, his makeup had rim all down his face, and so off he went upstairs with the rest of his gang to have it reapplied all over again. There were loads of goodies that day for the kids — bags of sweets and plenty of cakes, mainly made by Karen, who was a great cook. All the adults kept an eye on the children to make sure they were all safe. If things got out of hand, any one of the mums or dads would step in and have a quiet word. There was no time limit on this party or any other. The kids were taken home when they were tired or had had enough, and I can remember carrying our son home that night as he slept in my arms, totally exhausted by all the fun.
James was always up to something. He had a habit of hiding food and sweets in anything that had a lid on it. We would have to go and hunt down biscuits and cakes in pots all over the house to make sure they didn’t rot and smell, but you could never be cross with James. At one family party he tried to put a whole piece of gateau in his mouth at once and ended up smearing it right across his face. It was a sight to be seen.
Despite his boisterous nature, James was also very kind and caring. He loved all types of animals and, even though he was naturally curious, he never wanted to harm them. I would take him over the nearby hills and he would run around with excitement.
‘Let’s go and find some grasshoppers, Ralph,’ he’d shout.
‘OK, son, I’ll race you to see who finds one first.’<
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I always let him win, and when he found the grasshoppers he would sit for ages listening to the noises they made. Then he would carefully put them on his hands and look on in fascination as they jumped away. He would collect all the caterpillars from the fuchsia plants and carnations growing in Jimmy and Karens garden before gently letting them go again. Similarly with frogs: he would put them on his palm and stroke them before they hopped away, never hurting them. But his favourite animals were the fish in the tank at our house. He was so short that someone would always have to pick him up so he could see. He loved to gaze at the angelfish, guppies, mollies and tetras, but most of all he liked the neons that shone so brightly in the water as they swished about. You could see James’s eyes darting as he tried to keep up with the pace of the fish. He was fascinated by them.
‘Can I feed the fish, Ralph?’ he would ask without fail.
‘Of course you can, son. Let’s get the food for you.’
Then he would gently drop the fish flakes into the tank and watch with wide-eyed astonishment as the food glided through the water and the fish swam to gobble it all up. Every time he left the house he would have to kiss the glass bowl and wave goodbye to the fish.
‘Bye-bye, fishes, see you soon,’ he chirped, waving all the way to the front door in my arms.
No one will ever know just how much James meant to me. He brought so much to all who knew him in such a short space of time. Never in a million years could anyone have imagined what was going to happen to this most special and treasured little boy.