by C S Kenny
“Come with me,” he said and I followed him out of the door with Brian tagging along behind us.
We walked into a dining room. On the far side of the room, as I looked across the full length of a highly polished dining table, was a large set of French windows. Next to the gold coloured handles of the window a glass pane had been smashed and was now covered with a piece of card.
“Have a good look around,” said Mr Fishbourne, so I did. I didn’t have to spend too long looking around before I understood what he was getting at. On one wall there were evenly spaced small archways, each with some sort of ornament in them and all illuminated with hidden lighting. All that was, save two of them. Two small empty archways where two eighteen inch high statues would fit just beautifully.
“Oh shit, honest Mr Fishbourne I swear to you, it wasn’t me, I fucking swear, I didn’t ...”
The words were just coming out in a constant stream. Anything I could think of to swear on I was swearing on it. My kneecaps were shaking, I could feel the blood rushing from my head and I thought I was going to faint. I had a fleeting moment of clarity when I came to the conclusion that fainting might not be a bad idea, it would save me being embarrassed when I shit myself. I flinched when Mr Fishbourne put his hand on my shoulder.
“I know it wasn’t you, we nearly caught the little fucker and we know what he looks like. The problem I have now is that he didn’t look anything like the description that you just gave me.”
‘Think Steve, think.’
“He could’ve had a mate with him; maybe that’s who I bought them off.”
“That’s possible. It’s also possible that you are fucking lying to me.”
The, ‘Fucking lying to me,’ bit, was said with such menace that I changed my mind about him not looking scary, there was something in his eyes that made you want to look away from him.
“I’m not lying Mr Fishbourne, look at me; I’m terrified. I’m out of my league and I just want to get out of here, if that means dropping someone else in the shit then trust me I would.”
I think I had played up to his ego without being too blatant about it.
“How much did you pay for them?” he asked.
“Ten quid.”
“And how much did you think I would pay for them?”
I didn’t feel like I was out of the woods yet so I wasn’t going to get cocky.
“I don’t know what they are worth so I was just hoping to get more than a tenner.”
He reached into his jacket and took out his wallet, I didn’t know how much he removed from the wallet as he quickly folded some notes up then put them in my shirt pocket. He put his left hand gently on the right side of my face and then his right hand slapped, then stayed on my left cheek.
“You will let us know if you see that thieving piece of shit again won’t you?’’
“I will I promise.”
Though it sounded like a question, I was in no doubt it was an order. He took his hands away from my face then turned away from me before saying, “Get him out of here.” Then as an afterthought, “And get that fucking window fixed.”
Brian only said two things to me as we were in the car.
“Do you want to go back to the pub?” was one of them.
I said, “Yes please.”
Then, as we pulled up on the car park and I was about to climb out he smiled as he said, “You lucky, lucky boy.” I say smiled, it was more of a sardonic grin.
As he drove off I took the cash from my pocket and counted it. Forty quid, I should have been chuffed but I was more relieved than anything. I entered the pub, drank a pint in what for me was record time, then spent quite a while sat in the gents telling myself to stick to stealing lead.
It was while I was nicking lead that my spell on the run from Aycliffe came to an end. I had been stripping it from a factory roof on Thornton Road. The factory was empty though there was a night watchman. However he was at one end of the site and I was taking the lead off, scampering along the roof top and dropping sheets of folded up lead to the ground at the other end of the site.
By three o’clock in the morning I had a pile of lead stacked so high there was no way I could carry it all off site. I had planned to come back for it the next night after stealing a van with which to cart the load off to the scrap merchants. Once I had climbed down the drainpipe, covered the lead with rusted old corrugated iron sheets and anything else I could find, I was knackered, knackered and absolutely filthy.
About eight hours earlier a lad by the name of Dean Barlow had given me the key to his older brother’s one bedroom flat on Whetley Lane; this was just up the road from White Abbey. His older brother had been arrested that morning and when Dean had been to see him at the police station, he told him there was a couple of months’ rent paid on the flat and as Dean had a spare key would he keep an eye on it for him.
The walk from the factory to the flat was a good half hour and on the way I had spotted at least half a dozen potential vans. I entered the flat, stripped down to my undies ready for a good wash, made a cup of tea then parked my arse on a chair. I was fast asleep before I had finished my cuppa. The next thing I remember is feeling a pain in my foot and hearing the question, “And who are you?”
Not being fully awake I replied, “Chris Kenny, who the fuck are yohhh shit.”
Stood in front of me was what appeared to be a giant copper. As I was slumped in the chair my head was level with his knees, in my half-awake state it seemed to take forever for my eyes to work their way up to his head. The rest of the flat was swarming with coppers too. Now I was awake and kicking myself for blurting out my name. The pain I had in my foot was from the copper kicking me just before he asked who I was. I was with it enough by now to realise they were not here for me, illegal it certain is, but you don’t get that much police attention for nicking lead.
My first instinct was to clamp up and try to concoct a believable reason for me being there. I just needed to come up with enough bullshit for them to leave me on my own for one minute and I would be long gone. It didn’t happen.
It turned out that Dean’s brother was a prolific burglar. Just about everything in the flat was stolen, from the cup I had been drinking out of, to the bed I never got to lay in. As I hadn’t had a chance to have a good look around the flat I wasn’t aware of all the stolen goods stacked up in the bedroom or stuffed into cupboards and drawers. I had slept in a veritable Aladdin’s cave. As far as the police were concerned I was in on it with Dean’s brother, all the way up to my freshly sprouted friggin armpits. I was arrested and driven to the police station.
My idea about telling the police a load of nonsense soon changed. Apart from telling them about the lead theft I told them the truth. I was on the run from Approved School and Dean had let me stay at the flat. They didn’t ask me how I had managed to get so dirty, I assumed they expected someone who had been on the run for a few weeks and had been sleeping rough would be expected to be filthy. By the end of the day, after speaking to Dean and his brother, they finally accepted that I really did know bugger all about Aladdin or what he had been up to. I was left feeling quite relieved though I wasn’t looking forward to having to go back to Aycliffe. By eight o’clock that night I had changed my mind.
As a juvenile I wasn’t allowed to be placed in the male cells so I was put in a female cell. They were no different from male cells, just in a separate part and well away from the male adults. However they were not far enough away that you couldn’t hear what was going on.
It was that time of the evening when the drunks began rolling in. Most had managed to get themselves arrested on purpose so they had somewhere warm to spend the night.
There was one particular wino who insisted on singing at the top of his voice. At first it was quite funny but after an hour I was joining in with everybody else who was shouting at him to, “shut the fuck up.” These requests to button it just seemed to spur him on. He had a repertoire of four songs, Green Green Grass of Home, Sal
ly (pride of our alley), Sailor Stop Your Roaming and You Need Hands. If you have heard of the Pub Singer, well that was his singing style and every line ended in, “Ahh.”
“Shoe knee heyyns chew hole shumown shoe loveshooo Ahh.”
(You need hands to hold someone who loves you)
It drove me up the sodding wall.
I was resigned to being kept overnight and fully expected a staff member from Aycliffe to pick me up the following day, so it came as quite a surprise when the social worker who had been present during my police interview turned up around ten o’clock. It was even more of a surprise when he informed me I was not going to be sent back to Aycliffe. They had found me a place in a children’s home in Bradford called Brunswick. The social worker was to take me there that night rather than in the morning.
Copy of a letter from Aycliffe:
You are aware that Steven ran away again on Sunday last. We have had no news of him since. During the week it was discovered that, prior to his departure, he broke into a staff house and stole an amount of cash. In the light of this and also of his recent court appearance, we feel that the stage has been reached where we can no longer usefully do anything with Steven here. You are aware of the difficulties caused in the past by his placement so far from his home area. We are, therefore, removing Steven’s name from the School register. Should you wish a re-assessment to take place, the assessment centre would be willing to accept him in the normal way if you make such an application.
The drunk had been quiet for a while and as the social worker and I walked to the Desk Sergeant’s area I shouted out a request for Green Green Grass of Home. As you can imagine, the abuse I received from the other prisoners was vociferous, but funny, made even funnier by the fact that the social worker looked like he was about to shit himself. I don’t think the drunk was as drunk as he had made out, he waited until all the swearing had died down, by which time I had picked up what little property I had come in with and the social worker and I were serenaded as we walked out of the back door of the cop shop.
“Heowdown hushashame Ahh.
Heys ah shtedown fummachain Ahh.”
Chapter 13
The social worker and I turned onto Brunswick Road and pulled up outside the eponymous Brunswick Road Children’s Home. I don’t know what I was expecting with regards to the home, the staff, or the treatment I was in for, but I’m sure my expectations were a mile away from the reception I received. Apart from the office and the reception area the place was in darkness.
All the kids were fast asleep and there was only one member of staff on duty. He introduced himself, we were back to the ‘Aunty and Uncle’ routine and he was Uncle Jim. We were led into the office and after a few minutes of the social worker bringing Uncle Jim up to speed about me, the social worker left.
Up to now Uncle Jim had been very nice; judging by past experience I fully expected him to change once it was just he and I. He didn’t.
“You’re bloody filthy,” he said looking me up and down, “what have you been up to?”
“You don’t want to know,” I replied.
“You’re right, I probably don’t, are you hungry?”
“Yes,” I said and he led me off into the kitchen.
He told me he was no great shakes when it came to cooking but if I liked scrambled eggs on toast he was happy to make some for me. I was more than happy with that. He talked while I ate and then he took me through the building and showed me my room.
Brunswick was a relatively new building. It smelled new, new paint and fresh wood. Even the lay out was new. It puts me in mind now of a barn conversion, high ceilings and open plan areas. As you walked in through the main door, to your left were the offices, living area and kitchen. To your right, a short flight of stairs led up to a corridor which stretched down to your left, this was the boy’s bedroom area and bathrooms.
The girl’s bedrooms were an exact replica of the boy’s but were directly above and they were accessed by stairs at the beginning of the corridor. There was also one staff living area on each floor. I’m trying to describe this as best I can now because it will become relevant later on.
Uncle Jim ran me a bath then left me to get on with it. Five minutes later I was stood with a towel round me as Uncle Jim knocked before opening the door. I still wasn’t completely clean and the towel I was holding was filthy so he ran me another bath. The second bath did the trick and after climbing into a pair of fresh clean pyjamas, I slept like a log. Those few introductory moments are exactly how I remember them though the dialogue is not verbatim, that was the gist of it. It would be difficult for me to forget someone who, having only just met me, treated me with such kindness, my only regret is that I repaid his kindness by being such a little shit.
The other staff I believe were Aunty Pat, Uncle Jim’s wife, Aunty Val and another Uncle Jim, I think he was the head of the place and he was a fucking bully. I know I should apologise for the seemingly gratuitous use of the naughty swear word, but I won’t. Just to call him a bully would not be doing him justice.
The thing that got to me was, if my memory serves me right, he was an ex wrestler and a sturdy looking fella. He was intimidating by his looks; he didn’t have to be a bully as well. Mind you, I don’t think he was particularly good as a wrestler; he looked as though he had landed on his face a few times.
When I started writing this I hoped it may be cathartic, you have no idea how good it feels to get some of this off my chest, to say the things I wish I’d had the balls to say at the time.
Life at Brunswick was a far cry from the majority of the other places I had been in. None of the doors were locked and if old Jackie Palo wasn’t about, it was easy going and there was a good atmosphere about the place. Another difference was this was the first time I had been in a home where I wasn’t one of the youngest. There were half a dozen or so other kids my age, Gina Ullah, Ellen Walton, D.M and a lad that I got on with well A.C. There were a couple more but these four were the ones I got on with best. Especially Gina, we soon became very close, even closer when she would tie her alarm clock which she set for two in the morning to a couple of pairs of tights and lowered it down to my bedroom window.
Now I didn’t want to be accused of stealing the alarm clock so I would sneak up to her room once the alarm went off and give her it back. It didn’t seem right to me, after having woken her from her sleep that I just walk out, so I usually stayed for an hour or so chatting and . . . stuff. I thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do.
All of the kids attended a mainstream school, however once more they were unable to find a school that was prepared to take me. Aunty Val told me that they had contacted Eccleshill School and the headmaster had said no, which was a shame really; it was just around the corner and my youngest brother Andy attended. I should also mention that Brunswick was on one side of a small park. On the other side of the park was a pub called the Roebuck, this was later that year run by a couple by the name of Philip and Margaret Nelson.
So, after traipsing from Brighouse to Bradford to York and then Durham, I ended up in a Children’s home less than five hundred yards from what was soon to be my family’s home.
Brunswick then contacted Buttershaw Comp. I don’t want to offend anyone connected with the place or anyone who attended that school, (it was over thirty five years ago after all) but thankfully Buttershaw said no as well. This meant that during the week, in school hours, I had the whole place to myself, apart from the staff that is.
For the first week or two I stayed in the home, occasionally going out for things like the medical with the butch nurse and such like. There was a no smoking rule which I constantly ignored by going to the loo and having a cigarette. Every time I was sussed and given a bollocking, every time I would do it again. In the end we came to an agreement. If I left my fags in the office I could ask for them one at a time provided I smoked it outside the back door.
I only absconded once from there, though technically I guess it was mo
re than once. By that I mean when I was allowed to go out on my own, a couple of times I just didn’t bother going back for a few days. That to me was not the same as buggering off in the middle of the night. I’m sure however the powers that be didn’t see it the same way.
The first time I was a couple of days late I had the misfortune of going back when Uncle Jim the bully was on duty. He laid into me verbally and stood as close to me as he could, quite obviously trying to intimidate me. It worked, I was intimidated, and so I did my, ‘going somewhere else in my head’ thing. The trouble was that made it worse because every time he asked me a question he had to repeat it at least twice because I hadn’t heard a friggin word he’d said.
The next thing I know he had dragged me to another room, shoved me down onto a chair and slammed a pen and paper on the table in front of me. He wanted me to write down where I had been, what I had done and who I had been with. I flatly refused. I would not even give the police a written statement so I was buggered if I was going to do one for this flat faced fucker.
I mention this because I honestly believe that my actions that day were a catalyst for something that happened, something that should never have happened. Please bear in mind that I’m writing this with the twenty twenty vision of hind sight and fifty years under my belt. Back then I was fourteen, I may have been streetwise but I was extremely naïve in other areas. I’ll crack on and you can decide for yourself.
On one occasion I was being looked after during the day by Aunty Val. She was around thirty four years of age and a single mother; she was a tall attractive woman with a mass of dark hair. On this day she told me that she needed to go out to collect something, I believe it was for her daughter, but she couldn’t leave me on my own. She made a big thing about not being able to go later and would I mind going with her. I said I didn’t mind so we both jumped into her car and off we went.