My So Called Mum: Child abuse, Love & My Great Britain

by Joseph Kane

  Life carried on as usual with mum and the farm like nothing was happening. No one had any idea what Steven was doing to me. He knew how to get me where he wanted, so I wasn’t left with many options. It had become a battle of forces between his need, and my will not to. Something had to give sooner or later.

  It became quiet with only me and mum around the house. She never let me sleep in her bed unless I had a nightmare. Staying long term in that house was not foreseeable. It was the plain, featureless house it's always been. Not one roll of wallpaper had gone up since we moved in. Occasionally, we had rats under the floorboards that Jimmy had to remove by ripping the entire living room floor up. The rats were as big as cats, from such a healthy diet. Night time was hard to get any sleep. The only toys I had were a few small figures under my bed. We had to go to the dentist in the morning, so I had to go to sleep. Still no car, we walked through a wooded area back to civilisation in Leyland. The dentist was close to my school. I’d been for check-ups in the past, but this appointment was far from a check-up. I never liked the sharp bit they pressed against my gums; it made me freak out every time. We came to a compromise of only using the small mirror. The dentist man told me he had to give me a filling. Not thinking anything of it, he gently pressed a gas mask over my face to sedate me. Those were the years before Novocaine injections were introduced. Pushing the mask away, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like being back in that barn between the bales of hay with Steven. Each time I pushed it away, the dentist man put the mask over my mouth.

  “Can we get some more nurses in here please.”

  “Come on Joseph; you need to do it,” mum said while rubbing my arm.

  The bastard smothered me with the mask while four nurses held me down. I kicked, fought, and struggled until I passed out; not completely unconscious, just very drowsy. The pain as he drilled into my bottom right tooth was worse than falling through nettles and being attacked by bees put together. I could feel him push something hard into my tooth to fill it. I was traumatised. Mum didn’t say anything on the way home, or on the way there for that matter. My feeling towards her started to become negative. I could only ever weigh mum up whenever the farmer's wife came to visit. I hugged her every time. She was such a nice lady. It wasn’t the same for my mum. If only they both knew what Steven was doing.

  Hanging around the front of our house one day, the side gate was being opened so the tractor could come out. It was the dirty lad. Sometime later, Steven managed to find and manipulate me to go with him like he usually did. Other times I had to go while mum went out. This time we had to take the tractor to let the cows out. He didn’t just let the cows out, he had sex with them first. I was sure this was the time he would hurt me. If I didn’t tell anyone, how could I stop it? When we got there, he told me to wait while he climbed up the embankment to find another calf. As he disappeared over the tree line, I started to worry about what I was in for. The last occasion took him twenty minutes to catch one, so I had to think fast. He nearly raped me in the barn. After a moment, answers and solutions flooded my instinct. If I run home now, I could get there before he returned to his tractor. The plan seemed right, but something kept me back. Thinking too hard crashed my memory. He’s going to come over that tree line any second if I don’t run now. Something in the back of my tiny skull shouted RUN! As fast as I could, I sprinted down the long muddy trail surround by leaning trees. They leaned straight towards me as if to stop me. Looking over my shoulder every two seconds, the main road was nearly before me. My small legs could barely keep up with my speed causing me to nearly trip over. Once on the main road, I eased off the gas catching my breath. I knew it was just a little bit further. My little heart was beating fast, but I had to keep going. I ran over a mile before I heard a large vehicle amongst all the passing traffic. I looked back to see a big monstrous tractor coming for me. Still in a quick march, I could hear it getting closer. As it reached the side of me, its huge wheels rolled straight past me. Thank god for that, it was someone else. There was no sign of Steven. When I got home, I frantically ran through the front door. My mum was in the kitchen cooking something, and I knew I had to tell her quickly. What if she hits me, I thought? I stood halfway up the stairs catching my breath, ready to run in the bathroom, the only room with a lock on the door. I shouted her numerous times through the wooden railing for her attention, getting her angry which was a sign that she was listening clearly.

  “Mum, Steven put his willy into a cow's bum, and he tried to do it to me.”

  “WHAT!” She screamed.

  I quickly ran into the bathroom and locked it shut. Mum had to convince me to come out after I made her promise not to smack me. Relief flooded my veins. She phoned the police where I was taken to the police station to be gently questioned. Once Chris found out he chased Steven down the road to try and kick the shit out of him, but he ran like a coward. My dad, on the other hand, chased Jimmy down the road, dragged him out of his tractor and beat him up. I later found out they had a fire that completely burnt the barn down by someone who will remain anonymous. It was good to hear they lost something out of this ordeal, even if it was only a few thousand pounds. It still didn’t replace my innocence or dignity. After what he did, I was just glad he never got the chance to rape me. If I didn’t run that day, who knows what he had planned. Steven Wilding still lives on his farm with his dad on Leyland Lane, Leyland, Preston. They still rent out their spare house next door. He denied everything of course during his interview, so there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. I was just glad to get out of that rat-infested shithole. Things were never the same after that. Steven still lives in the house on the right leading a happy life.

  My strange, absent mum had let me down. I just didn’t realise at the time.

  Chapter 3 - Dad’s Second Chance

  With the farm gladly behind us, we all moved back to Preston. Back to where it all started. The only difference is, I was a newborn baby the last time I lived there. Dad managed to get a flat of his own, so mum and I moved in with him. It was good being together as a happy family. Chris was living somewhere else. I got the impression he never got on with my dad; they were never seen together. That could explain why we moved to Chorley in the first place. Now going on seven, it was time for a fresh start. Changing schools was the only downside. Every time I made new friends in a new school or town, we were on the move again. Life was boring alone. It was the first time I could spend some quality time with dad, other than just a quick hello. The flat was certainly cool. We lived on the second floor, of a three-story building shared with two other flats, close to the town centre. Situated on a corner, the living room windows enabled us to see the street and the main road. Just across the road were two pubs, and two shops all bunched up together. Along our corridor inside the flat were the kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom right at the end. It was different from having my own room. They had the king-size bed, while I was on a camp bed in the corner. Night time had to be the worst times ever. The flat never had any central heating, and the window was single glazed. Lying under the window with a thin sleeping bag, I was absolutely freezing! Just below us lived a really nice lady named Josie, who became a close family friend. In the mornings, we would rise to the beautiful smell of sausages, bacon, and eggs being cooked in the café next door directly below us. It was indeed an improvement to smelling cow shit every day. Dad sometimes bought something in the mornings. When he did, he ordered a sausage butty; two sausages cut in half on white bread with oozing brown sauce all over. That was the damn finest thing I had ever eaten. I would sit on the floor in front of him watching his every last bite, as he sat on the sofa resting his ankle over his right knee in his usual posture. He only bought himself one. They both stayed at home all day, so I don’t think we had much money. If I were lucky, he would let me have a bite, or even give me half. I would savour every last mouthful. Mum was always in and out of the living room, or in and out of the flat. She could never sit still and was a mystery
to me. She seemed on the edge like she didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin. I couldn’t work her out.

  Just like every move, there was a waiting period to get me into a new school; something I always loathed. It was a good spot where we lived, convenient for everything we needed; town, a large park, shops, churches, and public transportation were all within throwing distance. Unable to hang around the front of the house, or allowed to go out, all I could do was hang around mum and dad, and how exciting could that be. Dad took me for a walk into town to visit a church. Saint Wilfred’s church was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. Walking inside for the first time was unreal. Marble pillars stood tall on each side between gold chandeliers. Rows and rows of benches were laid straight to the front of the altar, where statues and ornaments surrounded the enormous crucifix of Jesus Christ. Walking in the foyer, dad showed me how to put holy water on my forehead, before lighting a candle. The clean smell of burning wax made me feel lethargically cleansed. The silence within the church could calm any storm within a man’s heart. He seemed to like those candles. For some silly reason when he turned his back, I put two of them into my pocket. On the way home, I showed dad what I took for him. Unaware of the principle as to why we lit candles in the first place, he went mad and scolded me. I was in deep trouble. He took my hand and pulled me into a building of offices we stood next to. “I’m taking you to the police station.” Scared out of my mind, I begged him not to. “Can I speak to a police officer; my son has been stealing.” He said to the lady over the counter. She looked at me, then said “ok” to my dad before walking off. Looking at dad, he looked suspiciously comfortable leaning against the desk on his side, with one leg behind the other. He made me promise him never to steal again; I agreed. “Come on let’s go.” He must have winked at her to play along. It was a smart lesson to teach me. I had no plans to steal after that day.

  It was good being around both parents. It gave me a sense of security. Days passed, and nights came without doing much throughout the day. Mum and I might nip to town, while dad used to go out. Being close to plenty of pubs, we sometimes went for a drink during the day. I would have half a pint of coke or lemonade, while they had a pint of beer. By dinner time it was really quiet. Older locals would read their paper, smoking a cigarette with one hand, turning the pages with the other, as they licked their yellow, nicotine coloured fingers. On one occasion from boredom, I began biting on my glass. Mum and dad started bickering about god-knows-what. I bit so hard that a piece of glass broke off in my mouth. In front of me was an empty glass with a perfect bite mark the shape of my rounded teeth; pretty impressive for a seven-year-old. Dad freaked out with his hand in front of my mouth like he was feeding a horse. “Spit it out, quick.” That was the highlight of our life I guess, going to the pub for a mouth full of glass. What else was there to do for people. Unemployment was high, families lived on the breadline, and technology hadn’t got going. Dad was a fully qualified mechanic, while mum had been an auxiliary nurse. It wasn’t that they couldn’t work; they just chose not to. They chose to drink instead. We got to know a few people living on the edge of an estate. Now I know mums secret to making friends. It was pretty cool seeing such animated people drunk by 1pm. The same faces would come and go. There was one man that used to make me laugh. ‘Stan the man’ was a big old guy on the doorstep of the pub smoking. He always wore a long grey checkered overcoat with his white mop hairstyle, and numerous teeth missing. Laughing and joking all the time, you would hear him before seeing him. No one would imagine everyone in the pub being out of work, as happy as they were. Some people only went for one pint. You had to look out for the locals; they were the ones that went for two pints. Two turned in to three pints; then three pints turned into a table full of empty glasses. Before you knew it, the jukebox was blasting, the newspaper is in the bin, and I’m playing pool or using the slot machine in a smoke-filled pub while everyone is dancing, hugging each other or falling over in complete hysterics. All this was happening before 2.30pm. Complete anarchy if I say so myself. By 4.30pm, once the community got a whiff of the vibes, they would arrive as fresh as a daisy to fan the flames. By 7pm while the drunks were trying to catch up to the paralytics, I was starving. It was funny and entertaining for a while, but then I would get hungry and restless. Coke and a packet of crisp could only keep me going for so long. “Mum, can I have some money to go to the shop?” Trying to interrupt a bunch of drunk people in the middle of a laughing, mumbling, swaying conversation was like trying to wake up the dead. I might as well be pulling on a tree branch; I’d probably get more of a response. “Whattttt, whattttt, what do you want some money for?” She shouted. I could tell she was annoyed. I’d be going into her beer money, but it was worth a try. Sometimes I got a pound coin to get some sweets. The gelatine gave me at least some protein. Hopefully, this was just a phase mum and dad were going through. Half the time it was just mum and me. Dad seemed to slip away somewhere.

  The time came when I was able to start my new school. Being unsettled, moving around constantly, starting the process once again messed my head up. Mum had got me into a primary school in the middle of town. Not formally a school, it looked as if it was used as a Parish. Conveniently there was a pub on the same road. Every morning mum would walk me to school. The playground, along with the classrooms all had disproportionate sizes. My class was huge. I was so far back, I could barely see the blackboard. The teacher made some effort, but I had no idea what was being taught. I just sat there because I had to, not because any of us in that class wanted to be there. The first week I had already upset the school bully. He pissed under a school table on one of our breaks, so I told the teacher, denying everything when he cornered me with his goons. That was my worst school yet. None of my time spent there had any strong points. The only events worth remembering was when I bumped heads with a girl, and a continuous nose bleed I had. I ran across the small playground, running headfirst into another girl at ten miles per hour. The lump on my head was the size of an apple. Sat in the staff room, I had to wait for mum to pick me up as I threw up in the teacher’s private bathroom. There is nothing worse than banging my head; something I’m well familiar with. The second event was when my nose bled continuously for no reason. Stood over the sink outside the makeshift toilets out on the yard, the blood just kept pouring. The teachers checked me every ten minutes. After thirty minutes, I had to be picked up to go home. If anyone went through the wars as a kid, it had to be me. During that year, there were not many kids I would consider my friend apart from Bill. Bill was my best friend who went home with his mum in the same direction as my mum and me. When it was home time, we raced through gardens, down a wall as if it was an obstacle course. I wished I could do that every day after school, but sadly mum had better ideas. When the school bell went for home time, all the parents waited by the gates. The iron gates survived the war, but the perimeter fence was cut down in the 1940s to help the war effort. Other happy parents collected their children, excited to know what their day consisted of. Mum and dad took turns to collect me. Instead of heading home for tea, we headed straight to the end of the road where a packet of crisp, and a glass of coke awaited me. Only God knows what other parents thought when I was picked up from school and taken straight into a pub. It wasn’t the usual routine for a seven-year-old. Every other kid went home to a lovely meal in front of the TV. I had to sit still until mum was drunk enough to stagger home with half a lemon in her mouth, pretending it was her teeth. One was not amused. Trying to get mum home was a logistics operation. My tea was always cancelled. There was no point looking in an empty fridge. The only food I was given was a tin of spaghetti shapes on toast, but that was only when she was sober.

  The brief picture of normality would be mum and dad sat on the sofa, while I sat on the floor in front of the television. Our favourite programme came on at 7.30pm; ‘The Bill.’ It was a police drama about catching bad guys. ‘Coronation Street’ wasn’t my thing; I had enough drama. After it fin
ished, the long walk to my cold camp bed was expected, while they stayed in the warm living room by the calor gas heater. Being their only child, it would have been nice to get more affection. The only time I ever did, was when they let me lay across them on the sofa while mum played with my hair. Dad told me a joke one night when he took me to bed. He sat me on his right knee in the bedroom with just the hallway light on.

  “A man and his son went through the woods looking for their dog. He had run off, and they couldn’t find him. Slowly searching, they shouted his name.

  “What’s his name dad?”

  “Erm… Jasper.”

  “Walking deeply through the overgrowth, there was no sign of Jasper. Getting worried, they walked for miles. I think I found something, the man said to his son. Walking behind a tree, he had found his dog. Jasper was stood on his back legs, leaning against a tree. Hang on I’m having a piss, the dog replied.”

  I was in absolute stitches. Sat in the dark, we both laughed together before making him repeat the joke. Dad could be cool when he was around. My favourite, was when he used to bounce me up and down on his knee, before opening his legs leaving me to fall to the ground full of laughter. Mum was boring with never much to say. Not unless she was drunk.

  When I was eight, the day of my first Holy Communion had arrived. The kids and I from my school year were all ready to receive the sacrament. The dress code was white, with an exception to the boys black pants. We all lined up outside St Wilfred’s Church, the one I stole from, so this was my chance to get straight in the eyes of God. Darren shaved my head, the barber me and dad visited in town. As we walked down the aisle in single file, the priest waited to bless us at the altar. Music blurred from the organ above our heads from a balcony set away. All of our families were sat on rows of benches proudly watching. Part of the sacrament, as we all stood on stage, was to receive bread and wine. The bread was great how it stuck to the roof of my mouth. The wine, on the other hand, was disgusting. How can mum and dad drink this poison? All the parents laughed as we all pulled faces from drinking the rancid wine. Dad didn’t need any more; he was still drunk from the night before. Josie from downstairs ironed his shirt for him. He missed most of it. After the service ended, everyone headed to the building next door for refreshments. Before we dived into jelly and ice cream, all my class lined up for a photograph. Bill and I stood side by side with huge smiles showing our dimples. Everyone looked like an angel. Catherine stood out like a sore thumb. At the age of 8, she was as big as a sixteen-year-old. We had to hurry if we wanted some of the buffet. That was the happiest day of my life. All my family came to watch me; grandparents, auntie, cousins, uncle, mum and dad were all here to see me. I sat on a chair swinging my short legs eating as much as I could with a smile on my face, while my family encircled me.