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

by Joseph Kane

  That was my dad all right; a real nutter. He met his match one time in the town centre when four police officers kicked the shit out of him for being drunk and uncooperative. My Uncle Mick went mad. It wasn’t right what they did to him, but dad could definitely start trouble, even if he never finished it. What pissed me off the most, was how he moved away once he became sober. Bournemouth was nearly three hundred miles down south, on the coast. Supposedly, it was a place where he, and my uncles spent their summer vacations as kids. What was the point? I’d never see him again. The fact was, he abandoned me.

  Seeing more happier days, mum, Chris, and his cousin had a few drinks one night, as everyone listened to music in our half-furnished flat. The lady in the flat above us lived on her own, so my mum invited her to join us for a few hours. Not yet carpeted, the floor was black with the marble-like surface I had slept on. Not much of a drinker, the lady just smoked cannabis. Everyone had fun until she lost it.

  “Where is it? My weed has gone.”

  Becoming more agitated, the woman started to get paranoid.

  “Have you got it? It’s not just disappeared.”

  Blaming my brother and his cousin, she increasingly became more volatile. Aiming her attention to his cousin, he was blamed for stealing it.

  “I’ve not touched your weed; I don’t even smoke it.”

  Frantically walking around the flat trying to find it, no one could see it anywhere. Stood under the bedroom doorway, she pulled a knife out and stabbed my brother's cousin deep in his stomach, before leaving the flat. Shouts and panic bellowed from our windows.

  “Levi quick, get him in the car.”

  Falling limp, Chris and Levi carried him to the car. Levi drove at eighty miles per hour through red traffic lights before he nearly died.

  “Hold on lad; don’t go to sleep.”

  “We are nearly there; just hang on.”

  Having been stabbed in the stomach, he bled and bled internally, giving him much needed time for anyone to save him. If he were stabbed in his vital organs, it would have been over in a minute.

  “Quick, someone get me a doctor.”

  Rushing out, nurses and doctors rushed him to surgery just as his luck had nearly run out. Being the good guy he was, he didn’t deserve to die. He luckily made a full recovery. The woman that stabbed him avoided jail because she was six months pregnant.

  Two of Chris’s friends were not so lucky on that estate. One of them stabbed a black man to death after stealing his shoes worth £120 from his flat. The other stabbed a man to death for disrespecting his girlfriend. Each of them received life in prison for premeditated murder. Fifteen years in jail was a scary thought, even if it was cut down to ten for good behaviour. I didn’t know one person with rationality from that estate. Chris also had a friend that was given life in prison for holding his dying friend after being stabbed. It was not a good environment to grow up in, but that’s just how it was.

  Levi and mum became close over time. He was a cool guy. His family didn’t like the fact that he was moving on, but he just wanted to be happy. Nobody could see that. His family had tough skin. Some were borderline gangsters. Half of his family seemed intimidating. The other half made an effort in getting to know us. Now more of a stepdad, some of his sons thought he was spending more time with me, instead of his grandkids. All we ever did was go to the shop in his car. Levi was a laid-back guy. I wouldn’t say he ever spent quality time with me; it was mainly about him and my mum. That didn’t stop one of his sons from reaching across the driver’s side, to try and grab me. Levi pulled up outside his son's house to see if they were ok one day. I was pretty scared of his family. On the other hand, they deterred anyone from bothering us. Everyone in Preston knew them in a friendly way, I mean let’s face it, who would ever stand up to an ex-boxer that was built like a brick shithouse, with an army of sons ready to take the world on. My mum got away with murder. Just when I thought he might calm her down, she used him for his money to drink every day and to cause havoc. It was like a license to steal. Every pub we crawled to, she would cause loads of trouble, then hide behind poor Levi whenever the shit hit the fan. I felt really bad for him. He wasn’t the brightest book on the shelf but always had good intentions. Mum needed sorting out. I just wanted the madness to stop. We needed good stability in a shit situation. After my abuse on the farm, I thought she would experience a wake-up call. Nothing changed the way she was, and so it went on drinking into oblivion. She was the fire, while Levi was the petrol fuelling the insanity. I hated how she flaunted around like everything was a big joke. She was the star of her show, while the rest of us were her chaperones.

  Levi continued to live next door, with plans to move in with us. There was no point in having two flats next door to each other. He received compensation for his back, as well as receiving disability benefits. I only know because she spent it, and it was the only time she bought some clothes for Chris and me. He wasn’t far from his pension after spending his life in the motor trade like my family. My mum took full advantage of him. She didn’t care about anyone but herself. Cracks began to surface into her true nature. It was pathetic listening to her tell Levi stories, while drunk. He was taken in by everything she said. Bullshit stories about her dad, or how she climbed Ben Nevis and jumped out of a plane at 10,000 feet. All of which, I found questionable. She became a drunk like her dad, that’s the only story she can tell. I was starting to lose my patience with her. She finally met her match when she became toxic towards Levi and me. One night at home while drunk on her high horse, she started kicking off, keeping us both up all night. It got to a point where she kicked Levi and me out of the flat. I wasn’t initially kicked out. She climbed into my bunk bed, leaving me with nowhere to sleep. Only having one mattress, she had fallen asleep in my bed, while we had no choice but to stay next door. I ended up sleeping on John’s bed, while he played on his PC. Poor Levi sat in his living room in the dark. The next day his daughter came around to ask us what happened. She was furious like a storm. Mum just pissed off the wrong family. His daughter marched straight into my bedroom, climbed my bunk bed and punched the shit out her. We didn’t witness it, but her whole arms were black and blue from covering her face. When I returned home, I found her cowering in the corner on my top bunk. It was sad that it came to this. At the same time, she brought it on herself. She was able to put me through hell, but the second she did it to someone else, she got knocked down a level or two. Being so young, I didn’t have a voice. I was shocked by how Levi defended anything she did wrong towards me. She never let it drop, about how his daughter kicked the shit out of her. From that day forward, she had him right where she wanted.

  The last piece of the puzzle, to how life worked on the estate, finally came together when I started my new primary school in the next street. I endured the longest boredom of my entire life; it couldn’t come fast enough. At least I could look forward to free school dinners with something to do during the day. At the age of ten, my school attendance had become ridiculous since leaving nursery. I was in the last year before high school, and not prepared one bit. I had no education thanks to mum and dad. The exams took place at the end of the year before we broke up for the summer holidays. There was no way I could learn five years worth of education to get any questions right. My first day felt great in my new uniform. Mum hated it when I changed schools. Buying new uniforms cost her a small fortune. All she did was complain. I had already looked around the school a few months prior, so I knew where the entrance was. The first morning, my name was shouted to wake me up from the opposite bedroom; that was about as much enthusiasm as mum gave. My new school seemed the best so far. The layout was cool, the teachers were friendly, and the dinners were delicious. Our headmistress was a lovely lady who showed off her piano skills with an opera singing voice. The kids in my class weren’t all bad, apart from a few off the estate that I didn’t know yet. The teacher sat me next to a round table with other kids. A mixed-race girl was naughty, repeated
ly asking to go to the toilet. You could tell she was local. She started verbally shouting at the teacher, before telling her to fuck off on her way out, slamming the door shut. I couldn’t believe it, at the same time it had to be expected. One of the bad boys started whispering to me.

  “Oi you, what’s your name?”

  I faced the teacher ignoring him. I later found out when he was in a fight with another kid from the estate, that he was the cock of the school. Regardless, it was still a pleasant environment. Integrating went smooth once they all found out who I was.

  Every Thursday, we lined up on the yard to get on the bus that took us swimming. The boy’s raced to the back of the bus to get the back seats. There was only one time I raced because I was already at the front of the queue. Running down the bus aisle, just as I was about the reach the back step, one of the lads had tripped me up. By accident or not, I smashed the side of my nose against the back step. By the time I stood up crying, all the kids were in their seats. Blood gushed from a large cut down the side of my nostril. Within seconds, I stood in a pool of blood before the teachers took me to the staff room to wait for an ambulance. The hole went straight through. Shaking from all the blood loss, I drank five glasses of water from thirst, like I’d been on a desert island for a week. It seemed like a major accident would happen after every change in my life.

  After some time, a whole network of people, and the goings on throughout the estate revealed itself. There was always something happening such as a crime or a drama, that always took the edge off any nerves. Awkward silence made me feel uncomfortable. I never intended to be bad or to get involved with those people. I suddenly found myself being a street kid, seeing the same faces every day. The environment becomes a tide. If we didn’t go with the flow, we would get washed away. Everything becomes strange. The daily experiences mixed with everyone’s unique personality became second nature. It seemed like every moment was meant to happen. Any differences that didn’t follow suit became greyed out. The same thing happened in Chorley. That’s when I knew I had to go with it. The transition left me disheartened of course, when I was attacked three times and punched in the face from evil kids, while I cried on the floor. Violence terrified me. Nobody knew what I witnessed with my dad and my mum’s ex-boyfriends. They thought I was the biggest pussy ever. To me, violence horrified me. At the age of ten, I believe I had something similar to PTSD, but who knew or cared. “Sort yourself out” was the antidote that everyone used. Mental health problems were laughed at. It didn’t matter if I woke up screaming with nightmares about violence. It didn’t matter if I shook uncontrollably every time two people argued, or if I ran away every time there was a loud bang. My peers took me for a weak, skinny loser. They were right. I weighed no more than three bags of sugar, and was terrified of my own shadow; literally. Everyone gave me a pass thanks to my stepdad and his family, as well as Chris and his reputation. That acceptance gave me enough time to adapt to my surroundings, something I was brilliant at.

  “Go on Joseph, hit him!”

  “He’s a free target, just hit him!”

  “Come on.”

  I punched and punched until my arms became tired. There was a tramp in my class that everyone hated. He always stunk of piss and shit. I don’t know if he did it on purpose for everyone to leave him alone, but boy did he smell. Now in a gang, hanging around with the cock of the school among others, I was expected to do what they did. Everyone hated the tramp. He had a rat face, rat hair and stunk. I didn’t want to hit him. The whole situation was made out to be fun. The poor guy was bullied every day, but no wonder. He just grinned, making it worse for himself. He looked me in my eyes as I punched away, while my gang had hold of him on each side. He knew I was the weak link in the chain. After a few weeks, he followed me home, insisting he was going to get me. I laughed at him, occasionally turning around to look as he trailed me. I wasn’t trailing him with his smell, that was for sure. Out of the blue, he ran up from behind and punched me hard in the nose. I stood crying while the blood pissed out. He got me from behind as revenge. It was my own fault of course, but expectations were in place. My quality of life wouldn’t be smooth if I didn’t meet those expectations. Ever since, I had a kind of resentment that slowly built up. Corruption shook me to the core, as it naturally would to a child. The innocence gradually left me in semesters. Bad influence embalmed me every day. I knew it was wrong, yet I embraced it because I had to. I bullied and battered that tramp for the rest of the year, calling him every name under the sun. As the saying goes; if you can’t beat them, join them. It was dog-eat-dog as Rocky taught me.

  Come 5pm, while everyone drove home from work leading a normal life, thirty kids were congregating around the shops getting ready to terrorise the community. Within the ranks were four generations of gang members. First, there were the young kids that would throw stones, attack you for no reason, or swear at you; kind of like ankle-biting dogs. Then there was my age group, ten to thirteen-year-olds that owned the streets far and wide, stealing and terrorising. After that, was Chris’s age group with people in their early twenties dealing drugs, committing murder, having parties galore, and shagging every woman in sight. Finally, there were seasoned criminals aged forty that had spent hard time in prison, smoked and drank their fair share of substances, while hanging around pubs all day creating a name for themselves. I’d say there were five generations, but the elders were inactive, barely hanging on to life. They would go down with the ship holding on to their way of life until the end. It all started when grandparents and parents left their kids astray, creating an eternal cycle of shit, day in, day out. People labelled us a gang; it’s more like a community or a family brought together from the same social situation. Nobody goes out of their way to live like we did, its imposed upon us. I was slap-bang in the middle of that cycle of hell. Each member had their own unique traits, and what a freak show. With the right conditions, at the right time, society can spew out an epitome of exactly what’s wrong with this country. Here are some examples in no particular order.

  There was a boxer that wanted to fight everyone and usually lead us into armed riots. (Leader)

  Thieves that stole from their own family, the public, or shops in town.

  Jokers that set fire to buildings, bins, and cars, or threw fireworks into shops.

  Evil who would find pleasure from terrorising old or vulnerable people.

  The perverted who would start wanking in the middle of the street, or pull everyone's pants down for a laugh.

  Opportunist that would assault, steal, or abuse in situations they could take advantage of.

  A supplier that supplied everyone’s drink and drugs, as well as locating parties to crash, girls to take advantage of, or homes to burgle.

  A racist that would assault and attack groups from ethnic minorities.

  Thrill seekers that would steal busses, tractors, motorbikes, cars, etc.

  A terroriser that would smash up everything, including police cars.

  Scruffy kids known to be lookouts and beggars.

  Some individuals had a few or all of these traits. Being together in a group, we took advantage of every single opportunity that presented itself day and night. It was pure madness. Sadly, their behaviour started from a very young age, barely scratching the surface. A Child psychologist would have a field day. Then last, but not least you had me; someone that loved being chased by citizens or the police. I wasn’t a hardened criminal, or confident to do serious crimes, but I could certainly run, or do crazy stunts on motorbikes. Just like school, I wasn’t there from the beginning. Being at the bottom of the pecking order, I might have been in the gang, but still wasn’t thought of enough to be given a task. Members wouldn’t teach me how to hotwire a car, or how to roll a joint. That was my blessing in disguise. The less I knew, the better the outcome I’d have. Like a dog chasing a stick, I didn’t know what to do once I caught it. With all the bad stuff, I still fought hard to stay good. Each one of us had the same shitty p
arents, that spent all the money in the pub. Some families were good, but flat broke in poverty. They had no idea what their kids were getting up to, nor did they care enough to ask. Even the police couldn’t handle us. Whenever they answered a call, they would return to a police car with smashed windows, flat tyres, and graffiti written all over in spray paint. Watching eight police officers in five vehicles, trying to catch twenty of us, beats watching television any day. When it got on-top (hot) we set alight bins in the middle of the road creating a blockade. Being built, I believe in the 1950s, we had a network of inaccessible pathways, fences to climb over, or homes we could camp in until the coast was clear. Every time I returned home, I’d be panting in front of my silent mother that was transfixed to some crap on television. She would focus on rolling a cigarette for a second with her elbows on her knees before whispering concerning words.

  “What have you been doing then?”

  She didn’t give a monkey's. That was her slow, lethargic automated response without eye contact. I could have told her I had murdered someone. It would have fallen on deaf ears. The total ignorance around me gave me an incentive never to cross the line. To become like those around me was unthinkable. While everyone was going into peril, I knew if I crossed that line, there was no coming back. All I wanted to do was see Mickey Mouse in Florida.

  Trembling in my bedroom, my heart was beating hard as I tied my shoelaces. The feeling became more regular, every time I got ready to go out. Anxiety filled my system as the adrenaline pumped around my body. Blood was pushed to my vital organs to function better, leaving my hands and feet freezing cold.

  “I’m going out mum.”

  I didn’t have a flight or fight response; just a flight response. The second I got outside I sprinted towards the heart of the action, bursting vast amounts of energy to where everyone congregated. I was a rabbit that avoided capture, and I loved every second of it. Fear turned into adrenaline that became a rush like a drug that I needed every day.