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

by Joseph Kane

  I lived for the chase until I finally met my match. In a small group of four, we flocked in the middle of the road running West holding stones. Uninformed until the last minute, the plan was to throw stones at a window on the third floor. Direct hit! One of us, certainly not my left hand, directly smashed it. No one came out of the flat; it seemed empty. An hour or so passed when it finally kicked off like a slow releasing drug.

  “It’s Iron Man, run!”

  “Who the hell is Iron Man?”

  A topless man charged directly towards us with hate-filled eyes. I wish I knew earlier why they called him Iron Man because this guy was a muscle-bound lunatic, that chased us for three straight days. At first, it was funny because we were too fast and agile for him. He climbed every fence we did and scaled every wall. We were on red alert. No one came out unless they needed to. Not unless they were ready to be chased for an hour. The third day, some of the lads stole a motorbike, trying to get back to normality. Iron Man had really screwed up our routine. Stood by the garages, we attempted to hotwire it while everything seemed calm. Razzing past us on a push bike, a lookout informed us of some bad news.

  “Quick, Iron Man’s coming!”

  “Kane, get in the garage quick,” Lee shouted.

  “I’m sick of running. I’ve not even done anything.”

  The boys hid in the garage with the motorbike, locking themselves in. I stood at the end of the garages, just by the road. It was like a Western movie. He would be at one end, while I was at the other. Prepared with nothing but a lie, Clint Eastwood would have been proud standing my ground. I don’t know when I turned into a diplomat. Who was I to think this guy had any rationality. I hated being called a pussy. It was an opportunity to climb the ranks. The meaning of a man’s life comes down to just one action. Before I realised the saying referred to men, not boys, he appeared from around the corner. Eyes wide open, bouncing muscles, and still topless, he charged straight at me. I concluded there was no way we could find an amicable solution when his golf ball flew past my head. I curled up in a bowl on the floor, begging for mercy. So much for valiance.

  “It wasn’t me, I swear.”

  He roughed me up a little, before dragging me down the street backwards by the scruff of my neck. My jumper strangled me; it was terrifying. I couldn’t breathe at all, choking on my own tongue, squealing like a pig. It was too tight around my neck to get my fingers in. My own weight nearly choked me to death as my ankles were dragged along the floor.

  “I’m taking you back to my flat; I’m going to tie you up, then kick the shit out of you for three days, after making me chase you for three days.”

  He displayed me for the whole community to see. The sister of our gang leader who whispered to me on my first day at school ran over and wrestled with him.

  “Get off him now!”

  “No, he’s fucking coming with me!”

  “John, Mark, Allen, get here now and help me.”

  She was looking over her shoulder shouting imaginary names, to get him to release me. In fear of reprisal, he gave up his catch and dropped me to the floor before walking off. Thank god someone came to my rescue before we reached his flat. I thought I’d never live long enough to see high school. From that day on, I stuck to what I knew; Running! I went home to brush myself off. Things like that never deterred us. We owned the streets. I could have had his home petrol bombed, his legs broke, then chased out of the estate if I wanted. We certainly had the resources, manpower, and willingness. The art of crime was getting away with it. To me, it was just part and parcel. Being bad was far too alien for me. The love from my grandparents always came back to haunt me, that’s why I never crossed the line into serious crime.

  Food was always hard to come by for some of us. It didn’t matter how scummy some parents were, they still managed to put food on the table, and that really pissed me off. The only time I questioned my mum's responsibility was when I watched kids begging on the streets for ten pence, while others got a guaranteed meal after school. Butter, maybe some cheese slices, and rock-hard bread seemed like an endless choice. Occasionally, my friends would make some toast for me at their house. I’d never seen two loaves of bread before next to each other. Even mums friends sometimes made me a meal. They knew she wasn’t looking after me. I became that skinny; I looked anorexic in some of the family photographs. I ripped them up with embarrassment. Living at home was like a concentration camp, but cleaner. I believe that’s why our gang became close to one another; each one of our parents was drinking in the pub. After galavanting around Preston, we always went for a pit stop, and a game of pool while our mums and dads propped each other up. The hope was to get a few quid out of them to be able to get some chips. Not once could we afford a burger from a takeaway with the money they gave us. They had to be drunk enough to hand over the money, but not too drunk, or the money would be gone. The timing was important. They were the shit; we were the flies. Some kids took a gamble on the slot machine, to try and turn £1 into £15. We walked around looking at the pub floor for loose change. Levi just sat at home, went to the bookies, or sat quietly next to my mum with a glass of lemonade. The well-known respected man, now had a little devil on his shoulder, whispering evil deeds into his ear while she marvelled in power. He listened and stuck by her as she tightened her grip on him like a snake. I started to see beyond her motherhood, and all I could see was a fraud, a woman that poisoned everything she touched. After my campaign of starvation without one complaint, I decided to put my foot down. Chris went mad at her in the past for empty cupboards; maybe it was time I stood up to her.

  “Mum I’m starving, and there is never any food in.”

  “I’ve no money, Levi will you tell him.”

  “Don’t get me involved; that’s between you and your son.”

  “I want some food now, or I’m ringing the police.”

  “I’ll get some tomorrow; will you shut up I can’t hear the telly.”

  “You won’t though; you never do because you spend it on fags and beer.”

  I stormed out to the nearest phone box. It was the same phone box I used when my dad was sticking her head out of the window, and this is the thanks I get. Maybe I should have let him, I thought to myself. As I explained to the operator how my mum wasn’t feeding me, Levi pulled up in his car.

  “Joseph, put the phone down will you. I’ll go to the shop and get some bread.”

  “Bread? I don’t want bread; I want a meal.” His answer insulted me.

  “I promise tomorrow I will get you some food.”

  I put the phone down for his effort. At least he was trying. My mum did nothing for me. I wanted to eat a nice warm meal that every child was entitled to, like some of my friends. I was so angry with her. She only cared about the drink. I wish I could say things changed after that, but they never did. School dinners, along with my grans cooking had to make do. With all my running every night playing cat and mouse, I burnt loads of calories off, not that I knew what calories were.

  The school year was over when my exam date finally approached. Being the youngest in my year, I’d still be eleven by the time I started high school. We all had plenty of time to prepare for the final test. “Try your best,” the teachers kept telling me. Unless I can rewind five years of education, there was no hope for me. They placed us in the main hall, with desk and chairs equally spaced out. I didn’t see what the fuss was. The results determined which set we were placed in. That’s when the penny dropped. Set one was the highest for the smart kids, while set four was the lowest for the dumb kids that misbehaved. I looked around at the sea of heads looking down on their papers. The questions might as well be in Chinese. Screw it! Tick, tick, tick, tick, done! My guess was as good as any because that’s all I did. I wish everyone would hurry up so I could go home. Thirty minutes passed with a feeling of dread. I failed miserably. Miraculously, I was placed in set three for maths. There was no equation to it really, I just randomly ticked away. The six weeks holidays kick
ed in before moving up to the big school. The fear never concerned me, until that first day arrived.

  I felt great whenever I put a new uniform on. Levi showed me how to do my tie, along with John. I wish my dad could see me. On my first day, mum paraded me outside our flat while eagerly waiting for us both to set off on my new adventure. She leaned towards me, pointing down the street.

  “School is that way.”

  “Are you not even taking me? It’s my first day.”

  “There is a boy there from the same school; go with him.”

  “I don’t even know him.”

  “You will make friends.”

  “Why can’t you just come?”

  “I can’t; I have things to do.”

  Words failed me. I walked off astounded. Basically, it’s too far, and she can’t be bothered. It wasn’t the safest routes, walking through a mile of wooded surroundings at 8am. Other kids walked in groups, so I followed them. I didn’t even know where it was. The following year, a six-year-old Muslim boy was raped and murdered on my same path to school, so it felt like a minefield. The police eventually caught the killer, but it wasn’t during my time at that school. I could have been that boy. It was a black man from the high-rise flats we lived near.

  Once getting over the first few days, school seemed fun. Most kids from the estate attended, so we took over in no time. The cock of the school was our gang leader unsurprisingly. Everyone soon knew their place. The other lads we met were from the surrounding areas, and now our gang had become an army. We didn’t have to worry about bigger lads from the last year, they were just an older generation from our estate, about to leave into a life of crime instead of employment. I met some great friends. Not one person came from the kind of background we did. We were a force to be reckoned with. It amused me how normal lads hung around us, curious at what kind of people we were. The rest of Preston must be average compared to us. Not many kids went to prison before reaching high school. We were in a league of our own. At the same time, it felt great being part of something we controlled. My class each day was a total zoo. Nobody could hear the teacher. Missiles were launched around the room. Teachers screamed until their eyes popped out. Home life was that bad, school became a place to let my hair down. I ran wild with the rest of the class, having the best time of my life. My behaviour was picked up, resulting in detentions all the time with the headmaster. When the bell went at dinner time, those on detention were expected to go right away. After it finished, we had ten minutes to get some food from the cafeteria before next class. By the time we got there, we had nothing but scraps; it was torture. Receiving no food from home, those dinners were my lifeline. Once that bell went, instead of going to detention, I ran to the dinner hall to get the first choice. I planned to eat my food in five minutes, then run straight to detention hoping the headmaster wouldn’t click on. Of course, he did, each time adding more detentions. I pulled it off a few times without him knowing. All the bad kids from the entire school looked at me, while I did the walk of shame with a stomach full of food, or with fresh sandwiches and flapjacks in my bag. It was delicious, to say the least. Metal trays were lined with pizza, garlic bread, and chips. No consequences in the world were keeping me away from that food. It was all I received in twenty-four hours; I even stole some to take home. That’s the only reason I went to school in the first place. Half the time I nicked off with my friends and went to town window shopping. School was also a place where I could distance myself from the estate and the gang. That area along with the people didn’t reflect who I was as a person.

  Once familiarising myself with everyone, I had fallen for the hottest girl in the school. Being two years above me, she hung around with my gang leader’s sister; the girl that saved me from being strangled to death by Iron Man. I was the last person she would get with. She had a crush on our leader, but he wasn’t interested. That didn’t stop her giving me messages to deliver to him, knowing how close I was to him. Still frigid, I’d never kissed a girl. Her long blonde hair went to her bum and had a face carved from angels. She knew I fancied her because I made it clear. When the whole school is friends with each other, inside and outside of school, its different from having a simple crush on someone. We ended up talking whenever we passed in the hallway. She always smiled at me, knowing full well I was in love. She thought it was cute. Having started puberty, I was already masturbating every night. My emotions were all over the place. After sending messages to her through my friends and hers, she finally got the message. Taking it one step further than most boys that chased her, I flirted and spoke to her every chance I got. She started giving me hugs which were a big thing for most lads in the first year. Having her full attention, nothing stopped me from lynching her in the corridor. Every time we passed, we walked towards each other with open arms, before kissing each other; it was pure bliss. Typically, a skinny eleven-year-old, years below would never get the chance I got. Because I was known, had respect, and the confidence to do crazy shit, I was able to get plenty of groping and kissing from the hottest girl during toilet breaks. All my friends were jealous.

  “Check this out lads; Joseph thinks he’s got in with the hottest girl of the school three years above.”

  “He’s lying. Why would a year ten girl kiss you, you’re not even twelve yet.”

  “Don’t believe me? Watch this then.”

  I put my arms around her then kissed her, turned around and gave a cheeky smile with my large dimples to my new friends. They thought I was lucky, but luck had nothing to do with it. Back on the streets, if we wanted something, we took it; and she was the only thing I wanted. She smoked and did as many detentions as I did, so she was a bit of a bad girl. Nothing ever came from it. I was punched in the jaw a year later by a Muslim gang member when I turned my head away. Unknown to my knowledge, he had a thing for her or maybe something more. Another coward to punch me when I had my back turned. I wasn’t known for fighting. It didn’t make sense for boys to blindside me. Then I would remember rule number one; always attack when they least expect it. Maybe some girls are not worth the trouble, so I left her be. By that time I already had three girlfriends, so it wasn’t like I was in short supply. One would leave my house, as another would come. I gained plenty of sexual experience before losing my virginity at fourteen. My parents might be a waste of space, but I can’t thank them enough for giving me good looks and common sense. I had any girl I wanted, and seeing as I was a lover, not a fighter, it was a done deal.

  During times of no detention, my spare time was filled roaming around the corridors, seeing and learning what everyone else was doing. Whereas everyone had their little groups, I didn’t belong anywhere. There was always a fear inside me of missing out on something. I’d joke or spend time with some friends, before moving on to another group. Some kids smoked, played football, had fights, told jokes, while other geeks harassed teachers outside the staff room. Before starting that school, I could count all my friends on one hand; now I had over one hundred. Two particular good friends were the ones that always got me in trouble. One laughed at me from behind the teachers back, while I was getting shouted out, then vice versa, I’d laugh at him while he was getting in trouble. It was brilliant. During the woodwork class one afternoon, our antics took a twist when we both started to screw around. Chasing my best friend Chris around a square table filled with mounted vices, my tall, bald teacher was getting very impatient.

  “Stop running now!”

  Being that I was the pursuer, he quickly turned his attention to me. Not listening to a word the teacher said, we continued. On my third lap, he grabbed a hand full of my tie and jumper, picked me up above his head, and slapped me hard across my neck before letting go. I couldn’t believe it. The whole class was awestruck. Teachers weren't allowed to hit us. Once my feet touched the ground, I ran out of school through the dangerous forest, and back home. Even my mum was in shock.

  “Levi, the fucking teacher just hit him.”

  “What! I’m g
oing to kill him. Pass me my walking stick. I’m going down in the car to knock his fucking head off, see how he likes it.”

  I persuaded them not to go. Instead, they made a few phone calls to the school. The bastard should’ve been arrested, but lost his job instead. My neck was red with a huge handprint. Physical discipline ended shortly after being born, yet I’ve been thrown through doors, now slapped across the face. I always did have a cheeky smile. Levi and his family were ready to kill him. Strangely enough, his daughter had punched the deputy female teacher when she attended that school, many years prior. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  From most of the classes I attended throughout the day, the same faces joined me at the bottom of the pile. Paul, who became a good friend, lived a very similar kind of life as me. His mum frequently drank, while he and his siblings lived off toast like me. It was good knowing I wasn’t alone. Living just over a mile away, his house was historically old on a lane that once homed the Mill Workers in the 1800s. Each time I visited, he and his family told me stories about how their house was haunted. They shared stories about how they would wake up in the morning to find photo frames off the wall, then left in a straight line on the floor. Objects in the kitchen would move before their eyes. Telling me with a real sense of conviction, I knew when someone was lying. His whole family shared their different experiences, and how they had to avoid certain rooms or act in certain ways in order not to upset the spirit. Being scared as they told me, his mum was on medication from the bad experiences she had witnessed. They were too poor to move house. Frequenting his house very often, I ended up having a sleepover. After hearing the stories, I became reluctant to stay. His mum was out for the night, leaving me and Paul, his two younger brothers, and his older sister to do what we wanted. The sleeping arrangements had Paul with his brothers in his mum's room. That was the only room with no paranormal activity. I was in the next big room with his sister. Letting me stay in her bed, she slept on the floor in a sleeping bag just beside me. When it came to bedtime, his sister and I got into our sleeping positions. With the ceiling light on, Paul and his brothers messed around in the kitchen eating toast. Getting impatient, his sister climbed out of her sleeping bag and headed downstairs to drag the trio to bed.