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

by Joseph Kane

  “In my twenty years or so as a judge, I’ve never known anyone to ask me to send them to jail. I don’t know if you are insulting me, but your bail is denied until the next hearing.”

  That was the smartest thing I ever did. Unless I was under the influence of substances, any decisions I made were calculated. Making such a move solved three problems. The first was to get off the streets away from all the bad shit. The second was to avoid homelessness, and the third was to be with my friends. On the streets alone I had nobody. My life was safer in prison with a gang I had grown up with. At least I knew they had my back. It was also to sort my head out before I killed myself, or someone else. How the fuck it got to this point in the first place, was beyond me. Thinking I had control of my life, or that I was different than the rest seemed to be a mistake. Somehow I got caught up. They took me to a cell before my taxi arrived; the sweatbox.

  Sat in the back of the prison van, an almighty excitement came over me. Maybe I was crazy like my dad after all. Each cubicle was about two and a half feet wide. Slapping my index finger against my thumb like a Rasta, I squealed up and down in my seat like a monkey in a fruit shop. The trick to surviving a situation is to become the situation. If someone shows fear, they will get eaten alive. If you can’t beat them, join them. The lad across from me looked in disbelief.

  “Why are you so excited.” He shouted

  “It’s my first time. Where are we going?”

  “To HMP Lancaster farms.”

  I couldn’t wait to see the look on my friends face when I walked in. Being the last person to pop my cherry, in terms of going to prison, it showed how well I did. Going to prison at seventeen was too old. Knowing what we were all capable of, I knew before arriving at that jail that nobody had seen the likes of us. We were the original circus.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry, step right up to the greatest show in town. The longest running freak show of all time. We have fighters. We have perverts. We have drug runners. We have murderers, and we have terrorisers. You name it, the circus has it. We also have, you named it, clowns. Lots and lots and lots of clowns. So, let's show this terrific audience the best the circus has to offer.”

  After being stripped searched, with my dignity going out the window a long time ago, I was clothed in grey jogging gear. Entering as new fish on my new wing, a large room stood before me full of people surrounded by cells. This is a prison? I should have come here years ago. Some lads were using the phones. Some lads played pool. There was even a row of televisions connected to Xbox’s. Looking for my friend on all the chairs by the front, I spotted him. He was watching a TV the size of a cinema screen. Am I even in the right place? I wondered. Who said crime doesn’t pay? It certainly rewards. If I knew it was this good, without ambitions to go to America, I’d have done all sorts of crime. To think I’d slept on concrete floors, starved every day of the week, watched violence and nearly froze to death in the snow. What a joke. The only thing missing was a swimming pool with fine women around it. Still, I was adamant to at least try and stay on the right path. Looking at my friend, he sat in the middle of thirty empty chairs with his arms crossed. Letting him stew for a second before approaching, he looked really fed up.

  “Oi you,” I shouted with a smile on my face.

  Once he clocked me, the look on his face was like a child on Christmas day. He jumped up like a spring chicken.

  “Oh my gosh, you mad bastard. When you said you were coming, I didn’t think you meant it.”

  “Yeah well, I’m a man of my word. Where’s the rest of the lads?”

  “Some have been shipped out. Were expected to get more soon. We have a few allies though. You see that big black guy three times bigger than everyone else serving food? Well, he’s with us. On this wing its full of Manchester lads, and Scousers. If it kicks off, we side with the Manchester lads.”

  “Sound, just let me settle in my cell and I’ll catch you up later. I’m wearing an extra pair of socks to shove a pool ball in if it kicks off.”

  It was comforting being apart of something. We knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Growing up as kids, we stuck together through thick and thin. Parents live a lie hiding the truth from us, so how can we open up to tell them anything about what we already know? Looking at the faces in that prison, I didn’t see any criminals; I saw lost teenagers crying out for attention. When friendships become a brotherhood, you will do anything to protect each other. They needed me as much as I needed them.

  My wing was called Coniston 1. On arrival, they gave me a pouch of tobacco to smoke, but I didn’t smoke. I had my own cell with a television, bed, toilet, and a radiator pipe that ran straight through. The next morning, I grabbed some breakfast, then sat on one of the tables with my crew meeting new associates. One lad I met, that was in there for selling heroin, was offering some sleeping tablets for my pouch of tobacco. Not caring for the tablets much, or if it was even a good deal, I accepted his offer. Maybe I could sell my tablets for something sugary. Finishing my food, I walked into my cell to get it for him.

  “This doesn’t look right, why do I have two pouches?”

  “Giving the pouches to the lad for a couple of tablets, it soon dawned on me that I had walked into the wrong cell. All looking identical, I had walked in the one next to me, who happens to be a new lad like me. Walking next door into my actual cell, I shut the door before anyone noticed. Thirty minutes later, two screws marched in my cell.

  “Stand up now. What the fucking hell do you think you are doing stealing from someone on your first day? Do you think you are a tough guy? Do you think you can act like that in this prison? We have you on CCTV. Where’s his tobacco?”

  “I gave it to another lad because I don’t smoke. I walked into the wrong cell by accident.”

  “Who is he.”

  “I don’t know, someone with blonde wavy hair.”

  “Less than 24 hours and you’re in shit already. Stay in this cell, and don’t come out for two weeks. You’re on lockdown. We’re taking your TV as well.”

  “But it was an accident, I swear.”

  Not believing a word from a presumed criminal, once again I was in deep water. The guards took the tobacco from the lad, to return it back to my neighbour. Now I had my original pouch in my top draw, a fist full of sleeping tablets, and some very pissed off heroin dealer thinking he just got scammed. What could possibly get worse in my life?

  That was the slowest two weeks ever, but at least I wasn’t hungry. During meal times, some lads would shout towards my door during my lockdown.

  “Kane, you’re going to get your head smashed in.”

  On top of the threats, my good friend was shipped out the next day to HMP Durham to serve his sentence. His luck didn’t improve either. They placed him in a cell with no windows. That must have driven him mad. In fear of any reprisals, I had two weeks to prepare myself. All I could do was sit-ups and press-ups. I had more than a few lads for support, but that didn’t enter my mind. They were in my world, and they didn’t want to get trapped in my head with my intentions. If I had to cross that line, I’d cross it fully. They might be ready for a fight, but I was prepared for extreme violence. After two weeks of talking to myself, I was ready to cut someone’s fucking head off. Jumping up and down behind my door with clenched fist, the guard came to release me. As soon as it opened, I marched out trying to make eye contact with everyone; forget eating. Walking past the same voices that threatened me, not one of them looked in my direction. Bunch of wimps, the lot of them. Behind every inmate, where failed parents. It should be them in prison, not us.

  Appreciating my television back, I looked forward to 6pm. Every single day without fail, three ducks walked below my window. Opening just a tiny bit, they quacked below me in clear sight. Not long after having my tea, I saved some food for them. They seemed to be a family. None of my family was ever there for me. No one even knew I was in prison. I believe it was God stopping by, to bring a message of hope. Time dragged, but it was goo
d to clear my head. Those ducks helped my recovery. Thinking about what I said to the judge, it was the right move. Inside that secure prison, no one could get to me, or hurt me anymore. Becoming withdrawn from the general population, I decided to spend most of my time locked up. The peace and quiet was brilliant. No worries awaited me like my mum banging on my door or kicking me out. No responsibilities or expectations could disturb my sleep. Sat on the warm radiator at tea time, I watched the news while eating my food. I felt right at home. One night time I heard a familiar voice shouting for some information, but no other inmates responded. He sounded like another good friend of mine from back home.

  “Oi you shouting, is that Lee?”

  “Yeah, who’s that?”

  “Haaa, I thought it was you. It’s me, Kane.”

  “Go on lad, what are you doing here?”

  Lee was an all-round criminal but mainly dabbled in car theft, shoplifting, or smoking weed. It made me laugh to know he was inside. He spent his life in prison. The next day at dinner time, I joined him to hear his stories of how he started riots in that prison, along with another crazy kid from back home. Whatever I wanted, he arranged. Apart from taking over one of the Xbox’s, I was pretty content being alone in my little world.

  Once I left prison, the courts gave me a fine after repaying more than my debt to society. My friends went on their path, while I tried to figure out my own. There had to be a reason behind the mask of doubt. It wasn’t possible to suffer without eventually finding my purpose. I stayed at my mum's until the council placed me into another hostel. The same routine I had with schools began to show. All I ever wanted was to go home to a loving mum and dad, with some food on the table, proud of me for working hard at college. It's not much, just the basics; I can figure the rest out myself. Far from happening, I knew what time it was. The question was, when does this crazy life end?

  Being over sixteen, doors opened for me, closing some behind. I had the option of going into care when I young, but from the stories I heard, I took my chances on the street. Reporting my mum for everything she had done came to mind. She wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t angry, she just broke my heart. My second hostel, fortunate to get in was made up of over thirty flats. My one-bedroom flat was on the top floor, in the very corner of the building. Most, if not everyone was homeless or screwed up in some form or another. The staff had more of a hands-on approach. It was just another zoo with human tamers. The tenants were secure with twenty-four-hour support. The only benefit, was for everyone to do what the fuck they wanted. It was worse than prison. Everyone sold and took drugs, while the staff protected them with the police, and two secure doors at the front. Unless you had a fob, you couldn’t get in. Visitors had to sign in, producing ID. If it were located in the middle of nowhere, everyone would benefit. How was anyone meant to fix their life, when the problem lives next door?

  The flat across from me lived a guy called Antony. He was a nice quiet lad. Quiet in the sense that he kept to himself. All day he would blast his music, ignoring any calls from the staff on his intercom. Behind his closed door, was a one-man party for himself to shovel as much amphetamine down his neck as possible. Next door to me was a couple that always had sex. I’m pretty sure that’s what made them homeless in the first place, but who would admit such a thing. The couple below me with two kids enjoyed a good party. They blasted three songs over and over, before fighting in the pit, also known as their living room. Another family similar to them had the biggest flat on the bottom floor. The butch-looking-lesbian was a baby machine to feed her habits. Having over four kids, they were the scummiest of them all; real bad people to say the least. Also on the ground floor was a man called Brian. In his fifties, Brian was a heavy drinker. He owned an allotment, surprisingly coming home with shitloads of cash every day. His flat was filled to the rafters with stuff from his previous home. The staff allowed him to keep his pet snakes, just as long as they didn’t escape. A snake on the loose in that building would have done wonders. He offered me £40 a week to clean his bathroom, which was a big help. I had to clean a toilet full of shit, and a bath you wouldn’t dream of soaking in, but I didn’t care as long as I had money in my pocket. Two doors away, a friend of mine had moved in. His life was like mine, but instead of his mum being an alcoholic, she was a speed freak. Both of us harassed Brian to see what money we could get out of him. We roamed around from flat to flat, watching all the crazy shit like it was a slideshow. Knowing more about myself coming up to eighteen, I enjoyed watching people’s lives like a spectator. Always around different people, it was them that created footprints, and not me. My time was enjoyed talking to the staff by the entrance. An advantage to that was listening to other people’s problems. Everyone had a story to tell.

  Time in that hostel was a good buzz for most of it. Still smoking weed, and vast amounts of it, my friend introduced me to ecstasy with his group of friends. Always cautious about everything I do, I took small amounts to start with. What a fucking rush! I felt impervious to any afflictions. Wow, what a feeling. My friend took me to his mums one night to get some amphetamine. Only using the good stuff, she had the yellow paste that was strong. As well as supplying her son, I thought I’d try some as well during my season experimenting drugs. The outcome ended in disaster for most, so my experiments were short lived. There was no way on earth I’m ending up like these scumbags. After dropping bombs with his mum (amphetamine wrapped in a rizla paper) the effect was not the same as ecstasy, but still pretty good. His eccentric hippy-looking mother gave me a small bag with some paste inside. Later going back to my flat, I was off my tits. The fun ended on the second day when I had not eaten or slept. The drug seemed like it was never going to wear off. Suddenly I collapsed on the floor. Still conscience, I looked up towards my door. A big red button on the intercom looked at me and winked. Feeling like I was about to die, I army crawled slowly towards the red button. Nearly completely incapacitated, somehow my arm reached up to press the button. Moments later, the staff answered the buzzer.

  “Help me… Ring an ambulance.”

  The fault was all mine of course. Paramedics came to rescue me. They carried me by my arms to the elevator, then took me to hospital. An ambulance bed couldn’t reach the top floor. Sat in a waiting room for over an hour, the drug finally wore off, so I signed myself out. That was it for me as far as drugs went. Even cannabis had to come to an end sooner or later. Weed wasn’t doing my mental state any favours. I stayed away from that friend because there was a new girl that had caught my eye.

  On the floor below, I had met a mixed-race girl that looked pretty cute. She had a big smile that made me smile. In desperate need of some attention, I invited her up to my flat one night for a chat. Coming up to mine in her PJ’s, we got on really well. She would never replace Louise, and I had some making up to do after what I did to Kirsty. Her family knew my stepfamily, so we already had something in common. Before long, romance blossomed, and we entered a relationship together. The sex was great, keeping me away from bad influences. She fell in love with me, and I had a lot of feelings for her, but for some reason, Louise was the love of my life. She stained me from loving anyone else. It had to be from the fact that she was my first love, and the impact she had on me. We continued to be happy though. Once again, I had landed on my feet. Being alone in such an environment was damaging to anyone. It could have been worse if I had met some scum bag.

  Sadly, it was no fairy tale in that place. Some horrific things happened. The night I was taking amphetamine with my friend’s mum, a US soldier was visiting his younger brother Adam at the opposite end of the hostel. The war in Iraq had not long started, with his brother completing his first tour. Inside the hostel, we had Muslim women with children, close to Adams flat. His brother was drinking all night before deciding to call it a night by going home. Walking out of Adams flat, he walked down the long corridors, with pastel orange walls. On the corridor playing, was a two-year-old Muslim boy. Returning from my friend’s mums, the who
le building was surrounded by police. When I eventually got inside, I found out what had happened. Adams brother had picked up the child, thrown him against the wall, and then slam-dunked him on the floor like a basketball. In a moment of madness after his tour in Iraq, he was imprisoned for attempted murder. Fortunately, the child survived with his Army career was over. Not joining the Army seemed like a positive for me. Going to war would have really screwed up my head. It still didn’t stop me from trying. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea anymore. Screaming soldiers in the face of an already broken person, then giving me a gun, was not a good idea.

  Nearly every one of my bad situations seems to bring something good out of it, or so I thought. Stood near the reception desk swan-necking conversations, a young couple were arguing with each other. In a pram, they had a two-year-old son with blonde hair in the shape of a mushroom and blue eyes. He looked like me when I was his age. Linda and Marc came from Liverpool. Drug dealers threatened their life, so they came to Preston to escape. They only smoked cannabis. The threat had no weight to it, but having a child wasn’t worth the risk. Linda seemed very nice. She was a big girl with blonde hair, two years older than me and reminded me of someone. Marc had a shaved head and couldn’t keep still, acting paranoid all the time. Befriending them, Linda told me how she was suffering from depression after her newborn had died. Showing me photos of the grave, it must have been hard on her. I didn’t really like Marc, he wasn’t very supportive and seemed very odd. I visited their flat a few times to talk to them. Linda became my best friend. The reason I had got so involved with them, was because Linda had formed a relationship with another lad in the hostel. Steven on the ground floor was a real weasel. Thinking he was Eminem, he rapped in his flat all day. Already in a relationship myself, Linda and I could have had something special if things were different. Never getting mixed up with current relationships, she needed a friend. Steven couldn’t give Linda what she wanted. He was a loser. The love triangle got complicated with Linda backwards and forwards to each flat. All I could see was a desperate lad coming between a family that needed support. She was one of the nicest girls I’d ever spoken to. We confided in each other. It felt like God had sent me an angel. Stood in Marc and Linda’s flat seeing if I could help, Ste was at the front door talking shit, taking advantage of a vulnerable girl. Being the one that opened the door, he stood close to me resting his smug face against the door frame. Where I came from, he was known as a muppet. Seeing a tear roll down my best friend’s face, I rested my left foot keeping the door open. I punched the prick straight in his jaw, bouncing his head off the door frame to break the love triangle up. Jumping backwards, he ran off down the corridor with me behind him. For three solid days, I chased that weasel around the whole building.