It was as a result of these continuous violent quarrels that I started to question certain things. In any heated argument between man and wife, things are said with the sole purpose of hurting each other. Quite often, following a blazing row, there is regret about what has been said. Most of the things thrown up in an argument may be true, but they are simply used to cause deliberate hurt. Over the years I have witnessed many a blazing argument and much violence. I have heard accusation and counter accusations. By the time I was ten or eleven enough things had been said in the heat of argument for me to begin wondering about certain things. There was nothing tangible, nothing specific but plenty of innuendo. Maybe if I had witnessed their arguments when I was a little older, I may have understood.

I was beginning to put together the idea that somehow, I played a part in my mother's past that she didn't like to speak about. I represented something that Uncle Bill could use to hurt her. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. Other things made no sense at all. If Ann, who was my sister, had the same surname as me and had a father, why didn't I have one? Did I have one? Was Ann's father also my father? I understood about people getting married and divorced. I didn't know anything about illegitimacy, so naturally I didn't think about it. The idea that my father was in America was always in the back of my mind, but it no longer made any sense. If my father did live in America then Ann and I must have different fathers, and to my naive mind, that could not be so.

Uncle Bill was not only violent towards my mother; he was sometimes involved in violence with others as well. My mother always seemed to be at work. I don't remember any time when she didn't have a job. If she wasn't working full time she would have a part time job. I can remember at least two fish and chip shops where she worked in the evenings as well as working full time at a local factory where she was the canteen manageress. Her life seemed to be one of always being at work. If any of the children were ill, providing it was nothing too serious, she would make us comfortable with blankets on the couch before going to work. She would come home at lunchtime to check on us, then go back to work again. As far as I can remember, she virtually never went out socializing during my childhood years. It seems that she must have derived some sort of social life from meeting people at work.

There was one occasion that sticks in my mind when mother did go out socializing. It sticks in my mind because I witnessed Uncle Bill beat up my Uncle Walter and leave him lying unconscious on the pavement. I was fast asleep in bed when I was woken by angry shouting and screaming from downstairs. I could hear my mother shouting, 'Hit him Walter, hit him.' I ran downstairs to see Uncle Bill dragging Uncle Walter by the scruff of the neck into the kitchen. My mother was screaming, 'Don't take him into the yard. He won't know where he is and he won't be able to see.' At this, Uncle Bill stopped dragging him into the back yard and instead started to drag him into the street. Uncle Walter was semi-conscious and was completely unable to defend himself. Uncle Bill hit him repeatedly in the face until Walter slumped down unconscious. By this time I was running around the street in my underwear screaming in hysterics.

Many neighbors had come out to see what was happening. Eventually, someone telephoned for a cab to take Uncle Walter home. As the cab arrived and Walter was trying to climb in, Uncle Bill suddenly rushed out of the house and hit him one more time. The sound of this punch haunts me to this day. Blood and snot flew out from Walters face as he fell partly into the cab and partly onto the ground. Helped by my mother and some neighbors, Walter was eventually put in the cab and taken home.

A couple of days later, I saw Uncle Walter standing with another man on the corner of our street, his face was full of b.u.mps and cuts and bruises. He asked me to tell my Uncle Bill that he was waiting for him. I went indoors and told Uncle Bill. He asked if Walter was alone. I told him no, there was another man with him. After a few minutes Uncle Bill got up and walked up the street - I followed him. To my surprise the three men had a quick conversation, shook hands and parted.

Many years later my Aunty Edna told me the full story. Laura had been out with Edna and Walter that night, having a couple of drinks. Laura was aware that it was getting a bit late it was well past 10 o'clock and she wanted to go home before she got into trouble from Uncle Bill. This incensed Walter. A combination of beer and resentment at the way Laura was being treated resulted in him taking Laura home with the intention of sorting Uncle Bill out. In the event, Walter swung at Uncle Bill but missed and lost his balance. Uncle Bill gave Walter a good hiding as a consequence. For his own self-respect, as soon as he was sober, Walter wanted to go and confront Uncle Bill. All the time according to Aunty Edna, he was hoping that Uncle Bill would not want to fight again. Uncle Walter was always very capable in fights but he always said after this incident that Uncle Bill was in a different league.

What goes round comes around so the saying goes. There was a time when Uncle Bill received a terrible beating from a group of four men. He had gone out to the fish and chip shop one night at about eight o'clock to get supper for everyone. He didn't arrive home for an hour. The fish and chip shop was just around the corner. When he eventually arrived home he had been savagely kicked and beaten. His face was horrible. It was covered in blood. Both eyes were swollen and closed. His nose was broken and several teeth had been kicked out. Mother immediately sent me next door to get help from the neighbors. He told us what had happened. The fish and chip shop was owned and run very successfully by a Chinese family. In the queue ahead of Uncle Bill was a group of men. They had clearly been drinking and were being abusive to the proprietor. They wanted to know why he was able to come to this country and start a successful business while they couldn't find decent jobs. Uncle Bill decided to tell them that the answer lay within them. He went on to explain that if they were prepared to work very hard; put in long hours and save some money, eventually they could have their own businesses too. The men were served and left the shop. When Uncle Bill walked out of the shop the four men were waiting around the corner for him.

My abhorrence of violence probably has its roots in an experience I wish I could forget. During the Christmas period in 1959 I visited the annual Christmas Fair at Bolton. It was here that I witnessed the most horrific act of violence that I have ever seen. It sickened me to my stomach. One of the fairground attendants was attacking a young man in the vicinity of the Waltzer ride. He had already knocked him to the ground unconscious. A large group of bystanders stood around watching but were unwilling to get involved. As the injured man started to regain consciousness and struggled to his hands and knees, the attendant kicked him in the face with his steel toe capped boot rendering him unconscious again. This monstrous act was repeated again and again. Each time he tried to get up he was kicked down again. The young man's face was pouring with blood coming from his eyes, his nose and his mouth. His face was so swollen and disfigured it was unrecognizable. Still n.o.body intervened. Eventually, the victim lay motionless on the ground. After a couple of final kicks to his face, the attacker walked off into the direction of the fairground workers' trailers. Only then did anyone try to help the poor man. I remember throwing up shortly afterwards. This was an example of n.o.body being prepared to a.s.sist someone who needed help. It also ill.u.s.trated to me that sometimes, people, perhaps out of fear for their own safety, are unwilling to get involved.

Chapter 11 Confirmation and Charlie.

After Ann had married and moved out of our house, I was allowed to have the parlor as my own bedroom. I was about fourteen years old. It felt fantastic to have my own room. I had somewhere to escape to. I kept it as clean as I could. I slept in a bed couch that was left over from when Ann lived here. The bedding could have and should have been changed more frequently. One day I discovered h.o.a.rds of small crawly brown beetles in my bed. My mother explained that they were bed bugs! I had heard of them but never seen them before. They were apparently a common problem in many households. The bed and the room had to be de- loused using a special pump action spray gun that was bought from the pharmacy shop.

It was this incident that gave me an opportunity to raise the subject of my father with Ann. After leaving our home she had moved into an apartment very close to Strangeways Prison. The apartment was in an old tenement building and situated on the third floor. She came to visit us most weekends with her little boy, Stephen. She generally came over on a Sat.u.r.day. Ann arranged for her visits to see us and the visits to see her father and grandmother to coincide. Sometimes I would walk her home. On this particular occasion as we were walking to her home, we discussed the bed bug incident and had a good laugh about it while at the same time expressing our views about the levels of cleanliness in the house. We talked about many things. I felt very at ease with her. She told me about her grandmother being poorly and how her dad was reacting to the illness. It was the mention of her dad, Charlie that brought my own father to mind. I decided there and then to ask her about everything - but I didn't know how. I wasn't afraid of her; I loved her very much. She had always been good to me. I was very conscious of mother's reaction years ago. I didn't want to upset Ann in the same way. I knew in my mind that this was as good a moment as any to broach the subject. And because we were alone, it might even be the best opportunity that I would ever get.

This was a big moment for me. I was slightly nervous about how she might react. However, because I knew her so well I was reasonably certain of her probable reaction. I would be putting her on a spot and she was always very uncomfortable being put under pressure. After a few minutes deliberation I decided not to delay the question any longer. I just asked her straight out: `Is your dad my dad? ` She replied immediately, `no... err... yes... err,...no.... it`s better not to talk about it.' She was very obviously caught unprepared and I had just put her in a very awkward position. I asked her why it was better not to talk about it. She refused to say but still insisted that it was better we didn't continue. She then made an attempt to change the subject.

I knew that I had made her feel really uncomfortable. I also knew that she was never going to tell me ever.

There was something in her reaction that confirmed my suspicions that there was something not right about the circ.u.mstances of my birth. What did Ann know that I didn't? Did she know anything? She didn't seem to know just what to know! Yet she must know. She was grown-up and married with a baby. She must know. Only one thing was certain - I didn't know. What didn't I know? Was there anything to know? The whole thing was like a huge jigsaw puzzle with many, many pieces. I was unable to fit them all together because there was no picture to guide me.

About a year later, Ann returned to live in Thompson Street. The house at number 28 had become available for rent and the landlord let Ann and her family become the tenants. She now only lived a few doors away. It was nice having her live so close by once again. It didn't make any difference to my learning any more about all the mysteries that abounded in my life and in my mind. It did however bring some comfort in that I could talk to her when my life was going through miserable periods. She did at least offer words of comfort and encouragement.

I left school in July 1959. I had no real idea of what I wanted to do for a living. My mother persuaded a friend of hers at the factory where she worked to give me a job. I started work in the production area as an office boy. My duties included carrying out operational calculations to determine weights and thicknesses of rubber applications. After 12 months I was promoted to quality control work in the laboratory and became a laboratory a.s.sistant. I enjoyed this work very much although it paid very little in wages.

At about this time in my life I became more seriously interested in girls. It was also a time when the frequency and levels of violence among my peer group became more noticeable. There was I believe, a relationship between girls being present and the need for boys to show off. Invariably, boys felt the need to fight in order to impress the girls.

The suspicions I was harboring all these years about my father were partially confirmed when I was sixteen years old. It came about in a dramatic but not unexpected way. It came during one of the rows between my mother and Uncle Bill. They were hurling insults at each other and making references to each other's parental attributes and abilities, or lack of them. During the argument my mother made a reference to Uncle Bill having fathered a daughter to a woman in Germany. This was a major revelation and even if true, it should not have been said in my presence. I knew that he had been a prisoner of war in Germany, but how had he managed to have a relationship that resulted in him having a daughter? To get his own back on her, he brought up the question of her relationship with Arthur and "the other one, that chap across the water.' 'Yes, you are talking about Kevin's father in America.' mother replied.

She said it in an act of bravado and in order to spite him. She clearly wanted to show that she was not hurt by this statement. She also took it upon herself to a.s.sume that it wouldn't hurt me either. She was so wrong. She was so very wrong. I was hurt a great deal. I said nothing. Nothing seemed to be the only appropriate thing to say at the time. I had just turned sixteen years old. I had just learned for certain that my father was indeed in America. I had just learned that everyone in my life that meant anything to me had been deliberately lying to me for years. I had just learned that nothing was as it appeared. Everything was so wrong. Everyone's life in this family was a mess.

Now that I knew where my father was, I would have liked to know more. Who was he? What was he? Who could I turn to? Who could I ask? I was afraid of asking my mother any more about him. I was too immature to take the initiative while the topic was hot so to speak. She never offered any more information. I thought that she should have done so following this incident, but she didn't. This was so unfair of her. I already had enough issues with trying to deal with my adolescence and growing up. This hurt me tremendously. I'm sure that my mother knew this but she didn't have the courage to help me. I considered asking Ann about it again. Then I remembered how uncomfortable I had made her feel.

This act, or non-act of my mother's taught me some other very valuable lessons in life. It taught me that you can hurt someone just as much by doing nothing as can by the things that you do. You can hurt someone just as much by the things you that say as you can by the things that you don't say, when you should. What my mother did was unforgivable. She tried to score a point in a stupid game by using me as p.a.w.n. She never showed any remorse for this.

I figured out for myself that my mother's divorce from Ann's father was as a result of her relationship with an American serviceman during the war. To make matters worse, I was the product of this relationship. I was the cause of all the problems! It was to be many, many years before I found out the full story. And in the intervening years it was this absence of information that was to cause me much distress.

I met my future wife, Margaret in the spring of 1961. I was seventeen years old. She was sixteen .We were to marry three years later. During the early weeks of our courtship, my mother and Uncle Bill had yet another terrible row. I remember that at the time I was trying to get ready to go out to meet Margaret. There was no actual physical violence although many things in the house were deliberately smashed in temper. There was much screaming and threatening. I had grown slightly accustomed to this behavior but somehow, tonight seemed like the lull before a major storm. I feared the worst. During a slight pause in the argument, Uncle Bill told me that I had better not go out tonight otherwise he would kill my mother! I believed him and decided to stay in. Things settled down. He went up to his bedroom. Unfortunately by this time it was too late to see Margaret and I had no way of letting her know why I had stood her up.

A couple of months afterwards, my mother and Uncle Bill finally split up. She had managed to acquire a house around the corner on Duke Street. A neighbor who owned a van helped us to move our belongings out of Thompson Street and into our new house. This took most of the day. I remember that Uncle Bill was sitting in his car reading a book while this was happening. It must have been very uncomfortable for the neighbors and it must have been more so for Uncle Bill. I actually felt a little sorry for him at the time. I knew in my mind that he was not solely to blame for their violent clashes. Nevertheless, it was a major relief that they were finally ending the years of agony that their violent arguments had inflicted on me and my brothers and sisters.

Maybe now my life might start to improve. Maybe now I might be able to concentrate on having a life that didn't involve living in constant the fear of violence exploding at any moment.

The new house was different from the others in so far as it had a front garden, three bedrooms and a three roomed cellar. The house was built on a split level, the front door faced onto the front garden and street while the back yard could only be accessed by going down a flight of 14 stone steps. By this time I was the very proud owner of a BSA, 250 cc motorcycle. A door led from the back yard into the cellar beneath the house. This was to become the perfect garage for my motorcycle.

I claimed the smallest of the bedrooms as my exclusive room. Mother and Carol would share the back bedroom, while David and Graham shared the front bedroom. Whenever Margaret stayed overnight, she was given my room and I slept in the front bedroom with my brothers. We had a front parlor that was kept for best. It was tastefully furnished and decorated. Whenever Margaret came to the house we were always afforded the comfort and privacy of the parlor. On winter nights we also had the added comfort of a warm fire in the parlor.

After a couple of years mother decided to convert my bedroom into a bathroom. This meant that I would have to move into the front bedroom with my brothers. Not ideal, but it seemed a fair trade off. It meant that I wouldn't have to go to the public wash baths any more on a Friday night to have a bath. I would now be able to take a bath daily if I wished.

Margaret was happy to sleep in the back room with Carol and mother. She often shared my mother's bed. My four years in Duke Street were the happiest years I had so far known. Without a shadow of doubt, the absence of constant quarrelling and domestic violence had lifted a ma.s.sive weight from me. My life was much better in every respect. I could wash and bathe in comfort. And for the first time in my life we had an inside lavatory. We even had lavatory paper and scented soap! We were overall much better off. I never have been able to figure out why. I know that after I left school and started work, things would ease financially, but the improvements seem to come almost immediately.

During the time I lived in Duke Street, Ann continued to live a couple of streets away in Thompson Street. She was good company and I would often go round to her place for a chat. She always showed an interest in whatever I was doing or planning to do. Margaret and I spent many evenings round at Ann's during our courting years. She and her husband, Mal always made us welcome.

A couple of weeks before Christmas 1962, we announced our intention to marry and for the engagement to become official on Boxing Day. Prior to this, because we were both below the age of twenty-one, we needed the permission of our parents. I knew instinctively that I would have no objection from my mother. We, I mean I, would have to ask permission from Margaret's father. As nervous as Margaret was, it was nothing compared to how nervous I was. I kept meaning to speak to him but always found excuses at the last minute not to. This went on for weeks. We had made our decision to get engaged in early November but only told our closest friends. By now, our friends were asking at every opportunity if I had spoken to her dad yet. This only made matters worse. In the end I was forced into it purely because Christmas was almost upon us.

I took the opportunity late one night, just before I had to leave Margaret's house in order to catch the last bus home. Josie, Margaret's mum, had already said goodnight and gone up to bed. Tom, her father was winding the clock up before he also said goodnight. I nodded to Margaret to leave the room. I explained to Mr. Gannon that I would like to have a private word with him. He looked taken aback then applied a very stern face. 'What is it? 'He asked. Instead of just coming straight out with it, I started going all round the houses. I reminded him how long we had been going out together and that I really loved his daughter. I suddenly realized that he must be thinking that I'm about to tell him that she was pregnant. 'We would like to get married and I would like your permission,' I blurted out. He said nothing but just looked at me. I quickly told him that we were not planning to get married for at least eighteen months, by which time Margaret would be nineteen and I would be twenty. I also told him that we would like to get engaged the following week. I apologized for the short notice but asked if he would allow it. He wound the clock one more time and then said, 'Yes, it will be ok.' I was so relieved. I thanked him. He said goodnight and went upstairs. There was no congratulatory handshake - I think that would have made him feel a little embarra.s.sed.

Margaret had been sitting quietly in the dark in the front room. She came back in and saw my smile. She was shaking like a leaf. I told her that her dad had said yes. A few minutes later, her mum came back downstairs. She seemed very happy. Tom had obviously told her. She congratulated us. I then had to literally run to catch the bus. To have missed it would have resulted in an eight mile walk home.

The way I was feeling, I didn't care if I had missed the bus. I would have willingly walked home!

I sat upstairs on the bus for the journey home. Courting couples were getting on and off at various stops. Some would smile in recognition. I had seen them many times before on this bus route. Some even spoke and asked politely how I was doing. I was dying to tell them that Margaret's dad had said yes and that I was engaged.

I told my mother the next day and she was delighted. Within the next few days, Margaret's parents had been in touch with my mother and the three of them had gone out for a drink and discussions. It all seemed very proper and formal. Afterwards they told us that they wanted to have a celebration party for us. They booked a local social club concert room for the evening of Boxing Day. They arranged a buffet supper and some musicians. It was a lovely thing for them to do for us.

In the lead up to Christmas it snowed heavily. Temperatures dropped to below freezing. It turned out to be one of the coldest winters on record. Many roads were icy. Public transport was severely limited. To make matters worse, on Boxing Day evening, when Margaret and her family were setting off from their home, their car refused to start. It had frozen up. The only way to get to the party now was by bus, and the last bus of the day was about to leave. They made a frantic dash for the bus stop and just managed to catch the bus in time.

A few weeks later Margaret's mother asked her about my father. She had heard from someone who knew me from Salford that I was illegitimate and didn't have the same father as Ann. Of course Margaret knew as much or as little as I did, and came to my defense. She insisted that myself, Ann, Carol and David were all the children of Charlie Mach.e.l.l and all shared the surname, Mach.e.l.l. Graham was Bill Burn's son. She could tell by her facial expression that her mother did not really believe her, but she didn't pursue it further. I found out later that the person who had told Margaret's mum used to live in Thompson Street and that I knew her. In fact her son and I were friends at the time. They now lived around the corner from Margaret's parents. This was once again, further evidence of a scandal that other people clearly knew more about than I did.

When I was about 19 years old I was at Ann's house doing some plastering work in her bathroom. A tall smartly dressed man came to visit her. From their conversation it was obvious that this was Ann's father. So this was Charlie I thought to myself. I had never seen a picture of him so I didn't know what he looked like. We were not introduced by Ann but he clearly knew who I was. He said, 'h.e.l.lo Kevin' to me in a polite manner. He had not seen me since I was a baby. I don't know if Ann had told him who I was before I entered the room. I felt very uncomfortable. He didn't appear to be uncomfortable in any way but having said h.e.l.lo to me he didn't introduce himself or offer a handshake. I didn't know him, yet I knew instinctively who he was. What could I say? What could he say? I also sensed that Ann was very uncomfortable. So I simply said, 'h.e.l.lo' in return and carried on with what I was doing. He didn't stay very long. After he left, Ann told me that he was her father. This was another opportunity to find out some answers to my many questions. However, before I had any chance her husband, Mal came home and other matters were discussed.

It felt very strange seeing Charlie for the first (and only) time. I didn't quite know what I expected him to look like. Whenever you meet a stranger you just accept that their appearance is normal for them. With Charlie however, I had never given any thought to what he might have looked like, yet I was still surprised somewhat. It might be that I wasn't used to seeing tall, well-dressed men. Somehow it had not occurred to me that he would be so smart in appearance. On reflection, it is easy to see that Ann bears a marked resemblance to both Laura and Charlie.

As our wedding day approached - we had decided on August 29th 1964 - we had to notify our respective registry offices. I went to my local registry office; the registrar gave me a couple of forms. She explained that due to me being under the age of twenty-one, my parents needed to give their permission for me to marry. She then asked if asked if both of my parents were still alive. I told her that I didn't know about my father because my parents were divorced and we had no contact with him. The registrar requested that my mother went to see her in order to clarify things and to sign the consent form.

I told mother that she had to go to the registrar's office because there was some kind of problem. She agreed to go next day. The following evening, she explained that she had been and that everything had been sorted out. After a short silence, she told me that my father couldn't get to the registering of my birth because of the war. She was uncomfortable. She was struggling. I could tell. I did what I always did - I let her get off the hook. I could have pushed her for more information but I was too embarra.s.sed to ask. I told her not to worry about it. I told her that I wasn't bothered. I just wanted to get married and nothing else mattered to me. I had just lied to myself as well as to her. She was relieved. I was mad with myself. I had blown it. I would regret my lack of initiative for many years to come.

We were married on 29th August. For many months prior to our wedding I had spent a great deal of time renovating an old house that we were buying. It was a small terraced property on a main road about seven miles north west of Salford, in the town of Walkden. As our wedding day drew closer, all the building work was completed. Margaret worked so hard in making the interior beautiful. We lived happily in this house for the next three years.

Chapter 12 Reconciliation and Segregation.

About a year after we were married my mother told us that she and Uncle Bill were getting back together. When I asked why, she explained that it was for Graham's sake. Graham was now fifteen years old and was torn between his mum and his dad. I suspect that there was a little more to it than that. For several months my mother had been telling us that according to Graham, his dad had a housekeeper. It was the wife of his cousin, allegedly. She was called Joan and was quite a few years younger than my mother. Sarcastically, mother often used to ask just what else Joan did for Bill! Whenever Graham returned from a visit to see his dad he would get the third degree from mother.

I talked with her about the violence and arguing over the years. She said that he was a changed man and had learned his lesson. He had been going round to her house for a while now and it had given her plenty of opportunity to a.s.sess him. She was happy to give him another chance. Uncle Bill moved into my mother's house in Duke Street after terminating the tenancy of his home in Thompson Street where he had lived since his birth.

After a few weeks Margaret and I decided that we should accept the situation and put the past behind us. After all, if mother was happy with her rekindled relationship it would be wrong of us to ignore it. We invited them to our home for tea one Sat.u.r.day. Uncle Bill was an ardent supporter of Salford Rugby League Club. On the day in question, the team was playing Swinton and the ground was only 10 minutes' drive from me. I arranged to meet Uncle Bill in a pub close to the rugby ground, and then go to the match with him.

It was strange meeting him socially. He was still my stepfather but this was not so much a family reunion, it was more like having a polite social drink with an old neighbor. We shook hands. He seemed a little ill at ease although genuinely pleased to see me. I was a little nervous and didn't know what to expect. He was always clean and well-dressed whenever he went out, which was usually to watch Salford play. Today was no exception. We made small talk and everything was pleasant enough. We drank a couple of beers then went across the road to watch the match. In the meantime, mother had made her way up to our house on the bus.

After the match, I drove Uncle Bill back to my house for tea. He hadn't met my wife before. After introducing them we all settled down for a general chat and something to eat. Uncle Bill was very pleasant and complimentary. He complimented our lovely home and our obvious happiness with each other. He thanked us for inviting him and told us how much he was enjoying our company and hospitality. Margaret was very attentive and made him feel like a very important guest. He briefly referred to getting back together with mother and hoped that their renewed relationship could be as good as ours appeared to be. He wished us much luck in life and happiness together. When he said these things I really believe that he meant them. At the end of the day we took them home to Duke Street. Margaret and I certainly had a very nice day. I like to think that they also enjoyed the visit.

A couple of weeks later, Uncle Bill gave us a gift of some beautiful bed linen. He also bought gifts for my brothers and sisters. He spent quite a bit of money because the gifts were of a very good quality. Everything seemed to be going very well for him and mother. Alas, things only lasted a month or two. My mother had decided that things were not working and she had thrown him out! There had been no major quarrelling and certainly no violence to my knowledge. It seemed that they were just not compatible. My mother found constant fault with both him and his habits. She was already referring to him as 'Him' again. I thought this was so sad. He just wanted a quiet life and sought only basic creature comforts. Goodness knows what mother wanted.

When he vacated his home in Thompson Street to move in with mother, he gave all of his furniture away. He no longer had need of it. Mother's house in Duke Street was fully furnished. So when he left my mother's home, he had very few personnel belongings to take with him. We didn't know where he had gone. After a while we heard that he was living in an apartment near to where he worked in north Manchester. It was following this second splitting up of his parents that my youngest brother, Graham joined the Royal Navy. He clearly felt that there was nothing to keep him at home anymore.

At about the same time my younger brother, David decided to leave home. He went to live with some friends a few streets away. Ultimately he would join the Royal Air Force and spend many years serving as an aircraft technician. While it's inevitable that children will grow up and leave the family home, it didn't necessarily have to result in sibling relationships ending. Sadly, I believed that this was the start of our family becoming somewhat distanced from each other. And I don't just mean geographically. We had become a less of a close family in terms of our personal relationships with each other.

Because of our age differences, I was closer to and had much more in common with Ann than the others. David and Carol were seventeen and Graham fifteen. I would often spend Sat.u.r.day evenings socializing at Ann's house but never gave a thought to socializing with the others because of the age difference.

About a year later a significant event occurred that was to affect me profoundly. Margaret and I went round to see Ann and to take a birthday present for her son, Stephen. It was a Sat.u.r.day afternoon in May. When we entered the house her husband Mal was sitting in a chair facing the fireplace. He had his back to us. He didn't say h.e.l.lo. He remained with his back to us. Clearly he was ignoring us for some reason. This was very obvious and yet very strange. Margaret indicated to me that I should not do or say anything. We talked to Ann and gave her the present; we both noticed that the atmosphere was strained. We wondered if they had just had a quarrel and were not talking. She was clearly uncomfortable with our presence.

Minutes later there was a knock on the front door. Ann answered it. It was Uncle Bill. She invited him in. He was polite yet a little distant. I had not seen him since he and my mother had split-up two to three years previous. It was awkward for both of us. We said h.e.l.lo but he offered no handshake. His conversation was directed at Ann and Mal rather than us. Mal happily engaged him in conversation and behaved as though we were not even there. He was also involving Ann in the conversation so it was clear that they had not fallen out with each other. In fact, Mal spoke to Ann in a nice way. However, he continued to ignore us.

Margaret and I realized that we weren't being made welcome so we said our goodbyes to Ann and left. Mal continued to ignore us. I have never understood this. I loved my sister very much and would have done anything for her. I was never aware of having said or done anything to hurt her or her husband. I couldn't do that. I had no idea what this was about. I told my mother what had happened to see if she could throw any light on it. True to form, she just told us to take no notice! She said she didn't make it her business to try and mediate between us. She wasn't interested in us sorting things out. In fact she appeared to do the opposite. Each time we visited my mother after this incident she would be critical of Mal in front of us. I know now that she also criticized me and Margaret in front of them. I could never understand how a parent could see a major issue existing between her children yet not try to bring the children together. I felt that my best childhood friend had fallen out with me and I didn't know why. I was so hurt I decided that we shouldn't visit Ann's house anymore. The incident was never mentioned again. Other members of the family knew of the situation but also just accepted it and ignored it. We lived several miles apart and there were no family gathering opportunities to see each other and possibly talk about it.

As time went by the distance between us became wider, and yet the cause of the rift was still unexplained. I never stopped thinking about her. Over the years I made adjustments and learned to live with her being no longer close to me. Whatever the problem was, it caused a major break up of our relationship that endured for decades.

I sometimes wondered, whether in time, if we could have healed the rift, Ann would have told me about my father. She was probably the best hope I would have of finding out what I needed to know.

Unfortunately however, it was not to be.

Over the next forty years or so I only ever saw Ann on a handful of occasions. On each of those occasions she was always polite and civil towards me although I could tell that she felt a little awkward. The subject of her husband's behavior towards me on that day in question was never mentioned by either of us. I now feel that in some way Ann was also a casualty of circ.u.mstances. Why didn't she tell me what the problem was? Why didn't I ask her? The answer is, that neither of us knew how to. We were never taught how to look out for one another and how to have disagreements and then make up. We never learned how to recognize each other's strengths and weaknesses or how to appreciate and understand each other's needs. We were never told how important it was that families should stick together. In fact, our turbulent upbringing taught us the exact opposite. It took me a long time to realize this.

My mother's survival strategy in life had been to depend on no one. She never trusted anyone. She was self-reliant. I have never known her to compromise on anything. She would never show signs of weakness - particularly in arguments. These were the lessons that she unwittingly taught her children. Each of us learned these lessons. They were not inherited from her. They were definitely taught. As a consequence, we were unable to address issues that needed talking through in a calm sensible manner.

In my professional life, I have had to learn how to deal with and manage confrontation. It has been extremely difficult since I had only known a relationship between confrontation and violence. I have had to learn that confronting a problem in a calm and reasonable manner is the only way to resolve it. Ignoring it only makes it worse. Confrontation does not mean falling out. It does not mean violence is inevitable. On the contrary, it may result in falling into better understanding once the problem is aired and dealt with.

I was in work one day when I received a telephone call from my mother. She said, 'What do you think? He's gone and committed it.' I asked what she was talking about. She told me that the police had just notified her that Bill Burns had committed suicide. He had apparently ga.s.sed himself. He had been found by the landlord of his apartment who had smelled gas coming from his room. He found him lying in front of the oven. The oven door was open and the gas was turned on full. The police had ruled out foul play.

The following week I accompanied my mother to the factory where Uncle Bill had worked. They manufactured automobile brake shoes. We were taken into the personnel manager's office. My mother was dressed in a dark brown fur coat and wore a black scarf on her head. She looked very much the grieving widow. The manager expressed his condolences and gave her some personal belongings removed from Uncle Bill's locker. He paid her the wages and back pay that Bill was owed. His workmates had collected a few pounds from a shop floor collection and she was also given this. Throughout the visit my mother appeared very upset. However, I wondered if her tears were genuine.

After leaving the factory, at her request, I took mother to visit the apartment where Uncle Bill had lived. I don't know why she wanted to go there. It seemed macabre to me. She was no longer acting like the grieving widow. Maybe it was just curiosity on her part. Uncle Bill had a ground floor bed sit in a large Victorian style house. The landlord was of Polish origin and most of his tenants were of Eastern European descent. As he greeted us he appeared very upset. The tragic events had clearly affected him. He showed us into Uncle Bill's rooms. Apart from Bill's body being removed by the ambulance personnel, nothing else had been touched. Even the police had not removed anything. Beneath the bay window was a dark red two-seater couch. In the opposite corner was a single bed. Next to the bed was a small clothes closet and next to that was a drop-leaf table with one chair. There was a television on top of a set of drawers. Against the other wall was a single drainer stainless steel sink unit. Next to this was the stove. The oven door was still open and on the floor in front of it was a pillow from the bed. This was awful. They had even left the pillow on the floor where he had lain down to die. I picked it up and placed it on the bed. The landlord asked if we wanted any of Bill's personal possessions. The bed was practically new and mother decided she wanted it. She arranged for it to be collected a few days later.

I looked around for a book that he might have been reading. I thought perhaps a cowboy book. There wasn't one. I tried to imagine just what he had been doing immediately prior to his suicide. There were no clues. Everything was fairly tidy. I remember thinking at the time that n.o.body should have to end their lives in this way. How must it be for someone to live alone like this? To exist just in order to get up and go to work then come home to a small dingy apartment. He didn't even have a single friend living locally someone who he could have talked to.

Mother made the funeral arrangements and notified the Royal Navy to inform Graham. He was on a ship in the Far East. He was only seventeen years of age at the time. The naval officer discussed with my mother whether she would like Graham to be flown home for the funeral. She told them that it would be better if Graham didn't come home. In the event, Graham was very upset, not only to find out that his father had died in this way, but also that his mother had decided not to arrange for him to come home. This played on Graham's mind so much, that on the evening before the funeral he made an official request to be flown home in order to attend the funeral. It was explained to him that it was already too late and that he would not get there in time.

I didn't attend his funeral. I went to work that day. My mother was accompanied to the crematorium by her sister, Edna. My sister Ann and her husband also went. After work I called in to my mother's home to see how things had gone. Afterwards I gave Aunt Edna a ride home. During the journey she talked a lot about my mother's life with Uncle Bill. She was in a very reminiscent mood. She expressed her opinion regarding the marriage. She always believed that basically he was a decent man. She believed that the problems were not all caused by him. She explained that in any marriage compromise is a very major element, and no marriage is perfect. It seemed to her that my mother was unable to compromise, and to quote Edna: 'Our Laura couldn't live with Jesus Christ himself.' She told me that my mother had been involved with some decent men in her life but didn't realize it.

Edna then brought up the subject of my father. 'Your father was a decent man. He tried hard with Laura but she was such a fool to herself at times. I liked your dad.' Edna continued, 'Things would have been much better if our Laura had accepted your dad's proposal of marriage.' I was dumbstruck! This was a major revelation. I didn't really know what to say. I was desperate for information but didn't quite know just how to proceed. I explained to Edna that I didn't know anything about him. 'Well he was ok. It was such a pity that things happened the way they did. What do you mean that you don't know anything about him?' she asked. I told her that my mother has never told me anything, and that I had always been told never to mention it. I don't even know his name! Edna looked upset. 'That's not right of our Laura; she is out of order over that. Have you ever asked her about him?' She enquired. I told her what had happened many years ago; how my mother had warned me not to ever mention my father. She told me to ask her again because it's not right that I didn't know. I dropped her off at her house and drove home. I knew that one day I would confront my mother about my father, but just when that was going to be, I didn't yet know.

Chapter 13 Turbulent Times.

We sold our little terraced house and bought a new property a few miles away in Bolton. It had three bedrooms and gardens back and front. I became a very keen gardener. My mother even bought me a greenhouse to further encourage me. My mother's younger brother was called Louis. He had a wife named Dora. She was a lovely woman - a sweet and gentle person. They had a son Paul, who had bought a bungalow just a few doors away from our new house. Whenever Aunty Dora visited her son she would also call in to see us. Mostly her visits would take place during the day when I was at work. She and Margaret would have a cup of tea and a chat. Sometimes she would refer to the years gone by and make fleeting references to my father and to my mother's relationship with him. Margaret had to pretend that she knew what Dora was talking about. It was Dora who first told us about the gifts and communications from my father in the USA during my childhood. Margaret was certain that Dora, who was the most sensitive of people, would not have said anything more if she had known just how little we knew. Here again, despite my now being a grown up man, people were still revealing new things about my father to me.

Shortly after moving into our new home, Margaret discovered that she was pregnant. We were both absolutely delighted. This event marked the beginning of the most turbulent times in our lives. Emotionally and in Margaret's case, physically. We were going to be tested to the very limit of our endurance. We were beginning to think that pregnancy would never happen. We did all the things that happy prospective mums and dads do. We decorated the nursery bedroom accordingly. We bought nursery furniture. We attended all the necessary preparatory cla.s.ses and clinical check- ups. Everything appeared to be going absolutely great for us. I had gained an excellent promotion at work and was earning good money. With months still to go, everything at home was ready for the new baby. During a routine check-up the doctor told us that he suspected that Margaret might be having twins. He arranged for her to go for an x-ray the next day to confirm this. My mother came with us to the hospital. She was really excited at the prospect of twins. She went round the hospital telling everyone that she had had twins and that her son's wife was also having twins. She was giving out free cigarettes to everyone. She was really thrilled for us.

Disappointingly for us and for her, the x-ray results discounted twins.

With just a few weeks to go Margaret's tummy began to swell enormously. It also became extremely hard and tight. She was in quite a lot of discomfort. We had no reason to believe that anything was wrong. She had taken very good care of herself throughout her pregnancy. When her discomfort began to cause her distress she went to see her doctor. Her due date was still over a week away. After examining her, he arranged for her to attend the hospital the next day in order to see a consultant obstetrician. The next morning she was in the bathroom preparing to go to the hospital when there was an almighty flood - her waters had suddenly burst. The immediate relief that this gave her was indescribable. I took her to the hospital. Her actual labor had not begun yet but they decided to keep her in. If she had not gone into labor by early evening they were going to administer some drugs to induce the birth. That evening I went to visit her. I was informed that the baby would not be born until the following evening.

I was a shift worker and at the time, and was working on the night shift. After visiting Margaret I went to work. The next morning I rang the hospital to enquire about her condition. I was told that everything was ok. My wife was in the early stages of labor and the birth was antic.i.p.ated during the late afternoon. I decided to go to bed for a few hours. At lunchtime I was awakened by very loud banging on the front door. I looked out of the bedroom window and there was my mother. She looked very concerned. She told me that something was wrong. She had called the hospital but they would not tell her anything other than the baby had been born. They asked if she could contact the father; they needed to speak with me. I quickly dressed, jumped into the car and arrived at the hospital within 15 minutes or so. The staff informed me that the baby had been born but had died after five minutes. The baby was a little boy. He had a serious congenital deformity. The baby could not possibly have survived. I was taken to see Margaret who was in bed in the main ward. She was distraught. Everywhere around her were new born babies crying and new mums all laughing and joking. There were no separate facilities for those mothers who had lost their babies. She was kept in this ward all day and overnight. I was allowed to take her home the following day. The hospital arranged for nurses to care for her at home during the recovery period.

Without doubt, this had been the lowest point of our lives; nothing before or since has ever come anywhere near it in comparison. The unfairness and cruelty of life was spelled out to us in just a few hours. We were both in a state of shock. I never thought that we would recover from this experience. To make matters worse, we were informed that we needed to go to register our baby's birth and death and arrange a funeral for him.

We had decided on the name Christopher for him. Margaret was suffering too much to attend the funeral. Emotionally she wanted to, but she was just not up to the task. We arranged for a local funeral company to have our baby privately cremated. We did not attend the cremation. We simply could not deal with it for numerous reasons; the main reason being that Margaret was not physically able to.

The consultant obstetrician advised us not to even think about another pregnancy for at least five years. He explained that the physical damage of this pregnancy would take that long for the body and its reproductive organs to heal. The emotional scars would also take a few years to heal. We were advised that this type of pregnancy problem could well be as a result of a genetic disorder. Research had found that where there is an incidence of this nature, there was likely to be an increased risk in future pregnancies. There was also an increased probability of female offspring inheriting the same condition with its a.s.sociated risks to future pregnancies. This information was very hard for us to take. We were more than ready in every respect to start a family. The thought of having to wait another five years was awful.

During the birth, Margaret had to be cut quite considerably. Over the following weeks she needed daily treatment by the district nursing team to get her back to health. We will always be thankful to them for their marvelous help. One nurse in particular was very helpful and combined her nursing skills with pastoral care. Margaret found this nurse more helpful than the others because she seemed to understand fully that Margaret's pain was much more than purely physical.

Once the physical healing was well under way, the nurse suggested to us that we might like to consider adoption instead of waiting another five years. She told us about the Catholic Children's Rescue Society. It was an adoption society for members of the Catholic faith. She suggested that there was no harm in contacting them. We thought hard and long about adoption and asked ourselves many questions about our motives and att.i.tudes. We came to the conclusion that we had no problems with adopting a child, so we decided we should make enquiries. We were very much aware that it was very soon after our tragedy, but we were not looking to replace our baby. Nothing could ever do that. We were looking to start a family. We really didn't want to wait for so many years.

Once Margaret was on her feet and able to deal with matters again, I made an appointment with the adoption agency. We had a lengthy chat with Sister Philomena who was the main adoption officer for the society. We explained our circ.u.mstances to her and she asked us quite a number of questions. This was to be the first meeting of many. There were also several home visits made. Eventually, after the society had carried out all their checks and had been satisfied that we would make suitable adopters, we were placed on their list. We were advised that we could be on the list for many months, so not to get impatient. Very young babies were few and far between. We were just happy to learn that we had been accepted by them.

In mid-October we were informed by the adoption society that they had a baby boy in mind for us. We were truly elated. We never in our wildest dreams expected this to happen so quickly. We were invited to see the baby the next day at a society foster parents home in Blackburn. We fell instantly in love with the child. We loved him unconditionally. There was never any thought that he wasn't truly intended for us. Within an hour or so we had made all the necessary arrangements with the society and we were on our way home with our new baby boy. We named him Lee Thomas. He brought us so much pleasure it was unbelievable. As soon as it was possible we legally adopted him.