Because I Have Been Given Much : A Story of Hope [1 ed.] 9781906534011, 9781904380283

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Because I Have Been Given Much A STORY OF HOPE Bob Turney spent almost thirty years on the wrong side of the law, much of this in prison. Then he became a down-and-out, sleeping rough and fighting for survival as a life of drink and drugs rocketed out of control. Until one morning that is, when a life-changing experience marked the start of his belief in a Higher Power. Nowadays, Bob works on the 'correct' side of the law, helping people trapped in similar downward spirals. He is the author of three highly acclaimed books, I'm Still Standing, Going Straight (with Ange~a Devlin) and Wanted! all of which are full of messages of hope for people looking to turn their lives around. This 'new life' is sustained by his deep faith, his membership of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints and the unfailing encouragement of his wife Sue and their five children. This inspiring and motivational book is the story of his life, faith and certainty.

Because I Have Been Given Much A STORY OF HOPE Bob Turney spent almost thirty years on the wrong side of the law, much of this in prison. Then he became a down-and-out, sleeping rough and fighting for survival as a life of drink and drugs rocketed out of control. Until one morning that is, when a life-changing experience marked the start of his belief in a Higher Power. Nowadays, Bob works on the 'correct' side of the law, helping people trapped in similar downward spirals. He is the author of three highly acclaimed books, I'm Still Standing, Going Straight (with Ange~a Devlin) and Wanted! all of which are full of messages of hope for people looking to turn their lives around. This 'new life' is sustained by his deep faith, his membership of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints and the unfailing encouragement of his wife Sue and their five children. This inspiring and motivational book is the story of his life, faith and certainty.

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Because I Have Been Given Much

Because I Have Been Given Much A STORY OF HOPE Bob Turney Published by WATERSIDE PRESS DomumRoad Winchester S023 9NN United Kingdom Telephone or Fax 01962 855567 UK Local-calls only 0845 2300 733 E-mail [email protected] Online catalogue and bookstore www.watersidepress.co.uk Copyright © Bob Turney 2006. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be' reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means" including over the Internet, without prior permission. ISBN 1 904 380 28 X

Cataloguing-In-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book can be obtained from the British Library Cover design Waterside Press. Printing and binding CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne UK. North American distributors International Specialised Book Services (ISBS), 920 NE 58th Ave, Suite 300, Portland, Oregon, 97213-3786, USA Telephone 1 8009446190 Fax 15032808832 [email protected] www.isbs.com Also by Bob Turney

I'm Still Standing Going Straight: After Crime and Punishment (with Angela Devlin) Wanted!

All published by Waterside Press (further details at www.watersidepress.co.uk)

Bob Turney

Because I Have Been Given Much A STORY OF HOPE

Bob Turney With Cl Foreword by Sue Turney

WATERSIDE PRESS WINCHESTER UK

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iv Because I Have Been Given Much

AcknowledgeInents This book is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. No one asked me to write it, and I alone am responsible for errors or omissions in the text. The views and ideas presented herein are my own and do not necessarily represent the position or view of the Church. I am eternally indebted to a number of enlightened people who I have met along my life's path. Church members and non-members alike; they are far too numerous to mention by name. They all have one thing in common in that they have allowed me to climb out of the gutter with dignity, so that I am able to tell my story. Special thanks go to all the numbers of the Woodley Ward of the Reading England Stake, for the continuous love and support they have given me and my family over the years, and their encouragement in writing this book. I cannot possibly think of not acknowledging my five wonderful children who have helped me with the spelling of the more difficult words and some of the easy ones as well! I am especially grateful to both Sue Turney and Mike Bartlett for the many hours they have spent proof reading the manuscript of this book so that I could submit it to the publishers.

Bob Tumey

Bob Turney

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Foreword Sue Turney I've given a lot of thought to the writing of this foreword and for the sake of honesty would like to point out that I am not the angel that I am sometimes portrayed as. One of Bob's good qualities is that he is consistently loyal to me-in public and otherwise and I feel that this can sometimes be a little misleading ... For the sisters among you who will be reading this book I want you to know that yes, I have supported him through thick and thin but there has been a fair amount of murmuring along the way! Also, often when Bob has finished a fireside or presentation, I am approached and told that Bob's successes are largely due to my influence. I'd like to set the record straight on that score, too. Bob has risen to where he is through his own efforts and determination and, more importantly, through the spiritual experiences he has had. It must never be forgotten that when we met, I was a 'less active' member. It was through Bob's interest in the Church that I was fully re-activated. Because of the desire in his heart to, change his whole lifestyle, we now have received the blessings of the Temple and are raising our family in righteousness. There have been many sacrifices that we have all made along this incredible journey. When Bob was at University studying for his degree in Social Work, he was also writing his first book and working whenever he could to supplement his grant. Money was tight and our children, who were quite young, would see their friends receiving treats and holidays (vacations) that we simply could not afford. Yet they all remember that period of time in a positive way. Bob has been a wonderful role model for them. Through him, they have seen first hand the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ in a very personal way and have seen him achieve wonderful things against all odds. This book is a moving account of one man's triumph over tremendous odds. As Bob was writing it on the computer, I would come across him with tears streaming down his face as he relived the painful experiences of his youth. It has been a catharsis for him as he has truly lain to rest the ghosts from his past. It is our fervent prayer that this book has a positive influence on people's lives. And who knows, it may reach someone who is considered 'unreachable', as Bob himself was considered so many years ago. Sue Tumey

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Because I Have Been Given Much

Why I Wrote This Book and Why You Should Read It The whole point of my books, traveling to different countries to do presentations, and firesides is to let people know that there is HOPE! I am told repeatedly after a talk "Oh, my son will never give up drugs or crime. He's too far down." Well, no matter how far you have gone down the line, there is always HOPE. By telling my story from the beginning, including my great plunge to the edge of life itself, you can understand that there really is HOPE. I was an atheist. I mocked religion. I mocked anyone with a good belief system because I was hurting so badly inside that I could not bear to see anyone that had made anything of their life as it made me look at mine. I was in a mess because I could not trust and because I was looking at life through the wrong lenses. I did not believe I was worth anything. My experience in the hospital started that change but the deciding factor was finding out that I was a beloved son of a Father who had not abandoned me-my Heavenly Father. I truly know that through the atonement of Jesus Christ, I can return to live with·my Father. Even me. Even the sons and daughters of those who will read this book as a last resort-whose pillows have been wet with tears night after night as they have waited and wondered what their loved ones are doing to themselves that night. This book is for those who have felt hope as their loved one started to recover and then have had their hopes cruelly dashed as the old behavior has started again. This book is for those who have had good upbringings but think "Why am I like this? There's no excuse for me." These people will suffer just as much as they will live with the guilt that they are disappointing worthy parents or spouses or even children. This book is for all of us who live with addiction-and that is all of us. We live in a society that is becoming swamped with mood altering chemicals both legal and illegal. Alcoholism, addiction, compulsive behaviors all have far reaching effects on our society and on other people. The consequences for the soul of the individual, however, far outweigh any "social" consequences. And that is why I do what I do.

Bob Tumey

Bob Turney vii

Dedication

To Sue, my eternal companion

Life's Path

We are a summing up of all that's gone before, Each emotion, each meeting subtly changing us As waves change the shore. For when my time is over, As it must surely be, I wonder what life will have brought, To shape the final me. Carol Diane Brettschneider-Lawrence

viii Because I Have Been Given Much

Because I have Been Given Much CONTENTS Acknowledgements iv Foreword by Sue Turney v Why I Wrote this Book and Why You Should Read It vi CHAPTER

1 Born of "Goodly" Parents 9 2 Living In the Midst of Chaos 17 3 My Father Succeeds 24 4 The War at School 29 5 Getting into Real Trouble 38 6 Engaging in Sorceries 49 7 Taking Hostages 57 8 Trying to Get Back to Prison 65 9 Still in Prison in My Own Mind 74 10 A Great Light Around Me 82 11 God Grant Me the Serenity 93 12 Starting the Journey with Sue 101 13 Reverence for Life 110 14 Student of the Year 121 15 Going Back to My Prison and School to Make a Difference 127 16 My Eternal Debt 135

CHAPTER 1

Born of IIGoodly" Parents As a member of the Bishopric it was my turn to conduct the Sacrament meeting. Since it was the second Sunday of the month, the concluding speaker was a member of the High Council. I introduced him and sat down next to the Bishop to listen enthusiastically to what the High Councilman had to say. His talk was on how easily we make assumptions and judgments about other people: He started with the following story: A church was in need of a Pastor. One of the elders was interested in knowing just what kind of a minister they desired. He, therefore, wrote a letter, as if he had received it from an applicant. He read this letter before the pulpit committee: Gentleman: Understanding that your pulpit is vacant, t would like to apply for the position. I have many qualifications that I think you would appreciate. I have been blessed to preach with power and have had some success as a writer. Some say that I am a good organizer. I have been a leader in most places I have been to. Some people, however, have some things against me. I am over fifty years of age and I have never preached in one place for more than three years at a time. In some places after I have left town my work has caused riots and disturbances. I have to admit that I have been in jail three or four times but not because of any real wrongdoing. My health is not too good, though I still get a good deal done. I have to work at my trade to help pay my way. The churches I have preached in have been small, though located in several large cities. I have not gotten along too well with the religious leaders in different towns where I have preached. In fact, some of them have threatened me, taken me to court and even attacked me physically. I am not too good at keeping records. I have even been known to forget those I have baptized. However, if you can use me, I shall do my best for you, even if I have to work to help with my support. The elder read this letter to the committee and asked them if they were interested in the applicant. They replied that he would never do for their church. They were not interested in any unhealthy, contentious,

10 Because I Have Been Given Much troublemaking, absent-minded, ex-jailbird; in fact, they felt insulted that his application had been presented. The committee asked the name of the applicant, whereupon the elder answered: "THE APOSTLE PAUL". ("The Preacher Who Wouldn't Be" Especially for Mormons)

I have always had an affinity with Paul and his teachings. This book is about my own very long and painful road to "Damascus". It was a hard and destructive road to walk. Loneliness, self-deceit, 'lies, and fears were my constant companions. By sharing it with you, I hope to show the tender mercies of the Lord in the life of a man rejected by society.

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One particularly low point on this journey was a late afternoon in June 1981. The sunlight shone through the passenger's window of the car I was traveling in, my head bowed, my eyes closed and my arms folded tightly across my chest in an attempt to stop my hands from shaking. I was rocking myself backwards and forwards. Beads of perspiration were on my forehead. My head was pounding so much that I felt it was going to explode at any moment and my stomach was churning with the sensation that I was going to vomit. My right wrist was bandaged to conceal deep lacerations which were a result of an earlier suicide attempt. The mental anguish I was suffering seemed almost unbearable. I felt a type of loneliness that very few people have known for I had journeyed to the darkest side of life and had reached the jumping off point. I could not struggle any more. Life for me was over. This state of anxiety was familiar and had been a part of my life for years. The mental anguish and physical discomfort were the result of withdrawals from both alcohol and drugs. The car slowly made its way through the grounds of Wallingham Park Hospital, a mental institution situated a few miles south of London. I was being taken to the hospital for detoxification after twenty years of substance abuse. As we drove through the grounds of the hospital I lifted my head up but because of the piercing sunlight, I could only slightly open my blood-shot eyes. I noticed that there were patients walking in the late afternoon sun. My thoughts flashed back to my childhood in South London. It was early spring in 1954 and I was nine years old. The blooms just started

Born all/Goodly" Parents 11

appearing on the trees. I was walking with my mother up a very long pathway leading to another mental institution. This time we were there to visit my father who had made yet another suicide attempt two months earlier. He suffered for years with depression and had struggled with mental illness for most of his life, which resulted in many hospitalizations. Occasionally, when the depression was so overwhelming he would try to end his life. This time, I had witnessed him take an overdose of sleeping pills.

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Why I have chosen to share my story with you is also central to why I stopped my destructive life and to why I feel a burning need to share my experience with others in the same position and those who are affected by other's choices (which is all of us at some time in our lives). I began to change my life when I felt HOPE for the first time. If you have ever lived with an absence of hope, then you will know that feeling its presence for the first time is like having a light switched on in a dark room. For the first time, you feel that there is some point to your existence-a thought that is entirely new to you. Everyone who reads this book can probably find someone that this applies to-a son or wife or uncle-someone who is living with the lights out. They know someone who wakes in the morning in despair and goes to sleep at night accompanied by the same; someone who is in the grip of a self destructive· cycle like alcohol, drugs, or compulsive behavior of any kind. This person feels locked behind an invisible wall that they have built themselves-from fear, perhaps, or from being hurt so much as a child that it feels impossible to let the guard down. The whole point of my books, traveling to different countries to do presentations, and firesides is to let people know that there is HOPE! I am told repeatedly after a talk, "Oh, my son will never give up drugs or crime. He's too far down." Well, no matter how far you have gone down the line, there is always HOPE. I was an atheist. I mocked religion. I mocked anyone with a good belief system because I was hurting so badly inside that I could not bear to see anyone that had made anything of their life as it made me look at mine. I was in a mess because I could not trust and because I was looking at life through the wrong lenses. I did not believe I was worth anything. My experience in the hospital started that change but the

12 Because I Have Been Given Much

deciding factor was finding out that I was a beloved son of a Father who had not abandoned me-my Heavenly Father. I truly know that through. the atonement of Jesus Christ, I can return to live with my Father. Even me. Even the sons and daughters of those who will read this book as a last resort-whose pillows have been wet with tears night after night as they have waited and wondered what their loved ones are doing to themselves that night. This book is for those who have felt hope as their loved one started to recover and then had their hopes cruelly dashed as the old behavior started up again. This book is for those who have had good upbringings but think "Why am I like this? There's no excuse for me." These people will suffer just as much as they will live with the guilt that they are disappointing worthy parents or spouses or even children. This book is for all of us who live with addiction-and that is all of us. We live in a society that is becoming swamped with mood altering chemicals both legal and illegal. Alcoholism, addiction, compulsive behaviors all have far reaching effects on our society and on other people. The consequences for the soul of the individual, however, far out weigh any "social" consequences. And that is why I do what I do. In the opening verse of The Book of Mormon, the prophet Nephi writes "I Nephi, having been born of goodly parents." I read this statement for the first time much later in my life and it took me years to understand what Nephi was saying. I felt a great deal of resentment towards my parents, because I believed they had not provided me with the love and support that I thought they should have done. But the Gospel is not only about repentance. It is a gospel of healing and through prayer and fasting my attitude has gradually changed. I know my parents did the best with what they had. Today, I thank the Lord, for like Nephi, I too have been born of goodly parents. And understanding my parents and my grandparents provides a background for the experiences of my life that brought me to the Lord.

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My parents were two people thrown together by circumstances. Both born in 1911, to impoverished families in North London, my parents were cousins. My grandmothers were half-sisters. My great grandfather William Crisp had five children by his first wife, who had died giving birth to my maternal grandmother Elizabeth. Shortly after my great

Born oil/Goodly" Parents 13

grandmother's death, William married her sister and had five more children, the first born to his second wife was a daughter, Caroline, my paternal grandmother. My maternal grandmother Elizabeth Crisp married James Page and they had four daughters and a son. My mother Winifred Violet was their second eldest. She was born with deformities of the mouth; she had a cleft palate-a gap in the palate that separates the,month from the nasal cavity-resulting in a speech impediment. Often, people who suffer from this disability are also partially deaf; this was the case with my mother. She refused to have a hearing aid and, as a consequence, I spent my childhood and adolescence talking to her at the top of my voice. Eventually she did relent when I was in my late teens and was given a hearing aid. From the stories my mother told me of her childhood, it was not a very happy time. She was the butt of other children's cruel jokes because of her disabilities and was treated as some sort of freak. To compound the situation, at the age of eighteen she gave birth to an illegitimate son, my half-brother Stanley. In the late 1920s, single mothers were ostracized and outcasts of society. Many of them were placed in mental institutions or other places like hostels for wayward woman where they were treated as though they were criminals. As a young woman, my mother was socially excluded from her local community, which resulted in her having no self-esteem or self-worth. This was reflected later in life in her inability to form meaningful relationships with her own children and others. She was not an affectionate person and was unable to cuddle us as children or adults or to. express any sort of emotion, apart from outbursts of anger which came without warning. A small thing could set my mother off. Most of the time it occurred because she was unable to hear very well, combined with unresolved issues from her past, and the torment she must have suffered. Also the shame that was heaped upon her because she had an illegitimate child contributed to her nature. When she walked down the street people would call her names. Most single mothers gave their babies up for adoption because of the severe discrimination from the community. My mother showed great courage and fortitude to keep my brother and resist the .enormous pressure she was under to give him up for adoption. Her family would rather have not lived with the stigma of having a single mother amongst them.

14 Because I Have Been Given Much

When I think of my mother as a young woman in that situation, I think of the Savior when he was at the Mount of Olives and the Scribes and Pharisees brought a young woman unto him, whom they accused of committing adultery, they were about to stone her to death. The Savior said "He that is without sin among you, let him cast a stone at her" (John 8:7) .

My paternal grandmother Caroline Crisp lived with James Turney. They were never married because my grandmother had been married and had never been divorced. She and James had five children. My father was one of them and was named Thomas Leonard. My father was brought up in a dysfunctional family. His mother was an alcoholic. Like most families when there is an alcoholic, there was little or no stability in the home. Most children who have one or two alcoholic parents suffer from anxiety because life is unpredictable. My grandmother had a Jekyll and Hyde personality. Her behavior was sometimes good and then without any warning she would erupt into violent outbursts. Life was unpredictable for my father. Once my grandmother left home to go to the shop located a couple of hundred yards from home. That was the last anyone heard of her until three days later when she turned up in France drunk! My father learned early in his childhood that the people he loved would hurt him and were terrifyingly unpredictable. Because of his mother's alcoholism, my father needed more emotional support than normal but the people he needed most were emotionally unavailable to him. My father was plagued with depression throughout his life and that had a profound impact on our family life. Most dysfunctional families are steeped in denial and secrecy about the problems they are struggling with. My family was no exception. The story was that my father's mental illness was the result of a serious industrial accident when he was just seventeen years old. He was working in a warehouse where he fell down a shaft and sustained appalling head injuries. As a result, he was diagnosed as having "neurasthenia", a general term that was used to describe any mental condition which doctors could not categorize. I suspect that my paternal grandparents invented the story about the accident in an attempt to alleviate the shame they felt about having a son with mental illness. But, if it had been inflicted on him by some tragic accident, his condition would seem more palatable for anyone outside the family. However, my mother always maintained that my father

Born all/Goodly" Parents 15

suffered from manic depression and that the accident was not the cause of his problems. These two stories conflicted. From my family research, the most feasible explanation for his mental condition was that he was a manic depressive. In any case, my father had a very serious mental illness which plagued his life with frustration and suicide attempts and led to him being incarcerated in a number of mental institutions for long periods at a time. When my father was about twenty-one, he was taken to a mental institution, certified insane, and placed in a padded cell where he remained for several months. His depression was so great that he was in a vegetable-like state, unable to communicate with anyone. However, the staff worked with him, and used music therapy to help him awaken from the deep depression. They taught him to play the piano, and very gradually my father was able to play a few tunes. Other patients would ask requests of him, and he would play their requests. Very slowly, with help from both the staff and patients, my father started the long road back to some sort of normality. Shortly after his discharge from hospital in 1933, my father was introduced to my mother by his parents. The relationship blossomed and it was not long before my mother discovered she was pregnant. This news must have seemed like manna from heaven to both sets of my grandparents. They could get these two problem children married and out of their hair. My parents were married in 1934 and shortly after that my mother gave birth to my brother Tom. Two years later they had another son Fred. He was a most loveable brother, a friend to us all. Four years later they had another son Victor. He was born with an obstruction in the abdomen requiring surgery. He only just survived the operation and he died when he was just six weeks old. My parents must have been devastated by Victor's death. Losing a child must be the most painful· thing a parent can go through. In later years, my mother would talk to me about Victor. Her account' of his very short life was always factual and there was very little emotion in her recollections. My m9ther internalized all her feeling and emotions and this made her unable to express any tenderness towards her children. This was also reflected in her relationship with my father. I cannot remember ever seeing them being affectionate towards each other. There was very little tenderness in their relationship. Mother always denied having any knowledge of my father being certified or the fact that they were second cou~ins before they were married. She claimed that it was after their marriage that she discovered

16 Because I Have Been Given Much

the truth about his illness and that they were related so closely. Just before her death, I asked my mother if she would have gone through with the marriage if she had known. She told me that she was unsure what she would have done.

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Shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War, my parents and my brothers moved from North to South London, into a small two up/two down council house, in the hope that the change of surroundings would give them a fresh start in life. Towards the end of the war in June 1944, I was born. I was what was known as an 'agitated' baby as I was actually born while bombs were dropping. My three elder brothers were hiding under the bed while my mother gave birth. After the war, life in South London started slowly getting back to normal. But my father's mental condition had not improved. He spent more and more time off work. After a bout of illness, he would return to work and before long, another black wave of depression would hit him resulting in further hospitalization. This meant that there was very little money. I would often watch my mother cleaning the house, scrubbing the bare floors on her hands and knees. We were too poor to afford the luxury of carpets. What floor covering we had was made up of pieces of linoleum placed strategically around the house where our feet would tread. As for my clothes, they were mostly hand-me-downs from my brothers. My mother's skill at patching trousers always allowed for not buying new clothes. I would go to school in my brothers' old shoes that were several sizes too big for me. My mother would stuff newspaper in the toes so they would fit my feet. All these material deprivations would have been bearable if there had been affection and honesty in the llome. The lack of affection in my home bred a craving and a hunger in me that I tried to fill with the things of the world for years. But I learned later in life that this hunger can only be fed by things of the Spirit. My life story is one of unimaginable misunderstandings and misdirection. But, it is also a story of triumph through the love of the Lord.

CHAPTER 2

Living in the Midst of Chaos My maternal grandmother came to live with us in the early 1950s. My grandfather had died just before the outbreak of war in 1939 and by this time Grandmother was very feeble and unable to cope with living on her own any more. My parents decided to have her stay with us for a short while, in the hope that more suitable accommodation could be found for her where she would get the care she needed. Because of the lack of space in our home, she had to sleep in the same bedroom as my three elder brothers and myself. The good thing for me was that I was able to get into her bed for a cuddle. I would often wake in the night suffering from nightmares caused by the stress that we were all living under due to my father's mental condition. I remember her as a large woman, with white hair that was always in a bun. She was a very tactile person and was always good for a cuddle! I vividly remember Christmas morning when I was six years old. My father had made me a wooden garage and placed it under Grandma's bed. When I woke up, I went over to her bed and discovered the garage. I excitedly opened the doors. A windup car shot across the floor, delighting me greatly. My grandma joined in my excitement. I loved Christmas as a child. It was a carefree time for the family. Even though we did not have much materially, my father would rally himself to ensure that we had the best Christmas possible. However, after Christmas Dad would retreat into one of his black depressions and life would come down to earth with a bang. It was shortly after that Christmas that Grandma was placed in an old people's home because seven of us in a very small house had become too much to cope with. Despite continuous efforts by my father to get some support from his in-laws to house Grandma, they were unwilling to help. Finally and reluctantly, my father had to put her into an old people's home. I was broken-hearted when she went because she had been my oasis of warmth and love. When she left, I felt a huge void in my life which sadly nether of my parents was able to fill. Because of where the home was situated, visiting her was difficult and I was only able to do so once before her death. My brothers took me to see her. She was so pleased to see us that her face lit up when we walked illto the room. She only survived six months in the home before she died. My brother Tom told me, in later years, that he felt that she had died of a broken heart.

18 Because I Have Been Given Much

The age gap between my brothers and me was so great that they seemed like distant uncles to me. By the time I was nine years old, Stan had enlisted in the army and Tom was married, leaving Fred as my only brother at home. By this time, he was spending more and more time with friends and so I felt like an only child. I missed the warmth and cuddles my grandma gave me even more. It was not until I got into my twenties that the age gap started to shrink. However even now, in my fifties, I am still treated as the baby of the family. As a nine-year-old, school was not a happy place for me and I really struggled with the work. My earliest memory of school was one of not belonging because I was unable to comprehend much of what was being taught. The educational process was a total nightmare and I just could not grasp or understand English class. I felt like I was at the latter-day Tower of Babel and, as far as I was concerned, the English teacher was teaching a foreign language. That was because I suffered from dyslexia, unbeknown to both my family and the educational authorities. I am also dyseidetic which means that the brain does not correctly process the images transmitted to it. Therefore I have a problem reading things properly. My brain leaves out words or puts in words which are not there. Consequently, much of what I read at school made little or no sense to me. I also suffer from dysphonia which means that the brain does not correctly process the sounds I hear. This means that I am not able to pronounce words correctly or I will use the wrong word. I mixed words up making it appear that I had a speech impediment. My parents or teachers were constantly correcting the way I spoke. When they said things like, "For goodness' sake, do not be so lazy and pronounce your words properly," I felt pressured and my pronunciation would become even worse, which eventually increased their criticism. I also lacked any sense of coordination and had great difficulty telling the difference between my left and right hand. This led to all sorts of problems. Even today, I am plagued with this problem and, as any e~dowed member of the LDS church can understand, I am presented with challenges from time to time in the temple. As far as the educational authorities were concerned, I was a nineyear-old whose reading and spelling abilities were far behind and who had a speech impediment. I was soon labeled educationally subnormal. I was told to sit at the back :,of the class with a picture book, while the rest of the class got on with th~ir lessons. For a brief period, my mother took me to a speech therapist~ But because my father's mental health was deteriorating she was more focused on looking after his needs and, consequently, my weekly trips to the therapist soon stopped.

Living in the Midst of Chaos 19

Life at home was quite gloomy. My father would go into long bouts of depression and isolate himself from the rest of the family, neither speaking to anyone nor wanting anyone to speak to him. I remember one cold winter's evening in January 1954 when my father had taken to his bed for days. The house had no central heating and the only real source of heating was a coal fire in the living room. In an attempt to make him feel more comfortable, my mother had made him a bed on the settee in the living room which he had no intention of leaving. I was in the kitchen with my mother sitting by the gas stove keeping warm. My mother told me to go in to the living room and sit with my father before I went to bed. I entered the room, which was lit only by the coal fire. My father was in bed just staring blankly at the ceiling. He did not move or acknowledge my presence. I walked slowly across the room and sat on the end of the bed with my hands outstretched, warming them by the fire. I sat next to him for a short while, and then without warning he sat bolt upright in bed, startling me. He had a distant and haunted look in . his face. He pointed across and said in a flat, emotionless voice, uGet your mother's handbag from the table." It was on the other side of the room. I was completely transfixed, unable to move. He repeated the statement, "Get the handbag," but this time it was much louder with a very menacing tone to it. I picked up the bag and walked slowly towards him, clasping the bag to my chest. As I got close to him, he suddenly wrenched it from my grip. In doing this he pushed me the floor. To my horror, I saw him reaching for a box of sleeping pills as I struggled to my feet. My mother must have put them into her bag for safe keeping. With the speed of light, he had the lid off and had crammed the entire contents into his mouth. Some tablets spilled through his fingers and fell onto the bed. He scooped them up with his other hand and continued pushing them into his mouth. The whole episode was over in seconds. I stood transfixed to the floor, unable to move. Having heard me falling to the floor, my mother came to investigate and broke the spell. When she realized what had happened, she shouted, "Tom, what have you done!" Then she turned to me and said, UWhy did you give him my handbag?" I ran from the room with tears rolling down my cheeks. I ran upstairs to the bedroom searching for my teddy bear, UMickey". I had come to depend on him more and more for comfort since the death of my grandmother. I crawled under the covers sobbing my heart out. Not only had my father tried to kill himself, but I had aided and abetted him in doing it. The pains of guilt washed over me in the dark and cold room.

20

Because I Have Been Given Much

There was a lot of commotion going on downstairs. Mother had summoned the neighbors for help. One of them went to the telephone box to call the doctor, the other was trying to comfort my mother and help my father. I am not sure how long I lay awake in that darkened room before I fell asleep. I heard the doctor come and could hear a lot of muffled conversations going on before an ambulance arrived to take my father away. I fell asleep soon after. The following morning, apart from being told that Dad was in hospital, I was not given any more information. I was given some breakfast them ushered out the door. Since I was told to go to school, I could only assume that my father was still alive. I took off with my mind still in a state of turmoil. I was so confused and the burdens of guilt hung heavily on my shoulders. There was no one in whom I could confide. The other kids would tell the teachers about the things they had done with their parents. How could I tell them that last night I had helped my father make an attempt on his life? My family never discussed my father's mental condition with me. I believe they felt that I was far too young or ignorant to comprehend what was going on. For me, the most painful part was that no one acknowledged my feelings. If they had, maybe I could have expressed the overwhelming misplaced guilt I felt about the whole episode. Maybe, if I could have received some reassurance that it was not my fault that my father was in hospital again, this would have gone a long way toward dispelling the enormous sense of guilt I felt. The only information about my father's condition I received was from other children in our neighborhood whose parents told them halftruths. A lot of parents would tell their children to keep away from me. There was much ignorance about mental illness in those days; people genuinely felt that my father's mental condition was contagious. As far as they were concerned, the evidence was before their eyes. I was underachieving at school. I had a speech impediment. Just how many more indications did they need? It was only in later years that I managed to find out from my brothers the sort of treatment my father would have received in hospital. He would have to undergo electroshock treatment for his depression: an electrical current passed through his brain resulting in an epileptic fit. In those days, there were no such things as muscle relaxants. It was a barbaric way of treating depression. My father would drift in and out of a coma for days on end. I was only allowed to visit him in hospital when he was in a more presentable state. As I walked up the driveway of the hospital with my mother in that early spring of 1954, I had a heavy heart for a nine-year-old, convinced in the back of my mind that I was responsible for Dad being in hospital.

Living in the Midst of Chaos 21

Because I had not been told anything about his condition, I just imagined that he would be on some sort of life support machine. To my great relief, my father appeared in the grounds fully dressed to meet us. About a week after that visit, Dad was discharged from hospital. After that, his health began a decline from which he never recover~d. The last few months of my Dad's life followed the same familiar pattern of violent mood swings. Some days he would rush about maniacally. It would appear that he did not have a care in the world. He was fun to be around. This period was always followed by days when he plunged into a deep depression and would not talk to anyone. He would just sit in the armchair staring at his hands, or he would start to play sombre music on the piano. Then there would be outbursts of anger. We did not have luxuries such as a washing machine and Mom would boil our clothes in a copper washer on the stove. On one occasion, she was doing the washing and I was having breakfast before school when my father came in and sat at the kitchen table next to me. Then without warning, he suddenly erupted into a fit of anger, smashing the side of the washer with a rolling pin and shouting, "STOP IT! STOP IT!" at my mother. We later found out that he did this because a small amount of steam was coming out of the washer which upset him. We could never predict when these outbursts would happen; they would be triggered by insignificant events. Because my mother and I were the only ones at home, we took the brunt of Dad's illness. My elder brother Fred was rarely at home. He would spend a lot of his time out socializing with his friends. Most of his time would be spent drinking or at work. I longed for Fred to come home. He had a wonderful sense of humor and was blessed to always see the funny side of life. Fred was an oasis in the desert of my uncertain life. The only thing that was constant in my life was uncertainty. Somehow he took me away from that sad life I was leading. It seems that my father's illness had a stranglehold on me at times. Fred would arrive home like the cavalry and transport me away from the depressive home life and surround me with laughter.

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There was no spiritual foundation to our family. All of us had been christened as small children into the Church of England, but that was only a cultural thing rather than a religious commitment. Although the church building was only a couple of hundred yards away from where we lived, we had no involvement with the church itself. We might see the vicar in the street, but he was very distant figure. There was no

22 Because I Have Been Given Much

nourishment of the spirit. My brothers were atheists and my mother was an agnostic at best and that was the environment I was brought up in. The concept of a loving Heavenly Father was way beyond any of us. In fact anyone who seemed to have any sort of religious belief was thought of as being weak. They were people who were to be despised and they bore the brunt of our mocking and jokes. These attitudes would remain intertwined in my thinking for a great number of years. As a young man, I had a real loathing for anyone who had a faith, but in particular those who were Christians. I would ridicule them and would encourage other people to pour scorn on them. Then I would stand back and observe. Again, I can identify with Paul; the scriptures tell us that he was a pupil of Gamaliel the Pharisee. The Pharisees would distance themselves from anything that was gentile. In the same way my family would distance themselves from anyone who was religious. Paul also took part in the martyrdom of Stephen. Although I did not inflict physical injury on people, I participated in injuring them emotionally. The only person I can recall in my family who had any glimmer of faith was my father who was becoming more and more obsessed with death. At one stage, he got involved with the Spiritualist Church. He was desperate to find out what would happen to us after we died. He would visit mediums who would conduct seances. He also attended the local Spiritualist Church. He would come home and tell the family stories of manifestations of spirits from the Afterlife, as he would call it.

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Sometimes, luck seemed to smile down on our tamily. In the early summer of 1954 my father won £90 on the football pools, the equivalent of almost three months' salary for him. My parents fitted me out in new clothes and shoes. When I dressed myself in the new clothes, I felt I was on top of the world. We never had family holidays. The money was simply not there for such luxuries. But Dad's winnings seemed like a fortune to my parents, so he announced that we would go to Brighton on the upcoming Spring Bank Holiday. When the day arrived, I got up early, dressed myself in my new clothes, and joined my parents who were in the kitchen preparing egg and cress sandwiches for our train journey. The whole day was wonderful. The sun was shining; both Mum and Dad were in good moods, they were chatting happily to each other which was not a regular occurrence. We boarded the train for Brighton. As it made its way through the countryside, I sat transfixed, gazing out of the window. I had not seen much of the rural part of the country. I had scarcely been

Living in the Midst of Chaos 23

very far from South London. The only time I had a chance to get a brief glimpse of the countryside was from the top of a Green-line bus when I was visiting my father in mental hospitals located in the countryside just outside London. Today was different. Mile after mile rolled past my window. My concentration was only broken by my mother giving me a sandwich. As the train pulled into Brighton, my, excitement mounted because, shortly, I would be seeing the sea for the first time. As we walked down the hill from the station, there was the sea stretching out in front of us. It was the most breathtaking sight I had ever seen. It felt so good to have the sea air filling my nostrils. I was so excited. It was a wonderful day: the sun was warm, my mother sat in a deck-chair while my father played with me. At lunchtime, we had fish and chips and in the afternoon we went for a walk around the town. We walked past the Grand Hotel and Dad told me that people had to be very rich to stay there. I felt like a millionaire myself that day. On the way back to catch the train home we stopped off at a gift shop where I fell in love with a cricket bat. To my great joy, my dad bought it for me. It was the most wonderful day of my life. We did not seem to have a care in the world. On the journey home I fell asleep in my father's arms, a perfect end to what had been a perfect day.

CHAPTER 3

My Father Succeeds By the summer of 1954, my father had lapsed into a black depression from which he would not recover. He would spend days in bed not able to face the family, let alone the outside world. On his better days, he would leave the safety of his bed and sit in an armchair staring into his hands for hours on end completely oblivious of the rest of us. There were brief times when he had managed to drag himself out of his depression and we could have a limited conversation with him. Then his depression would intensify and he would return to the solitude of his bedroom. Life at home was intense and everything revolved around my father's mood swings. When he was depressed, it was like walking on eggshells. We all tried to keep out of his way. No one was sure when he would erupt into a fit of temper or when he would go crashing into the depths of depression again. It was like being a bomb disposal expert-if you cut the wrong wire, or in our case said the wrong word, the whole thing could blow up in your face. One particular day in August, my mother took me with her to help with the shopping. As we approached the house, a strange stillness hung over the place and a morbid sense of foreboding greeted us at the front door. The house was deadly silent. We were soon to discover that my father had drunk a fatal dose of weed-killer and was drifting in and out of consciousness. My mother told me to go to a neighbor for help and then keep out of the way. I went to a neighbor's house, told her that my mother needed some help with my father and then went to find a friend to play with. I tried to blot out my emotions by going into denial and would not believe what was happening. I conjured up a world of make-believe, hoping that I would be safe. For me it was the coping mechanism so that I did not have to face up to what I had just witnessed. I started to play football in the road near my house with a friend. Not long afterward, an ambulance arrived. Two men rushed into the house and quickly reappeared with my father on a stretcher. Within seconds, they had placed him in the back of the ambulance and pulled away at high speed with bells ringing and lights flashing. We watched it disappear at the end of the road. Then without saying anything, we returned to our game of football as though nothing had happened. There was a lot of speculation flying around among the neighbors as to what had happened. They had already made up their minds that my

My Father Succeeds 25

father was dead. The truth was that he was just barely alive. People would walk past me mumbling to each other and looking at me. If I happened to catch their gaze, they would quickly look away. It was one- thing for my father to be continually going in and out of mental institutions, but it was an entirely different thing for him to try killing himself. Unlike politics or religion, suicide is not a topic of conversation. The very thought of someone choosing to take their own life can often leave people with a profound sense of bewilderment. It can challeng.e their deeply held beliefs about life and "death. By late afternoon, rumors of my father's suicide had started to fly around. The mother of the boy I was playing with came and ushered him away. Her body language and tone of voice told me that she did not want her son to have anything to do with me. I picked up the same vibrations from other parents who lived in our neighborhood. They did not not want their children to associate with me. I spent most of the day out in the street looking for the company of other children but there seemed to no one around. From that moment on, I seemed to have fewer and fewer friends to play with. My brothers Tom and Stan were contacted and were granted compassionate leave from the military; Tom's wife came to look after me while my mother spent the day at the hospital. My brother Fred had been contacted at work and he had gone straight to the hospital to help comfort our mother. In the evening, my mother and brother Fred returned from the hospital. They talked to other family members about my father's condition but never communicated to me what was going on. I believe they felt that they were protecting me in some way. However, it had the reverse effect on me. By ignoring my feelings and excluding me from the family, their actions came across to me as if they were indifferent. I was left to cope with my own feelings and to try to make sense of what had happened without any guidance from adults. All I wanted was someone to acknowledge that I too was suffering. I felt so isolated. My grandmother had an old fashioned clock with a glass dome over it. I felt as if someone had placed that dome over me. I could see and hear what was going on around me, but I could not reach out and touch or get involved in any way with the world around me. The next day was very much the same, with my mother and my brother Fred at my father's bedside. People were coming and going throughout the day. Relatives held clandestine conversations around me. I tried to gather news of my father's condition from people around me but just came up against a wall of total silence. All I was told was that he was fine and that I should find a friend to play with. By now, my brother Stan had arrived home and Tom was flying in from Germany.

26 Because I Have Been Given Much

The following day, on August 13th, my father died. I often wonder what he must have been thinking the minute before he drank that poison. What despair he must have felt in those awful last moments of his life and what mental torture he must have been going through. Where did he get the weed-killer? Was it lying around the garden shed, or did he go out to buy it the day he drank it? Did he buy it sometime earlier and hide it in the house for days or maybe weeks before he used it? Did he sit for a long time before he drank it and was he crying just before he drank it? Did he realize when I said good-bye to him before I went to the shops with my mother that morning that this would be the last time he would see me? What I do know for certain is that, just like me, he experienced a loneliness that few people do-when you reach that jumping off point. On the afternoon of my father's death, my brothers returned from the hospital with my mother who was crying. I was once again told to go out and find a friend to play with. I a~ked how my father was and my question went unanswered. As I came out of the house there were two or three neighbors standing in the doorway of the house opposite ours, whispering and looking towards the house. When they saw me, they turned away and started to talk amongst themselves. The street had a strange feel about it. Although the schools were out for the summer, there were no children out playing. I remembered viewing the almost deserted street and knowing that my father wa"s dead. When someone in the family chooses to take their own life, there is an emotional minefield left behind. I had an overwhelming feeling of guilt and had questions like, "What did I do to make him want to kill himself?" If I had not gone to the shops that morning maybe I could have stopped him from doing what he did. My thoughts were interrupted when my brother asked me to come into the house. He led me into the kitchen where my mother was sitting, crying. She stretched out her arms, pulled me towards her, and said that Daddy would not be coming home anymore. My sister-in-law was sitting at the other end of the table, also in tears and my three brothers' eyes were also wet. I did not share any of their grief, I felt completely numb emotionally. I distinctly remember having to force myself to cry. What I did feel, however, were the pains of guilt that washed over me, I felt in some irrational way that I was responsible for his death and somewhere along the line I would be punished for it.

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Because none of my family had any faith and had never heard of the plan of salvation, we were like a rudderless ship being tossed about in a

My Father Succeeds 27

raging sea of emotions. We had no comprehension of life and death and as a result we were left with feelings of bewilderment, frustration and anger. We had no beacon of hope to guide us through this time of turbulent emotions. We simply believed that my father was gone and that we would not see him again. When you live without faith, you are left with feelings of bewilderment and frustration because you do not have Heavenly Father's love to comfort and guide you through the darkest moments of your life.

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Because of the circumstances of my father's death, the Church of England did not offer any pastoral comfort to our family. And due to our lack of faith, we did not approach the Church for any solace. As far as the funeral was concerned, a civil service was arranged at the local crematorium. My family felt that it would be in my best interests if I did not attend the funeral. It was arranged that a friend of the family would look after me. He was a delivery man and I would go with him while he was doing his deliveries. When the morning of the funeral arrived, my family tried to carry on as normal as they were trying desperately to shield me from what was really happening. When the man called for me and I was safely out of the way, they must have frantically rushed around the house getting dressed for the funeral. The man had his son with him. All three of us made our way to his work. Because children were not allowed in the yard, the two of us had to wait outside while his truck was being loaded. There was a long delay in loading him, and we were outside much longer than anticipated. Because of the delay, I was sitting on the roadside when my father's funeral procession passed right by. I was only a few yards away from my family, but it might as well have been a million miles. The moment I realized what was happening, I rose to my feet. If I had been just two yards nearer, I could have reached out and touched them. It only took a few moments for the cars to pass me, however, it seemed like an eternity as I stood there. I raised my hand in a gesture of acknowledgement to my family. They saw me but did not acknowledge me. As the hearse passed with my family in the following car, I stood there with my hand slightly held up and my stare fixed on the cars. I was in some sort of surreal world and I could not believe what was happening. I felt like an outcast and that my feelings were unimportant. When I arrived ~ome that evening, nothing was said about the funeral or that I had been seen at the roadside. After my evening meal I

28 Because I Have Been Given Much

went to bed and sought solace by cuddling Mickey, my teddy bear, and tried to make sense of what had happened. Funerals are a very important part of the grieving process. It is a point where the healing can begin. I was not allowed to get to that point. For years I was unable to put my father's memory to rest and was haunted by what had happened. It was only in later years that I felt confident enough to approach the subject with members of my family. They felt that I had been too young to understand what was going on. They said that they had ignored me by the side of the road because they felt embarrassed at seeing me there. They were limited in their own ability to copy with what had happened and were not capable of dealing with my grief as well.

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Two months after my father's death, my brother Fred was conscripted into the military and so for the next two years my mother and I lived on our own. To support us, she had to take on full-time employment and quite enjoyed the independence that came with working. It was the first time in years that she had had such freedom. She was able to make a circle of friends, something which had been impossible before. She would leave the house early in the morning, which meant I had to get ready for school on my own. She would not return until six in the evening, long after school had finished. I struggled to adjust. I felt abandoned, and with the loss of my father, combined with being denied involvement in the griev~g process, I felt isolated and frightened. School became impossible. I could not concentrate on anything and fell even further behind with my work. One day after a particularly 'bad day at school, I came home and went to my room to find my teddy bear Mickey only to· find him missing. I searched the house but he was nowhere to be found. I waited for what seemed like a lifetime for my mother to return home from work and asked her if she knew where Mickey was. She told me that I was too old to have something like that, and that now I was the man of the house I should act in a more responsible manner, for men did not have teddy bears. She said that she had come home during her lunch break and had thrown him away. I could not believe it. Mickey had been my comforter, particularly during the times that I had been so frightened I had buried my face into his soft, furry body which had soaked up my tears. A:t;ld now he was gone! I was totally devastated. If this was what it meant to be a man, then I did not want any part of it.

CHAPTER 4

The War at School A year later, it was time for me to move on to the senior school, which covered grades eleven to fifteen. I should have taken the eleven plus" exam to determine if I would go to a comprehensive school or a grammar school. Grammar schools were reserved for the best students. However, because of my low academic achievement due to my undiagnosed dyslexia, my mother received a letter from my primary school headmistress inviting her to come into the school to discuss my future education. Mum was told that I was educationally subnormal and I stood no chance of passing the exam. The best option was that I should be moved straight onto a comprehensive senior school in the hope that I might be more responsive there. However, in the headmistress's opinion, there was very little hope of me achieving anything. My education had never been very high on my mother's agenda, due in part to all of my father's problems and partly because she accepted the opinion of the professionals without reservation. She believed that they were infallible people, not to be questioned or challenged in any way. So at the age of eleven I was written off as a failure by all concerned, including myself. I just felt so useless; the rest of the kids who were moving up with me that year seemed to be streets ahead. My sense of self-worth was at an all time low. This particular comprehensive school I was to go to had a reputation for being very austere. It was the same school that my elder brothers had attended. I remember them telling me how tough the discipline was and how ~nfriendly the atmosphere. During the summer holidays, my mother would go off to work at 7.30 in the morning, leaving me asleep in bed. She made sure that there was some food in the house and sometimes she would leave a small amount of money for me. I spent most of that summer holiday on my own, because I had few friends in the neighborhood. There was a clear social distinction between myself and the other children in the area. Most of them had been told by their parents not to associate with me. I felt very inferior to them because our family was not like other families where we lived. With the small amounts of money I would get from my mother, I would go to the cinema, the zoo or to a museum. I traveled around London on my own. I was so vulnerable, anyone could have tried to, 11

30

Because I Have Been Given Much

befriend me. I am convinced that Someone was looking after me. Somehow, I was kept safe.

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I was consumed with fear because of the pending autumn term, when I was to start my new school. The dreaded day arrived. As usual, my mother woke me up before going off to work. Even though it was more than forty years ago, I still remember the feelings of fear I had on that morning. I still vividly remember getting ready with no one in the house and being too nervous to eat the breakfast that my mother had left for me. I started the mile walk to school with butterflies in my stomach. That feeling of impending doom that had been with me throughout the summer break was now magnified one hundred percent, to a point where I felt physical pain. When I arrived at the school gates, I stood frozen to the spot, not wanting to go in. Other new pupils walked past with one or both of their parents with them. I stood there gazing through the gates, watching the other children filing in, and eventually summoned enough courage to walk through the gates where I found a. solitary corner of the playground and stood there with waves of fear washing over me. One of the teachers who was to be my Form Master, something like a Home Room teacher, came to the playground, blew a whistle, and told all new boys to form a line to his left. I later learned that his name was Mr Jackson. He was a young man in his mid-to-Iate-thirties. He always wore white tennis shoes, a navy blue blazer and gray flannel trousers. The reason for the tennis shoes was that he taught physical education. During the War, he had served as a rear-gunner in the Air Force. He would hold us all transfixed with stories about the bombing missions when he had flown over Germany. It was not long before I was to fall foul of a particular teacher named Mr Wise. He was Welsh and one of the most feared teachers in the school. He was in his thirties, tall with a large nose and a full head of hair. He always wore a sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows, brown trousers with a shiny seat and a pair of highly polished brown shoes. He drove an American ex-army jeep and taught English and History. Within a couple of weeks I found out just how cruel he could be. Because of my learning difficulties, he made me sit at the desk nearest to his table. He claimed that it was the best way he could keep his eye on me. In his English classes, he would ask me to spell words he knew full well that I could not spell. I would not even make an attempt to spell the words. I would just sit at my desk with my mouth half-open, glued to

The War at School 31

my seat with fear. He would then stand up fro~ behind his table and move quickly to where I was sitting. He would then say, flCome here, Idiot Boy." He named me after the Wordsworth poem flThe Idiot Boy." I cannot remember him ever calling me anything other than Idiot Boy. He would then grab me by the short hair on the side of my head and would pull me out of my desk, dragging me to the front of the class. Still holding me by my hair, he would ask me again to spell the word. When I couldn't, he would start to beat me with his free hand on the back of my head, as he spelled the word. This would bring mocking jeers from the other boys in the class and when he had finished he would push me back to my desk. There were times when each boy in· the class would read something from' a book. When it was my turn, he would preface the event by saying, flNow let us hear from the Idiot Boy." I was so fearful that I could not get a word past my lips. This was swiftly followed by yet another beating and taunting by the rest of my classmates. I learned to quietly accept the abuse and ridicule. Any motivation I had to learn had long ago left me. In the playground, most children made fun of me, I had a few friends, but my time at school was extremely lonely. I desperately wanted to belong and would do anything to be accepted by my peers; this sense of wanting to belong remained with me for years. I had no sense of my own identity and became what is known as a flpeople pleaser." I would always agree with the ideas or philosophies of others, which left me very vulnerable to negative behavior. The rest of the teachers were not a great deal better than Mr Wise. Some were all right but by and large I was treated as some sort of simpleton. However, there was one who matched Mr Wise. Mr Benthan was in his mid-to-Iate-forties and was overweight and balding with a glass eye. He taught metalwork. Due of my lack of co-ordination, I would often make mistakes, causing him to grab me by the chin with his thumb and forefinger, lift me up on tiptoe, hit me on the back of the head and call me a clumsy idiot. If there was a competition between the two of them as to who was the most savage, I would have said it was a dead heat. Both would beat me with the cane at the drop of a hat and both took great joy in calling me an flldiot." I told my mother about the abuse, but she was reluctant to do anything about it, because she believed that you did not question professional people. I continued to badger her about my treatment. She eventually made an appointment. with the teachers. But, it was not helpful, because the abuse was denied. Instead, she was told about my refusal to engage in schoolwork. She became more concerned about my making up stories than about my treatment at school.

32 Because I Have Been Given Much

Things went from bad to worse at school and I just tried to survive in the classroom by disengaging mentally during lessons. My thoughts would only be broken by Mr Wise who continued asking me to spell words which I could not. This would be followed by the obligatory humiliation and beating. There seemed to be no relief from my problems with Mr Wise and Mr Benthan. However, I had learned a valuable lesson from my father's life. Because of his illness, he got a lot of attention from the family. It occurred to me that perhaps the best way to get the attention I craved was to be ill. So I would have to invent an illness, but which one? I would need symptoms, but it was not going to be easy. Internal symptoms would be easier to conjure up and difficult for anyone to disprove. I started to fake abdominal.pains and it worked. My mother kept me home from school. And if she sent me to school, I would double up in pain once there and they would send me home. After many visits, my doctor could not diagnose the problem, so he referred me to specialists at our local hospital. I was passed from one doctor to another, over a period of roughly eighteen months to two years. I cannot remember how many specialists I was referred to or how many x-rays and examinations I underwent. But it was all worth it. The pay-off was that I was hardly at school and I was getting a lot of attention from my mother and the doctors. I spent most of my days at home on my own while my mother worked. When she returned in the evening she would make a fuss of me. Faking an illness is a very common behavior amongst children who suffer from dyslexia and other learning difficulties because of the difficulties faced at school. Some will even go on to develop psychosomatic illnesses. Out of frustration, the doctors convened a case conference. The only conclusion they· could come up with was that if they removed my appendix it might alleviate the problem. However, they did not come to this decision lightly. In 1956, such an operation was considered major abdominal surgery especially on a 13-year-old child. Pride stopped me from confessing that I had been lying all this time, so the operation went ahead. As they were pushing me into the operating room, I confessed to my mother that I had been lying. No one believed me; they just put it down to pre-operation nerves. So out came a perfect appendix! But-I found that even an operation had its plus side as I got a lot of attention from the family and the medical staff and I even got a "Get Well" card from the school! The operation was followed by six weeks of convalescence. This ended just as the summer holidays started with a further six weeks off school. On returning to school, however nothing had changed. When Mr Wise saw me in his class he announced with joy in his voice, "Oh look, the Idiot Boy is back!" Life went on pretty much

The War at School 33

the same way as it had done before my period of bogus illness. The nightmare continued. I was desperately trying to find ways to avoid the ridicule and abuse from Mr Wise and Mr Benthan. I was not brave enough to play truant but there seemed no way out for me. Until one day I noticed that, if anyone excelled at sports, they would be treated differently and would be allowed to skip lessons so they could train. Sports and I were not compatible due to my lack of coordination. I was no good at athletics, so I would not have been able to get into any team. But then I remembered that Mr Jackson was the boxing team coach. There you have it; you do not need coordination to get punched! I managed to persuade Mr Jackson to allow me to join his team. He was reluctant at first because of my recent illness but I managed to convince him that boxing would help me toughen up. He was hesitant but finally agreed to have me on board. The team was entered in the All-England Schoolboy Championships. Our school was drawn away in the first round of the championships, which meant we had to visit another school. Unfortunately I drew a match agairist a boy who had made it all the way to the All-England Finals in the previous year. He was also an ABA (Amateur Bqxing Association) champion. After leaving school he went on to become a professional boxer. That was my opponent for my first fight! Both Mr Jackson and I knew that I was outmatched, and to prolong the agony, our fight was the last one on the program. I had to sit through all the other fights. Mr Jackson was trying to lift my morale by giving instructions as to the best way I could approach the bout. I watched the other fights with fear, but not as much fear as when I was in a dreaded English class. The afternoon seemed to go on forever, and then at last it was time to get into the ring. I climbed in, with Mr Jackson acting as my second holding the ropes open for me. r glanced over at my opponent who looked every inch the champion that he was. He was wearing a red silk robe with a towel on his head. His broken nose peeked out from under the towel. His trainer was with him and they were a really awesome pair: my opponent was shadow boxing and his trainer was massaging his shoulders I stood frozen to the spot. The bell rang a couple of times then the referee called us to the center of the ring and told us that he wanted a clean fight. All the time he was talking, my opponent was staring straight in my eyes. When the pep talk was over, we were told to shake hands and return to our corners. The bell rang for the first round and he came out like a train, raining punches down on me. I managed to fight him off for a while and then he

34 Because I Have Been Given Much

gave me a jab that caught me off guard, hitting me square on the nose. I felt a sickening crack. It was broken, and blood poured from it. At the end of the first round, Mr Jackson managed stem the flow of blood from my nose. However, it was difficult to breathe through it, which meant that I had to breathe through my mouth. I would have to fight with my mouth slightly open, which increased the chance of getting my jaw broken. The second round was pretty much the same as the first. The blood continued to pour from my nose and, at one point, the referee stepped between us. I thought, "Thank goodness. He is going to stop the fight." No such luck. My laces had come undone and he told me to return to my corner to have them tied up. At the end of the second rou~d, my eyelids were beginning to swell over my eyes, making it difficult to see. The referee came over to see if I was fit enough to continue. Mr Jackson wanted me to throw the towel in, but my pride would not let me do it. At the start of third and final round I received a jab to the mouth which dislodged my gumshield and with a couple more blows to the mouth my teeth became embedded into my top lip, slitting it from one end to the other. A fountain of blood sprang from my mouth. The referee stepped in and stopped the fight. The crowd got on their feet cheering. With the injuries I sustained, I got to stay home from school again for a few days. As far as I was concerned that was no bad thing. On my return to school, my reputation had soared and even Mr Jackson saw me in a new light. All in all, the entire event had done me some good. I stayed with the boxing team unit until I left school and went on to win a few minor schoolboy championships. Through the school boxing team I made a small circle of friends. However, relationships were difficult for me because I would suffocate any friends I had by wanting to be with them for twenty-four hours a day. I was so insecure within myself that I was not able to form wholesome relationships. I would not form friendships; I would take hostages. This was to be a thread that would run through my adult relationships. I would also view people with a great deal of skepticism if they wanted to associate with me. Groucho Marks once said, "I wouldn't belong to a club that would have me as a member." My self-esteem was so low that I thought there had to be something wrong with someone who wanted to be around me for any length of time. Through boxing, I met David. He was also in the school team and his father ran an amateur boxing club that I was invited to join. David had an elder brother, Steve, who was also a very keen boxer. David's father enjoyed playing the role of a fight promoter and daydreamed of discovering "The Great British Hope" among members of the club. We

The War at School 35

went to the club two nights a week to train and there were other lads there, which meant that my circle of friends increased even further. In the boxing fraternity of South London there was element of criminal behavior, nothing too obvious. But there was always a lot of wheeling and dealing going on and things happened that were not quite right. There was nothing I could put my finger on; nothing like fight fixing. There was just a slightly sinister ambience about the place. I started to spend time with David and his family and they were good to me. Once in a while I would be invited to have an evening meal with them, a real treat for me. I started to enjoy their way of life. Meanwhile, at home nothing much had changed. I must have been about fourteen when one evening my mother offered me a cigarette. I told her that I did not smoke, but she did not believe me. She said all my brothers were smokers at my age and I was old enough now to smoke openly. The fact of the matter was I did not want to smoke because of my boxing training. In any event, I was scared of getting caught. A lot of the boys at school smoked, but I was not really interested. She was insistent that I have a cigarette. The people pleaser in me could not refuse the offer and I lit up. It made. me feel dizzy and sick. Research has shown that after smoking just three cigarettes, you are addicted. That was the case with me. And it took almost twenty-four years before I would kick the habit. Just before I stopped, I was smoking twenty to thirty cigarettes a day.

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By 1958, my brother Fred had finished his tour in the military and was living at home with my mother and me. He got himself a job with the local bookmaker. In the late 1950s, it was illegal to place bets with a bookmaker other than on a racetrack. Therefore, the bookmakers would employ men who acted as runners to collect bets on the street corners. They worked in pairs: one would act as a lookout, while the other would collect the bets. Now and again, the police would turn up and the pair of them would have to run for it. Fred only worked three hours a day: from mid-day to two in the afternoon collecting bets, then from six to seven in the evening paying out the winnings. I was fascinated by his life-style. After he finished in the evenings, he would go drinking in the smoked-filled seedy nightclubs around South London. He was a wide boy, which meant that he was on the peripherals of criminal activity and seemed to live on the edge of criminal behavior. All sorts of shadowy characters would call around our house to see him. Some of them were infamous gangsters

.

36 Because I Have Been Given Much

from South London and this was all terribly exciting and glamorous to me. When his friends came around the house, they would quite often talk 'about consignments of black-market cigarettes and whiskey or the news of a new drinking club which had just opened. There was always talk of police activity and who had and had not been arrested. These characters and their lifestyle intrigued me. None of them had any visible sources of income, such as jobs, yet they were all well dressed and drove cars. It seemed to me that most of their social lives revolved around drinking clubs. Fred rarely arrived home much before two in the morning from a night out in the clubs and was never up, much before eleven. Then he would go off once again collecting bets. He was always well turned out, in smart tailor-made suits and always carried a laige roll of bank notes. He had a charismatic personality; he was like a magnet that would draw people to him. He always seemed to have a circle of friends around him. I was in awe of him and I wanted to be just like him and have his clandestine lifestyle. The police knew that the illegal gambling was going on and, every now and again, they would try to arrest the runners. When a runner was arrested, he would be put up in front of the magistrates and fined on the first two occasions and the bookmaker would pay the fine. However, after the third and subsequent convictions the runner stood a chance of being sent to prison for three months. Fred saw being arrested as an occupational hazard. However, it would disrupt the day's trading and the bookmaker would not be pleased because it meant that he would lose money. Some police officers were also customers and would give advance warnings of impending raids. Fred would then get a friend who had no convictions for street betting and was in need of some extra money to act as a decoy. He would stand on Fred's street corner at the appointed time and the police would turn up and arrest him. Once they had gone, Fred would then resume taking bets and trading would not be too disrupted for the day. The decoy would be fined the following morning. The bookmaker paid both him and his fine and all sides would be happy. Most local people viewed Fred and his associates as loveable rogues rather than people who blatantly flouted the law. When the police swooped in attempts to stop Fred's activities, people who lived near his pitch would offer him refuge in their homes. The bookmaker's runner was seen as a service provider similar to the local shopkeepers. Fred's behavior was enormously influential over me. There was something hypnotic about living on the wrong side of the law. The most appealing thing about that way of life was the camaraderie of the people. Even for someone like me there was an acceptance. I was Fred's younger

The War at School 37

brother and, along with my boxing ability, I was gaining a small amount of street credibility. I was at long last getting the little bit of recognition that I craved for.

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Life at school went on pretty much the same way. I still did not understand much of what happened in classes and would switch off and drift into a pretend world of my own. In my last year even Mr Wise and Mr Benthan had given up on me. Mr Wise had relocated me to the back of his class. I would watch while the others got on with things like Shakespeare's Hamlet. It was the same in Mr Benthan's class. I was allowed to tidy up the tools, because I was no good with my hands. He would give me menial tasks to do just to keep me out of the way. My family, the school and I had all reached the conclusion that I was of low intelligence and there was very little hope for me. I left school in the summer of 1959, barely able to write my name. I could not write my address, which left me with feelings of worthlessness. I did not value myself one little bit. Shortly before leaving, I had an interview with the careers teacher. When he asked me what career I would like to take up I did not have a clue about what I wanted to do. I knew my friend David wanted to be a cabinetmaker, so I told the career teacher that I had this burning ambition to become a furniture maker. He arranged for me to have an interview in a factory which made public announcement systems. He said the job would be helping to put together the wooden cabinets that the loudspeakers went into. I went to the interview hoping that there were no application forms to fill in so my literacy problem would not be apparent. The foreman who interviewed me knew my mother, which was helpful. He showed me around the factory and said the job was mine if I wanted it. I would work from 8.00 am to 5.30 p.m. with an hour for lunch, for which I would be paid three pounds and ten shillings per week. In today's terms that would be about $100 a week. The school considered that they had done a good job. I was leaving and going straight into employment, which was the best anyone could have hoped for. The last time I walked out of the school gates, I had about the same level of academic achievement that I did four years previously when I started there. I had somehow managed to get through the education system without it touching me. I felt that there was nothing inside of me that was worth anything and that I had let my family and the school down. And so it was that in the summer of 1959,at the age of fifteen, I was turned out in the world to fend for myself.

CHAPTERS

Getting into Real Trouble Now that I was working, most of the labels I had picked up at school disappeared. I was no longer considered an idiot. My job consisted of drilling holes in pieces of wood and running errands for people in the factory. My social life was almost non-existent. Apart from going to the boxing club one night a week, I hardly ventured outside the house. I worked alongside a lad who was a couple years older than me who was a "man of the world." From what he told me, he led a wonderful social life. I became friendly with him and because I desperately wanted to hold on to his friendship, I would tell lies about myself. I told him that I led a wild social life with all the imaginary friends that i could think of. I would also give the impression that I was popular with young women, when in fact I had no idea about the opposite sex. I actually knew very little about the facts of life. My brother Tom had told me something about the subject, probably at the request of my mother. I had picked up some false information in the playground at school about sex. But apart from my mother and sister-in-law, I had very little experience of dealing with members of the opposite sex. I had been to an all boys' school and I came from a predominantly male family. In the presence of females I was like a fish out of water. I did not know what to say to them or how to behave appropriately. I had very limited social skills, certainly not enough to engage myself in any meaningful social interchange. Yet my newfound friend seemed to know it all. On Monday mornings, we would exchange stories about our weekends. He would reveal that he had been to a dance or a party and I would fabricate stories about my weekend when in fact I had spent most of the time at home. The summer months went by, autumn arrived, and then Christmas was with us. On Christmas Eve, the factory closed at lunchtime for the holiday. My foreman invited me to join him and the rest of the people I worked with over at the pub for a celebratory drink. As I walked out of the factory and across the road to the pub, my life was about to change forever.

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Getting into Real Trouble 39

I had never been inside a pub before. The place was warm and inviting and I was asked what I would like to drink. I did not have a clue. Then I remembered my brother Fred told me that he drank light and bitter, so I ordered the same. I took my first mouthful and it tasted awful. I wanted to spitit out, but I was desperate not to let my new friends know that I had never had a drink before. So I swallowed it. Looking around, I noticed that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I forced another mouthful down, then another. Then someone else went to the bar and ordered another round of drinks. By now I had finished the first pint and had started to get a warm feeling inside of me. As I got half-way through the second drink, the taste did not matter anymore. I had discovered the Elixir of Life. I immediately become a loyal subject to King Alcohol, which gave me the confidence I needed to talk to people. It seemed that I had come in from the cold and had joined the human race at long last. Then as another drink arrived, I was released from all the cares in the world, my boredom and worries seemed to fade into insignificance and I was enjoying an intimacy with new friends. I drank until I could not stand and then had to be helped to the toilet, where I vomited. Then I was taken home. I cannot remember much of the events of that afternoon. I was put to bed and stayed there until the following morning-Christmas day. I spent most of that day feeling hung-over and not really engaging in the family Christmas. The following day was Boxing Day and my brother Fred invited me to go for a drink with him and some of his friends. After a stern warning from my mother, who told me not to drink so much this time, I eagerly made my way with Fred to the pub. When we arrived, we were greeted by some of Fred's friends who brought us a drink. I forced the first drink down which once again made me feel like I wanted to vomit up. But soon that same warm glowing feeling that I had experienced two days previously began to wash over me. I was in the company of some of the people who had clandestine meetings at our home with Fred and I could not believe my luck that I was in the inner circle of the local criminal fraternity. It was magical. Once again, I drank too much. The same thing happened on New Years Eve. My drinking was out of control. I just did not know when I had had enough. Some people could exercise some level of moderation in their drinking. I just drank until I could not drink anymore. That was the start of a never-ending spiral of self-destruction that was to last for the next twenty years. Paul says, "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty" (2 Corinthians 3:17). I have found, through the bitter experiences of myself and countless others, there is no liberty or freedom where there is addiction.

40

Because I Have Been Given Much

After the Christmas and New Year celebrations, life started to return to normal for most people, but not for me. My life would never be the same again. By February 1960, my social life took on a whole new meaning. I would visit the local pub at least once a week and most of my wages were spent on alcohol. I wanted so much to impress people I had gone to school with that after a beer or two I would tell outrageous lies about myself, to try and give the impression that I was cool and that I was up for anything. On Saturday evenings, we would meet in the local coffee bar before moving on to the pub. One particular evening I was getting ready to go out when a couple of lads I knew from the coffee bar called at my house. They had just stolen a motor scooter. I went out to look at it. One of them invited me to go for a ride with him and without hesitation I accepted. I knew that it was wrong to get on that scooter, but the overwhelming need within me for acceptance far outweighed any sense of right or wrong I had. The plan was that we would ride to a coffee bar a few miles out of town. It was an infamous place were a lot of people who had stolen motorbikes and scooters gathered to show off their ill-gotten gains. I felt it would do my street credibility a lot of good. We set off, but did not get more than a couple of miles before we were spotted by the police and were promptly arrested and taken to the local police station for questioning. I was asked where I stole the scooter. Of course I did not know because I was not present when it was stolen. However, my accomplice told them all the details and the name of the other person who was involved in the theft with him. We were held at the police station while a police car was sent to the coffee bar to arrest the other lad. Then our parents where sent for. My mother arrived with my brother, Fred, who felt very uncomfortable in the police station because he was still working for the local bookmaker. He would have preferred to keep a low profile as far as the police were concerned. In the presence of our parents all three of us were charged with theft and were bailed to appear at the local Juvenile Court the following Wednesday morning. Once home, mother an~ Fred started lecturing me about my criminal behavior. The following day my brother Tom was informed of my arrest and pending court appearance. A meeting was arranged so that my brothers could discuss the best way to deal with the juvenile delinquent they had in their midst. I enjoyed the attention other members of my family were paying me. It did not matter that I was getting negative attention. The important thing was that it was attention, which I had craved since I was a small child.

Getting into Real Trouble 41

It was decided that the best thing for me to do was to try and enlist in the Army as my mother and brothers felt that would suit all concerned. The idea also caught my overactive imagination. I was already making up stories in my mind about what I could tell my friends down at the pub. I could pretend I was off to fight a war in some foreign land and that might give me a bit more status. However, there were two big drawbacks: I was not old enough, being just fifteen, and I could only write my own name. Sometimes, the Army would interview fifteen-yearolds and, if they felt that they were up to army life, they would accept them once they reached the age of sixteen. And my brothers felt that I would not have a problem with my lack of literacy and assured me that I would be accepted for the Pioneer Corps, the lowest of the low in the British Army. A few days later, I found myself in front of the magistrates in the Juvenile Court along with my co-defendants. We all pleaded guilty to taking and driving away and they adjourned sentencing for four weeks so they could get reports from both the probation service and our schools. During the four weeks we waited to return to court, things went on in pretty much the same way; I spent much of my spare time and money in the pub. I did go to the Army recruiting office to offer my services to both Queen and Country and, of course, I failed miserably. I was flatly refused entrance due to my written work after the recruiting sergeant saw the poor condition of my application form. I was told by the recruiting sergeant that I would have to gain a lot more education. Until then, he suggested that I find something else to do with my life and made it quite clear that there was not any place for people like me in the British Army. One evening, we had a visit from a probation officer. He was a very tall and good looking man. However, his mannerisms and dress were one of a school teacher. I immediately disengaged emotionally from him. He already had a copy of a report from my school that said that my behavior at school was abysmal and that I was lazy and disengaging. The report went on to say that I was disruptive in classes and the only thing I showed the slightest interest in was boxing. He asked me what I felt about the report; I just shrugged my shoulders and said nothing. My mother told him of my failed attempt to join the Army, which did not surprise him. . A couple of weeks later, we were back in court for sentencing. My two co-defendants' school reports were fine and their schools felt that they were both of average intelligence and were not a problem. Their probation reports were also in the same vein.

42

Because I Have Been Given Much

In passing sentence, the magistrates banned us from driving for a year. The fact that none of us was old enough to drive or that, when the ban was over, we would still not be old enough to hold a driving license did not seem to bother them in the slightest! We were also fined. That was not the end of it; the magistrates turned their attention to me and I was told that both the probation and school reports were appalling and that they felt that I was the ringleader and a bad influence and needed close monitoring to ensure that I did not commit further offences. It would be in everyone's interest that I should be placed on probation for two years and I was given my first appointment to see the same probation officer in a few days. My brothers then took me over to the nearest pub. Once we got our drinks, they launched into a long lecture about how I must change my ways. If I did not, they could see me embarking on a life of crime. I felt it was futile to try and explain that my role in all this was a peripheral rather than a pivot~l one. I felt a sense of injustice and that I had been wrongly singled out as the villain and had been made a ~capegoat. A few days later, I found myself sitting in the probation office. The probation officer was asking questions about what I did with my leisure time and what sort of people I associated with. I just switched off and answered the questions with the least amount of words that I could. To my way of thinking, he was the same type of authoritarian as my school teachers. He was the enemy to whom I had to give the least amount of information possible, or otherwise I was in some way collaborating with the enemy. My weekly visits to his office were painful for both of us. He would bombard me with questions. I would try and deflect them with yes or no answers, or with just a grunt.

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After my court appearance, I left the factory I was working in because one of my drinking companions told me that I would earn more money with him working on building sites. If I turned down his offer, I felt I would displease him in some way and I would go any lengths to avoid disapproval. So I quit the security of a steady job to work on a building site where there was no job security and I never knew if I had a job from one day to the next. However, the job did pay almost twice as much as I had been earning in the factory. All the money I was earning was going on alcohol. I had no idea of the value of money, and I treated it simply as alcohol vouchers. About a year after my court appearance, I was drinking so much that I was having black-outs. I would wake up some mornings after a heavy night's drinking and would have very little recollection of the events of the

Getting into Real Trouble 43

previous evening. It terrified me not to remember what I had said or done. It would take quite a bit of detective work on my part to find out what had occurred the previous evening. Some mornings I would wake to find that I had injuries to my body, consistent with being in a fight. One morning, when I opened my eyes they were so badly swollen that I could barely see out of them. The rest of my body was badly bruised as if I had been kicked. I had a vague recollection of being in a pub brawl the night before. It was a nightmare piecing together the events of the previous evening. Apparently, I had started a fight with some members of a rival gang for no reason and I was told by some of the people who had witnessed the fight that I was way out of line and deserved all that I got. My injuries were so bad that I was not able to work for almost a week. Some of the men I was working with were pilfering building materials and would ask me to help load their van with the stolen property. I welcomed the opportunity to be accepted into this inner circle of intrigue. I wanted to be seen as someone who was game for anything. One typical Friday evening, I was out drinking and, as usual, I had drunk too much. At closing time, a number of us left the pub. I was so drunk that I could just about stand. We were making a lot of noise as we made our journey home. As we walked over a railway bridge, someone forced a heavy, cast iron manhole cover off a drain over the side of the bridge. Just at that moment a train passed beneath the bridge. It went smashing through the roof of the train, leaving a gaping hole. Fortunately it was late and there were few passengers on the train. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one was killed or injured. As I think of this now, I am chilled by the possible consequences of this terrible action. I can still remember the damage and am rendered so grateful that it did not create utter devastation and carnage. Soon the police were everywhere and there was a lot of confusion with people running in all directions. I could just barely walk, let alone run and was soon captured along with three others by the police. A couple of officers held me and another punched me in the stomach, which made me vomit. I was handcuffed and thrown into the police van. On arriving at the police station I was dragged out of the van and more punches rained down on me. I was then hauled through the back door of the station and thrown into a cell. I must have fallen asleep or passed out from too much alcohol because the next thing I remember was being dragged out of the cell by two policemen into an interview room where there were more police officers. By now I was beginning to sober up a bit. I was confused and asked what was going on and was told that I was in grave trouble and that I

44 Because I Have Been Given Much

had also almost ~illed someone by dropping the manhole cover on to the roof of the train, along with the other three who had been arrested with me. I tried to tell them that it was not me who had done this but the police lied and told me that they had witnesses who saw me do it. I was too confused to argue with them and told them I was involved. I was charged with criminal damage along with the others. I was told that I would not get bail, that I would be kept in the cell overnight, and that I would appear in front of the magistrates the following morning. A part of me was pleased, as all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I woke up the following morning feeling like death. I was hung over and sore and bruised from the beating I had received the previous evening. Along with my three other co-defendants, I was taken in a police van to court and placed in a cell beneath the court. I could hear some activity coming from the other cells. Overnight, the police had contacted the parents of any co-defendants, who had arranged legal representation for them. There was no such luxury for me. I sat in the cell for what seemed like ages, and then we were led up some stairs. I looked around the courtroom for a familiar face, hoping to see my mother and brothers. They were not there. I later discovered that the police had contacted my mother who, on the advice of my brothers, had refused to help or come to court. Some of the people I was with the previous evening and the parents of my co-defendants were in the public gallery. We all pleaded guilty to the criminal damage. The case was adjourned for two weeks and my co-defendants were released on bail. I was refused bail because I was in breach of my probation order and I was to be placed in custody. I was devastated. Me go to prison? This could not be true. My thoughts were interrupted by the policeman standing by my side tugging at my arm, leading me back down the steps to the cells. As I was being placed into a cell, I asked where I was going to be taken and was told that I would be going to a center for young offenders.

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As the door slammed shut behind me, the realization hit me that I was not yet seventeen and I was on the way to prison. I felt a deep sense of hopelessness and foreboding come over me. I just sat on the bench in the cell with my head down, staring at my hands. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. I must have waited at least three hours for the prison van to arrive. I was escorted from the cell to the van and was then in for my second shock of the day. The van itself was large, but inside it was partitioned off into tiny cubicles less than half the size of an airplane

Getting into Real Trouble 45

washroom. No room to move. Each cubicle had a wooden bench, with a small frosted glass window to let in the light, but it was impossible to see out. I was placed in such a cell and the door was closed behind me. It felt really claustrophobic. I could hear other prisoners talking to each other. They must have been picked up from other courts. One guard on the van wrote my name in chalk on the cubicle door. A short while later the vehicle pulled out of the courtyard. I remained in that van for another few hours while we went to other courts in and around South London picking up more prisoners. After what seemed to me a lifetime, we arrived at the detention center. The van moved inside the prison and I heard the large gates being closed behind us. The van moved across the courtyard before finally stopping. A short while later, the door to my cubicle was unlocked by a burly prison officer with a clipboard in his hands. Not looking up, he called out, "Turney!" then pointed with his pencil to the door at the end of the van. I walked through a doorway with big iron gates into the reception area where another officer placed me into another cubicle. This cell was much larger and there were already three inmates from the same van in there. Very soon we struck up a conversation. They were talking about what they were in for; two of them were in for burglary and the other was there for robbery. They asked me what I was in for. Not wanting to appear inferior because my offence was only criminal damage, I lied and told them that I was also in for robbery. I then elaborated even further, by saying that I had robbed a rent man, which seemed to impress them and I felt accepted into the group. We exchanged stories until we were taken out one by one for our induction into the prison. When it was my turn, I was taken out and made to stand in front of a high desk similar to the one that Ebenezer Scrooge sat at in Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Seated on a high stool behind the desk was a prison officer, peering over the top of his spectacles at me. He asked my name and home address. I was then told to take off all my clothes. An inmate folded them and placed them in a box. Once naked, the reality started to dawn thatl was in prison locked away from the outside world. These people had absolute control over me. The noise of doors and gates being banged shut and the smell of prison hit me. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I wanted to go home. I knew I must keep a brave face at all costs, because my street credibility would be blown if I started crying in front of the people I had come in with. I fought back the tears. My thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the prison officer's raised voice: "You there, are you thick or something? Do

46

Because I Have Been Given Much

you comprehend what I am saying to you?" I looked up to hear him telling me to go into the adjoining room which was the bath area. There were six partitioned baths down each side of the room, with only a half-door. The toilets had the same half-doors so that the staff could see you. From now on everything I did would be observed by staff and inmates alike. After a shallow, lukewarm bath, I was taken into another room where I was given some prison clothing and a meal. I sat with the three lads I had come in with. They seemed to know their way around the system quite well. After we had eaten, we were each given a bed-roll and then taken to the accommodation area of the prison. I was placed in a cell which had an old metal-framed bed in the corner about eighteen inches off the floor. It had a drab green bedcover made out of what seemed. to be sackcloth. In the opposite corner were a metal-framed wooden table and a chair, on the table were a jug and bowl and above it was a small mirror screwed to the wall. In the corner near the door was a metal chamber pot that smelled of stale urine and obviously had been used by a great many people before me. That added to the dehumanizing effect of prison life. This was the first of many prisons receptions I would go through over the next eighteen years. As the door closed behind me I was on my own, I was so traumatized that I felt sick. In less than twenty-four hours, my life had taken a sinister and dramatic turn for the worse and there was very little that I could do about it. I made up my bed. I felt so out of touch with the world and lonely. Security lamps outside my cell window cast long shadows on my cell wall. I lay in bed and started to cry uncontrollably. I must have cried myself to sleep.

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I was awakened the following morning by the sound of a prison officer banging on my cell door. I got up and started to get dressed, then I heard the prison officer call out, "Unlock!" which was followed by the sound of cell doors being opened. As soon I heard a key 'go into the lock in my cell door the door sprang open and I was told by the officer to "slop-out". I stood in my doorway for a moment not knowing what to do next. I watched some inmates walk by holding their chamber pots. I picked up mine and followed them to empty it; the smell was overwhelming. It was an odor I will never forget; it was so dehumanising, having to go through that ritual twice a day. I managed to get some hot water so that I could wash and shave in my cell. Half an hour later, we were unlocked again, this time to get our breakfast of porridge and stale bread. That morning, all twelve prisoners who came in the previous evening were taken for a haircut. Other

Getting into Real Trouble 47

prisoners were doing the cutting. We were herded in like sheep being sheared for a short back and sides." Then we were taken to the prison shop where I was given a quarter of an ounce of uBoar's Head," a black tobacco which resembled tar from the road surface. I was also given some writing paper and a stamp so that I could write home. Pride would not allow me to tell anyone that I could not read or write properly. That night in my cell I tried to string a few words together for my mother and the following morning I put the letter into the censor's office. The next day, it was returned to me because the censor could not understand what I had written or the address. The only way they identified me as the writer was that a member of staff had written my name and prison number on the top of the page before they gave me the letter. Pride again would not allow me to ask another inmate or member of staff to write the letter for me, so I was unable to make contact with home. I was put to work with the three other lads I had met the previous day; we had to scrub floors on our hands and knees. U

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After a few days, I started to get into the routine of prison life. It had an uncanny feel about it; I felt a sense of security, being in an institution. Life was so predictable; I knew what would happen from one day to the next. Up until that point, my life had been so chaotic and bewildering. My father's illness and death started the chaos. Then, my schooling was more like a war zone than a place of learning. And my drinking had then brought added chaos into my life. So prison order was in many ways safe and predictable and the camaraderie of ,the other inmates was attractive. I elaborated on my fictional robbery to the other inmates who seemed to believe me and I gained some status. In the prison pecking order, robbers came high on top of the list followed by burglars and fraudsters. Then there were the alcoholics and drug addicts and the lowest of the low-the sex offenders. By lying about my offence, I had placed myself high on ,the list. Prison life, therefore, offered me some stability and credibility.

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Two weeks passed and I was returned to court for sentencing. A small part of me hoped that the magistrates would send me. back to prison. When I was brought up from the cells, my three co-defendants were already in the dock. I looked up at the public gallery and there were a lot of associates I had known from the pub. They came to offer their support

48

Because I Have Been Given Much

and I also spotted my brother, Fred, among the crowd. My codefendants had lawyers representing them; I, of course, did not. They were fined and I was given two more years' probation. We left the court and went to the nearest pub for a drink. I was treated like some sort of hero. I was proud of my prison haircut. I felt that I had status at last. I had been to prison, be it for only two weeks. I had a feeling of acceptance that was important to me. I got very drunk and was taken home by my brother, Fred. My mother was not too happy about me returning home. With some persuasion from Fred and me, she agreed that I could stay as long as I promised that I would keep out of further trouble and get a job. I promised her all these things, but it was a promise that I was at that time unable to keep.

CHAPTER 6

Engaging in Sorceries Fitting into, normal life in the outside world after my short period of incarceration seemed strange. Although I would not admit it to anyone, somewhere deep inside of me I found something appealing about institutional living. It offered me a strange sense of security. There was no doubt that prison had introduced clear boundaries into my life that had never been there before. It was as if I had experienced a two-week respite period from my chaotic lifestyle. Now back in the big wide world, I struggled again with day-to-day living. There was one thing I knew for sure and that was that prison was not a deterrent for me anymore. Within days of being released, I was offered a job by someone who drank in the same pub as me and whom I had known from my school days. He was a roofer and I started work for him as a laborer straight away. Things seemed pretty much the same as they were before I went to prison. I would spend my time either working or drinking and on the edge of criminal activity. My brother Fred was now married and working as a window cleaner and living a respectable life. My relationship with my mother was under a lot of strain. She was quite concerned about my drinking and some of the shady characters that I was associating with. I was, after all, her youngest child, and it must have been painful for her to watch me go downhill. She told me that I had to change my ways, or she would have no alternative but to ask me to leave home. I pleaded with her to give me another chance and promised that I would mend my ways. To be fair to myself, when I told her these things, I truly believed that I would do them. But of course nothing changed. I continued to spend all my money on alcohol and would not contribute to the household budget. The more I drank the more money I needed to subsidize my income through petty theft. I would steal almost anything that I could sell; mostly building materials from the building sites I was working on. But I paid my weekly visit to my probation officer. We were going nowhere fast because I would not engage with him at any level. A year later my drinking took on a more sinister turn when I started to self-harm~" The more I drank, the more my anger and frustration with life came to the surface. I would put my fists through telephone box 11

50 Because I Have Been Given Much

windows and would inflict deep lacerations to my hands, or would smash glass bottles across my head and face. There were times when I would burn myself with cigarettes or would have tattoos put on my hands and arms (a more socially acceptable form of self-mutilation). The physical paiI1 would momentary relieve the mental anguish I was going through. My behavior became more and more unpredictable. My mother asked me to leave home. I was now on the streets at eighteen years of age. It was mid-winter and particularly cold that year. I managed to sleep on the floors of friends' homes. Renting a room was out of the question since I was often unemployed, because I was I drinking so much. I would take a lot of time off work and as a consequence would get fired. The only way I could support myself was to steal whatever I could. To my everlasting shame, I turned to housebreaking. Within a short time I was arrested and remanded in custody once again. Back in prison, this time I knew my way around the system and retreated into a world of lies about myself. Within a week I had a visit from my probation officer who told me that it would be very unlikely that I would receive a further probation order. I think he said it with some relief. He was right. I was sent to prison for six months. I soon settled into the prison routine and once again made friends and flourished in that environment and felt safe again. I would receive visits from my family; my brothers would take turns to bring my mother to see me. Once again I would make promises to her that I would keep out of trouble and that I would do something about straightening myself out when I got out. She offered to have me return to live with her at home when I was released. Time passed quickly and before long I was out again, having not addressed any offending behavior issues but having learned plenty of new "burgling" skills. True to her word, my mother allowed me to return home and within a couple of days I was working for my roofer friend again. For a short while I was able to control my drinking, but I was only fooling myself. The more I drank, the more angry and frustrated I became and would resort to self-harming again as a way of relieving the anguish I was feeling inside.

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Then one Friday evening my life once again changed for the worse. I was talking to a friend about how depressed I was getting and he offered me four tablets of amphetamine. I took them without question and fifteen minutes later I started to have a tickling sensation in my stomach and

Engaging in Sorceries 51

this was followed a feeling of great energy rushing through my body. My mind was opened. What was this wonderful drug? I was hooked from that moment on and really believed that the drug gave me new insights into life. Within a very short space of time I became obsessed with drugs and would use any drug I could lay my hands on. If I was not near the drug I loved, I would love the drug I was near, but my drug of choice was always amphetamine. The strange thing about drugs was that the first time I took them. I hit an incredible high, but no matter how much I tried after that I could not quite hit that high again; no matter how much or what I took it was never quite the same. Drugs have been with us almost since the beginning of time. In Revelation 9:20-21 it talks about those who refuse to repent and their fate and then it names a few of them-thieves, murderers, fornicators and those who engage in sorceries. When I think of sorcery, it conjures up images of WaIt Disney's Fantasia in which Mickey Mouse is Merlin's apprentice. But that is totally wrong. Theologians who have studied this passage of scripture tell us that the Bible was translated from Greek to English and the word sorcery in Greek is "Farmer keur" or "the user of drugs." Drugs gave me the self-assurance I needed. Amphetamine would keep me awake for days on end, my time was not wasted on things like sleep and I could go to parties· and nightclubs and be awake all night. The drug was also an appetite suppressant, which resulted in me not eating or sleeping for days. I was sucked into the whole drug culture in South London. It was not just taking the drug that I found exciting. It was also the anticipation of buying the stuff. Would the dealer be at home and, if he was, would he have any? If not, where could I get some from? I would spend a lot of time just racing around the pubs and clubs to find drug dealers. Then once I had scored, I .would take the drug and wait for the rush to hit me. After about a.year of continuous drug abuse, I was unable to hold any job down and was financing my drug habit through crime. By now my health was dramatically affected and I was only sleeping about three nights a week. Because I was not eating I was painfully thin, and my gums had begun to bleed, a common side-effect of amphetamine use. Some of my teeth were falling out and my hair was like straw. I looked terribly ill and frail. I was becoming psychotic, losing touch with reality, and starting to hallucinate. I would see people and objects that were not there and would engage in imaginary conversations with non-existent people. When I was withdrawing from the drugs, I would suffer from deep

52 Because I Have Been Given Much

depression and would become disorientated because of sleep deprivation. Consequently, I would have violent outbursts and lash out at things around me. Luckily, I tended to hit objects rather than people. My life was spiraling out of control. It was one endless cycle of drugs. If there were none to be had, I would turn to drink. My family would tell me to pull myself together and I would try, but my resolve would not last long. I would get a job but it would only last a few days. I was becoming hopeless. I had no control whatsoever over my life of drunken brawls, stealing cars and breaking into houses and offices. It was easy to get a reputation as being hard and fearless. But inside I was crying out for, help. Life for me was not worth living. Once again I found myself homeless because my mother would not tolerate my behavior. Sometimes a friend would offer me a couch to sleep on. One cold winter evening, I had nowhere to sleep and the only place I could get some protection from the bitterly cold weather was a public restroom. I felt so alone. As I tried to huddle in the corner to keep warm, it dawned on me that the only place in this world that could offer me warmth, a bed and put food in my stomach, plus offer me security and companionship was prison. I made my mind up that I would get myself arrested, and that way I would at least be out of the cold. I left the restroom, and made my way to some offices, which I broke into and once inside I telephoned the police, and told them that I had seen someone breaking into the building that I was in. I put down the phone and waited for them to arrive! While I was waiting, it struck me that my reputation would ~e seriously damaged if it got out that I was arrested without putting up a fight or trying to escape. So I had to put up some sort of resistance, but not too much. A few minutes later, the police were outside and I made my way to the back of the building. I got through a window into the yard and climbed over the wall and deliberately kicked over a trash can to draw the attention of the police. Once over the wall, I started to run, all the time looking over my shoulder. I could only see one police officer chasing me. The police officer was a great deal older than me, and to my horror, I was out -running him. So I had to slow down in the hope he would' catch up with me. Unfortunately I was still losing him and there were no other police in the near vicinity. I could not believe my bad luck! I slowed down even more. I was almost at waking pace and I could hear the officer gaining on me, but his breathing was heavy. I felt relief when he got close behind me. He reached out and touched me on my shoulder. I fell face first on the ground with my hand behind my back and the policeman collapsing on top of me. Fighting for breath, he pulled out his whistle and was trying to blow it to summon help, but because he was so

Engaging in Sorceries 53

out of breath he was having a problem blowing it. I felt like snatching it from his hand and blowing it for him. I did not mind going to prison, but killing a police officer was a capital offence! Eventually he managed to summon help and at long last I was arrested! I was charged with burglary and kept in a cell overnight. At least I was warm and fed. The following morning I was taken to court. I felt terrible and had started to have withdrawal symptoms. I had no medication to help me with the symptoms, which meant I had to go "cold turkey." I pleaded guilty to the charge and was remanded into custody for three weeks so that the court could have a probation report about me. I waited in the cell beneath the court for the prison van to pick me up. But this time it would not be taking me to the young offenders institution because I was now over twenty-one and would be going to the local adult prison at Wandsworth. It had a reputation of being a 'tough prison. Stories about the prison's austere regime flew around the clubs and pubs of South London. The van arrived at the prison about eight in the evening, it proceeded through the infamous gates of the Victorian building and they closed behind us with a blood curdling bang. Only two of us got off the van and were taken into the cold and dimly lit reception area. I went through the familiar routine of bathing and putting on prison clothing. I was then taken to the cell; it was no different than any others that I had been in. Within a couple of days, the withdrawals were almost complete and I was feeling much better and was starting to get orientated to my surroundings. Unlike at the young offenders center, however, I was not allowed out of my cell for more than an hour a day; we would slop-out and get our meals which we ate in our cells. Apart from one hour's exercise a day, the rest of the time I spent on my own in my cell. We were not allowed to have a watch or radio and the only way I could roughly tell the time was by which meal I was eating or when the sun set outside my cell widow.

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One afternoon, I had a visit from the prison chaplain. I despised him. The thought that anyone could believe in a God was, as far as I was concerned, beyond belief. The poor man. All he was doing was seeing if I was all right and if there was anything in his power he could do to help me. I would not make eye contact with him. My whole body language reflected my disdain and I hardly said more than a couple of words to him. I felt very uncomfortable in his presence. I did not know then why I

54 Because I Have Been Given Much

had that feeling, but now suspect that it was Satan trying not to let me have any good influences in my life.

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There was very little stimulation during the long solitary hours I spent locked in my cell. I was allowed four library books per week or the odd newspaper, but there really was no point in having any- books because I was unable to read them. I was also allocated one letter a week and would spend hours painfully trying to string a couple of sentences together to send to my mother. I would spend my time daydreaming or walking up and down the cell talking to myself. After about week, I had a visit from another probation office. Her name was Hilary and it was her job to write the report for the court. She was one of the most straight talking people I had met and told me that there was very little chance that I would get a further probation order. In her opinion, I should get another prison sentence. I was rather pleased that she was not one of these do-gooders, who came to save me and would go all out to get me another probation order. I was in prison and that was where I wished to remain for the time being! She also went on to say that she had been to visit my mother who had told her about my drinking and drug taking. She asked straight out if I felt that I had a problem with my drinking. Of course I denied that I had a problem and minimized my drinking by telling her that I only drank occasionally. This was true to a point, because most of the time I was out of my mind on drugs. I did not like her very much because she had pushed a button or two inside of me with her attitude and straight talking. Two weeks later, I was back in front of the magistrates and they sentenced me to a further six months in prison. I had a visit from my mother and brother Fred in the cells beneath the court. Mother was almost in tears. I sat with them and promised that once I was out I would leave the drugs alone, find myself a job and settle down. She said that I could once again go and live with her if I was to keep out trouble. I agre~d that I would do that and, at the time, I meant it. But like all my promises it was empty. Four months later, early one Friday morning, I was released from Pentonville Prison with a few pounds in my pocket. By lunchtime, I was drunk and trying to steal a car and within weeks I was back in Wandsworth Prison again, serving a further six months sentence after another attempted burglary.

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Engaging in Sorceries 55

That was what life was like for me-in and out of prison. In prison, nothing much changes and there was perfect security in that. However, each time I came out of prison, I noticed that most people I knew had moved on in life. They were doing different things, they had steady jobs and some were now married and had families. Prison had kept me in a state of suspended animation. I found the changing world outside prison a difficult place for me to be, making prison life seem even more attractive. I just drifted in and out of prisons. Each time I was in there I would make a resolve that this time it would be different. I really meant it at the time. My stumbling block was that I never took alcohol or drugs out of the equation of my life. Each time I took a drink or drug I believed that it would be different this time and each time I would be wrong. I had no choice once I took that first drink or drug; the drug dictated my actions for that day. By now I was associating with some pretty undesirable people, such as drug dealers, bank robbers and people with little or no integrity. But the irony of it was that they felt that I was an undesirable, and would try and distance themselves from me. To them I was all right in small doses.

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After being released from yet other short prison sentence in April 1971, I was doing. the odd day's work on a building site and making money from petty crime. I desperately wanted some sort of stability in my life. I was now twenty-seven years old and had noticed that most people of my age were married and had small children. I decided that what I needed in my life was a good woman, who would sort me out. I needed to get married. But in the past, my love life had not been too successful. When I took someone out on a date, I would take them to a pub and spend the evening drinking and trading insults with other people in the pub. Sometimes that would also include my date, and that would be the end of that relationship. If I did have a longer relationship with anyone it would end in me abusing them verbally to the point where they could stand it no more. My self-esteem was so low. I had a real loathing for anyone who wanted to be around me. I felt that there must be something wrong with them if they wanted to have anything to do with me. So where on earth was I going to find someone who would want to marry someone like me? I had never been able to form relationships and would take friends as hostages. I was so insecure within myself that I would want to be around that person twenty-four hours a day and could not bear to let them out of my sight. I was paranoid that if they were

56 Because I Have Been Given Much

away from me for any length of time, they might desert me or dump me for someone else. One evening, I was drinking in my local pub and I ran into a young woman by the name of Pam. She had dated a friend of mine and had been present when we had done some shady deals with stolen property. I asked her how she and my friend were getting on and she told me that he had dumped her for someone else. She poured her heart out to me about how depressed she was about her relationship ending. We spent the rest of the evening talking and drinking. She told me that she found relationsh~ps with men difficult and always wanted more than other people were prepared to give her. She was only nineteen and very vulnerable. I had found my hostage.

CHAPTER 7

Taking Hostages Within a few days, Pam and I were inseparable. We had a lot in common. She also came from a large dysfunctional family. Her father had only recently remarried after her mother had committed suicide by gassing herself. Pam felt that I was someone who would take care of her. She was also impressed with my reputation and thought it was glamorous to be seen around with me in the local pubs. She was so insecure in herself that she would always forgive my outrageous and insulting behavior when I was drunk for fear that I would leave her. For me that was an open license to behave in any way I wished. Within weeks of meeting, we decided to get married. My family was pleased because they felt that this woman would have a great influence over me and that I would start behaving in a responsible way. By November 1971, I had married my hostage. We had nowhere to live so one of Pam's sisters offered to let us live with her and her family in Crawley until we found some local government-assisted housing, which was supposedly in great a~undance in that area. Because Crawley was in a developing area, I had no problem finding work on the building site. Within a couple of weeks of moving to Crawley, Pam announced that she was pregnant. My only remark was about how easy it would be to get government-assisted housing now. I then went out and got drunk with my brother-in-law. However, the thought of becoming a father did have some impact on me. I tried to control my drinking and hold down a job. I felt like a fish out of water living in that new town. I had none of my usual life support systems in place - no known drug dealers or places where I could sell stolen property if I had any. Living with my in-laws I could not drink to the levels I would have liked. Pam was quite happy living with her sister, playing the role of the expectant mother. She had found what she was looking for in life, to be married and have a family. As for me, I was just overwhelmed by it all. I was expected to act like an adult and the strain was beginning to show. Somehow, I had to move us back to South London where I was able to function on a level that I understood. I left my job on the building site, telling Pam that I had been fired because -the builder had no more work for me. For a couple of weeks I gave the impression that I was rushing all over Crawley looking for work. In fact I did nothing about getting a job.

58

Because I Have Been Given Much

I convinced Pam that I was unable to find work and told her that I had a job offer back in London and that I would have to take it so that I could support her and the unborn baby. I promised that I would only work there until the employment situation picked up and I could work in Crawley once again. Because it would be so expensive for me to commute each day I convinced Pam that I would have to stay in London on the weekdays and return to her at the weekends. I had already sold my mother on the idea and she agreed to have me stay with her in the weekdays when I was working. There was now only one problem left. I had to find a job. I was lucky and managed to get myoid job back with a roofer who would much rather employ me than some others, because I worked for cash. A few weeks went by and it was becoming more and more inconvenient for me to commute back and forth to Crawley. Traveling meant I was missing valuable pub time. My next problem was to move Pam back to South London. With some quick thinking, I conned my mother into letting us move into her spare room by telling her that it would be unlikely that I would get a job in Crawley that would pay as much as the one I had. I also told h.er that it would be a short arrangement because the government would 'house us once the baby was born. I fed Pam the same story. She was reluctant to move, but I played my big card. Pam loved her father and the rest of her family lived near him in London. The thought of being near them won her over and we moved back and waited for the birth of the baby, . which was only three months away. I seemed to steady myself a bit. I was holding the job down and my drinking and drug taking were confined to the weekends. June 1972 saw the birth of our son David. I was present at the birth and it was one of the most moving experiences I have ever witnessed. Another three months went by and the government offered us housing near my mother's home. It started to slowly dawn on me that I had responsibilities in life now and was unable to look after myself, let alone a family. We settled into our new home and I managed to hold it together until after Christmas. In as far as I could feel any healthy emotion I did enjoy being a father. David was a wonderful baby and I would try to spend as much time with him as I could. I yearned to be like other fathers I knew. But the emotional pain I was in because of my past prevented me from fully bonding with him.

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Taking Hostages 59

By the beginning of 1973 I found myself out of work. I had also struck up a friendship with a local burglar by the name of Terry and we would drink and take drugs together. When I was short of money, we would go and rob a house. I would steal the vehicles we would use to carry out the burglaries and Terry would find the house to break into, and the people to whom we would sell our stolen goods. I was drinking or smoking cannabis the moment I woke up in the mornings. Then I would make my way to the pub to meet Terry and would remain there drinking until the afternoon when we would go out and burgle some houses and sell our ill-gotten gains. It was then back to the pub for another bout of drink and drugs. I would get home in the early hours, fall into bed, get up in the morning and start all over again. Sometimes, I would not leave home for days on end and would just sit around all day drinking myself into oblivion. There were times when I would fall asleep in the chair, and not go to bed for days, a chilling repetition of my father and his illness. Then there were the times that I would not get out of bed for days on end and would send Pam out to buy my alcohol. If I was in a bad mood she would keep herself and the baby out of my way by going to visit her family. Terry would then call round and entice me out of my room and I would have a bath, get dressed and tell Pam that I was just popping out to the pub for a couple of hours. I would then disappear for days on end, without calling home to say that I was all right. I would return home without any explanation as to where I had been. Pam was always there to clean me up, run a bath for me and cook a meal, before I went to bed. By doing this she was enabling me to continue with that sort of behavior. I am sure that in her mind she felt that she was doing the right thing. One evening, I was arrested for driving a stolen car. I was hoping that I would be sent to prison. It was the only place where I could find refuge from the responsibilities of coping with life and the continuous emotional pounding I seemed to be going through. However, the court took a lenient view because I was now a married man with a family and gave me one last chance to put my life in order by putting me on probation once again. My marriage had started to disintegrate. I had mounting debts as I spent nearly everything I had on alcohol and drugs. The rent was not being paid and we were at risk of being evicted. I knew that if I were to be sent to prison, Pam would have to sort the problem out. I was convinced the authorities would take a sympathetic view of a mother whose husband was in prison. Hilary was still my probation officer and like before was very direct with me. She would ask me questions, like, had I ever stolen money to buy drink and drugs? Of course I would deny doing such a thing

60 Because I Have Been Given Much

because, if I admitted it, I would be conceding that I was an alcoholic and drug addict. She would not stand any nonsense and told me that in her opinion I was an alcoholic. I was outraged! And because I was so upset by that remark I went and got drunk. She was very valuable to me in that she was the only person who continually challenged my lifestyle. She was the only stable influence in my chaotic existence and she worked very hard to get me to recognize my substance abuse. She was the only person who was willing to say that I had a serious addiction problem.

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Life continued in the same self-destructive way. Terry and I were breaking into houses and in the early 1970s, when color televisions were coming into prominence, we would break into homes to steal them and get a good price. In fact, we were stealing to order. We even knew a television repair man who would repair any set that became faulty after we sold it so we offered an after sales service! But the more money we got, the more we would drink and the more money we needed. We started to plan bolder crimes. At one point we were planning to hold up a bank. My job was to get a car and a gun. For a couple of days I drove around in the car with the gun in my pocket. One day when I had been drinking all day, I went home in the evening to find Pam and David were asleep. I continued drinking until the early hours. The more I drank, the more depressed I became. I really did not want to have any part in the bank robbery we were planning. But I had a reputation to think of and I could not back out because I would have been seen to be a chicken. In my drunken state I telephoned the police anonymously and told them that I had seen a man go into my home with a gun. I hung up the phone and· waited for the police to arrive. They were soon knocking on my door. I leaned out of an upstairs window with the pistol in my hand, pointing at the police and screaming at them to go away. They scattered and took cover behind cars parked in the road. Because regular police do not carry guns in England, they called the armed police and it was not long before they had taken up positions around my home. The noise coming from the street woke Pam up and I ran out of the front door with the gun stuck in the waistband of my trousers. Fortunately for me, I was so drunk that I ran into the arms of a police officer who knocked me to the ground and disarmed me. I was very lucky - I could easily have been shot by the police.

Taking Hostages 61

Again I was sent to prison. It was such a relief to be sitting in the familiar cells beneath the court. Pam came down to visit me and as we sat talking she told me that she was at her wits' end. I tried to reassure her that once I was out I would settle down and sort out my life. She told me that she was.willing to give our marriage another chance. Once back in the prison routine, I was secure. I knew that other people would sort out the mess I had left behind me. Pam sorted the rent arrears and arranged to pay a bit each month over the next year. She wrote at least twice a week and visited at every opportunity. Within a few weeks, I had fully recovered from the withdrawals from alcohol and drugs and was looking much healthier than I had done for some time. Pam noticed the difference in me; it must have been the first time in our relationship that I was looking so well. I reassured her that I would change my ways once I was out. We even talked about having another baby. On the morning of my release, I made my way home to Pam and David and about lunchtime Terry called round to see me and we went for a celebratory drink together. Within days I was back into myoid ways. Pam seemed to be resigned to that fact, and put up little resistance. Another couple of months went by and we discovered that Pam was pregnant again. That news seemed to have a sobering effect on me. I managed to get some work with the roofer once again and only got drunk at the weekends. But the thought of having another child struck me with fear, questions raced around in my mind: how was I going to cope with another mouth to feed?

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In June of 1976 our second son, Paul, was born. Again I was present at the birth and my heart overflowed with joy. I had tears in my eyes as I held my newborn son but they were also tears of despair for I knew deep inside of me that I could not cope with the responsibility of it all. Within a short space of time, I was once again unemployed, and drinking and taking drugs on a daily basis. I rekindled my friendship with Terry who was now with a group of people who were involved in robbery and drug dealing. He introduced me to his circle of underworld friends. Some of them drove very expensive cars and wore the best clothes. Pam found out I was having affairs and took the children and moved in with her sister. She told me that she and the children would not return until I had moved out. I moved in with Eddie, an old drinking pal of mine and an expert shoplifter. He showed me how to steal all sorts

62

Because I Have Been Given Much

of things from shops to support our drinking and drug habits. I also continue to break into houses. My luck ran out when I was arrested for burglary and was released on bail awaiting sentence. It was November 1976 when I was sentenced at Kingston Crown Court to two years in prison. As I lay in cell number twenty-four on lithe threes"(meaning on the third floor) on C wing in the darkness, thoughts of Pam and the kids came flooding into my mind. The last time I had seen them had been a couple of days before when I had visited them. She had told me then that she wanted a divorce but I did not take her particularly seriously, because in the past she had made similar threats and I had always managed to convince her that I would change. But now that I was in prison, I was concerned that she would carry out her threat, even though the unspoken law in the criminal culture was that wives and partners stood by their men no matter what while they were in prison. If they did not they were seen as someone who could not be trusted and would come under criticism for deserting what was viewed as their duty. I wrestled most of the night with my thoughts; it was one of longest nights of my life. In the morning, I felt like death and was sweating and shaking almost uncontrollably from withdrawal-it was like having a bad case of the flu as well as not having a good night's sleep. I knew the routine so well that I went into autopilot. A few days passed and I was starting to feel better when I received a letter from Pam. She had had enough and still wanted a divorce. I felt crushed because I had not really believed that she would go ahead with her threat, but there it was in black and white, that she had contacted a lawyer and that divorce proceedings were under way. I was devastated because not only had my hostage escaped but also I had the irrational feeling that she would not be able to cope without me! I was put to work in the mail bag shop sewing mail bags by hand, but because of staff shortages we could only work two to three days a week and the rest of the time we were locked in our cells twenty-three hours a day. I would follow my familiar pattern of pacing up and down my cell talking to myself for hours on end. Christmas came and Pam sent some Christmas cards from David and Paul. At the beginning of 1977, I received the divorce papers on the grounds of adultery and unreasonable behavior. The really sad thing in all of this was that I could not see that my behavior had been unreasonable. If anything, it was her behavior-she had left me when I was down. I hit an all time low emotionally and an unshakeable depression came over me. I contemplated suicide at the thought of what would happen to me when I was released. It was only the humor of the other

Taking Hostages 63

inmates that kept me going. The guy in the cell next to me was one of the wittiest people I had ever met. He had this great ability to make fun of almost anything and the staff was one of his favorite topics. I would look forward to our hour's exercise together each day. He was just like my brother Fred when I was a child, as he had the ability to make me laugh when things seemed unbearable. My new found friend was a ray of hope in what otherwise was a dismal existence. On the days we worked, we would sit next to each other in the mail bag shop and in the evenings we would call out to each other from our cell windows. The dog-handlers who patrolled the perimeter fence told us to be quiet, but he always had a witty reply for them. As time went by, I became more and more insulated from the outside world. The world as far as I was concerned was C wing and what happened beyond the walls of the prison did not mean anything to me. Someone in the exercise yard had given me a novel about a bank robbery and recommended that I read it. Up until then I had not read a book in my life and was now in my early thirties. I took it back to my cell. Because it was not a large book, I decided to try to read it. I was also convinced that I would be cross-examined in the exercise yard about the contents of the book and I did want anyone to find out that I was unable to read. I struggled to read the book. I could understand about one-third of the story line and day after day I would sit in my cell and try to make sense of the rest. After about six weeks I finished it. My first educational triumph! I could not believe that I had actually read a book, although I did not understand two-thirds of it. No one in the exercise yard asked about the contents of the book. But if they had I would have known enough of the story to allow me to bluff my way through. With that triumph, I had the courage to put my name down for a Basic English course being run for an hour each Monday afternoon. The teacher asked me to write a letter to him over the coming week, so that he could see what my handwriting was like. I felt so ashamed of my writing that I did not do it and told the teacher that I forgot to do it. A couple of weeks went past and I ran out of excuses so I tried to write a couple of lines in my best handwriting. The next week I presented the letter to the teacher. He took one glance at it and said, "I think you are dyslexic." I remember thinking, "What's my sexual orientation got to do with the fact that lean't read or write properly!" He told me that I could get help with the problem when I got out of prison. I thought that he was the one with the problem. Surely he must know that I was "thick". My school knew that I was educationally subnormal, and my family and I knew that I was stupid, so what on earth was he talking about? The subject was mentioned again

64 Because I Have Been Given Much

a few weeks later, but the classes were discontinued because of a lack of staff to supervise us. I had very little contact with the outside world ap~rt from visits from Fred who would bring David to visit me. On one visit David told me that mummy had a man called Mick living with her. I was devastated as I was hanging on to the hope that once I was out Pam and I would be reconciled. I manage to write a few lines to Pam asking her if it was true about her having a new partner and she wrote back confirming that it was true. I sank into a deep depression; my moods would range between depression and hatred for Pam. Suicide was at times uppermost in my mind. The more depressed I became, the more I would withdraw into myself. The only relief I got was to smoke cannabis, which I would occasionally get from other inmates. I would get letters from Hilary who would visit me every now and then. She was working on getting some accommodation for me when it was time for me to be released. I was released in January 1978, six weeks early on parole. Hilary got me a room and I managed to get a job with my roofer friend. I visited Pam and the kids and was filled with resentment because they all seemed to be enjoying a happy family life. Pam's new partner had taken over from me. I was not a hard act to follow as a father! There was really not much of a role for me to play in my sons' lives. David did know me but Paul was unsure who I was and was now calling his stepfather "Daddy". Pam was only tolerating my visits to the children because she felt that if she stopped them I would start trouble. There was also another unspoken law in the criminal culture. I was expected to do something about this guy who had muscled in on my family while I was in prison. I was always being asked by the local "hard nuts" whether I had broken Mick's legs yet. They knew some people who would be only too willing to do it for me. I said I was working on it. I had to save face with the people I was associating with; I could not let them think that I had gone soft on them. After a nighfs drinking, I had to do something. I could not face being thought a failure by these people. So we went and got some iron bars and hammers, jumped into a car and made our way over to Pam's house. I banged on the front door and screamed. Pa"m appeared at the bedroom window as I started to smash the front door down. By now neighbors were out and the police were on their way. I was pulled back by Terry who told me to run for it. Before I left, I noticed that Mick's motorbike was outside the house. I tried to set fire to it, then got into a waiting car and drove off at top speed.

CHAPTER 8

Trying to Get Back to Prison We made our way to Terry's apartment; there was no point in me returning to my room as the police would look for me there. I had only been out of prison for three weeks and was in trouble once again. Terry and I tried to discuss what would be the best plan of action but we were too inebriated to make any sense. Terry fell asleep in his chair. I felt so full of self-loathing; I just wanted to end it all. I went to the bathroom and found a half-full bottle of tablets. To this day I'do not know what they were, but I took them and returned to the living room and lay on the couch. After a short while, I passed out. The next thing I remember was Terry hitting me around the face. He had been trying to wake me for a couple of hours. I opened my eyes, but could not move. It was as if my whole body was paralyzed. It took another hour before I could sit up. It was late in the afternoon of the following day. Terry had not called an ambulance so as not to attract the police. I could hardly talk, my vision was blurred and it was another couple of hours before I could walk. I would have to lie low for a time, but I could not stay at Terry's because it would not be long before the police would be looking for me there. I managed to get a couple of drinks inside me and started to feel a bit more human. I left Terry and made my way to Eddie's place. He was at home drinking cheap cider. He invited me in and offered to finish the job on my wife's partner. I said I did not think that would be a good idea at the moment, but thanked him for the offer. In truth, in the cold light of day I was horrified by what I had done and what could have happened to my boys had the motorbike caught fire. Although my standards had been eroded over time by constant drug abuse, I had never knowingly tried to cause anyone physical damage in that way before. The shame was unbearable. I asked Eddie if I could stay with him for a few days until the heat was off. He welcomed my company. His wife and children had left him and moved into a women's refuge because of his increasingly violent behavior. The following morning we awoke, and started drinking the moment our eyes were open and started to discuss what would be the best thing for me to do. Eddie told me that he was on bail for theft and was expecting to go to prison, and was thinking about jumping bail. He told me that the last time he had been in prison, he had become friendly with a guy from Leeds. Eddie felt sure that this friend would

66 Because I Have Been Given Much

find us somewhere where we could stay. He made a phone call to his friend who was only too happy to have us stay with him and his family for a few days until we found somewhere more permanent to live. By the time we got to King's Cross station, it was late evening. We had to jump the last train to Leeds by finding some discarded train tickets in a rubbish bin. As we walked to the ticket barrier we held up these tickets to the inspector who did not look too closely at them. Once on the train, we found some seats and settled down for our journey north with our cache of alcohol. As the train approached Grantham, a town south of Leeds, we ran out of drink and started to get a bit paranoid about not having valid tickets. As the train pulled into the station we decided to get off and take our chances. The station clock said 1.30 a.m. It was raining and we did not have a clue where we were. I was feeling miserable, cold, and was going into withdrawals. I just wanted to curl up somewhere and cry. Eddie was having a bad case of withdrawals as well. We were both paranoid and started to argue about who was to blame for us being in this place. The argument escalated to the point where I head butted Eddie who went spinning backwards. As he did, he grabbed hold of the collar of my overcoat, pulling me to the ground. Once on the ground he started raining punches on my head. He had blood pouring from his nose and my eyes were starting to bruise. As we rolled into a large puddle, the staff from the station came out to investigate the noise, and shouted to us that if we did not stop fighting they would call the police. This stopped us dead in our tracks. We got up and ran off into the night, but where were we to go? There were not any trains or buses for at least three hours. We even tried unsuccessfully to steal a car. We were cold and tired and decided to hitchhike. Within ten minutes, we had a lift to Nottingham and then another straight into Leeds City center. We arrived about 5.30 a.m. We phoned John and had to wait for about half an hour in the freezing cold before he got to us. As we drove to John's home Eddie told him a bit more about why we were on the run. When we arrived at his home, his wife had mugs of steaming hot tea waiting for us. After a hot bath and fried breakfast, I started to feel a bit more human. Then the three of us made our way to John's local pub. At closing time Eddie and I were out of money and needed to raise some funds. We told John that we would go and do some shoplifting and we would meet him back at the pub at opening time that evening. Eddie was a master shoplifter. He walked into a department store, and stole two large suitcases, by simply picking them up and walking out of the store. Once outside he gave me one of the suitcases and told

Trying to Get Back to Prison 67

me to follow him. We went into another department store. Right under the nose of a store clerk, he started to fill up his suitcase with electrical items. It was unbelievable how he got away with it. No one challenged him. He must have taken them by complete surprise. He then coolly took them out the store. He gave me the full suitcase and took the empty" one and repeated the same thing in another store; again he left the shop unchallenged. We were back in the pub at opening time, where John introduced us to more of his friends who were keen to buy our stolen property. We had sold all our goods including the suitcases by eight that evening and drank until closing time. As we were driving back to John's house, Eddie and I had an argument over money as he thought that he should have most of the money because he had done most of the work stealing the goods. The argument turned into a fight and John almost lost control of the car. The following morning John asked us to leave his home as he was involved in some criminal activity and was very nervous that we would be drawing him to the notice of the police. Eddie and I went to the nearest pub to decide what to do next. We were in need of money so we would have to go shoplifting again. We repeated the same pattern; we stole two suitcases and then filled them with stolen property. One of John's friends had told us the name of a pub in Dewsbury where we could sell anything so we got a taxi to Dewsbury. There was only one problem: we could not remember the name of the pub! The taxi dropped us off in the town center, and we hit the seediest looking pubs we could find hoping to sell our goods. We were in luck. In each one we visited we found willing buyers who would not question where the goods came from. Again, within a couple of hours we had sold almost everything we had. We were then told to go to a small village called asset where the landlord of a pub would buy our remaining goods. We found the pub and the landlord welcomed us and bought all that we had. He told us that if we had more he would give us good money for it. We continued to drink until closing time and bought some bottles of cider to take out with us. We had nowhere to stay for the night, so we wandered the streets and came across a dilapidated house. We made our way round the back and forced the "door open. We were greeted by an almost overbearing smell of dampness. There was no electricity or running water but we could just about see what we were doing by the light from the street lamp which was outside the house. We found wood in the back garden, lit a fire in the old fireplace and then settled down to drink our cider.

68 Because I Have Been Given Much

I fell asleep and when I awoke the following morning there was a shaft of sunlight pouring through the dirty window. In the cold light of day, the place was filthy; there was dirt everywhere. It was obvious that no one had lived in this house for some time. I was stiff and was very thirsty due to dehydration and the dust. I slowly opened my eyes; I had a pounding headache and was shivering with cold. As I lay on the floor, the realization dawned on me that I had lost control of my bladder. My trousers were soaked through. I felt like an animal-no, even lower than an animal. Even animals took care of themselves. I tried to get to my feet; I fell backwards into a pile of rubbish. I struggled to my feet as Eddie appeared at the door holding two bottles of cheap cider. He passed me one and with trembling hands I managed to get the top of the bottle off. My hands were shaking so much that as I lifted the bottle to my mouth some of liquid spilt over my face. I managed to get a few mouthfuls down me. I sat back down on the floor. The shakes started to subside a bit. Another couple of mouthfuls and they were almost gone. Eddie passed me a cigarette and with hands still slightly trembling I put it to my mouth and lit it. This was home for the next few weeks.

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After a while my personal hygiene went altogether. My hair became unkempt, my clothes smelt of stale urine. My only priority each day was to make sure that I had enough alcohol to get me through that day. I was past caring about anything apart from drinking. There were moments in the day when I would think about what Pam and the children were doing or about my mother and brothers. I would telephone them from time to time just to let them know that I was still alive. First thing in the mornings, Eddie would do some begging until he had enough for a bottle of cider. Then, we would sit on one of the local park benches drinking our cheap cider, watching the world go by. As I sat there watching people going to work, taking their kids to. school, or making their way. to the shops, I felt so different and isolated ,fro~ the human race. One or both of us would have facial damage such as cuts and bruising as a result of drunken fights with each other. Eddie was not too happy as I was not pulling my weight when it came to generating money. I always acted as look out when, as he put it, he "did the business." He was right. If it were not for him I would not have been able to survive. Of course, I would not admit that, least of all to him. A few more weeks went by and my clothes were in a mess. Somewhere along the line I had lost my underwear and socks. Yet I had

Trying to Get Back to Prison 69

this illusion that I was all right. It was everyone else who was out of step. I would see other street drinkers and down and outs and feel sorry for them. I pitied them and really believed that if I ended up like them, I would pull myself together. I had a real image problem; I could not see myself for what I really was. I would wash and shave about once a week in the public restroom at the bus station. My drinking was at such a high level, that I was suffering memory loss. It was not just the night before that I could not remember. I had whole days erased from my memory and would have to rely on other people telling me what I had done.

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One morning, I came out of a blackout and was so disorientated that I did not know what day it was, or where I had been or what I had done. I was lying on the floor as usual in pool of urine. I had bruising- to my knuckles and dried blood around my nose so I knew I must have been in a fight. My mind was racing to recall what day it was, or even what the time of day was. It was daylight, but was it morning or afternoon? I peered through the window. I could see a postman so I deduced that it must be morning. But where was Eddie? I staggered from room to room, but he was nowhere to be found. What had happened to him, was it him who I had been in a fight with? If so, where was he? Was he in hospital? Was he dead? All these unanswered questions were spinning around in my head; I was in a total state of confusion. After a couple of bottles of cider I knew that Eddie was not going to return. As I sat on the floor of that duty room with my head resting on my knees I felt so lonely and I knew that without Eddie I would not be able to cope much longer. The only solution that I could think of was to get myself arrested. To celebrate this plan I drank the last few mouthfuls of cider. I left the house and started to walk towards Leeds. I felt weak, not having had a proper meal in days. When I reached the city center it was late afternoon, the withdrawals were beginning to kick in and I was feeling like death. There was a row of parked cars, and at the end of the road was a telephone box. I phoned the police and gave them a description of myself, telling them that this person was trying to break into a car. I waited for what seemed a lifetime for the police to arrive. When they eventually got there, they completely ignored me. Because I had given them a description of what I thought I looked like they were searching for someone of 'normal' appearance. They were not seeking a down and out and so took absolutely no notice of me.

70 Because I Have Been Given Much

The police were at the end of the road searching for the car thief. I hung around some cars and started acting suspiciously in an attempt to attract attention. When they saw me they walked over to question me and I gave them a load of verbal abuse. One of them grabbed me by the arm and said, "I am arresting you for attempting to break into a motor vehicle" and as he said that a feeling of relief came over me. I was safe at last. They walked me to their car and drove to the police station. Once there, I was searched then put into a cell. I asked one of them for a cigarette. As the door banged behind me, I saw the wooden bench with a very thin mattress and an old blanket on it. It was like a five star hotel, it was real luxury. I lay on the mattress, it was the first bed I had been on in weeks; I smoked the cigarette, and it felt like heaven to me. I must have been there for about an hour; I was blissfully dozing and felt warm and safe. The cell door being opened interrupted my bliss, two policemen stood in the doorway and one of them indicated that they wanted me to go with them. I walked with them through a long corridor. At the end there was a large room and at the far end of the room a sergeant sat at his desk. I stood in front of him; he opened a plastic bag containing the contents of my pockets taken off me when I was searched. He poured my property on to the top of the desk; there was no money, only a box of matches, a couple of cigarette ends, and a small ball of string. To my horror he was pushing these items towards me. It da~ned on me that they were releasing me! My heart sank, what was I to do? They couldn't let me go. I interrupted the sergeant who was telling me that this was my last chance, next time they would not let me get off so lightly. I interrupted him by saying, "I'm wanted on a warrant in London." He looked up at me and said, "Can't you forget that you told me that?" I think he was about to go off duty and it meant that he would have to stay longer than he planned. But I knew my rights. I insisted on being arrested! Back in the cell once again, I was given a mug of hot tea and a Spam sandwich. I sat on that bed in heaven. I slept like a baby that night. I was woken up in the morning and was given a bacon sandwich and more tea. I was also allowed a wash and was told that some police from London were on their way to escort me back there. I was then taken to the courts where I would be held until my escort arrived. There were cells beneath the court, and at the end of the row of cells was a large room with wooden benches around the walls. An iron gate at the entrance made the room look like a dungeon. The room was full of winos, down-and-outs. They placed me in the room but my pride was such that I thought they must have made a mistake. What on earth had they put me in with these people for? The only conclusion I could

Trying to Get Back to Prison 71

come up with was the cells must be full, or else they would have put me in one rather than with these no-hopers. I sat in the corner and tried to distance myself from them. One by one, they were taken out and put up before the magistrates. A couple came back sentenced to a week in prison. They tried to strike up a conversation with me. I would not engage with them apart from "yes" or "no" answers. I think if the truth were known, these poor people were a mirror of me, and what I saw I did not like. The gate opened, and there were two policemen from my local police station. One of them said, "Hello, Bob, you are in a bit of a state". They handcuffed me and took to a waiting police car. On the journey to London, I was told that Eddie had been arrested for burglary. Waves of relief washed over me. Now I knew he was all right. At a London police station, I was charged with arson. It was Friday evening and there would be no court until the following Monday morning. I sat on the floor in the corner of the cell; the walls were about fifteen feet high and covered in white tiles. At the top of one of the walls, a couple of translucent bricks allowed natural light to enter. There was a bench fixed to the wall. It had a pillow and a couple of blankets on it. At the end of the cell was a toilet.

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That was the longest weekend of my life. I had nothing to do but sit there with my thoughts. I felt so isolated. Apart from the police no one knew if I was alive or dead. In my deepest moment of my despair, I thought of my two young sons. I knew in my heart that the only decent thing I could do was to stay out of their lives forever because I was unable to look after myself, let alone, try to have a relationship with them. The truth was that they were settled with their mother and stepfather. After my behavior, it would be impossible for me to try and rebuild any bridges with Pam. I knew that she would not allow me anywhere near the boys. It would be a long, drawn out battle in the courts for me to gain access. And anyway, I was on my way back to prison and by the time I was out they would be more attached to their stepfather. It would totally disrupt their lives if I were then to start a custody battle in the courts. I believed that I had inflicted enough emotional damage on them and I was not prepared to make them suffer any more. I think that was the first time in my life I had put other people's feelings before mine.

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72 Because I Have Been Given Much

Monday morning eventually· arrived; I was taken to court and was remanded into custody for seven days. I had a visit from Hilary. When she walked into the cell and sat on the bench beside me, I saw a different side to her. She spoke to me in a very gentle way. She said that I looked terrible and seemed to be really concerned for me. We both agreed that prison was the only option open to the court, the real question was how long? The magistrates would probably commit me to the Crown Court for sentence. I was taken to Brixton Prison, where I had my first bath for weeksthe water was almost black when I got out. In the morning after breakfast I lined up to see the doctor. As I stood in line, I noticed a Salvation Army officer walking down the line; she was stopping and talking to some of the men. I looked away. I did not want to catch her gaze because I did not want anything to do with a religious nut. I looked at my feet as she passed and gave a sigh of relief when she carried on walking past me; the last thing I wanted was to be seen talking to someone like her. Then out of the blue she turned round and walked straight up to me and said, "How old are you?" "Thirty-three," I replied. "You know what they say about men of your age who are still coming into prison, you will be in and out of places like this for the rest of your life"! That remark struck a chord deep in my heart. My first reaction was that I wanted to hit her. But I gave her a contemptuous look then went into the doctor's office. After we were locked up for the night, I struggled to write a letter to Pam, telling her that I would leave her and the kids alone in the future. The week soon went by and I found myself back in front of the magistrates once again. I pleaded guilty to arson and was committed to Kingston Crown Court for sentence. I returned to Brixton Prison to await sentence and after a couple of days I got a letter from Pam. She agreed that it would be in everyone's interest if I did not have any further contact with the boys. The tears rolled down my face as I read her letter once again. Six weeks later I found myself in the Crown Court and, with the aid of a skilful lawyer, I was sentenced to twelve months and was taken to Wandsworth Prison. Within a few weeks, I had a visit from my mother and brother Fred. It had been some time since I had seen them. Mum had by now moved out of the house and was living in a one bedroom flat. She said that I could stay and sleep on her sofa. I was grateful for that offer. Christmas came and I was walking around the exercise yard on Christmas Morning when it dawned on me that this was the fourth

Trying to Get Back to Prison 73

Christmas in a row that I had been in prison. The words of the Salvation Army officer came back to haunt me. In early May 1979, I was released. As I walked out of the gates with a few pounds discharge grant in my pocket I had no hope, no vision of what I wanted from life. All that I could see facing me was an endless treadmill of despair.

CHAPTER 9

Still in Prison in My Own Mind When I left prison, I took up my mother's offer to sleep on her couch and managed to control my drinking up to a point. I lived a nomadic lifestyle and battled with a feeling of impending doom as I drifted on with my aimless lifestyle. I would visit Hilary, my probation officer, even though I was not required to. Talking with her seemed to help. The only thing that upset me was that every time I saw her, she would somehow get our conversation round to my drinking and drug taking. She talked about how the "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA) twelve-step programme had helped a lot of people like me. What did she mean, people like me! She even went as far as showing me a questionnaire that AA had produced called "Who, Me?" This was a simple twenty questions, which required a straightforward "yes" or "no" answer. She went through the questions with me and I answered "yes" to nineteen of them. The only reason that I didn't score twenty was because I lied on the last question. Hilary then said that if you answer "yes" to three of more of these questions, the likelihood is that you are an alcoholic. I dismissed the whole thing as rubbish, and said, "What does AA know about drinking anyway?" I tried to deflect Hilary by telling her how depressed I was feeling. She arranged an appointment for me to go and see a psychiatrist. He asked how much I drank, I told him half of what I was drinking, and did not even mention my drug habit, and he told me that I was drinking too much and that I should cut down. He also put me on a course of tranquillizers. Not surprisingly, one evening when I was staying with friends, after consuming a vast amount of whisky, I took all the tranquillizers and was rushed to hospital and had to have my stomach pumped out. I was kept in hospital for a couple of days and while I was there was seen by another psychiatrist, who told me simply to pull myself together, and cut down on my drinking and everything would be all right. If only it were that simple!

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Christmas came and went. 1980 was just as depressing as the previous year had been. I had physical liberty but I was still in prison in my own mind. By March I was living in a squat in South London. There were

Still in Prison in My Own Mind 75

always people coming and going. The place was awash with drugs and alcohol. I had a small room with a bed and very little else. Although the place was dirty and run down, it had a few sticks of furniture and was a step up from sleeping on the streets. I had not seen Terry or Eddie for ages. I could only assume they were dead or in prison. For the next six months of my so-called life I did little else but drink and take drugs. I was having blackouts that lasted days at a time and was financing my addiction with what I could steal. One afternoon, I was looking across the road where a large building was being refurbished. The workmen had just put a sign up which said "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." The building was the New London South mission office. I did not know it, but my salvation was so near, yet so far away.

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One October morning in 1980, I woke up on my urine-soaked bed and, as usual, had no recollection of the past few days. Physically I was a wreck. Mentally I was completely washed out. I was sick and tired. And what's more I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Maybe Hilary had a point about my drinking. I thought of the twelve-step program and that questionnaire. Maybe I would give them a call, to see if they would help me. I still had the contact number in my trouser pocket. There was a public phone just outside the house. I would need to use it but that might prove to be difficult because I was feeling so unwell. I made my way into the lounge and rested on the sofa for a time. My head was spinning, I was sweating and my body was trembling. Slowly, I made my way to the door. As I opened it, the sun was shining brightly on a wonderful autumnal day. The sunlight aggravated my blood shot eyes and I screwed them up, trying to protect them from the brightness. People were going about their everyday lives. A couple of people went into the LDS mission office across the road and mothers were walking with their children. Why couldn't I be like them? Why was I so much out of step with rest of the world? These questions went unanswered in my head while across the road in the LDS mission offices people were setting up programs that would reach me and heal my soul in several years. But I wasn't aware of any of that. All I knew was that a normal life seemed totally out of reach for me. I made it to the phone and dialed the number. I was just about to hang up when a woman's voice came on the line: "Can I help you?" "Is that AA?" I asked. "Yes", replied the woman

76 Because I Have Been Given Much

I continued, "I think I might have a bit of a drink problem." That must be one of the biggest understatements of all time. "Well, you are half-way there in recognizing you have a problem." She continued, "Would like someone to come and visit you?" I thought for a moment. I knew about AA and that alcoholics ran it and I did not want that type of person in my home. It did not matter that my place was in such a filthy state that you had to wipe your feet when you went out of the door. I did not want those people round my home. I quickly replied, "No, thank you." "Would you like ·some literature sent to you instead?" "No, thank you", I replied quickly again. I did not want them to know my address. They might turn up on my doorstep. She then asked, "Would you like to go to one of our meetings?" I said, "Yes I would." She told me that there was a meeting that night near where I lived. I remembered thinking to myself, "I really want to do something about my drinking but not tonight!" I did not go that night but a significant thing happened. I did not have a drink that night. I just went to my room and spent the next week in that room going through the most horrendous withdrawals - a very dangerous thing to do on your own as it is possible to have fits and choke on your own vomit. I even gave any drink and drugs I had to the other people in the house, telling that I was "on the wagon." They looked at me with expressions of disbelief on their faces.

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A week went by and I had not had a drink. The meeting was that night and I thought I had nothing to lose by going, but I could not face going on my own. I phoned the roofer I used to work for and asked him if he would drive me there. He gladly agreed to come with me. I was surprised. The meeting was being held in a church hall. They had hung a small sign with AA on it on the door. I did not want anyone to see me going into an AA meeting. However, I did not mind them seeing me rolling on the ground drunk, or fighting in the street, or getting arrested. But I. objected to them seeing me doing something positive about my problem. I walked through the door and paused for a moment; I could hear voices and laughter coming from the main hall. I was about to turn round and walk out, when a middle aged man appeared at the door smiling at me. As he walked towards me with an" outstretched hand, he introduced himself, "Hello, my name is Harry, I am an alcoholic." Then he asked me, "Is this your first meeting?" I wondered how he knew that! The fact was that my clothes were shabby, I was unshaven, my hair was

Still in Prison in My Own Mind 77

unkempt and I was still shaking a bit. Those things might have given him a bit of a clue. I said, "Yes, it is." "You are very welcome." I thought he was a liar because he was an alcoholic and was both well dressed and well spoken and could not be an alcoholic. Alcoholics were the sort of people who were in the dungeon with me in Leeds; he could not fool me! He shared that the worst thing that had happened to him was being arrested for drink driving. I didn't think much of that-that was almost the first thing to happen to me! Then came his second "lie". He said that that was five years ago and he started coming to the meetings and had not had a drink since then. How could anyone go without a drink for five years if they were an alcoholic? He showed me into the main hall where there were about fifteen to twenty other people and introduced me to some other members. They were also smartly dressed and well spoken and one gave me a cup of tea. Harry invited me to sit next to him at the table. A couple of minutes later, one of the men at the table called the meeting to order. He introduced himself by saying, "Good. evening, everyone. My name is Michael and I am a alcoholic." The rest of the people in the room replied by saying, "Hi, Michael". After a couple of announcements, he introduced the man sitting next to him as tonight's speaker who in turn told us that his name was Ian and that he was also an alcoholic. Once again the people in the room said, "Hi, Ian" and then he went on to share his life story. Ian's story was very similar to mine. He had been to prison and had been divorced because of his drinking, which I found very interesting. He then started to talk about how he had managed to stop drinking and said that he had turned his life over to God. That was it. I knew that there had to be a catch. These people were a bunch of religious nuts. I sat there thinking, I really must do something about my drinking now. Look where it has got me. When Ian had finished speaking, Michael opened out the meeting by inviting, the people present as he put it, "To share their experience, strength and hope with us". People started to talk from the floor; they would start by introducing themselves by name then stating that they too were alcoholics. Many of them would tell stories of how they stopped drinking with the help of a "Higher Power." Many of them did not refer to God directly but some of them spoke of having a spiritual awakening and how they would pray to this Higher Power on a daily basis to help them stay sober one day at a time. I sat there cringing in my seat, how could I take these people seriously, when they were talking a

78 Because I Have Been Given Much

load of .rubbish? Just to add insult to injury they joined together at the end of the meeting and said the Serenity prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

After the meeting I was given another cup of tea. More people came up and introduced themselves to me and told me that I was very welcome and that if I kept coming to meetings my life would get better. Some of them gave me their telephone numbers and said if I was struggling to stay sober I could call them anytime night or day. Harry then gave me a list of meetings in the area and told me that I should get to as many meetings as I could in the next three months. Then he said, "Misery is optional. Give us three months, and if you do not like us, we will refund your misery in full!" Then he said something that no one had said in a long time-"COME BACK!" On the drive back, I did not say much. My friend asked me what I thought of the meeting. I said that I thought they were a bunch of religious freaks and he agreed with me. When I got home there were a few people drinking in the lounge and someone offered me a drink. I politely made some excuse that I was unwell and went to my room and tried to sleep. Such sm'all steps do effect great changes in our lives. Even though the misery was far from over, I had made the first moves towards a better lifestyle. The magic of seeing people accept God in their lives in whatever way they chose to perceive Him had an effect on me although I would not admit it to myself at that time. I

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The next few days were difficult. I was desperate for a drink or drugs and people were using substances all around me. I wanted so much to join them. It would have been the simplest thing for me to do to start using again. I would stay out of the house as much as. I could and, when I was in, I would go to my room and keep out of the way. I still had the list of meetings that Harry had given me and thought if I went to another meeting it would get me out of the house for a couple of hours. I found out where the meeting was being held and, to my relief, it was above a bookshop and not in a church hall. I was surprised that some of the people from the first meeting were at this one. The speaker for this meeting was a woman who was a grandmother. She was what is known as'a "lace curtain drinker", which

Still in Prison in My Own Mind 79

meant that she would drink alone at home. Nothing spectacular had happened to her. She had not been in trouble with police. She was happily married for a great of number of years until her husband had died five years previously and it was at this point that her drinking had become qut of control. I sat there wondering what on earth I could have in common with such a woman. Then she started to talk about her feelings when she was drinking; she explained how lonely and isolated she felt and for many years she felt that life was not worth living and how much she hated herself. I sat there transfixed. She was explaining exactly how I felt. She claimed that she was on the point of suicide, but then she found the fellowship of AA which had saved her life. Then I came down to earth with a thud. She started to talk about a Higher Power that she knew was God that she prayed to both night and day. At that this point I switched off. I was fuming and completely missed anything she or others said for the rest of that evening. At the end of the meeting I tried to sneak out without talking to anyone but someone who had been at my first meeting cornered me. He started to ask me some rear deep and probing questions like, "How are you feeling today, Bob?" How on earth would I know the answer to that one? For almost the last twenty years I had been trying to avoid any feelings. The only feelings I knew were pain and fear. My constant companion over the years was fear. I did not say that. I lied and said, "I'm fine." My body language, however, must have told a different story. I made my excuses and left the meeting.

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It was almost three weeks since I had had a drink. But, where I was living, continuing down that route was proving to be impossible. If I stayed there, I would drink again. I went to see my mother and asked if I could move in with her and to my surprise she agreed to let me sleep on the sofa until I could find somewhere permanent to live. I left the squat and worked as a roofer three or four days a week. I felt more like a human being. I was even going to a couple of meetings a week. I would go to the meeting over the bookshop and would try to avoid the meetings being held in church halls. Not much seemed to be getting through to me. There were times I would get up and walk out halfway through a meeting because someone was talking about his or her Higher Power or having had a spiritual awaking. As far as I was concerned it was a load of rubbish and I was not going to waste my time listening to it. I was told to listen for the similarities, and not the differences in what people were saying. I found

80

Because I Have Been Given Much

it difficult to identify with anyone in the meetings. I knew that some of them ·had been to prison, but a lot of them told stories of being in hospitals and treatment centers for their alcoholism. I had not been hospitalized because of my drinking, I had been in hospital because I had been in fights or had taken drug overdoses. But I could not see that any of these events related to my drinking. I felt different from other people in the meetings. They were, in my opinion, weak willed and believed in some sort of mystical being that would help them to stop drinking. No wonder they ended up in hospital! At the beginning of each meeting, someone would be asked to read a page or two from the Big Book written by the first one hundred members of AA back in 1939. It contained stories of people who were sober through the help of the fellowship. To avoid being asked to read from the Big Book, I would always turn up late for meetings. It would be too much for me to bear if people found out that I could not read. I had my pride to think of-the same pride that almost killed me. Even though new members are strongly aQvised to avoid going into pubs and clubs, I thought I was different from everyone else. I have always been too intelligent to learn-drunk or sober. I would go into pubs and clubs and drink all sorts of soft drinks all night and watch my friends get drunk. On reflection, it was one of the worst periods in my life. I was hanging on by my fingertips, which is called 'white knuckle' sobriety. I would not talk in the meetings. But by now I was getting involved in conversation with people after the meetings. After one particular meeting about the dangers of going into bars, I told a man that I was different from the rest of them and could handle going into bars. He said: "Now that you got out the lion's cage with your head on shoulders, don't go back for your hat." I tried to assure him that I could handle it. Then he said, "Are you sure, Bob? I'm convinced if you 'hang around a barber's shop long enough you will get your haircut!" I dismissed him in my mind as a fanatic. I could handle it. I would continue going into bars. I was now almost six months dry but not sober. There was very little difference in my attitudes and behavior. In Alma 24:17, it talks about the Lamanites who buried their weapons deep in the ground to prevent them from using them to cause any more bloodshed. I had not really forsaken my former lifestyle. Unlike the Lamanites,'Ihad merely lain a coat of dust on myoid destructive ways, making it easy for me to pick them up again. The good people of AA would give me advice about not getting emotionally involved with anyone because it was still early days for me and they recommended that I should wait a little while longer. Once again, I thought that I was different. I flung myself headlong into a

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relationship. I took a hostage. The relationship was short lived. The poor woman could not handle my manic behavior. When she ended the relationship, pride would not allow me to talk to anyone at the meetings about how much emotional pain I was in. It was only a few short weeks before I went back into that lion's den. I stopped going to meetings; it was only a matter of time before I started drinking again!

CHAPTER 10

A Great Light Round About Me From the moment I picked up that first drink it was as if I had never stopped. It was worse than anything I had ever experienced before. I drank for four days solid and within that time I lost my job and slashed my wrists in a suicide attempt that required twelve stitches. I was full of despair that I had failed yet again. I found myself wandering the streets in the rain, shaking from head to toe. I only had enough money to buy a quarter bottle of whisky. I took it into a public restroom to drink. As soon as I drank it, the shakes started to subside but I needed more and had no money. There were two options, the first was to go and steal some .money, and the second was to go to a meeting and see if the people there would help me. But that would mean that I would J:1.ave to swallow an enormous amount of pride and admit that I might have it wrong. Would I have enough courage and humility to do that? I sat there thinking. I knew in my heart the right thing to do was to admit defeat and go to the meeting. If I did not, I would end up doing a long prison sentence before long. Even though that seemed inviting since it would take away the responsibilities for my life, something inside of me rebelled at the notion. I was totally confused; I did not know what to do. Then a third option came into my mind - suicide. That could be the way out, but I had even failed at that. At least my father had succeeded at something. The prospect of throwing myself off a high building floated before my eyes - I would be sure that this time I would make a good job of it. But somewhere inside of me, I felt that I should at least try going to a meeting. And if I did not get any help there, I could then look at my other two options more closely. I was in luck. There was a meeting not far from where I was and by the time I got there it would have just about started. But my timing was off. I got there early and as I walked into the meeting a man I knew vaguely came over to me and put his arm on my shoulder. I started to sob and he very gently led me to a chair and as we sat down I told him that I had been drinking. He just said in a very gentle and sad way, "I know what you are going through." From the way he spoke, I knew he had been where I was. I think that was the first time in my life that I had had a meeting of minds with anyone.

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The meeting started and after the main speaker had finished, the meeting was thrown open for us to share if we wished. After a couple of people had spoken there was a long silence. I mustered up all the courage I could, then the words fell from my lips, UMy name is Bob and I am an alcoholic!" And the rest of the people replied with, uHi, Bob." I spoke for about ten minutes about how frustrated I felt and that I was on the point of suicide. After the end of the meeting, most of the people in the room gathered around me to give support. These people understood what I was going through. I was thirty-six years old and for the first time in my life I felt that I truly belonged. One of them suggested that I should go into Warlingham Park Hospital, a mental institution with a rehabilitation center attached to it. Many of the people at the meetings had been in that hospital. The treatment had proven successful in many cases and they recommended it very highly. I was told that I was in luck, because the following day was a Tuesday and that was when Dr John Gayford, a consultant psychiatrist at the unit, was holding his outpatients clinic. If I got myself along there tomorrow afternoon between 2.00 p.m. and 4.00 p.m. they were sure that he would see me and admit me for the detoxification program in Warlingham Park Hospital. Feeling very unsteady on my feet, I made my way to my mother's place. I tried to sleep but spent a very restless night as I was going through some horrendous withdrawals. Even though I was feeling like death, I had only' partially committed myself to trying to change, such was the pull of the addiction. If my mother had left her purse lying around I would have stolen money from it to buy alcohol. But fortunately, she wisely did not leave it near me. A friend of the family offered to take me to the clinic. We arrived dead on 2.00 p.m. and I was seen by one of the nursing staff for an assessment of my drinking. I really did not believe at that time that I was a full-blown alcoholic, I considered myself as uborderline." After all that I had been through in the last twenty years, I was still deceiving myself. I was not that bad. Maybe I was a little bit alcoholic. That is as about as ridiculous as a women thinking that she is a little bit pregnant-she's either pregnant or not. Being an alcoholic ~ as black and white as thatthere are no half-measures. But many of us will deceive ourselves for years, sometimes with fatal results, believing that we can control it. Sadly, we are sometimes aided and abetted by the medical profession who often will not challenge the patient and will sometimes see a selfimposed label of alcoholic or addict as negative as opposed to the beginning of freedom. After I had been seen by the nurse, I was told to sit in the waiting room and the doctor would see me soon. I waited for a little while,

84 Because I Have Been Given Much

feeling terrible and wanting to leave, when I was shown into the doctor's office. He was an elegant looking man with graying hair and piercing blue eyes. He introduced himself and invited me to sit down and sat there reading the notes his staff had made about me. Then he said: "Do you want to stop drinking?" "Yes, I do," I replied. He then said, "The program run is tough: compared to me, the Ayatollah is a liberal!" He told me that the program the ran at the hospital was the Minnesota Model, basically a spiritually based spin-off of the twelve-step program. I tried to keep my face expressionless as he said that but I could already feel a resistance in me towards anything of that nature. He went on to say that he would admit me into the unit, but the condition of residence would be that I would have to attend five AA meetings a week and I told him that I was already attending meetings on and off for the past six months. I told him that members of AA had recommended that I should come and see him. I was hoping that I would get some approval from him but none was forthcoming. He told me that he was admitting me straightaway and I should go to the hospital and once there I should find my way to Pinel House where the staff would be expecting me. I was driven to the hospital feeling that my life was over. I could not live with alcohol, and I could not live without it. I wondered what was going to become of me.

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As we drove through the grounds of the hospital the withdrawals seemed to intensify. We followed the signs to Pinel House which was set back from the main hospital. It was a single storey building with a long driveway up to it. As I walked through the doors, a member of the staff came out of the office. I told her my name and she told me that they had been expecting me. She took me to my room, which was next door to the staff office. There was an internal widow in the room from which I could see into the staff office. The nurse noticed the puzzled look on my face. She explained that I would be in this room for the next few days because they were concerned that I might be a suicide risk. She reass~red me that it would be only for a few days and then I would be able to move in with the rest of the patients. She told me that she was going to get me something to help ~e with my withdrawals. She was not gone long and was back with a couple of Heminevrin tablets, which would take the edge off my discomfort. She watched me take the medication and then I was shown to the television lounge. There were two patients who had also been admitted that

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afternoon. They introduced themselves as Jill and Tony. They offered me a cigarette and we then started a conversation. Jill was in her mid-thirties and had been admitted for detox on a number of occasions and she took great relish in telling all about the unit. She had been drinking for a number of years, but she really had to stop this time because her husband had had enough, and was threatening divorce if she did not do something about it. By now the Heminevrin had started to affect me and I was feeling much more comfortable and rather light headed. Tony was a school teacher who was also in his mid thirties. He spent the best part of half an hour telling Jill and myself that he could not understand what he was doing in a place like this. He only came to keep his family and his employers off his back. According to Tony they had it all wrong. Sure he admitted he liked a drink, but no way was he an alcoholic. He said that he would be going home in a few days when everyone realized what a mistake they had made putting him in there. When Tony had finished trying to justify his drinking to us, we were joined by other patients who had come out of a group therapy session. These people had already been in for a week or two. Five minutes later another member of staff told us that our evening meal was ready. Jill showed me into the kitchen where we collected our food, then took me into the dinning room. She explained that we could sit at any table, but the one by the window was reserved for the "Group." She explained that the Group was patients who were going through Dr Gayford's intense therapy program and were accommodated in a separate part of the building away from us mere mortals. Jill spoke of them with reverence as if they were some· kind of elite body. It was Jill's ambition to be selected for the group. As we were talking, a group of people came in wearing identical tracksuits and took their places at the table by the window. Poking me in the ribs with her elbow, Jill told me in a low voice that they were the Group. They did not look any different from the rest of us of apart from wearing the same tracksuits. Maybe Jill knew something I didn't. After our evening meal, we returned to the television room and the rest of the patients started getting ready for the bus that would take them to an AA meeting. I was told I would have to stay behind with Tony and Jill because we would need·further medication and·the bandages on my wrists would need changing. I was allowed to go to bed and there was a curious comfort and security in knowing that I was being watched at all times.

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86 Because I Have Been Given Much

After a few painful days, the medication had been gradually reduced to nothing and I was now completely clear of all substances for the first time in years. I was still in the observation room. It was early June, around about five in the morning. There was an absolute stillness as there was no sound in the unit. It would be another couple of hours before Pinel House would start to come to life with the day staff coming on. My bedroom overlooked a green field and I lay in bed gazing at the sumise. I had awoken so early because I had had a restless night and my mind had been troubled. I had spent most of the night drifting in and out of sleep. The realization had dawned on me: I was at the end of the road. I could no longer live and yet did not have the courage to kill myself. As I lay in my hospital bed waves of despair washed over me. The ghosts from the past came to haunt me and my mind was filled with terror, bewilderment, frustration and despair. What was to become of me? From my window, I watched the sun rising behind a row of trees at the end of the field. A slight wind bent the long grass towards me. It was just at that moment without warning that I was caught up in a feeling of great warmth. The room seemed to be immersed in a warm glow and my whole body was consumed with a wonderful feeling of warmth and comfort. I had never experienced anything like this before. It literally engulfed me. It seemed to penetrate my frozen soul; it was an indescribable feeling. My mind's eye was at long last opened. Up until that moment, my mind had been an old dark attic which had become damp and dingy, with just a single dim light-bulb in the middle barely illuminating the dark unseen corners and old sacking lying on the floor with menacing things moving beneath it. This feeling of warmth engulfing me momentarily turned my mind into a light bright room with no hidden unacceptable corners. A· New World of consciousness and understanding opened to me, followed by a great feeling of peace. I knew that no matter how wrong things seemed to be at that moment, from now on everything would be all right. At that moment I knew without a doubt that I was loved and of some worth. Slowly ~he sensation subsided. But something had reached deep into my heart. I had been given the ability to choose and I knew that I did not need to take another drink or drug if I chose not to. In Acts, Paul gives his account of his conversion on the road to Damascus, "Suddenly there shone from heaven a great light round about me" (Acts 22:7). In my case there was no blinding light from heaven, but my mind was enlightened. I know now that I had a spiritual awaking that morning in June 1981. The man who arose from that hospital bed

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that morning was a different man from the one who had retired to it the previous evening.

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Not knowing exactly what had happened to me, I knew one thing for sure and that was that I was determined not to take a drink or drug again on a daily basis. Just as I had been told at the meetings that I should live my life one day at a time, all I needed to worry about was not drinking today and to let tomorrow take care if itself. I made my mind up that' whatever it took to achieve that goal I would do my utmost to do it. Each night at the AA meetings, I would sit intently listening, soaking up every word like a sponge. I still was not happy with the concept of a Higher Power, but as I had been told, I tried to keep an open mind. As I began to feel physically better I had a desire to join the "elite" or in other words the Group. However, I was convinced that Dr Gayford would not allow someone like me on the program. At the time the Group was made up of all professional people such as a doctor, a vicar, a police officer, a nun, a chief nursing officer and an accountant. As part of the therapy for each Group member, they would be required to write an abridged version of their life story: I. perceived that as being a major stumbling block for me. I could just about put two sentences down on paper. How on earth was I going to do something like that? But the fear of returning to the outside world motivated me to ask the staff if I could apply to go into the Group. I was told that my application would be considered, but I knew that there was only one vacancy and there were other patients who also wished to go into the Group. I was convinced that I would not stand any chance of a place. On Thursday mornings, Dr Gayford would interview potential candidates to assess their level of motivation. Jill, another woman and I were told that Dr Gayford would be seeing us. I was last to be interviewed. He asked why I wanted to go into the Group. I told him that I felt that Group had a lot to offer me and he asked what contribution I could make? I told him that I did not feel that I had much to offer. He then said that he felt that I could make an enormous contribution to the Group. I did not have a clue what he was talking about. Then he told me that I had been picked to join. I sat there with my mouth open hardly able to believe it. I felt a rush of panic over me as I hurriedly said: "But I cannot spell, how will I be able to write my life story?" For the first and omy time in my entire relationship with the Doctor he smiled broadly and said: "Bob, I want to let you into a secr~t, I cannot

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spell either, I am sure you will be fine." With that he showed me the door, I walked slowly over to the television and sat down to recover. That small achievement was my first taste of success that was not connected with criminal behavior. I had actually gone for something, and got it. I sat there stunned. I could hear Jill who was getting very abusive with the staff and was threatening to have a drink if she was not allowed to stay in the unit but the commotion passed over me. My thoughts were broken by a nurse who came to congratulate me and to tell me that I would be moving over to the Group's wing after lunch on Sunday. On the following Saturday, the 20th June 1981, a seemingly small event occurred in my life in that a young woman came to the unit to give a presentation. It was a morning like any other; no warning bells rang to tell me that that day would be significant. Then the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen in my life walked into the room. Apart from her obvious beauty, there was something very special about her. I could not put my finger on what it was about her. She introduced herself as Sue, and gave an inspirational talk about her life's problems. She was well equipped to do so as she had suffered for a long time with life controlling challenges. She told us how she was coping with life and how she had managed to put her problems behind her. She also talked about the importance of developing a spiritual side to our nature. Something in the way she spoke about her relationship with God struck a deep chord within me and when she left I could not get her out of my mind.

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The following day I moved into the Group's accommodation. It was my thirty-seventh birthday and all my worldly possessions fitted into a small bag. The unit was empty, as the Group members had gone home for the weekend. I dreaded the thought of going home myself. My brother Fred had offered to have me on the weekends but since he had a bar in his lounge and most Saturday evenings he and his wife sat in the bar drinking, it was not really an environment I wished to be in. By late afternoon the Group members were drifting back, their spouses were dropping them off, they all seemed to be affluent and had new cars and were well dressed. I felt so inferior; these people seemed to have so much more going for them. After the "in house" AA meeting, I sat in the Group's sitting room and we started to make our acquaintances. It was soon clear to me that, just like prison, there was a pecking order. Peter was a vicar and, like the other members of the Group, was in his early forties. He had been given

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the job by the staff of "group leader" which meant that he was the spokesperson for the group. Peter had been admitted to the"unit on the advice of his bishop as his drinking was out of control. The story goes that at a funeral service, a bit the worse for drink, he started to recite the wedding ceremony! Then there was Linda, who was a police officer; her job was assistant group leader. She had found the pressure of police service too much and had started drinking to relieve the pressure. Before long it had got out of control which led to a suicide attempt by carbon monoxide poisoning. Michael was a doctor. He was the editor of Pinel House magazine and had been arrested for drunk driving. His marriage was on the rocks because of his abuse of alcohol. Then there was Mary, who was a nun. She was the assistant editor of the magazine and was a lace curtain drinker. The other group members would joke and say that her drinking had become a "habit!" Next there was Richard, he was an accountant. He was in charge of the social committee for the Group. Members had to host a reunion once a month for former patients and their families; it was down to Richard to coordinate the event. He was in his last week of the Group and I did not find out about him or his drinking. Last but not least was Noreen who was a chief nursing officer and also a secret drinker. She would be taking over from Richard as the reunion coordinator. Then there was me, a former prisoner and "down and out."·What a combination we made. I am convinced that Dr Gayford had a strange sense of humor by putting me in among comfortably well off, middle class professionals. I felt like a fish out of water and terribly inferior. I had nothing in common with these people. Peter, I know, had a big problem with having a criminal around. The other members possibly had problems sharing their personal lives with someone like me, but they were able to hide their feelings. The following morning, I was given one of the Group's tracksuits to wear. It was like a badge that distinguished us from the rest of the patients. It was also a great leveler because we were all dressed the same. Within a few days and with a great deal of help from Linda I managed to make a start to my life history. After my first two weeks, I was allowed to go home for the weekend. It was difficult as I was very slowly starting to change but other members of my family weren't. The crude humor and questionable language that had so long been a part of my life had become less attractive to me. Something in my soul seemed to recoil from such things. When I would return to the group and tell the other members that I had spent the weekend at AA meetings someone would raise their eyebrows, as if to say, don't you get enough of that stuff here in the

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week? Peter would voice his disapproval by saying things like: "I would have thought you would have had better things do with your time." This was a turning point in my life as the people pleaser. I had discovered within myself, to my great surprise, a wellspring of .courage to do as I felt was right. I no longer cared what Peter thought of my attending meetings on weekends. Five weeks into the program Linda had typed up my life story and it was my turn to go through it with the staff and the other members of the Group. This process would take place over a period of four days. The person in the "hot seat" would be grilled for an hour each day about .their life. I started to read my story out loud painfully slowly and when I got to the point where my father died, I cried uncontrollably and all the feelings I had been blocking for years gushed out. The little boy inside of me cried out for help. It was in that hospital room with my fellow alcoholics that, some twenty-seven years after his death, I was allowed to mourn my father's passing and the healing began. After all that time I began to realize that it was not my fault that he had taken his life. I realized that at that time I had been only a small boy, and not the monster I had perceived myself to be for all those years. We then moved on to talk about the breakdown of my marriage and I told them that it was all my fa~lt that it had ended in divorce. I was told that it was a partnership and the blame was not all mine. They pointed out to me that when Pam and I first met,.} had just come out of prison."I was drinking and taking drugs nearly all my waking moments, and I was financing my drug habit through crime. I agreed that that was true.· Then I was asked, "Would you want to marry someone like that?" I answered, "No, of course notI" Then it was pointed out to me that Pam might have had a problem herself by wanting to spend her life with someone like that and that our relationship was doomed from the start. Thursday afternoon came round, when Dr Gayford would sit in on the Group and would pull together all that had been discussed over the four days. I had already witnessed such sessions when he summed up other people's lives. He was a wordsmith; he was very gifted with language. He would launch into a long discourse, using words I had never heard before. As a dyslexic I have a tremendous problem with pronunciation and I have always admired people with the gift of language. After the doctor had listened to the report from the group and the staff on my life history, he turned his attention on me and with a piercing stare that pinned me to my chair he said, "Bob, I feel that you are institutionalized. You are now using hospitals rather than prisons. You are at the crossroads of your life. If you continue to drink and take

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drugs, you will end up an inmate in some long-term institution. The choice is yours: either you stop abusing substances, or you will end up in places like this for the rest of your life." And with that he got up and walked out with the staff trailing behind him. I took myself off to my room, disappointed and angry. Where was the flowery language, the inspiring messages that had so characterized his pronouncements on other people? I felt that he had got it wrong in my case. I was not institutionalized. Then I honestly asked myself, what would happen if I were told to leave this hospital tonight? The truth of the matter was that I would not be able to cope. His words echoed in my head, as had the words of the lady from the Salvation Army four years before. She had said much the same thing when she had asked me how old I was. My mind ached with trying to come to terms with this new knowledge. Was it possible that they were right and I was wrong? Had I really become that dependent on places like this? If this was so, what hope was there for me? The old despair swept over me briefly to be replaced by a feeling of determination. He was right, I was institutionalized, but I was developing the tools of self-awareness and courage as it stated in AA's prayer. The fact that a prayer, albeit in poem form, was now a source of comfort to me did not seem as alien to me as it had previously. With these newfound insights I had into myself, I threw myself into group therapy and the AA meetings. I was hungry to find out how to keep away from drinking and had even conceded that there must be something beyond me, someone or something that was watching over me because without doubt my life was slowly changing. Was it possible that there was a God who cared for and loved me? This was against everything I had ever believed and yet my heart was softening towards the idea. My thoughts would drift back to the experience on that morning when I was surrounded by warmth. I could not explain that away intellectually, however hard I tried.

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Life in Pinel House continued and my self-awareness grew. It had been a few weeks since I had been through my life history; Peter, Linda, and Michael had gone home and there was a whole new group forming and the staff had made me Group. Leader. My sense of pride in this was overwhelming. It was not until I had a conversation with a friend who commented that I had been made "Chief Loony" that I was cut down to size! My time at Pinel was coming to an end. I was getting a little concerned as the end of my three months had almost come. I felt that I was nowhere near ready to face the world.

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The staff had arranged hostel accommodation for me, but I would need to go for an interview to see if I was suitable to live there. I caught the bus to the hostel and met the warden, who was a warm and friendly person. She told me that it was a dry house. Most of the other men in the hostel were former patients of Pinel House. She told me that she would let me knew within the next few days if she could offer me a bed. True to her word, she phoned a couple of days later to offer me a place. Good fortune had shone on me again. By late August 1981, I was getting ready to face the outside world, sober for the first time. I said goodbye to the staff and friends I had made. Most people in Pinel felt sorry for me, seeing that I did not have a home or relationship to return to. I did not see it that way. The majority of people I had met in hospital were leaving to go and sort out damaged relationships. Their careers were in a mess and they had to face all those problems the moment they were discharged. And, unbeknownst to me then, most of them would sadly return to drinking. As for me, all I had to do from now on was work on myself. The only way for me to go was up.

CHAPTER 11

God Grant Me the Serenity I left Pinel House with my small bag holding my clothes and with a few pounds in my pocket. I was ready to take on the world. I made my way to a hostel in Southwest London, not too far from my family, but far enough away that I would not keep running into people I used to drink with. I settled into the hostel and within a couple of days had found work on a building site. A few weeks later in mid-September I passed my driving test, the first test I had ever succeeded at. The sense of achievement was incredible. I had to thank Michael and the other Group members for encouraging me to take the test. One day in a Group session I had been complaining about the fact that I was not a qualified driver and for years had been driving illegally. It was then that Michael and the others suggested that it might be a good idea if I was to apply for a driving test. It never occurred to me to do something positive. Instead of complaining I could do something about it. They were right! . By October, I managed to get a job driving a van. This opened up a whole new world to me and took me all over the country. I visited places that I had only seen on television. In all my thirty-seven years I had not ventured much outside London and I loved the freedom the job gave me. I ran into Sue one evening at a meeting. She remembered me from Pinel House and we had a long conversation about how life was treating me now. She gave me her phone number and told me that I could call her at any time if I was struggling. I felt like a schoolboy-shy and tonguetied.

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After a short while I found that a whole new circle of friends surrounded me and life was taking on a.whole new meaning. It was becoming more and more clear to me that there was someone watchirlg over me. The people at the meetings were talking about handing their lives over to the care of God as they understood Him and I no longer balked at the idea of talking about spiritual things in a general sort of way. The fellowship has been described as a spiritual kindergarten and I had certainly started to develop a hunger for some spiritual guidance. By now I had conceded that there had to be a Higher Power, something beyond me that was having a great influence over my life. The fact that I

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had not had a drink or drug for some months was in itself a miracle but more importantly, the desire to take a drink or drug had gone. I believed that there was a Heavenly Father. How could I not believe that? The evidence was staring me in the face after that experience I had in Pinel House. And the way that my life had gone over the last few months was nothing short of a miracle - I was convinced of that. There was a burning desire within me to build a relationship with that elusive Higher Power. I tried to find a definition of this Higher Power and was told it was God, as I understood Him to be. That was the problem. I did not have a religious upbringing, therefore, I had no understanding of a Heavenly Father. The people who attended the meetings came from all different religious backgrounds; there were Christians, others were Jewish, there were Sikhs and those of the Muslim faith. Although I was trying to do what had been suggested to me by others to keep an open mind on the subject, I found all these different definitions of God very confusing. I even went as far as to visit different churches with friends but none of them touched me. They were so confusing with their blurred boundaries. It was a little like eating an unhealthy meal. It was very pleasant but did not seem to fill or nourish me in any way that was satisfactory. I struck up a friendship with a wonderful man by the name of Andrew. He had been sober for about eighteen months and he too was a former patient of Pinel House. I would often go to meetings with him and we would talk into the early hours on the telephone. I asked him how I could build a relationship with this God that everyone spoke of and he told me to pray. I did not have a clue how to pray! Andrew told me to just get on my knees and talk to Him and ask for further understanding and he was sure I would get the answer I was looking for. One evening and in the privacy of my room, I knelt by my bed. Although it was about 11.30 in the evening and I was on my own, I still put the side of the bed cover over my head just in case someone could see me. I did not know what to say, I just said, "Will Andrew's God please help me?" Nothing happened, I did not feel anything and there was no blinding light or heavenly visitation. The next day I phoned Andrew and told him that I had been praying and nothing had happened. He asked me how many times I had tried and I told him once. He suggested that I should try it several times before I dumped- the idea of -praying. He said, "If you can't make it, then fake it." After 'that, each morning I would pray, and ask some unseen and unknown being to help me to stay sober for that day.' Each evening, I would thank Him for helping me keep my sobriety. The fellowship was having a convention at Cane Hill Hospital, which was one of the institutions I had visited with my father when I was a small child. But this time was different. As I walked up that same drive with

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Andrew in the warm autumnal sunshine, I felt that a lot of ghosts from my childhood had been put to rest. I was no longer that frightened little boy anymore. I was a grown man and, after years of enslavement by the events of my childhood, I was consigning most of them to history and moving on in life. As we walked into the main hall there were hundreds of people mingling around. From out of the crowd Sue appeared, looking absolutely gorgeous. She was wearing a light blue outfit. With her long blonde hair resting on her shoulders and the sun shining from the window onto her hair, she looked angelic. She was selling raffle tickets. Once again I was bowled over by this woman. We bought some tickets and Andrew made arrangements with Sue for the three of us to have lunch together. Then we took our seats. I had never been to a convention before. Harry, the man who spoke to me at my first meeting, was on stage and his job was to introduce the speakers. He stepped up to the podium and opened the convention by thanking all of us for coming. Then he introduced the first speaker. As that speaker stepped up to the microphone, I thought to myself that maybe in five years or so I might be asked to speak at a convention and began to feel nervous in advance at the thought of talking to so many people. Then it occurred to me that I need not worry about that today. It would be years away before they asked me to do anything like that. I was carried away with the spirit of the occasion. Some of the speakers were like stand-up comedians, they were so entertaining. They spoke about what alcohol had done to their lives. Laughter is a great healer. Once we have the ability to laugh at ourselves, we can then start to forgive ourselves. Lunchtime came round and I eagerly set off with Andrew to join Sue for lunch. We sat on the lawn eating our picnic lunch and enjoying each other's company when Harry joined us. We all shook hands, and then he asked Andrew if he could talk for ten minutes that afternoon. Andrew's face went white. He had never spoken at a convention before. However, after a lot of cajoling from Sue and Harry, he agreed to do it. I just sat there wondering how on earth anyone could stand up at such short notice and talk to an audience of that size. Then Harry interrupted my thoughts: "Bob, I would like you to talk for ten minutes also." Completely shocked I said, "I could not speak in front of all those people and anyway I have only been around a few months! What can I talk about?" He replied, "I have heard you speak at meetings. Your gratitude for being sober has always come across so strongly. Just talk about your gratitude." I sat there, lost for words. Then Andrew's voice broke the

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deadly silence: "He would love to do it, Harry." Thanks for nothing, Andrewr Harry said, "Good, I would like the pair of you to meet me backstage ten minutes before the afternoon session starts." With that he walked off and I spent the rest of lunchtime in a state of shock. Sue was lovely in that she was so reassuring and told me that I would be fine. I did not eat much lunch after that. Before I knew it, Andrew and I were backstage at the allotted time to be met by Harry who introduced the four other speakers, all of whom had been sober for years. What was I doing with these people? I became weak at the knees at the thought. It was agreed that Andrew would talk first and then I would follow him. We took our places at the table on the stage. I felt quite sick as I looked over the sea of faces in front of us. Before I knew it, Andrew was finished. Then I was introduced; I walked up to podium and looked out at the audience. Sue was sitting in the front row. She smiled a reassuring smile. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer and then said, "Good afternoon, my name is Bob. I am an alcoholic." And the whole audience came back with, "Hi, Bob." I started by talking about my life's path and the long road I had trod bringing me to this moment in time. I finished with tears in my eyes, expressing my gratitude to a loving God for helping me to remain clean and sober. I finished dead on ten minutes. As the applause rose, I felt that I belonged to a whole new family. Those people out there had been where I had been, in the pits of despair, and we had all lived to tell the ·tale.

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That was my first attempt at public speaking. Little did I know that the day would come when I would speak in places like the House of Lords, Eton College and would be on several after-dinner circuits. I would also be giving lectures in universities and colleges throughout England. I would get involved on the international speaking circuit, giving presentations in Europe and America, as well as appearing on both television and radio. But far more importantly, one day I would preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ to. converts and non-converts alike. But all this was far from my mind as my eyes were once again drawn back to Sue who was smiling at me frQm the audience.

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A couple weeks later I brought a Volkswagen Beetle and now that I was mobile, I would pick up people and take them to meetings. One evening, I saw Sue at a meeting and asked her if she would like a lift home. She said she would love one. On the drive to her apartment, I found out a little bit

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more £!bout her. She was a single mother who had a two and a half-yearold daughter Charlotte. She was now dating someone else. From then on, I would pick her up a couple of times a week and go to meetings with her. By January 1982, I had moved out of the hostel into my first apartment. Living on my own was an all time first for me. I was in a large old Victorian house that had been converted into small apartments. The one I lived in was sparsely furnished; the living room was so small and the bedroom was so large. I would go to meetings complaining that the person who converted the house into apartments must have a drink problem because of the way the place was laid out. One evening, a friend came back to have a look at my apartment. He was in there all of thirty seconds, when he said, "Move the furniture around-you are living in the wrong rooms!" Just before I moved in, my landlord had decorated the bedroom, so the bed had been left in the living room. I am no fool: if there is a bed in the room, it must be a bedroom! I was so institutionalized from being in prison where we would never move anything around in our cells that I had not developed much in the way of creative thinking patterns! Life was continuing to go well and as each new day came, I was gaining an inner strength that I would never have thought possible. My family, although pleased by the change in me, were confused by the new 'Bob' and my brothers and I were becoming estranged by the differences in our value systems. I would try to talk about my new found faith. But, since I was not sure what it was I believed in, this caused more confusion. Their attitude was, "Well, if it keeps him off the drink and out of prison it must be harmless. Poor old Bob, he's got religion now!" My spiritual awakening unsettled my family and friends from my former life and their emotions ranged from contempt to pity. There was still a large stumbling block for me and that was the umesolved situation with my former family. Unbeknownst to me, Pam and the boys, along with her new husband, had moved into the same area where I lived, having moved away from our old home in the hope that I would not find them once I was released from prison. One morning, as I was leaving my apartment I discovered Pam standing at a bus stop near to where I was living. She almost passed out when I approached her and tried to put her at ease. I attempted to reassure her that it was all right and I did not wish her any harm. I endeavored to apologise for the way I had behaved in the past, telling her that I was a changed man. I fear that little got through to her. She was understandably too apprehensive to take in what I was trying to say. As time went by, I would see my sons David and Paul near the shops where I lived. I wanted so much to talk to them; I was so near, yet so far away. They had a new life, in which I had no part to play. While I was

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. glad to see them, I just wanted to find a big hole and bury myself in it. How could I have just walked out of their lives! In the grim light of utter sobriety, the enormity of what I. had done began to dawn on me. I had swapped my sons for a bottle. My heart ached and the only comfort was in the meetings where I would hear other stories like mine and we would try and help each other. But real solace was elusive and I recognized that, because of my actions, I would have to live with some measure of regret for the rest of my life. There were times when I would feel like giving up and the old feelings of worthlessness would swamp me.

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One night I was at home when I received a call from a local hospital. They told me that Mary, the nun, had been admitted for drinking again and was going back to Pinel House. She had asked for me, as she wanted me to take her there. So I got into my trusty VW and set off for the hospital in near blizzard conditions. When I got there, Mary was so drunk she could hardly stand. We managed to get her into the back of the car and headed slowly towards Pinel. The closer we got the more rural it became, and the more difficult the roads became to drive on. By now Mary had started to sing at the top of her voice, giving us a rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone." I tried to approach Pinel by the hill but even with my front wheel drive VW the road was impossible. I had to go by another route which was much longer and slower. By this time Mary was sobering up and had stopped singing and was getting depressed to the point where she was contemplating suicide. I thought, "Why me? Why am I stuck in a blizzard with a half-drunk suicidal nun!" We eventually arrived at Pinel. I managed to get Mary safely admitted and made my way home before the weather closed in. As I drove, I thought about what my previous lifestyle had to offer and had to admit to myself that, despite the pain of facing old sins, this new life was the only one I wanted to live. Mary's slip" had served to remind me of the first priority in my life, which was not to take a drink. Spring arrived and I was getting more and more involved in the fellowship. I began attending other meetings to ask people to come and talk to my home meeting. I also got involved with the telephone service. I answered calls at the central London call center. My shift was from 2.00 p.m. to 6.00 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. People would phone up out of sheer desperation, wanting to stop drinking. It reminded me of the time when I had phoned the same office in the same state of despair. Just as the woman had done with me, I would try to encourage them to let me send someone round to talk to them. 11

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There were also the ones who were suicidal and I would do my best to talk them out of it. Then there were the ones who would hang up and I was never sure what happened to them. I would go off duty completely drained but somehow refreshed. I had found the miracle of service. Although I did not fully understand the principle, I knew that the times spent serving others helped me to function better as a person. Another way I could help others was by having my name put on the "call out" list. If someone living in my area called in and needed a visit, I would be contacted and asked to visit them. On one occasion I received such a call. I set off with another member to see in what way I could help. All we knew was that the man's name was Ron. We arrived at the address and the gentlemen's wife opened the door. She showed us into the lounge, where Ron was sitting. He was shaking from head to toe as he had not had a drink that day. We told him about the fellowship and how it had helped us to stop drinking. All the time he was staring at me. Now and again he would say to me, "Don't I know you?" I said, "Maybe." He did look familiar but I could not place him. Then after about- twenty minutes Ron said, "I know you, you used to be in Brixton prison." "That's right", I replied. Then it dawned on me where I knew him from: he used to be my landing officer. What a role reversal! We managed to get Ron to his first meeting and a short while after that he went into Pinel House. After that he retired from the prison service and is now living a happy and sober life. As summer wore on, I was spending a lot of time with Sue. We would go to meetings together and by now her relationship with her boyfriend had finished. We had a real friendship; I had never had a friendship like this with anyone, especially not a woman. But I was aware that I had feelings toward her that were more than just friendship. I did not know what do; I felt that if I told her how I really felt about her she would end our friendship. The only way I could deal with it was by cutting down the time I was spending with her. But that never worked because I started to miss her so much. I kept telling myself to forget it; she would not want to have anything to do with someone like me. I was thirteen years older. She was privately educated and came from a middle class background. I stood no chance. I prayed, that I would not ruin the good friendship we had by spilling the beans about how I felt. I decided to go to Spain on -holiday. I thought that maybe I would feel better by being away from her. The night before I was due to leave, I called Sue to say goodbye. But something prompted me to tell her how I felt about her. I told her that I wanted more than just friendship. There was

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silence down the end of the line for a few moments. My mind raced, thinking I had really blown it. But I could not contain myself any longer. Then her voice came quietly back down the line saying, "1 feel the same way about you". 1 could not believe what 1 was hearing. 1 thought for one horrible moment that she was joking. But she was not. We agreed that we should get together to talk about it when 1 got back from Spain. The next two weeks were the longest of my life. 1 had gone on holiday with a friend from the fellowship. This was my first trip abroad, but all the wonderful sights and new experiences were lost on me because all 1 could think about was Su.e. 1 was acting like a lovesick teenager and could not wait to get back home to be with her.

CHAPTER 12

Starting the Journey with Sue Sue and I went on our first date on Friday August 13, 1982. After that, we saw a lot of each other. I discovered that her parents were divorced and that her father had remarried. I also found out that she was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I knew the name because of the building that was opposite the squat I had been living in when I was drinking, but I did not associate the church with the Mormons until Sue made the connection for me. All I knew about the Mormons was that they did not drink or smoke. I knew this because I had read it in an article about the Osmonds. Sue also told me that she and her mother were less active members, but her father and his new faniily were very much involved in the church. Some weekends, we would arrange for Charlotte to stay with Sue's mother and would go away for the weekend. One such weekend, we visited Salisbury and were walking around the beautiful cathedral, locked in a deep discussion about the meaning of life. Sue told me that she believed that we were all spirit children of a loving God and had always existed. She went on to say that she also believed that there was a pre-mortal life and that, when we were born, a veil was placed across our minds so that we would have no recollection of our previous existence. The reason why we were here on earth, she said, was so that we could be tried and tested. At death, we would pass back through the veil where we would be reunited with our loved ones who had already died. I did not know at the time, but Sue was explaining the Plan of Salvation to me. When she told me this, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, it all seemed to fit and seemed so feasible to me. I said, "I know that to be true!" It was as if the veil had been parted just for a moment and my mind had been enlightened and I could see things cle~rly.

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I was falling hopelessly ip love with Sue. I had just one big hurdle to overcome. I had to tell her that I was unable to read and write properly, and I was unsure how she would react to that news. One evening, I plucked U;p enough courage and told her. I stood there trying to read the reaction in her face. She threw her arms around my neck, and said, "I

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love you for the person you are, and not for what you can do!" She made me feel twenty feet tall because she loved me for who I was. That remark had far reaching consequences. It made me feel that I had some value apart from my abilities or inabilities and it helped to bring my literacy problem into some sort of perspective. I started to understand my inability or my ability to do certain things might have little bearing on what sort of person I was. My self-esteem grew just a little that day. The first time I met Sue's father. He was in the area on church business and dropped in at her apartment unexpectedly. I answered the door in my bathrobe, holding a cigarette in my heavily tattooed hand. Not ideal son-in-law material from a church point of view but he just smiled at me and said, "I am Jim, Sue's dad. You must be Bob, she's told me a lot about you" and shook my hand. We then made polite conversation and he said that we must get together soon. As time went by, Sue and I would discuss more church doctrine and I liked what she was telling me. What I liked about her faith was the way she spoke of Heavenly Father as a tangible being, not as some sort of magical spirit that was all around us. Although she had not been to church for about thirteen years, she had never denied th~ truthfulness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and was tormented by the knowledge that she was not living up to what she knew was right. I was still heavily involved with AA meetings and was doing a lot of work with the newcomers. It was a great joy· to see them starting to rebuild their lives. I also started giving public information talks to all sorts of organizations such as police officers, magistrates, probation officers and judges. I felt that I was making a real contribution to the community I was living in, unlike my past life where the only such contribution I made was to the crime statistics.

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Ten months into our relationship, Sue announced that she was pregnant and we were both delighted with the news. A short while later I moved in with Sue and Charlotte. With the coming of the new baby, it felt that Heavenly Father had somehow forgiven me for walking out on my two sons and was offering mea second chance. I know that we both still had a lot to learn from the moral point of view but at the time it felt like the heavens were smiling down on us. This time, I was determined not to make the same mistakes again. I stopped smoking and I threw myself into the pregnancy. I went to antenatal classes with Sue and followed the baby's development with great interest and shared the joy when we saw the first ultrasound scan

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pictures of the baby. As time went by, Sue became more radiant and beautiful. I was becoming more and more aware of the wonderful creation around me. I started to notice the trees and birds when I would take Sue and Charlotte for walks in the park. I was becoming aware of Heavenly Father's hand in my life. My relationship with my mother and brothers was improving. I was now sober a little over two years. They were still unsure how to react to me; they must have been wondering how long this new Bob would last. Who could blame them? They had had twenty years of me being drunk and going to prison, so I could understand their skepticism. At the beginning 6f August, my mother's health declined. She was diagnosed as having cancer. Mercifully she died only a matter of weeks later in September. I visited her while she was in hospital and just spent time sitting with her. Her last words to me were, "Keep going to them meetings, they are doing you a world of good." The next day she died. At least I had had a couple of years of getting to know her. I thank Heavenly Father for giving me that time with her and that I was not in prison, or in the gutter, drunk, before she died. I was able to spend some time with her and try to make amends for the way I had been in the past. In her own way, she had been brave throughout her life and she set me an example of being dignified in dying. My brothers were sure that her death would start me off drinking again, but that was the last thing from my mind. After the funeral, I found that I was in an emotional turmoil. On the one hand, I was mourning the passing of my mother, then on the other hand I was looking forward to the birth of our child. I got to thinking about life and death and spent a lot of tinle- discussing mortality with Sue. She told me that Mormons believe that life is eternal. This only reinforced that feeling I had when she first told me about the Plan of Salvation. The same feelings I had had in Salisbury cathedral came flooding back to me and I knew without a doubt that my mother had been reunited with my father and that they were both happy.

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As the pregnancy. moved on, Sue .was growing more and more gorgeous by the day. There was something really special about her. I was absolutely besotted with her and still am. February 1984 saw the birth of our daughter, Sarah, who was the most beautiful baby that I had ever seen. There were problems with the birth and Sarah had to be delivered by caesarean section. There were complications with the operation. The doctors told us that it would be very unlikely that Sue would be able to have any more children, which came as a shock to us both. We had been

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hoping to have a few more children. But the important thing was that Sue and the baby were all right. One evening after we had put the children to bed, I asked Sue to marry me. It was something that I had been planning to do for a long time but had put off because I knew that she would refuse! I was right, she said that she could not marry me, because she would only feel right if she was married in the Mormon Church. She felt unworthy to do that and it would not feel right to get married anywhere else. She said she knew that her logic was questionable but that was how she felt. She said that she loved me and was committed to the children and me but that marriage was out of the question. I told her that I respected her wishes, but that I would marry her one day. I felt about marriage the same way I had about the Plan of Salvation. I just knew that it was the right thing to do. That was what drove me on to ask Sue to marry me at every opportunity. I would even wake her up at two in the morning and ask her, hoping to catch her off guard! Sue's father and his new wife Marian moved to Henley, about thirtyfive miles outside of London. Marian had four sons from a previous marriage and they had two new children from their marriage. He invited us to bring the kids and to spend a day with him and his family. I felt a bit uncomfortable about going because I had only met Jim once before. I had not met his wife; she was getting over the death of 'her teenage son who had drowned in a horrendous swimming accident. I was really unsure how to handle the situation, but they had extended their hand of friendship and we felt we should go. When we got there, they made us feel very welcome. I was deeply touched by Marian, who, when she talked about the loss of her son, demonstrated an absolute faith that she knew where her son was-that he lived· beyond the veil and that one day she would be reunited with him. It was one of the most moving conversations I have ever had. I had never witnessed such faith. She told me how her faith' had' carried her through the most horrific situation that any parent can find themselves in - the death of their child. After dinner that evening, Jim, Marion and I had a long discussion about the church. Sue could see where the conversation was going, and that I had more than a passing interest in the church. It concerned her because she felt that she was not ready yet to make a commitment to ' return, but events seemed to be overtaking her. We returned home and life went on as normal. I carried on attending meetings and was still driving a van for a living. I got a lot 6f fulfillment out of being with Sue and the kids and would continue to ask her to marry me. I was still getting the same answer. I asked her why we could

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not get married in the Mormon Church. To,my way of thinking, it would not matter if we did not attend church afterwards. She told me that it was not as simple as that and that her church was not like other churches, where sometimes people would only attend for weddings and funerals. Being a member of her church meant commitment and she was not ready to make that commitment yet. Six weeks later, we received an invitation from Matthew, Sue's stepbrother, to his wedding. I had only met him once before just after he returned from his mission. Sue was apprehensive about going because she had not been inside a chapel in years. Out of loyalty to her family, she reluctantly agreed to attend the wedding. It was a warm September day and as we drove out of London towards Reading, where the wedding was to take place, I could sense Sue's nervousness. As I walked into the chapel, I was struck by how friendly these people were. Within just a few minutes, I could see the importance they placed on family relationships. I caught a small insight as to why Sue would want to be married in this church. People were so welcoming. There was something special about them that I just could not put my finger on. Whatever it was, I felt I wanted to know more about the church. The wedding service was different from anything I had ever experienced before. It was so warm, and the speakers talked about Matthew and his lovely young bride Rosie as if they loved them. I was so impressed with everything. At· the reception Marion asked me how I liked the wedding. I told her that I thought it was wonderful. Then she asked me if Sue and I would like a wedding like that and I said I would love it, but explained why I felt it was impossible. I told her of Sue's feelings about coming back to church and the fact that I felt that me not being a member was a drawback. She then said something I did not quite understand at the time: "We are working on that!" A couple of days after the wedding, I received a call from JOO inviting us to come down the following weekend. After lunch on the Saturday, we went for a .walk down by the river. Jim asked me what I thought of the wedding and how I liked the church. I told him that I was impressed with both. Then the conversation moved on to Joseph Smith. Jim asked me whether I felt that he could be a Prophet and I said that I was unsure, because acc'ording to other churches and my own understanding the only Prophets I knew about were in the Old Testament. After dinner that evening, Jim went into great detail about the Plan of Salvation. I sat in the chair riveted as both he and Marion talked about eternal marriage and how families could be together forever. Now that really caught my imagination-the idea that we could be together after

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death. The next morning, we went to church and a lot of the people who had been at the wedding were there and made us feel very welcome. Charlotte was taken to Primary while Marion looked after Sarah, and Sue and I went into the investigator class. All I can remember about that class is that there were two Sister Missionaries, and Sue and I were the only other two there. There was a discussion about the origins of the Book of Mormon. The thing that troubled me greatly was that they were each taking turns in reading a couple of paragraphs. I was gripped with terror, my throat went dry, the palms of my hands started to sweat and I just wanted to walk out. Sue was brilliant; each time it came round to my turn she would jump in and read for me, making some excuse. Again in Priesthood, they were asking people to read verses from the scriptures and this time Sue was in Relief Society and was not there to protect me. I had to get out; I felt the same fears as when I was at school. I got up and went to the washroom. I now know that a quiet word in someone's ear from me or someone else would have solved this problem but at that time I did not have any coping strategies. I felt more comfortable in the Sacrament meeting and enjoyed listening to the speakers - how wise they were and knowledgeable about the scriptures. After lunch, we all went for a .walk by the river and Jim again asked how I felt about church and I responded enthusiastically. Then Jim said in very gentle way, "Why don't you have the missionaries come round to teach you a bit more about the Gospel?" I turned the question over to Sue and, much to my surprise, she agreed. She had been quiet and thoughtful since church and did not raise the expected objections. Jim would contact the Mission President. Jim and Marion seemed sq casual about the whole thing. However, months later we were told that they could hardly stop themselves dancing for joy and had to work very hard to contain themselves. They had been praying and fasting for this moment for many years and could hardly believe the moment had come that Sue's heart had been softened. Within a week, we had a phone call from the Mission Office and an appointment was made for a missionary companionship to come and teach us. At the appointed time,. two young fresh faced missionaries appeared at our front door and introduced themselves as Elders Luke and Lassiter. The only information they had been given waS that there was -a 'less active member who lived with her non-memherboyfriend. They made the assumption that I would be the one who presented the problems, and that Sue would be more susceptible to what they had to say. They were wrong on both counts. The situation was completely in reverse. Sue was the one who put up the opposition while I soaked up all they could tell me like a sponge.

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Sue always knew that she would come back to church, but in her own time. She felt that the decision had been taken out of her hands with me investigating the church. She started to ask the missionaries really obscure doctrinal questions, hoping to throw them. They would just smile and state that they did not know what the answer was but would find out. And they did! As the lesson unfolded, I felt the same feelings that I had had in Pinel House that morning and when Sue had told me about the Plan of Salvation. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I just wanted to hear more. I was like an unploughed field; I had no conflicting beliefs to overcome. It was pure revelation to me. Occasionally, I would have thoughts coming into my head telling me, "How can you believe all this, when they cannot give you one grain of hard evidence to prove what they are saying is true?" I just ignored these thoughts by pushing them out of my mind and found that when I humbly listened these thoughts would disappear. They made another appointment to come and teach us the second lesson. I could not wait for them to come again. All day at work I could not think about anything else. On the evening the missionaries were due to teach us, I got home from work early and we put the children to bed. As we sat waiting for them to call, Sue said: "They are. going to ask us to go to church on Sunday, and I am not going!" She now jokes that apart from illness and childbirth she has not missed a Sunday since then! The missionaries arrived dead on time and this time ·they talked.,_about the Atonement. Again, a warm peaceful feeling was in our sitting room. It was from that moment that I started to understand that I could repent of my past life and, no matter how bad I thought it was, I could be forgiven. They then asked if they could show us a video. It was "Man's Search For Happiness" which brought tears to our eyes. I later found out that this was a major turning point for Sue. As she listened to the simple messages in the film, she felt the stirrings of a desire for change in her life within her heart. Then Elder Lassiter looked us both in the eyes and asked if we would come to church on Sunday and simultaneously we both said, "Yes". They made arrangements to pick us up for church the following Sunday morning. Sunday morriing arrived and an .hour before the missionaries were due to arrive there was a knock on the front door. I answered it dressed in my bathrobe. It was the missionaries and there was such a look of disappointment on their faces. They thought we had chickened out of going to church. What they had overlooked was that the night before was the end of summertime in England and the clocks had gone back an hour. I could see the relief come over their faces when I told them that they were an hour early.

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We went to Wandsworth Chapel, which was about a mile away from the prison. Charlotte went into Primary, Sarah stayed with us and we went into the Investigator class, which was a big class with about another four investigators. I sat with Sarah on my lap, and knew that Sue would deflect anyone who would try to get me to read. In Priesthood, I took Sarah with me and if it looked like I was going to be asked to read something, I would make some excuse that I had a problem with Sarah and leave. The next time the missionaries came, the question of baptism came up. I realized that I could not be baptized, because Sue and I were not married. Despite the difficulties I had in Sunday School and Priesthood, I was gaining a testimony of the church. Each time the missionaries taught us a lesson, I knew without a doubt that what they were saying was true. They would give us reading assignments and I would struggle to read them. We continued to go to church on Sundays. There were also two other missionaries who taught us - Elder Pullman and Elder Grow. I think that it was one of them who challenged us to get married. Sue was still not sure. Her parent's divorce had had a profound effect on her but she was working with the Bishop to resolve the difficulties she was having. I had stopped drinking tea and coffee, with great difficulty. I was growing more and more concerned as I knew without a doubt that the church was true, but if Sue would not marry me what could I do? I knew that I could not put pressure on her and that she would have to make the decision herself to fully go back to' church. It was not that she did not have a testiirlony of the restored gospel; she had always known the church was true. She had been raised to know well from bad and felt that she had failed once by turning away from what she knew "to be right. She knew that to come back meant a change of llfestyleand wanted to be sure that she could live up to it~ She had had a desire for a long time to raise the children in the church but something always seemed to hold her back and whisper to her that she would not be able to maintain it. Then there was the question of chastity. We knew that the way we were living was not pleasing to the Lord. We started to sleep in different rooms and began to pray and read the scriptures together. Sue was doing most of the reading. However, I was still struggling at church. Pride was stopping me saying anything about"the problem I had with literacy.

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In November, Sue and I were waiting at a railway station; we were going to visit her grandfather who was seriously ill. While we were waiting for the train she said, "You know that question you keep asking me?" I was unsure what she was talking about, so I said, "What question?" . "You know, the one you have been asking me all this time, well; I've been thinking and the answer is, 'Yes'." I then realized what she was saying, she was saying that she would marry me. I was the happiest man alive. We set the date for the wedding on December 29, 1984 and my baptismal date was set for January 1, 1985. The weeks building up to that Christmas were exciting. Bishop Pratt, one the loveliest and most understanding men I have met, had worked so hard with Sue to help her return to church. He made what can be a very traumatic process much more comfortable for her. We are forever indebted to him. He performed the marriage ceremony at Wandsworth Chapel and it was without doubt one of the happiest days of my life. Sue's mother had the children while we went away for a few days. As I drove away with my new wife from the chapel, our route took us past Wandsworth Prison. If someone had told me while I was a prisoner there that in five years' time, my life would be going in a whole new direction and that I would have discovered why I had been placed upon the earth and what life's purpose was and that I would be married to the most beautiful woman in the world, I would have thought they had taken leave of their senses.

CHAPTER 13

Reverence for Life Sue and I returned home after a couple of days on honeymoon. Now that we were married, we felt like a complete family and spent New Year's Eve together at home. My baptism was set for the following day-New Year's Day, 1985. Driving through the dense fog on a freezing cold evening towards the chapel with Sue and the children, I had no doubt in my mind that I was doing the right thing. When we got there, the chapel was warm and inviting. At 6.30 p.m. I was baptized by my father-in-law. Coming up out of the waters of baptism, I felt that life really had begun at forty. My sins of my former life were washed away and I had finally come home. President Ezra Taft Benson put into words how I felt that evening when he said, "When we have undergone this mighty change, which is brought about only through faith in Jesus Christ and through the operation of the Spirit upon us, it is as though we have become a new person. Thus, the change is likened to a new birth ... You have forsaken lives of sin, sometimes deep and offensive sin, and through applying the blood of Christ in your lives, have become clean. You have no more disposition to return to your old ways. You are in reality a new person. This is what is meant by a change of heart" ("A Mighty Change of Heart", 4). That was exactly how I felt on that night. Through the Savior's atonement, I too could have a chance of leaving myoid life behind me and starting afresh with Sue and the kids. The following Sunday at church was Fast Sunday. After' many congratulations in the chapel foyer, we heard the members bearing their testimonies. This was very uplifting and I felt that one day I might feel confident enough to bear my own. Later in Priesthood, the Elders Quorum President invited any·of the brethren who had not borne their testimonies in the Sacrament meeting to do so now if they felt moved. A couple of them did so. I was .sitting there quietly, when I felt a strong urge to follow them and tell everyone about how grateful I was for the Savior's atoning sacrifice that had allowed me to start a new life. It was clear to me that the feelings that had accompanied every positive experience I had had weren't man-made and came from something outside of me. As I had learned of the third member of the Godhead, the Holy Ghost, I had recognized that the feelings that He gives us were the same as I had experIenced at different times during my

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recovery from the evil of my past life. I felt very privileged that I would be deemed worthy to have had such experiences. After the meeting, the Elder Quorum President came over and shook my hand and asked if I would bear my testimony at a baptism that was taking place that afternoon and, nervously, I agreed to do so. After the baptism I went home feeling really uplifted. Again, I was learning of the miracle of service. The following week, the Bishop interviewed me and ordained me a Teacher in Aaronic Priesthood. At the same time, I received my first church calling-Activity Committee Chairman. A short while after that we discovered that Sue was pregnant! So much for the doctors telling us we might not be able to have any more children. We were delighted with the news; the Lord had blessed us much. Like many others before, us we began to flourish and to feel that perhaps our major troubles were over and that we would continue without too much disrupting our peaceful existence. But we were to learn that when we commit our lives to living the Gospel it does not mean that our trials are over. It means instead that we are given the tools to deal with whatever challenges come our way, whether they are consequences of past sins or of a different nature.

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For a few weeks life was quiet. I was working at my calling and we were making friends in the ward. Because Sue's mother had lost three babies with heart defects, the doctors thought it would be a good idea if we went for an in-depth scan. Afterwards, the specialist told us that the baby's heart was fine although he felt, just to be on the safe side, we should go back in three weeks time for a further scan just to make absolutely sure. We were not concerned. We just thought that they were being overcautious. Three weeks later, we found ourselves back at Kings College hospital. This time the scan was by a leading professor in fetal development. He seemed to take forever to complete his examination and then said the words that all expectant parents dread, "We have found some abnormalities with your baby." My heart sank. My head was spinning. I would not believe what I was hearing. He must be wrong. Not our child. I managed to focus on what he was saying. The baby had a hare lip and possibly a cleft palate. Sue and I must have had a look of shock on our faces, because he asked us if we had understood what he had just said. I broke the silence by explaining that my mother had had a cleft palate, which reinforced his prognosis. He said that he wished to do more scans, but wanted to

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wait for the baby to grow some more. So that they could do a more detailed examination, we were given another appointment in four weeks time. On the drive home, neither Sue nor I said very much. We were both feeling numb. That night we prayed and asked Heavenly Father to give us the strength we would need to have in the coming weeks to cope with the problems which might lay ahead. The hospital had passed our names to a self-help group of people who had children with similar conditions. We had a phone call from a vicar who lived near us, he introduced himself as Jeffrey and said that he and his wife had eight-year old twin boys, both of whom had cleft palates and hare lips. He invited us over to his home to meet his family. When we arrived, they were very welcoming and supportive and understanding. Their sons had had corrective surgery and we were pleasantly surprised with the result. However, Jeffrey did warn' us that when we first saw the baby it would have severe facial deformities. He showed us some photographs of the boys before they had the surgery. We were quite shaken by them, but the whole point of the self-help group was to prepare us for when the baby was born. By the time we were due to go back the hospital Sue and I had fully accepted that the baby would have a couple of problems. But compared with the disabilities that some children are born with, a cleft palate and hare lip were minor and we knew that it could be corrected with surgery. The professor did another scan, and this time he took even longer then he had done before. He handed us the picture of our baby. To our untrained eyes, it looked perfectly normal. However, he said, "I am sorry to tell you that the baby has an enlarged stomach." He went on to say that the baby would need surgery as soon as it was born because otherwise it would not be able to feed properly. As we were reeling from that news, he went on say that in his opinion the baby stood a sixty per cent chance of having Downs Syndrome. All I could hear was my heart thumping. The sweat ran down my back. I looked across at Sue who was in a state of shock. I wanted so much to put things right for her and take away the pain. I managed to turn my attention back to the professor who was saying, "You need to talk to one of my consultant doctors. There are some decisions that we need to make". With that, one of his assistants showed us into a small room and we were told that someone would be with us very soon. We just sat there holding hands in a total state of shock. We hardly said a word to each other. I am not sure how long we were in that room. It was only about ten to fifteen minutes and was certainly not long enough for us to gather

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our thoughts. Then the door opened and we were taken into a doctor's office. He briefly glanced at our file in front of him then looked up and said, "The professor has explained that there are some problems with the baby?" We said, "Yes". He then started to talk about the quality of life the baby could be expected to have. In his opinion"it" would not have a very high quality of life, but the choice of what to do was ours. As he was speaking the room went very cold. Both Sue and I had goose bumps on our arms and the room seemed to be filled with an evil sprit. Then he said, "If you choose to terminate this pregnancy it should be done as soon as possible" . We both told him that under no circumstances would we go along with his suggestion. We were immediately united in our decision. I had never had an opinion one way or another regarding abortion before, but now, instinctively, I knew that all life was sacred. It was only a short while before that they had given us a picture of the baby, now they were asking us to end its life. He asked us why were we against termination and we told him that as members of the church we felt we had no right to end a life. From our point of view, the baby would have two parents and two sisters who loved it. And no matter what problems we might have, we would somehow cope. He continued to question us about our religious beliefs for ten minutes. We were in a state of shock with our heads swimming yet he still kept bombarding us with questions about why we did not want to terminate the pregnancy. He finally agreed that whatever decision we made he would fully support us and help in any way he could. He went on to say that he would like to perform an amniocentesis, which involved inserting a large needle into Sue's abdomen, draining a sample of the amniotic fluid surrounding the baby. They could analyze the fluid which would allow us to know for sure if the baby was suffering from Downs Syndrome. We asked how much of a risk it would be to the baby and were told that there was a slight chance: one in every hundred would miscarry. We needed time to think about it and were told that we should come back to the hospital in a few days when we would be able to discuss our decision with the doctors. I will never forget the drive home. Sue and I were in a state of shock. There was very little conversation and what we did say was on a superficial level. All we wanted to do was pick the kids up from the baby sitter and get home where we felt safe. We put the children to bed and spent the rest of the evening in a kind of stupor.

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That night before bed, we prayed for some guidance on how we should proceed with regards to the amniocentesis. I felt that my prayers were not getting past the ceiling. Lying in bed that evening, I could not sleep. The thought kept entering my head that I was going to be a parent of a severely disabled child. I looked over to Sue. She was asleep. Mercifully, the events of the day had exhausted her. In that darkened room, I felt the fear that I had had as a child and when I was in the throes of my addictions. I felt that my life was totally out of my control and that I was completely helpless. There was nothing I could do and no one to help me. Just then the words of the Serenity Prayer I had said a hundred times at the end of AA meetings came into my mind. I knew that I had to accept the things I could not change - the baby's deformities - and knew I had to change the things I could. What I could change was my attitude. I was steeped in self-pity. If I started to forget about my needs and focused on helping Sue cope with this, I knew all would be well. I got out of bed and fell to my knees and this time I prayed with real meaning. I asked my Heavenly Father to guide and help me to support Sue throughout the days, months and years which lay ahead us. This time, I felt that my prayers were now going well beyond the ceiling. As I prayed I had a very strong impression that I was being supported. It was quite clear to me what I needed to do and that I would have the strength I needed to get through this. The scripture that came to mind was, "I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them" (1 Nephi 3:7). I know that Heavenly Father does not send us more than we can handle, but in my case I do not think he leaves much margin for error. I climbed back in bed and fell asleep. The next few days, we prayed for guidance but in our hearts we already knew that Sue would not be going through with the amniocentesis. We would not put our other children at a one-in-a hundred risk situation. How could we do the same to our unborn child?

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Family and friends both at church and from AA were very supportive and Sue had a blessing from her father. She was promised that she would have the strength to deal with whatever would happen to her. The Bishop said that he felt that everything would be all right. Within a couple of days we were back at the hospital. telling the doctors that we did not want to have the amniocentesis. After that we would have to attend the hospital weekly so they could monitor the baby's growth. Our weekly visits involved blood tests and further scans showed us the baby

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on the screen and by now we could see the deformities in the baby's mouth. They could even measure the gap in its mouth. I would fast each week, but each time we went there seemed to be even worse news to contend with as the specialists discovered that the baby had more disabilities than was first thought. On one occasion, we had a meeting with a doctor who had come to the conclusion that the baby could be so disabled that it would be in a vegetative state when ~orn. He predicted that the baby might not survive long after birth and if it did, it would need twenty-four hour care for the rest of its life. We would arrive home after meetings with the doctors feeling exhausted from the emotional pounding we were getting from the hospital. One memorable time for us was when we arrived. home to find the missionaries teaching Sue's mother, who was baby-sitting at the time. We joined them in a prayer and Sue broke down in tears as the missionaries offered a special prayer of comfort. It worried me that everyone was referring to the unborn baby as 'it'. So I temporarily named the baby "Ron" after my Elder's Quorum President. Within a short space of time, the kids were calling the baby Ronnie Roo, and as time went by it was even shortened further to "Roo". Sue was growing more and more radiant and I could feel Roo kicking me in the back as we lay in bed at nights. In 1985, we did not have the satellite relay of April's General Conference and had to wait a couple of weeks for the videotapes to be sent over. We all gathered in Wandsworth Chapel to watch the tapes. For me, it was one of the most memorable Conferences in my life. Elder Bruce R. McConkie bore his last and very powerful testimony and the next speaker was Elder Russell M. Nelson. The Apostle's talk was entitled "Reverence For Life" and as he spoke I felt the Spirit very strongly as he talked about the evils of abortion. He said, "I have labored with other doctors here and abroad, struggling to prolong life. It is impossible to describe the grief a physician feels when the life of a patient is lost. Can anyone imagine how we feel when life is destroyed at its roots, as though it was a thing of naught? What sense of inconsistency can allow people to grieve for their dead, yet be callused to this baleful war being waged on life at the time of its silent development? What logic would encourage efforts to preserve the life of a critically ill twelveweek-old infant, but countenance the termination of another life twelve weeks after inception? More attention is seemingly focused on the fate of a life at some penitentiary's death than on the millions totally deprived of life's opportunity through such carnage before birth". (Ensign, May 1985, pll)

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It was as if the Apostle was talking directly to Sue and me. We felt that the Lor~ had given us a message of encouragement through one of his servants. After we finished watching the conference our Bishop came over and said, "If you needed confirmation that what you are doing is .right, you had it today." One of the most wonderful things to come out of this whole experience was that Sue and I spent a lot of time on our knees praying and drew close to each other and to the Lord. I do not think that at any time in our relationship we have been closer than we were in those dark days.

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At our Stake Conference a few weeks later at the end of May, I was sustained as an Elder and the following week I was called to serve as the first councilor in the Elders Quorum Presidency. About a month before Roo was born, we both had our Patriarchal blessings in which we were told that our new baby would bring so much joy into our lives and that our cups would overflow with happiness. We were unsure what was meant by the blessings, but had faith that Heavenly Father knew best. In one ·of the meetings with the doctors, it was decided that Roo would be delivered by caesarean section on June 27, 1985. They told us that abed would be provided for me in the intensive care unit so that I could be at hand. They said that they would take a photograph of Roo quickly, because their prognosis of the baby's survival chaI1ces was not good. However, if the baby did survive and was strong enough it would be transferred to Great Ormond Street Hospital for 'sick children, where an operation would be carried out ()n Roo's stomach. This would mean . that Sue would be in one hospital and Roo would in another on the other side of London. I would have to travel between the two hospitals. The night before Sue went into hospital, I gave her a blessing, in which the Lord said that all would be well with the baby. After the blessing, I wondered why I had sa~d such a thing. The following day I took Sue to the hospital, I spent most of the day with her while some final tests were carried out and in· the evening I went home to the children. As I put them to bed we prayed that mummy and the baby would be all right. I could not sleep much that night and the following morning found me at the hospital endeavoring to be positive with the words of the blessing ringing in my ears. We were first on the operating list. I sat at Sue's bedside holding her hand. Then they arrived to take us to the operating room and I was shown into a changing room where I put on a green gown and mask.

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Just before I made my way to the operating room, I fell to my knees and ask Heavenly Father to give me the courage I would I need to be able to support Sue and the baby. When I got into the operating room, there were a lot of professional people milling around: surgeons, nurses, and pediatricians. I sat by Sue's side, grasping her hands and they started the operation. After what seemed a lifetime, someone announced that it was a girl and Roo started to cry. I turned around to see her for myself, but the pediatricians had her on the table in the corner. I could not see anything but doctors bent over examining Roo. I started to walk over to them, but before I could get there one of the doctors said, "I cannot find any defects in this baby's mouth." From that moment, I knew that Roo was a perfect baby. They said they had to rush her into intensive care where they would carry out more tests and, with Roo in an incubator, we started for the door. I stopped to kiss Sue who seemed to be in a state of shock. I told her I would be back once I had the results, which I knew would be negative. Once in the intensive care unit, it was not long before Roo was given the all'clear and was pronounced a perfectly healthy and normal baby! A nurse brought her to me and placed her in my arms for a cuddle, and as I held her I started to cry. The nurse put her arm around my shoulders; she too had tears in her eyes. Then I was passed a bottle, and I gave Roo her first feed. After I fed Roo, I made my way to the operating room were they had just finished cleaning Sue up, and were about to take her to the ward where Roo was waiting for us. The rest of the day was a' total blur for me. I went home to begin telephoning people with the news that a miracle had happened. It took at least three days before I came back down to earth. We renamed the baby Kate, although to this day everyone calls her Roo. Anyone visiting mother and baby could not fail to appreciate that something very special had happened. Sue seemed to radiate a bright light in the room. Cards and flowers poured in from well wishers. A few days later, I was making my way to the ward when I bumped into Jeffrey, the vicar who been so supportive to us during the pregnancy. He was on his way to see Sue and asked how things were. In a strange way I felt guilty telling him that the baby was all right. Of course he was delighted with the news and asked me what I thought had happened. I told him 1was convinced that it was a miracle. He looked at me dubiously as if he thought the experience had been too much for me. However, I know the age of miracles is still with us. I only have to look at the events in my life to know that.

118 Because I Have Been Given Much

The professor also paid Sue a visit and she told him about our miracle theory. He told her that there were some things which medical science just cannot explain and this was one of them. A few days after Roo was born, I was making my way up to the ward and ran into the doctor who had advised us to terminate the pregnancy and there was a part of me which wanted to challenge him. But I didn't, I simply said that things had turned out much better than any of us had expected.

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Within a week or so, Sue and the new baby were home and family life started to get back to normal. In a very short space of time, the memory of what had happened started to fade. I began to be mildly discontented with things in my life. I was not happy about where we were living or the job I was doing and I felt that I should be earning more money. In the Book of Mormon, Laman and Lemuel still murmured despite having had an Angel appear in front of them. I feel that there is a lot more of Laman and Lemuel in me than I care to admit. I can only echo the words of Nephi when he said, "Nevertheless, notwithstanding the great goodness of the Lord, in showing me his great and marvelous works, my heart exclaimeth, '0 wretcl;1.ed man that I arn!"'(2 Nephi 4:17). My whole life had been totally transformed in a few short years and yet I still struggled to entrust my life to the Lord on a daily basis. The big things, the crises, were easier to surrender to His care in a sense than the day to day problems. My father-in-law offered me job working for him, which meant that we would need to move away from the London area, to Reading in Berkshire. We rented a cottage in a small hamlet just outside of Reading called Gallowstree Common. It was a lovely rural place but, after living in London, we found the environment hard to adapt to. How~ver we soon settled into the ward because the members were so welcoming. We met in the same chapel that Sue's stepbrother had got married in. Sue was called into the Young Women's Presidency, and I was called as the ward's Executive Secretary. I also got involved in the local AA meetings; between church and meetings there was no shortage of friends. Just over a year after I had been baptized, Sue and 1 were getting ready to go to the Temple and in February 1986 we were- sealed in the London Temple. While we were taking out our own endowments, I had this wonderful feeling that my father was present. I could not see him, but I could feel his presence with me and I knew beyond any doubt that he was happy on the other side of the veil.

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Within a week of going to the Temple, Sue and I had an interview with our Stake President who extended a call to me to serve as second councilor on the Bishopric. I willingly accepted the call. Now I· would learn first hand how hard a Bishop works! Just after that Sue announced that she was pregnant again-great news! In September that year a stunning red head entered our lives. We had another daughter and named her Elizabeth. By then I had reached the stage where I thought I could not have any more love for the children than I did. But when Libby arrived, I discovered that I had yet more love to give her. Four years after Roo had been born, Elder Russell M. Nelson came to preside over our Stake Conference. After the Priesthood meeting on the Saturday afternoon I was introduced to him. I told him the story of Roo and how his conference talk had given us so much reassurance that were doing the right thing. To my surprise he put his arms around me and hugged me. The next day I introduced Sue to the Apostle. He chatted with us for some time and told us that we should always bear our testimonies about Roo, which we continue to do to this day. After that in some Family Home Evenings, we would get the children to recite the names of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and each time they came to Elder Nelson's name the children would add, "The one that hugged Daddy!" In 1989, through my work with the fellowship, I came into contact with our local Probation Service and was asked if I wanted to do some voluntary work for them. Ijumped at the opportunity and was assigned to work with Roger who was a probation officer. When I first met him, he was running Alcohol Study Groups. When someone was convicted of an alcohol-related offence, they were placed on probation with a condition that they attend one of the groups. The aim of the group was to try and educate the person about the damage their drinking could inflict on them, their families, and the public in general. From the moment I went into my first group I came to life; it was as if I had found my true vocation in life. One evening after a group session, I was sitting with Roger discussing the group and he asked me if I had ever considered becoming a probation officer. I thought that he .was completely mad.~ I had a criminal record that made the Artful Dodger look like choirboy. And besides, I had no education. I could barely read and write, and who in their right mind would want to employ me as a probation officer? . Roger and I became friendly and I invited him and his wife over for dinner. Before they arrived I told Sue that he had suggested that I should go into the Probation Service, and to my surprise she said, "That sounds like a good idea to me!" Over dinner that evening, Roger again talked

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120 Because I Have Been Given Much

about me going into the probation service. As much as I liked the idea I just felt that it was out of my reach. By now I had been released from the Bishopric and was serving as Stake Sunday School President. Calling someone like me to serve in a position like that only goes to show that Heavenly Father has a sense of humor. I have come to realize that Heavenly Father is not interested in our ability. He is only interested in our availability: "But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your own mind; then ask me if it is right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right" (D&C 9:8). So I prayed about whether or not I should consider becoming a probation officer. It felt good to me, but I was still not convinced. I still could not see how it was possible for me to become a professional person when I did not know the basics of the English language.

CHAPTER 14

Student of the Year I was not really convinced that I had the makings of a probation officer, despite the prompting I received when I prayed and Roger's and Sue's suggestions that I should at least explore the possibilities of a career in the Probation Service. I was concerned that the prompting I felt was nothing more than desire rather than revelation. I was now back driving a van for a living since the job my father-inlaw offered needed practical skills that I did not have. Sue and I had set up a small catering business that we ran from home. It was quite successful, but it was very time-consuming and the children were not getting the attention that they needed. More importantly, our marriage was under a lot of pressure. So we sold the business and I went back to the only way I knew how to make a living - driving. I drove a taxi for a while and then went back to van driving. I was content to be supporting my family but the voluntary work I was doing gave me more satisfaction than the paid work. In May 1991, Sue announced that she was pregnant. This was great news. It had been over four years since Libby had been born. Sue's Patriarchal Blessing was very specific on the subject, so we knew that we had another spirit to come to our family. I was still involved with Roger and the·Alcohol Study Groups and was also giving presentations on my life experiences to the local magistrates,! and other groups involved in the criminal justice system. The pres~ntations were always well received. People would give me praise after the presentation. I would cringe and think to myself, "If only they knew that I could not read or write properly, they would not be so keen to pay me compliments." I really did have a problem accepting any form of praise. By October, I was unemployed. Sue was now eight months pregnant and I was feeling depressed. She sat me down and asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I 'told her that I would like to do some kind of social work but felt it was impossible because I would need to get some sort of qualification in the form of a university degree. "Well, go for it then," she said. She continued to say that I needed to take time out and not to worry about getting a job. She suggested that I spend a bit of time praying and fasting and ask Heavenly Father what to do while I explored possible avenues to get some qualifications.

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We decided that I would not work until the baby was born and that I should continue with my voluntary work since it could help me gain a better understanding of the things I wanted to do and to realize my goal. I threw myself into my voluntary work with the Probation Service. I studied it out in my mind and asked the Lord if it was right. The answer came. I was doing the right thing. That was the beginnings of believing that I might be able achieve my ambition.

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In November 1991, Sue gave birth to a boy. We could not believe it. After having four girls, we assumed that we were going to have another, but Heavenly Father blessed us with a son we named Joseph Robert Charles. For the next few months, I stayed home with Sue and the new baby. Looking back on those days, they were some of the closest times we spent as a family. I knew if I was going to stand any chance of making any sort of career in the field of social work, I would have to address the problem I had with dyslexia. I would have to get some sort of assessment so that the condition could be confirmed. I told my doctor about my problem and he referred me to a clinical psychologist. After a few tests, the psychologist confirmed that I was severely dyslexic. In fact, within a couple of weeks I was registered disabled because of it, wh~ch made me feel much better. Maybe I was not as stupid as I thought. My next step was to enroll in an education course. I found an adult education college nearby. They were very understanding when I told them about the problems with dyslexia and the discrimination I had suffered at school. It had taken me into my mid-forties before I had enough courage to try and tackle the problem head on. All through this, Sue was quietly encouraging. When I would express doubts as to· my abilities, she would make me feel that anything was possible and that I could achieve great things with the Lord's help. The professionals showed a lot of understanding. They tried to reassure me that they did a lot of work with those who had my disability and were aware of the problems faced by adults with dyslexia. They put me into a basic English course. On my first day, I sat in my car outside the college not wanting to go in. I felt a mixture of the old feelings of shame. I felt so guilty that I was not like other people and worried what they would think when they saw how bad my grasp of English really was. I was full of fear. I kept telling myself that I was a grown man and no one could hurt me anymore, but still I had that same fear I felt all those years ago.

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I sat in the car and recalled the Priesthood blessing I had received from my home teachers a couple of days before. I was told in that blessing that I would be alright. So with a prayer in my heart, I plucked up enough courage to go in. As I walked through the gates my throat went dry, beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I felt weak at the knees. I manage to overcome my fear, and found my way to the classroom where I was to start my course. My first day was a horrendous experience, despite the staff's attempts to put me at ease. However, after a few more sessions, I came to be more relaxed in the school environment. I was assigned to a volunteer named Dennis. He was a retired businessman. He was really helpful and took me under his wing. Dennis and I would spend whole afternoons discussing the meaning of words and the use of language. I will always be grateful to Dennis. He gave me the confidence I needed to overcome the feelings of shame and fear. Once again Heavenly Father had answered my prayers and had sent someone into my life who would guide me through the difficulties I had.

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By April 1992, I had been unemployed for eight months. The Probation Service had started to recruit part-time staff for one of their bail hostels. I was encouraged by both Sue and Roger to apply for the job. I knew that my criminal record would no longer debar me from getting the job since I had been doing voluntary work for the Probation Service for almost three years. I could think of a thousand and one reasons why they would not employ me, but being an ex-criminal was not one of them. I sent in my application form and was short-listed for an interview. I discovered from Roger that I was up against some stiff competition for the job. Fifty people had applied and they had whittled that number down to six. I was eventually interviewed by three senior probation officers and felt the Spirit with me as the answers to questions came readily to mind. Back home I tried to put the interview out of my mind. Each time the phone rang, I thought that it was the hostel calling to offer me the job and each time it was a friend inquiring how I got on. As the day wore on, my confidence was starting to ebb. I convinced myself that I had made a good attempt, but the other candidates were stronger than me. I had been home for about three hours when the phone rang once again. It was the hostel. They told that I was the strongest candidate and they would like to offer me the job. I accepted it then and there. That was the start of my career with the Probation Service. I loved the work. Within a couple of months, a fulltime job came up, I applied

124 Because I Have Been Given Much

for it and got it. I worked for a year developing offending behavior programs. I got so much satisfaction out of it. I loved working with people like myself who were without hope and locked into negative behavior patterns. As we worked with these people, we were sowing seeds that might not bear fruit now but could in two months or even five years time make a real difference to their lives and those of their families. By now I had come to the notice of the media. They found my story intriguing and loved the idea of a "poacher turned game-keeper." I was asked to do radio and television interviews and the ·press also wrote articles about me. I started advising television documentary makers on issues about law and order. The Probation Service was very encouraging about my career development and I was advised that I should consider training asa probation officer. It is one thing to take Basic English, but an entirely different thing to get a degree. Just the thought of going to university was absolutely terrifying. Then it dawned on me that after having gotten this far, the least I could do was to keep an open mind. I discovered that a local college ran a one year part-time course in social work. The objective of the course was to get the more mature student up to the academic level they needed if they wanted to apply for a place at the university. I applied and was offered an interview. There were thirty-five candidates and only twenty places. Straight away I moved into negative mode, feeling that everyone there was far better than me. When the interviews were over, they gave us some lunch. After lunch they would tell us who had been selected. I had lunch with the rest of the candidates and each one I spoke to seemed to have far more qualifications than me. That afternoon, we sat around talking. Then my name was called. I was shown into the college principal's office. He invited me to sit down, then said, "We want to offer you a place on the course." My reaction was exactly the same as it had been twelve years earlier in Dr Gayford's office in Pinel House. I told the principal, "I can't read or write properly. I don't think I would be able to cope with the course." He smiled and said, "I am sure you will cope perfectly well."

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I started the course in September 1993. Again the first few days were painful. And because of the course, I had to reduce my working hours which in turn put pressure on the household budget. We would have to cut down on outgoings as I was now a struggling student with five kids.

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Within a couple weeks we were given our first essay assignment. It was fifteen hundred words long and I was completely bowled over. The most I had ever written in my life had been a few letters. However, with the aid of a word processor and Sue as my proof-reader I managed to do it. I got a reasonable grade for it as well. The sense of achievement I felt when I got the result back was wonderful. I had faced the fear of essay writing head on and got through it. After this, I started to concede that I might have a chance of going to university. . My major source of help was my bishop who had suggested that I attend the church literacy program. The sister who taught the class was a schoolteacher named Alison Boome. My reading and writing did not improve much because I am still dyslexic, but what the program did was to help me manage the disability in a positive way. My calling in the church at the time was teaching the Investigators class.- Without a doubt that had to be one of the best callings I have ever held. I was fully aware each time we had a new investigator in the class that they could be struggling with a literacy problem and might be feeling as fearful as I did when I started to attend the Investigator class. I would let them know that I had a problem with literacy and would reassure them that I would not be asking them to read anything out loud to the class. I would only ask for volunteers to read. I wonder how many people have been investigating the church and have only attended a couple of times, but have been so frightened about being put on the spot by being asked to read out loud and have stayed at home. Even though they might have had a witness that what the missionaries were teaching them was true, they might have chosen to stay at home because they felt acutely embarrassed, as I did when I started coming to church. I was lucky. I had Sue to support me, but there were still times I would spend hiding in the washroom or making excuses about the children and leaving the class. I got through the access course with flying colors; in fact I was named Student of the Year. The tutors helped me put my application together for university and I applied separately to both Reading University and Oxford University. I was offered interviews for both. Although Oxford would have been the more prestigious university to attend, the course was not as good. I decided to go for Reading. I was offered'a place at the university that I grabbed with both hands. Because I 'was registered disabled, I was given a grant to buy a computer and money was made available so that I could employ a proofreader. I was overwhelmed by the amount of help that was offered me. I was told that the education system had let me d'own in the past and now they were trying to put things right. In all the years since I had left

126 Because I Have Been Given Much

school, it had never occurred to me that the system had let me down. I thought that I was the one that one who had failed. In October 1994 at the age of fifty, I embarked on my degree course. It was a voyage of academic discovery for the next three years. I loved the classroom discussions. I would walk around the grounds on my lunch break. I could not believe that I was actually studying in this wonderful seat of learning. The words of my friend Andrew from the AA meetings would come to mind; "Bob, never forget the wonderment of your recovery." There were sacrifices to be made and Sue and I decided that we could no longer afford the large mortgage on our home and made the painful decision to rent. This was a decision I made with much prayer. To subsidize my student grant, I worked in the probation hostel. Part of my work was to run groups for the residents. I invited guests in and would get members of the Church to come in and talk about their careers. I even wrote to a member of the House of Lords,2 who was well noted for his work as a penal reformer and books on the subject and asked him if he would come and talk about his work to the residents. One afternoon, Sue received a telephone call from someone claiming to be a member of the House of Lords. She thought that it was one of our friends having a joke and was just about to tell him that she was busy fixing the meal for the kids, and did not have any time for jokes when she realized that this was no joke. This was a Peer of the Realm who wanted to speak to me. She told him that that I was not at home. I spoke to him later and made an arrangement for him to come and talk to the men in the bail hostel. It was agreed that I would drive to London and bring him to Reading. I arrived at his London apartment where he was waiting for me. I did not know how to address him, and asked, "Do I call you 'my Lord', or 'Sir', I am not sure?" And he said, '''Frank' will do." On the drive to Reading, I told him about the hostel. Then he asked me to tell him a little about myself. When I finished, he told me that I should write a book. I thought that he was crazy. Me write a book? Who would ever read a book about me? Not wishing to offend him, I told him that it was an interesting idea. We got to the hostel, where he gave a wonderful presentation. On "the drive back to London, he again suggested that I should write a book and I said that I would think about it. I dropped him off at the House of Lords little knowing that, over the years, he would become a firm friend and his suggestion would set in motion a train of events that would completely change the direction of my life once again.

2

The UK's upper legislative chamber: one of the two Houses of Parliament.

CHAPTER 15

Going Back to my School and Prison to Make a Difference A couple of weeks later, I received an invitation to have lunch with Frank at the House of Lords. I could hardly believe it-me lunching at the House of Lords. What next? When I got there, a policeman showed me to the Peers Lobby where I waited for a few minutes, then Frank appeared. On the way to the dining room, Frank stopped to talk to another member of the House who was a former Prime Minister. In fact, he had been in office when I was last in prison. I was introduced to him and he enthusiastically shook my hand. Once in the dining room the staff addressed Frank as "My Lord" and me as "Sir." We were shown to a table overlooking the River Thames. Over a long and lingering lunch Frank again suggested that I write a book and told me that he would like to write the introduction to it. I told him I would give it serious consideration. However, I was studying for a degree and I could not see how I could fit it in. We also discussed our religious beliefs and I told him about my conversion to the Church and I discovered that he was a devout Roman Catholic. After lunch I was shown into the debating chamber and sat in on a debate before I went home. The day had a dreamlike quality about it. After -a few weeks, I put down a couple of ideas for the book and took them back to Frank. He liked them. A few more weeks went past and I started to write the book. By now, Frank was inviting me to go to functions with him. I was being introduced to all sorts of high profile people in the prison reform world. On 'one occasion, I was introduced to the Archbishop of Canterbury. I also met Angela Devlin, a writer and journalist and the daughterin-law of a former Lord Chief Justice. She had just written a book about the connection between low academic attainment and crime. I found her fascinating to talk to. When I told her about my background, she asked if I could talk at a conference she was involved in and after that we became close friends. After eight ·months, I finished the manuscript, with Sue acting as my proof-reader. Angela introduced me to her publisher who said that he would look at it, and give some me some feedback.

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Meanwhile I got a job working in an alcohol addiction center based in a hospital. I worked there during breaks in my studies and in the summer recesses. One afternoon, we had a telephone call from another part of the hospital. They had just admitted a woman who had been abusing alcohol and drugs for a considerable amount of years. She was in emotional turmoil and we were asked to assess her. I went with a female colleague to make an assessment. As we entered the room, she took an instant dislike to me. I assumed that she just did not like male workers. However, I discovered that she had been fine with the male nurses who were attending to her before I arrived. I was a little perplexed as to why she had had this strong reaction to me. I had never seen her before in my life. I just put it down to a personality clash. It was a hot summer's day, but the room had a chill to it, the sort of chill that was present when Sue and I were being advised to terminate the pregnancy some ten year earlier. I did not connect it with that at the time and just thought I was coming down with a cold. She refused to answer my questions and would only talk to my colleague. We completed our assessment then we returned to the unit, where my colleague made the observation that the patient seemed to be very angry with me for some reason. We both agreed that it was a personality problem and did not really give it another thought. It was a few days later when I discovered in the patient's records, that for some considerable amount of years she had been practicing witchcraft. Throughout the ages drugs have been associated with witchcraft. In the scriptures, it talks about"sorceries, and witchcraft and magics; and the power of the evil one was wrought" (Mormon 1: 19). Bruce R. McConkie has stated: "One of the most evil sects supported by Satan is one that practices witchcraft, such craft involving as it does actual intercourse with evil sprits" (Mormon Doctrine p 840). Then it occurred to me. Could it have been my priesthood that she was reacting to? It would certainly explain the chill in the air.

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Angela's publisher called out of the blue one day to say that he liked the manuscript. I could not believe it. They were ac~ally thinking of publishing my autobiography! The publisher was very enthusiastic about the whole thing. In the run-up to the launch of the book, I was also involved in making a television documentary about dyslexia and the influence it might have on criminal behavior. At one stage, I was filmed at myoid school. We shot it on the weekend so the place was empty. One of the shots involved me walking

Going Back to My School and Prison to Make a Difference 129

through the school gates. All the anxieties that I had felt as an elevenyear-old boy came flooding back to me, just as strong as they had been all those years ago. Once inside the building, I was filmed walking down the corridor. It had not changed at all. I had to talk into the camera and describe my feelings on revisiting myoId school. All of a sudden a well of emotion and frustrations surged up inside of me. I just' burst into tears. The filming had to be stopped so that I could compose myself. The cameramen were very gentle with me at that point and just lowered their cameras. However, I am grateful I was able to have the oppor~nity to do that, because I came to terms with a lot of umesolved issues. I did not realize how deeply my experiences at school had affected my psyche. Within days of the program being broadcast, my pUblisher received a telephone call from the BBC. One of the viewers wanted to get in touch with me and had a~ked them to pass on his name and telephone number to me. When I saw the name I recognized it straightaway. It was Terry, my former partner in crime! -That evening I nervously phoned the number. I had not spoken to him in years. His familiar voice answered the phone. We must have spent an hour talking. He told me what had happened in his life. After we had parted company, he had been admitted to various mental hospitals in the hope that he would stop his drinking and drug taking, but nothing worked. Around about the same time I was admitted into Pinel House, he was seeing a doctor who told him that God was the only one who could help him now. He was given a letter for the Salvation Army hostel in the East End of London and he was told that they would detox him. While he was in the hostel, he realized that he would have to stop drinking or he would die. With the help of a Salvation Army officer, he managed to stop drinking. After that, he started to work for the Army in the hostel. He was now a Pentecostal minister living and working in London and was happily married with three sons. He too, spoke of a similar conversion to mine. We made arrangements for us to meet for dinner with our spouses. It was a wonderful reunion and we rekindled our friendship. We now have a good relationship, which is spiritually focused rather than in the old days when all we had in common was crime.

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My book was launched in February 1997. After that, I was asked to talk in all sorts of diverse places from Eton College and Oxford University to Dartmoor Prison. I also found myself giving after dinner talks in places like the House of Lords. In all of this Sue was my constant companion.

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My face started to appear on the front cover of magazines and in national newspapers. One magazine ran a story about me, which was entitled "Unholy Orders" and subtitled "Meet the Gangster who found God." They referred to me as the "Rev. turney." After that article, television researchers would phone and ask for the Rev. Turney. Even some of the young men in my ward would jokingly call me "Rev." Both my brother Fred and my father-in-law became seriously ill with cancer. Over the years, I had tried to talk to Fred about the church, but he could not comprehend that there was a Heavenly Father who loved him or that there was life after death. In fact they had viewed me with great suspicion when I not only gave up smoking but drinking tea as well. To an English person that is almost unthinkable. In the last few weeks of his life I would visit him at home and witnessed some very intimate moments as his wife and two grown up children nursed him. The love they showed for him was overwhelming, but not having an understanding of the Gospel, they had no anchor to hold on to. I regret that I was not more persistent in trying to share the Gospel with them. They could have had some solace in those difficult times. In his last few days, Fred was moved into a hospice and as I went to visit him, I sat holding his hand and told him about the Plan of Salvation, what was going to happen to him, and where he was going. I also told him that when he got there to please put in a good word for me, because I was going to need all the help I could get. I kissed him and said good-bye. A few hours later, with his family at his side, he died. A week later my father-in-law died. He was at home with his family around him. This time we were able to take comfort that this was only a temporary parting and we would be reunited one day. We had to attend two funerals ill one week. On the surface, the two men had nothing in common and, to a large extent, there would have been very little understanding between them but to me they both had a great influence in my life. Fred taught me how to laugh at life; he helped me to develop a sense of humor. The only concern I had when I was investigating the church was that I would have to lose my sense of humor. But a friend of Sue's told me that I needed a sense of humor to be in the church! Fred· taught me one of life's great lessons is not to take myself too seriously. Jm, on the other hand, had been humble enough as a thirty-year old man to listen to two young missionaries and to completely change his lifestyle. He had been a great example' to me. Had he not 'done that, I would not be where I am today. I might not 'have the Gospel in my life, my children would not be in the church, and I would not have the blessing of a temple marriage. I will always be grateful to Fred and Jim who both have had a significant influence in my life.

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A short while after the funerals, the Governor of Wandsworth Prison contacted me and asked if I could go in and talk to the inmates. I eagerly agreed to do so. When it came to the day for me to give the presentation I took Sue with me. The Governor had arranged for the press and radio to be there, along with the Mayor of Wandsworth. A photograph of Sue and me with the Governor and Mayor appeared in the newspapers on Memorial Day.

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In July 1997, I graduated from university. All the hard work over the last three years had paid off. I applied for a job as a probation officer and was short-listed and interviewed. A prestigious radio show followed my progress throughout the proceedings. I knew there would be stiff competition. With a Priesthood blessing from my home teachers and a lot of prayer, I went along for the interview. I got the job; the day I started I was given a secretary and was shown to my office with the words "Bob Turney Probation Officer" on the door. At the age of fiftythree, I was on the threshold of a new career. Each time I was in London, I would eat lunch with Frank at the House of Lords. Over one such lunch, he invited me to act as his adviser and I agreed. The job involved me keeping him informed and helping him write some of his speeches. Frank continued to invite me to go to all sorts of functions with him where I met leading figures in the Government, including the Home Secretary. I started to travel around the country talking in universities, colleges, schools, and prisons. I would talk about my life experiences and afterwards people would talk to me. Some of them believed that rehabilitation was only possible for a few people. I ran into Angela again and told her about their reaction. A few days later she called me and asked if I would write a book with her. We would focus on people who had once been in prison and were now doing something positive with their lives. I jumped at the chance. I felt that it was important that their stories, and not just mine, should be told to give hope to.others. One of the first interviewees was Terry of course. At church I asked to do youth firesides and often would be called on to talk to investigators with life controlling problems. One day I received a telephone call from Brother and Sister Livingstone who were serving a Public Affairs mission in London. They asked me if I would give a fireside at Hyde Park Chapel in central London. I told them that I would be delighted. After that I worked with the Livingstones to help promote the Church in any way I could.

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About 18 months after Fred's death, I was doing a session in the London Temple when I had a very strong impression that Fred was sitting with me. In a very gentle and loving way he was chastising me because I had not yet submitted his work to be done. A feeling of guilt came over me and I knew that I should have done it a year after his death. I had no doubt that he would have accepted the Gospel once on the other side of the veil and now wanted me to do his work for him. I felt that I should do something as soon as possible. In the changing rooms; I told my Bishop what had happened. He told me not hesitate to get the work done. There was a youth Temple trip scheduled in two days. I should have his name ready for the work to be done by then. I went straight to my brother-in-law Matthew who was the director of the family history library in our Stake and told him what had happened. He was marvelous and got Fred's name Temple ready with the help of his wife. The youth did his baptism and confirmation. On my next trip to the Temple, I did his endowments. Once again I felt his presence with me. I can't wait to be reunited with him on the other side of the veil. In the early part of 1999, Brother Livingstone informed me that the Brigham Young University Singers were coming to England as part of their European tour. They asked me if I could help organize a service project for the choir whilst they we~e on the London leg of the tour. I enthusiastically took on the challenge. Having a small part to play in the tour was a privilege. At the time I was working closely with the then Governor of Wandsworth Prison on the launch of Angela's and my new book which we were planning to do from the prison, with the help of the staff and inmates. At one meeting with the Governor, I asked if the BYU singers could come into the prison and perform for the inmates. He thought it would be a wonderful idea and suggested that the choir should come into the prison on the evening before the book launch. He thought that the singers could set the tone for the launch. I tried to explain that the BYU Singers were a bit more than just a warm-up act for an ex-con. However, he was insistent and assigned Father Danny,' the Roman Catholic Priest in the prison, to work closely with both the Livingstones and me to coordinate the project. On the evening of the event, the bus with the BYU Singers pulled up at the main gate of the prison. I was there to greet them, they were a wonderful sight. Many were either fresh faced returned missionaries or young "married couples. Unfortunately, they were unable to fit everyone in the chapel so they sang at first in two of the cell blocks. Some prisoners were allowed out of their cells to listen, while others remained locked in. I felt the Sprit so strongly as they sung to the inmc~.tes. I noticed

Going Back to My School and Prison to Make a Difference 133

some of the men and staff had tears in their eyes. The choir was well received. The men who were out of their cells gave them a tumultuous round of applause. The men who were locked away banged on their cell doors in appreciation. I have never seen or heard anything like it before in any prison. The singers then moved into the chapel, to sing to more prisoners and staff. The Governor had some seats reserved for the visitors. I did not take my seat. Instead I sat among the prisoners. Once again as the choir sang there was a mighty outpouring of the Spirit. When they sang "Danny Boy" both the Governor and Father Danny had tears in their eyes. When they concluded with "Jerusalem" there was not a dry eye in the house. This was followed by at least a three minute standing ovation. After a couple of encores, the Governor, who was trying to hold back the tears, then said, "In the 148 year history of this prison, I am sure there has not been an event like this evening. I am so grateful for your time." That remark received an enormous round of applause. I asked the Governor if the inmates and the choir could mingle for a short while. He agreed and both the singers and prisoners shook hands and talked. When the choir left the chapel, prisoners came out of their cells cheering their appreciation for a marvelous performance. The following day, twenty years to the day after I was released from prison for the very last time, my book was launched from the prison. The. Governor referred to the previous evening's concert and thanked all concerned. After the formalities of the launch were over, I spoke to some of the prisoners and all of them told me that they been touched by the singing. Something very special had happened that night in Wandsworth Prison.

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Following the launch of the book, I was approached by a charity that provided postal courses for prison so that the inmates would have some qualifications once they were released from prison to help them get a job and move away from lives of crime. They asked me if I would take part in a national radio appeal to raise the much needed money to continue their good work. How could I refuse? , The charity said that they would write the script for me. That was the first problem. I had never used a script before. All the times I had done radio and television broadcasts I had only made a few notes and adlibbed. The prospect of reading out loud to people was daunting. They sent the script for me to approve. I thought what I would do was to try to commit the three minute appeal to memory. I spent three weeks reading

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and rereading it but I was still getting tongue tied and mispronouncing words. On the appointed day, I made my way to Broadcasting House in London. I had been there on many occasions, but this time I was feeling more nervous than ever before. Two representatives from the charity and a radio producer were waiting for me in the foyer. The producer had been briefed about my dyslexia. It was obvious that I was nervous and she tried to reassure me. I told her that I had never read a script out loud, and I was sure that I would get tongue-tied. She told me that she had worked with the same film actress I had appeared with on the chat show and understood the problems that I had and would gently guide me through the recording. Once in the studio, I sat at the table and after a few so~nd level tests the producer told me to start reading. I started to stumble over my words. Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead, my throat went dry and my hands started to tremble. I somehow imagined myoId English teacher walking through the studio door and calling me lithe Idiot Boy" and starting to hit me. I felt the same fearful feeling as I had over forty years earlier as a frightened eleven-year-old boy. It was then that I realized just how fragile my self-esteem really is. Despite my university education, two books I had written, a great number of articles, and my own column in a newspaper, none of that mattered. I felt completely useless. My thoughts were interrupted by the producer coming into the studio. She said, liDo not worry, let's take it slowly." After another failed attempt, she came in again and this time we did it just like the scriptures tell us to do it-line upon line. That was how I read that script-one line at a time. It took half an hour to get through a three minute script. The editor did a wonderful job because when the appeal went out, it sounded like I had read the script perfectly. The people who knew me and heard it must have thought that I was joking about not being able to read properly. I very rarely listen to myself on the radio because I cannot stand the way I sound but I did listen on that occasion. What made it all worthwhile was that the appeal raised a lot of money for people like myself and will make a difference to their future.

CHAPTER 16

My Eternal Debt Not so long ago, I found myself with my mobile phone and laptop computer over my shoulder. Having just been on a transatlantic flight, I looked like any other middle-aged businessman. Whilst being driven away from London's Heathrow Airport; I looked at my busy schedule for the coming week on my palm pilot and saw that within the next couple of days I would be attending a reception at 10 Downing Street at the invitation of the Prime Minister's wife. I thought to myself, "What has happened to me?" When I first left Pinel House, I'm sure most people felt that I would be consigned to a life of living in a lonely room, fighting off the craving for drink and drugs and attending AA meetings. But I know that Heavenly Father would not have grabbed me from the raging sea only to allow my head to be kicked in on the beach. I had the faith to know that no matter what happened to me, I would be all right because I let the Lord into my life. What makes someone like me turn away from a lifestyle that was self-indulgent and often self-destructive? As I tour universities, colleges and prisons to give talks and lectures, I find many people who believe that I managed to turn my life around because of willpower. But willpower alone does not work-try applying willpower to stop sneezing. Understanding who I really am made me able to move away from a life of desperation. I did not change from the person I was; rather I changed to be the person I am-a son of my Father in Heaven. Willpower may have helped me to stop drinking in the first place, but it was an entirely different thing for me to continue to remain sober. Most of us know people who have given up smoking for the umpteenth time. It's easy giving up smoking. It's the staying stopped that requires a change of heart. I had to have a spiritual awakening in order to have a major life change. In AA's program, the first three steps of overcoming addiction are that we must one, admit that we are powerless over alcohol and that our lives have become unmanageable; second, come to believe that a power greater than ourselves that can restore us to sanity; third, make a decision to turn our will an-d our lives over to the care of God, as we understand Him. These steps have within them true principles, and have provided life saving help for those struggling with life controlling

136 Because I Have Been Given Much

problems for many decades. I believe the program of AA to be divinely inspired. Addiction is a tumor of the soul, and like any cancerous growth if left untreated it will prove to be fatal.

• • • When I entered Pinel House the tumor in my soul had grown so large that I was unable to feel any emotion apart from mental anguish; I was completely engulfed in a spiritual darkness of the soul. On that early morning in June 1981, as I lay in my hospital bed, I did not comprehend what was happening to me. I now know that momentarily the Holy Ghost was carrying out major surgery on my soul to remove the cancerous tumor, in other words the desire for me to take a drink or drug was removed from me that day and with it the 'self destruct' button that had for so long plagued my life. With hindsight, the next three years were a form of convalescence - I spent most evenings at AA meetings following the fine recovery program that the fellowship offers - until I was ready to be baptized into the Church. For the past twenty five years I have worked with people who have been addicted to alcohol and drugs and I have unequivocally found that unless they undergo a mighty change in their hearts and are able to have a spiritual awakening, which will allow the tumor or malignant growth to be removed, in every case it has proved to be fatal. Addiction is an insidious disease that if left (unchecked can destroy us. In many of these cases the sufferer has actually died prematurely but in others the body has lived on-but in quiet desperation, without hope and in many cases without the support of family or friends. We are quick to judge, sometimes, the relatives or loved ones of the addict for" abandoning" the person but it can often be the only way the family can survive themselves by distancing themselves - geographically or emotionallyfrom their loved one. I have also seen the opposite, where family or friends can create a 'dependency culture' and actually enable the addict to continue to destroy himself or herself by never letting him or her face the consequences of their actions.

• • • As I survey the landscape of my life, the words of arson F. Whitney come to mind: "It is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven." There are two

My Eternal Debt 137 things that I greatly regret in my life. The first one is the abandonment of my two sons David and Paul. I find ·it very difficult to come to terms with the fact that I walked out on them. There is hardly a day goes by that I do not have a few moments when I think about them. I am haunted by the memory of what I did. My mind sometimes is filled with unanswered questions about what they are doing now that they are now grown men. Are they married? Do they have children of their own? Have my actions irretrievably damaged them? I feel a sorrow inside of me which I think will never heal, although I know that through the Atonement I have been forgiven. Sometimes in the still moments of my busy life, something triggers off thoughts of them. I truly feel a great sense of loss and remorse for what I did and at times an immense sense of sorrow sweeps over me. As I give my presentations and talks, I am always conscious of the far-reaching consequences of our actions, particularly with the youth. I am able to bear the memories of the choices that affected mainly me, but it is not so easy when they affect those you are called to love and protect. Over the years there have been attempts to contact them, but to no avail. Sue has had long telephone conversations with my former sisterin-law searching for a way to reconcile, but they do not want to. And w~o could blame them? Their last memory of me is as a drug-crazed thief. For years, it has been my prayer that maybe one day I might be able to talk to them and beg them for their forgiveness. The second biggest regret I have is that, because of the choices I made, I did not have a youth.· It was spent either in prison or drunk. Our youth should be a time of enjoyment; time to discover the world around us, a time to build friendships that endure for years. I had none of those experiences. Gordon B. Hinckley said, "You can determine the kind of life you will have in you 30s and 40s by what you do in your teens" (Skyline High School Seminary Fireside, SLC, April 30, 1995). He is so right. We only get one shot at this life and this is not a dress rehearsal. But what made me change my life's path? The start of that change process came in Pinel House that June morning in 1981 when I have no doubt in my mind that I had a spiritual witness. I was on my own road to Damascus, when for a few brief moments I was allowed to see what my life was really like. But what brought me to that point when I wanted to change my attitude?

• • • In his book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen R. Covey describes that process of change as a paradigm shift. A paradigm is the way we see and understand the world around us. Paradigms are like

138 Because I Have Been Given Much

maps in our minds and we use these maps to charter our way through life. The maps are formed by experiences we have in life, sometimes the maps can become distorted, and we are unable to negotiate our way through the challenges that life throws at us in an appropriate way. With a wrong paradigm or a distorted set of attitudes and beliefs, it would be like trying to find our way around Paris with a map of London. With all the resolve and determination we might muster, we would stand very little chance of reaching our destination, because we would be relying on totally wrong information. Unless we changed the map for a correct one, we would be going nowhere fast. That was the same with me. I had the wrong paradigm in my head and, even with the best of intentions, I would not be able to charter my way though life. It was not until I had a change of paradigm - a conversion to a new way of thinking - that I could start on a path leading to eternal happiness. The words of Alma come to mind "And now behold, I ask you my brethren of the church, had ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have you experienced this mighty change in your hearts? (Alma 5:14). That is the ultimate paradigm shift. Unlike Alma and Paul who had a sudden change of heart, mine has been a slow process. Bruce R. McConkie said, "Sometimes men are born again miraculously and suddenly, as was Alma. But for most members of the church the spiritual rebirth is a process that goes on gradually, degree by degree" (The Promised Messiah, p.351). It has been a gradual process of change. The more my love has grown for the Savior and the more my mind has been enlightened, I have gained more insight into myself which has enabled me to move on in life and leave my past behind me. Life for me is a series of paradigm shifts. When I was working in a probation hostel, my work involved planning and facilitating behavioral groups with the residents. There was a particular group of residents who . were responding well to the group sessions. I really felt that I was getting through to them and was getting a lot of job satisfaction. Then we had a new resident move in-an eighteen old who I will call Martin. and, within only hours of him arriving, he started to the disrupt the balance in the hostel with his negative attitude. He would challenge any instruction that the staff gave him. In my group session, he would interrupt what I was saying and would try to disrupt the group by throwing newspapers around the room and would walk out before the session was finished. Within a short space of time his attitudes had started to affect the other residents. One day in a group session, I came within a hairs breadth of losing my temper with him.

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I did not know what to do with him and finally I prayed for guidance. A short while after that I was prompted to read his file. I discovered from reading this and talking with colleagues that, since he was very young, Martin had been subject to both physical and sexual abuse at the hands of his father. When he was seven, his father had held his little hands around a red-hot poker. Later, at the tender age of fourteen he was to witness this same man murder his mother. As I discovered these things my heart was changed. I had been making a value judgment about Martin, because he was not behaving in a way I felt was right. I was so entangled in his behavior that I had become completely blinded to the fact that here was a young man who was shouting out for help. Once I had a clearer picture of his background, I had a massive change in attitude towards him; in other words I had a paradigm shift. I started to try to find ways to help him. I started to become pro-active rather than reactive. He did not significantly change his behavior, but I viewed the situation with entirely fresh eyes and, instead of condemning him, twas now trying to help him in whatever way I could. There was a great learning curve in that episode with Martin. I learned that I should not be so quick to judge other people by their behavior. And, on the other hand, I was judging myself on my intentions and in turn I started to feel superior to some of the people I was working with. Some elements in the Church have formed "Guilt and Shame Committees," including myself. They are otherwise good and faithful members of the Church. And yet they judge people with very little evidence of what has happened in those other people's lives. Because someone appears not to be doing their home or visiting teaching quite as well as the rest of us or are not functioning in their callings quite as well as we think they should, we can fall into the trap of wrongly judging them. Unless we fully understand the circumstances behind what could appear to be their lack of commitment, we cannot form an accurate judgment. When I was an investigating the Church, I had only been to church a couple of times when as I walked into the chapel, a sister approached me. I thought she was coming -over to greet me. I stretched my hand forward for a handshake. She grasped it in hers and -then turned it upwards. Referring to the tattoos on the back of my hands, she said, "You do know that they are of the devil." I did not think too much about it at the time, because I was too concerned about being asked to read something out loud. But -attitudes -like that can do more -damage to the investigator then anything that Satan can do. I was fortunate in that I was unaffected by this. In fact, I had forgotten all about that remark that

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the good sister had made. It was only recently that Sue reminded me of the conversation. One of the most significant things that was said to us as we started to come to church was by Sue's father who said, "Judge the Doctrine and not the people." That has continued to stand me in good stead throughout my church life. Nearly everyone I meet at church is positive about my recovery but very occasionally someone will, through thoughtlessness, make a careless remark that could wound me if I let it.

• • • Despite the miraculous transformation that has taken place in my life, there are days when I take it all for granted. That is when my "Laman and Lemuel" mentality kicks in. I start by feeling a little discontent with life and, if I am not careful, it can lead to self-pity. I had a dear friend in AA who would say that-since he had stopped drinking and sleeping on park benches - all his problems had become high class. In the early days of my recovery, I would run into him at meetings and he would ask "what high class problems have you been wrestling with today Bob?" He was so right. Just a short time ago we were all at home. The kids were doing their own thing around the house and Sue was reading. I was wrestling with one of the world's major problems - what color should my new car be? I was recently reading in Exodus 20; 7 which is the seventh commandment "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain". It started me thinking-what does that really mean, taking the Lord's name in vain? Sure, it means we should not use his name in derogatory terms and of course we shouldn't blaspheme, but is that all there is to it? I thought so for a number of years, until one day I was sitting in a Sacrament Meeting and heard a speaker say that when we were baptized we made a covenant to take on the Savior's name. In that light, if I am not doing my home teaching or not magnifying my Priesthood, or fulfilling my calling surely then I must be taking His name in vain. Everything I have today is a gift from my Heavenly Father. Sometimes I really do need reminding just how greatly blessed I am. When I am feeling discontent with life, I throw myself into the service of others, working with a brother or sister who is having problems with alcohol or drug abuse, or trying to bring comfort to the parents of a wayward child.

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I have been so blessed with a wonderful eternal companion. I never felt that it would be possible for me to have a relationship with someone on the level that I have with Sue. Of all the people in my life, she has been the most significant influence. She is a great example to me. She has taught me so much. I have never known anyone quite like her. Her level of understanding is unfathomable. I have watched her in wonderment as she has mothered our children and have greatly admired the relationship she has with them. She has a very special sprit about her. I have without doubt married above myself. People have asked me what my greatest talent is. I reply that the o~ly talent that I have is that I can choose a good wife. I often jokingly ask her, "When you first walked into that room in Pinel House and saw me sitting there wasted away through years of alcohol and drug abuse, wrists in bandages from a suicide attempt, surely you must have thought to yourself, 'That's my eternal companion sitting there?'" I feel a great sense of gratitude that she has chosen someone like me to be her friend and her eternal companion; I must have done something right in the pre-existence to have someone as wonderful as Sue by my side. Looking back on our journey together now that the kids are .growing up; one so far has a temple marriage, another is having children of her own and another is waiting for her mission call. By no means has it always been plain sailing. Family life is not perfect and a couple of our beloved children have exercised their agency and made decisions that concern Sue and me and they are constantly in our prayers. I think that one of the most difficult things in becoming a parent of grown children is when you become a spectator in your children's lives and watch them make their mistakes. I thank Heavenly Father every day, however, that none of them are making the grave mistakes continuously that I did when I was their age.

• • • I started this book by referring to Paul and will end with his words: "For

as by one man's disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous" (Romans 5:19). Like Paul I have lived a part of my life in disobedience. Today I try not to make the same mistakes that I did in the past. The words of my favorite hymn sum up what I know I should be doing: "Because I have been given much, I too must give: because of thy great bounty, Lord, each day I live, I should divide my gifts from thee, With every brother that I see who has the need of help from me."

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The Savoir has taken someone like me and has used me as a channel to help Him to accomplish His great purposes. He found a way in which I can walk in his footsteps and has given me the ability to reach out to those in need. Like all of us, I am eternally in His debt. My gratitude overwhelms me. No matter how many firesides I do, how many talks to prisoners, how many lost souls 'that I try to reach-even if I spend the rest of my life doing these things - it would not even begin to repay a small part of what He has done for me. In the words of King Benjamin (Mosiah 2: 34) I can only render to him all that I have and am.

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ISBN:190438028X (224x154mm) (210)