Open Writing

A time of rejoicing for the birth of Jesus, a time of loving
and caring for each other, of giving and receiving, a
wonderful and amazing time for children and adults
alike.

My earliest recollection of one such Christmas
was in the late fifties or early sixties whilst my dad
was in gaol for beating my elder brother Frank to
pulp. It was great we were living in a house, 6
Woodstock Road, Balby, Doncaster. I was about
four or five years old at the time.

Mammy read stories from the Bible to me and my two brothers,
Frank, then aged about eight and Vincent, aged
threeish, about the meaning of Christmas and how
Christmas was for her when she was a young girl
and how she wished she could make it the same for
us.

We even had a television, a small one with a
big square magnifying glass type thing stuck to the
front of it; it was great, as we had never seen a TV
before, let alone owned one. We used to sneak downstairs
at night and watch it through the crack of the
door; sometimes we would see how long we could watch
The Outer Limits before we got frightened.

If we ever got caught by my dad, usually when he came
home from the pub early, that is to say if he came
home at all, he used to give us all a grown-up good
hiding, saying, "If you want to act like grown-ups I’ll
treat you as grown-ups you little so-and-so’s." We
soon learned what to listen for so we could sneak
back upstairs and escape a beating.

The months leading up to Christmas were cold,
and Mammy used to take us all downtown,
walking around the shops to keep us warm. So she
could make the measly pittance my dad gave as
housekeeping last, so she could at least give us a
hot meal once a day.

One such day has stuck in my
mind. Mammy was desperate, and she told us that
if anyone asked, Dad came home last night and left
early. That morning we walked to the town centre.
As we got to the road
where the Arnedale Centre is now, there was a
black man walking towards us. People were coming
out of shops looking round and crossing the road,
so there were only this black man on one side of
the road and us.

Mum stopped us and told us, "Don’t
worry. People are really ignorant. At least we have
each other, and that poor man is on his own." It‘s one
of those moments that has stuck in my mind since.

We went to the old police station, The Guild Hall.
What a formidable place, like something out of
Dixon of Dock Green. Mum told the police sergeant
that my dad had pinched her purse. She made a
statement and eventually got some money. We
could see Mum was very scared, but the first thing
she did was take us to a cafe in the market and
bought us something hot to eat. With our stomachs
full and feeling warm we had another treat. We went
home on the Balby bus.

However, our excitement
was short lived. We received the usual taunts - rat
eaters, gypos etc. Mammy was called all sorts of
names, so we got off the bus not too far from home
and walked the rest of the way. When we arrived
home Mum taught us that saying “sticks and stones
may break my bones but calling names won’t hurt
me”.

That evening the police came and took my
drunken dad away again. My mum was petrified
but at the same time she was elated. She got us all
together and said things will be O.K. now and don’t
worry.

Things got a lot better after that we even got
Christmas cards in the post. Christmas was just
round the corner. We used to help Mum by getting
logs for the fire from the woods on Hexthorpe flatts
by the river Don. We used to think we were so
brave as we used have to go through the
Horseshoe Tunnel that all the children were taught
was haunted and full of vampire bats to stop us
from going down to the river.

On the odd occasion,
my brother Frank and I used to pinch coal from other
people’s coalhouses and put it in ours and not tell
Mum. But one day she found out. It was the first
and last time Mum ever smacked us, as she always
tried to teach us how to be honest, but it didn’t
always sink in with the reality of the situation and
also put us in a state of mental conflict as we had it
drummed into us by our dad that it was OK to steal.

Christmas Eve day all of us were happy. Santa
Claus comes tonight. We searched all through the
house to find presents. We couldn’t find any so we
assumed that Mammy was right. He brings them on
his sleigh at night if we are asleep.

We had visits
from Aunt Hilda, Mammy's sister. She was all right.
She was married to Harry Round, he of the Fairway
Supermarkets, which kept popping up all around
the Doncaster area. Even Aunt Emily came she was
married to Uncle Bill and they brought Grandma.
Uncle Bill, he was a steady bloke that worked hard
and supported his wife and family, a good man.

Christmas Eve night with full stomachs and a warm
house filled with love and peace. It was a happy
time. We had to behave ourselves or Santa Claus
wouldn’t come, so we said our prayers and went to
bed like good little boys. But, like all children, we
were excited and kept looking out of the window for
Santa Claus. As you could imagine, with three
children sharing the same bed all exited we didn’t
get much sleep.I remember it snowed a lot, but
eventually we went to sleep.

When we awoke we
could hear something under the bed. I plucked up
the courage and got out of bed. The thing attacked
my feet, so I jumped back into bed hung over the
edge took a look. It was a puppy, a brown and white
one. Then, we realised Santa had been. On the end
of our bed (my brothers and I all slept together)
there were stockings full of sweets and nuts.

We went to Mum's room and asked if we could go downstairs.
She said yes but we all had to go together. It
was great, we had lots of toys we even had a bike
to share. As we played with our toys and had the
inevitable arguments about who was going to play
with what, Mammy tried to stop us arguing as she
cooked Christmas Dinner, happily singing carols
along to the radio. It was a long time since Mum
was honestly happy, and a nice memory of her.

The worst thing of all happened, my dad turned
up, as usual drunk and in a rage, ranting and
raving, swearing, threatening us kids so that Mum
would react. When she kept her cool trying to avert
more violence, the usual happened. He grabbed me and
slung me across the yard. Mammy snapped and Dad
did his usual, beat my Mum really bad, then went
on to sling our Christmas dinner into the yard, then
continued through the house.

Everything we had
was smashed to bits. He was anting and raving about
where she had got the money from to buy the
presents. In fact they came from family and social
services. Then he grabbed our Frank, said, "Goodbye
and Merry Christmas," using his boot on Mum to
emphasize his point. Again using the worst thing a
person could do to anybody, emotional blackmail,
he went on to chuck Frank in his van and drove
off, as he could work and earn money for him.

As usual everyone came to their windows and doors and
stood there looking. Not one person offered help or
even phoned the police. When it was over they
simply shut their doors and carried on with their
day as normal. I have never seen since then such a
pathetic bunch of people in my life. There
is no doubt in my mind that they were all telling
family, friends and workmates that they would,
should, and could have done this or that.

That’s
when I decided that basically they couldn’t give a
damn, cause we were just dirty, filthy Gypsy rat
eaters and were not worth the bother. Plus they
were scared of my dad.

We soon moved from there
to an area called Wheatley. Then a few weeks later
we moved back to a different part of Balby of all
places. However, Mammy had convinced the local
authorities that we were going to settle and they
let us go to school.

We went to Nightingale Primary
School. As usual we received the taunts we had
come to expect, but the teachers were good to us
and did their damnedest to make us welcome. The
headmistress even took time out to explain to the
rest of the school about us. Mum used to collect us
from school, but one day she had to go somewhere
important so we had to go to Grandma’s, which,
was just round the corner in Austen Avenue.

But, on that day, a day which I believe was the day of
Mum's divorce, Dad turned up in his van and
convinced us that he would give us a ride home. Of
course it was another lie, as he carried on driving
fast. We ended up back on the gypsy sites and that
life of hell with my dad.