Open Writing

Philohema’s interference in our home life was tragic. Looks like she got her way; in effect she had destroyed any trust between my wife and myself and other family members. As far as I could see, I had done nothing wrong and yet I was being punished but yet felt alone. After work I started to spend more time with Bob and Johnny, which inevitably set me back on my old ways, and I lost a damn good job.

Eventually, I had to get more money from somewhere as my
wife and children would do without otherwise. With it being my duty to provide for my family, I decided to go back to commercial burglaries in a sparsely populated area with plenty of scope for a passing burglar - except this one was a local.

One night I decided it was Philomena's fault I was in
this situation so I hatched a plan. In a small place like Swanage it isn’t difficult to find out who, where, or when. So I bought a big bag of smack and gave it to my brother-in-law to sell along with some diconal and palfium, knowing it would probably go into his arm. After a while she had to admit that her marriage to Bob was a complete charade, as her marriage was supposed to be a bed of roses. Believe me I took great pleasure in rubbing it in. I did however feel for the children and really hope they managed to secure a good life for themselves. She decided to leave Bob and Swanage and move to a hostel but kept in touch with my wife.

We moved to a little village called Lychett Maltravers. We both tried hard, but on one of my walks in the countryside I happened across a field full of magic mushrooms, so off I went home to get carrier bags and picked thousands of them. Despite being totally off my head I used to sell them in the various public houses in Poole and put the money into the house, but I was fooling nobody but myself.

Eventually she left me. Once again alone, I ended up in a place called Forston Clinic, another psychiatric unit. Why I was there I have no idea, except that I must have messed my head up
properly. I used to go out in the day to the local pub and had a jolly jaunt into Dorchester for a bit of draw. In the end I thought, ‘I’m off!’ Knowing my luck I would have ended up in there forever and end up like the other patients.

Whilst I was at the clinic I decided to write a poem called the brain about the way I saw my world and the situation I was in.

THE BRAIN

The brain is a room
With a million doors.
Leave by whichever -
The choice is yours,
But then you find
It’s hard to get back,
As the paint on your door,
Has begun to crack.

Stuck on the outside,
Just looking in
At this crazy world
You have created
From living a life
Of sin
.
I returned home to my wife and children, but alas! Eventually my wife Judy and the children left to go to a women’s aid hostel, but I must admit it was probably wise for her as I wasn’t the man she had married anymore, and we ended up divorced.

I feel at this point I must point out that I am in full support of women’s aid and feminism and equal rights. I fully respect anyone that stands up to be counted in righting a wrong, but I don’t believe they have the right to impose or demand their own beliefs above the social and cultural rights inside a person’s home or life. However if some law has been broken or someone is in danger, then the necessary agencies should become involved.

I stayed in Lychett. Judy kept in touch by phone or letter and eventually she got a house in Yeovil Somerset. After a short while of her visiting me she decided I could move back to live with her and the children in Yeovil. We decided to re-marry just a quick, quiet wedding which went well. Plus I had a job at Catnic Garador making garage doors, working like a robot.

Judy was pregnant again with Daniel, which was a good sign for us that things were looking up for us as a family. My mother-in-law decided that she wanted to live in Yeovil to be with her grandchildren, which I thought was great.

It was then that Phenomena turned up to live in Yeovil and once again she started trouble. She was doing a feminism and sociology course so she could become a social worker. I thought good luck to her, but any form of abuse obsessed her.

To make matters worse she read somewhere that by
comparison to the British culture, as Romanies/Gypsies teach their girls from the age of ten the ways of housekeeping, i.e. cooking etc. and boys about cars and work, it could be seen as a form of abuse in the normal p.c world we were now living, which I fully agree. But, within the confines of the Romany/Gypsy culture it is the norm.

This of course caused a great stress on our marriage and
eventually it came to an end. I was devastated. How can someone be so evil? I think it is a case of tit for tat. It is something that will stick in my mind forever.