I Think I'm OK Page 8

  I wrongly assumed that, A. One member of staff administered the punishment and B. Six lashes were the most that were legally allowed to be dished out. I soon found out differently. It seemed that my crime was greater than the Catholics so I was given eight whacks, two from each member of staff in the room.

  I had by now become accustomed to being hit across the arse as a punishment though that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, especially the first one. I think the element of surprise didn’t help either. As I bent over I locked my legs to make myself rigid and grabbed hold of my knees. I tried numerous ways to ignore the pain, digging my nails into my legs or trying to mentally put myself somewhere else, whether it worked or not I can’t be sure because I never took the punishment without trying something so I have no comparison. After the third stroke, (I can’t resist the urge to write, ‘it will be six thirty three precisely’) your backside becomes almost numb so as long as each stroke wasn’t too far away from the rest it wasn’t that bad.

  Once we had all been caned the kids on the stairs were dismissed and we were dragged into the shower room. The six of us had to stand, completely naked, side by side in the long shower base with our hands held above our heads whilst buckets of extremely cold water were thrown at us. We then had to scrub ourselves down using large floor scrubbing brushes and the green bars of scrubbing soap.

  Two Belfast type sinks had been filled with the cold water and as one was emptied by the scooping bucket, the second one came into use whilst the first was refilled. I did the best I could to show some kind of defiance, when the water hit me I didn’t turn away. Though I made a conscious effort not to shiver I think I failed miserably, however I did succeed in not making a sound.

  I guess I should thank WHS School for helping me to manage some of that. For a few months a number of us had been taking cold showers every night in preparation for swimming in open water, so thanks for that Mr Airth.

  My skin felt as though it was a size too small for my body, my arse was still stinging from the caning and my balls were rapidly disappearing. To be brutally honest I’m not the well-endowed bloke anyway, so by the time they had finished having their fun, my dick looked like a Walnut Whip sat on two dried up Satsumas.

  One of the lads stood next to me was Tony Collier and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. His lips had turned blue and the rest of his face was as pale as a ginger birds arse. Even though he probably didn’t start shaving until at least five years later, his face was covered in fine white hairs that stood out at a ninety degree angle. I also had a pang of guilt, it was my fault they were all being punished. I had planned what I did and I knew there would be consequences. The other lads just did what kids do, act first and think later, theirs was just a spur of the moment thing.

  I couldn’t tell you how long this went on for, it reached the point where I had to send my mind somewhere else in order to deal with it. I think the cold I dealt with OK but it was the humiliation which bothered me more. One particular member of staff pointed at my rapidly disappearing privates and laughed as he said, “Oh isn’t it a shame.”

  I had about five minutes worth of verbal abuse all queued up in my head just waiting for me to give them the nod to spill out of my mouth. Luckily, from the smarter part of my brain, another thought jumped the queue and held its arms out to the side saying, “Leave it lads leave it, he’s not worth it.” This thought’s name was, ‘I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I will humiliate you one day you bastard.’

  Once the punishment was over we were hauled into the Boss’s office. Still shivering and looking like all six of us were stood on a live electrical wire, we lined up in front of his desk. As a further punishment we were told we would be sawing wood for a week. There was a huge garden at the back of the house and if my memory serves me right the wood cutting was done in what was once a tennis court. We used large double handled saws, I’m sure they must have a proper name, they were the type where one of you pulls the saw in one direction then the other person pulls it back. That’s a crappy description but I’m sure you’ll know what I mean.

  We got a further bollocking, more threats, and his word that we wouldn’t find ourselves in a position where we could run away again. I was told I would have to make an apology to the Priest, which I said I would. Saying sorry to the Priest wasn’t a problem for me. As far as I was concerned a bloke who puts a frock on at weekends wasn’t particularly scary, but for some reason the prospect of having to face the Priest again was terrifying to the Catholics.

  We soon got back into the old routine and I spent most of my time trying to figure out the next way I was going to escape. Which as it turned out was wasted time, the opportunity just presented itself.

  Most of the lads at Ashbank were not there for very long. They were either waiting to be sentenced in court or waiting for a place to become available at another institution. My turn to leave came around and I was told I was going to be sent to a place called Aycliffe in County Durham. It seemed to me as though they were trying to send me as far away from Bradford as they could, which I just saw as another challenge.

  I was told that before I left I was going to be getting a visit from my dad. This was something out of the ordinary and had me worried. I couldn’t understand why he would be coming to see me, but I looked forward to it.

  The day of the visit came and I was told to go into the dining room and wait for my dad. As he walked into the room I could see he was not his usual jokey self. He had a worried look on his face and I thought I was in some sort of trouble, I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was I had done so I just said, “Hello dad,” then stood up and gave him a hug, it was a longer hug than normal, as though he didn’t want to let go of me, then I sat down to wait for the bollocking.

  It turned out that I had done nothing wrong but my dad did have something important to tell me. He waffled on for a short while then finally came to the point. He asked me if I knew what a heterosexual was, I said I did. He asked the same about homosexual, again I said I knew what it meant. He then asked if I knew what bisexual was and he got the same reply.

  “Well I am bisexual,” he blurted out.

  “You’re a puff?” I asked.

  That’s what I wanted it to come out like, what actually came out was really high pitched and all one word, more like, “Yerapuff?” I’m glad it did come out like that because it seemed to break the ice, in as much as both my dad and I started laughing. I stopped laughing but my dad continued until at some point the laughing turned to crying. He was sobbing and just kept saying he was sorry. I had tears in my eyes as well and told him to pack it in otherwise he would set me off.

  I had seen my dad cry a few times and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, the time before this was when my Aunty Beat found a poem I had written. She had been emptying my pockets before washing my trousers and came across a small note book I used and she showed it to my dad. I can still remember which of the poems got to him.

  Why won’t he leave me? Why won’t he go?

  He’s the one person I don’t want to know.

  He’s evil; he’s wicked, to me and to others.

  My mother, my father, my sisters and brothers.

  I know I cannot lose him for he’s with me till I die.

  He will haunt me and he’ll hurt me, God alone knows why.

  I think it’s pretty obvious for everyone to see,

  The person I’m talking about

  Is me.

  I was eleven or twelve when I wrote that so please don’t start critiquing it. If you do then you are missing the point. I understand now why it upset my dad so much. If my son had written something like that when he was that age and more to the point, if he had actually believed it, it would have broken my heart.

  Once he had pulled himself together he seemed relieved and my old dad came back. It was then that we had our first man to man chat. The mood of our chat changed from dark to light. Even when he insisted he wa
s bisexual and I kept insisting he was a Puffta, it was all said in a jocular manner. I think he was just happy I didn’t storm out and say I never wanted to see him again. In fact I now know that was the case because we spoke about it in later years.

  It was then that certain things finally fell into place.

  The divorce and the bullshit explanation.

  The, “Did your dad break the law with you?” question which came up regularly at WHS School. They didn’t mean driving the van or smoking; they meant did he do anything to me sexually.

  This is for the benefit of WHS School, the clever ones, the ones who supposedly knew what they were doing. He was a homosexual you idiots, not an incestuous paedophile.

  Then there were the questions from the social workers, they were obviously testing the ground in preparation for giving me the news.

  As I was being sent to Aycliffe and I was getting older, social services had phoned dad and told him it was time I knew about his sexuality. My dad had insisted that it came from him rather than them, hence the visit. It cannot have been easy for him and I thanked him for telling me rather than letting the corduroy, sandals and knitwear brigade do it.

  The visit ended on a better note than it had started and I think my dad drove back home with a lighter heart. It didn’t bother me that he was gay, the way I saw it was, even if he had been straight, I didn’t want to think about what he got up to in the bedroom so why would I want to think about it now that I knew he was homosexual? Are any of you interested in your parent’s sex lives? If you say “yes,” then I suggest you put this down and go and find some professional help.

  That was my take on it, though I didn’t let on to any of the staff, oh no, not after I had seen their faces. They were looking for some sort of reaction, trying to see how I had taken the news which they all knew I had received. So I milked it. Not too much, just enough to make sure I got the decent chores, to make sure they spoke to me with a slightly more understanding tone in their voices. Just enough to make them think my mood was lower, as though the defiance had gone and just enough so they didn’t check too thoroughly when I was given my medication.

  Part of a report from a Social Worker.

  Visit to Ashbank:

  I went up to see Chris at the remand home as arranged. I went into the dining room and Mr Tierney went to get Chris. He didn’t want to come and it needed Mr Tierney to coax him to come along. He had been crying it seems and he sat down next to me and put his head in his hands. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked what did he mean but he just repeated the words, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I guess that his father must have told him. He came up on Sunday and told Chris everything. He was very upset and cried a bit of the time.

  I talked to him about his father and asked if he wanted me to explain it. I referred back to the conversation about Homosexuality that we had once before. Chris wouldn’t talk about it and seemed to want to forget it and push it away from his mind, he was quiet although he didn’t try and change the subject I verbalised for him some of the feelings he was experiencing.

  I reinforced the positive aspects of his father by talking about how much his father loved him and how hard it had been for the father to talk to Chris about it and I emphasised the courage his father had shown in telling this to Chris. All the time Chris was sullen and glum and at odd times he came near to tears but managed to control himself although it was with some great effort.

  I was about to write something flippant here about an Oscar nominated performance, however, as dark as my humour can be and as sarcastic as I can sometimes be, it didn’t feel right to go there. I have, as I’m sure you would have too, read, reread and read again all the files I have been sent.

  The social worker, who wrote the above section, it quite clearly appears, was on my side. In fact there are certain parts where it seems he was more than a little pissed off with some of my ‘Responsible Adults.’ So a belated, thank you J.G, and please accept my apologies for letting you down.

  Chapter 8

  I often woke in the early hours of the morning desperate for the loo. Sometimes that was just the way it was, on some occasions it was intentional. If I wanted to wake up in the early hours, drinking plenty of water before bed was a sure fire way of getting my attention around two or three in the morning. Contrary to Mr Airth’s beliefs I really didn’t piss the bed.

  On this particular day it was just coincidence. Everyone else was asleep and Ashbank would have been in complete silence had it not been for the snoring of the member of staff on sleepover. As I passed the staff bedroom on the way to the toilet, the door was half open and I could see a bunch of keys on the bedside table. The member of staff was on his side with his back to the keys, I knew instantly what I wanted to do. The urge to pee suddenly got stronger so I continued on to the bathroom, all the while trying to decide if I was going to do what I knew I wanted to. I decided I would but only if the staff member was still snoring like a good un.

  I could hear him all the while I was peeing so I stood there for ages. I’m not sure if was trying to wring every drop out I could or if I was hoping he would stop snoring so I could talk myself out of giving it a shot. He didn’t stop snoring and I couldn’t pee anymore, so I went for it. I think I had known all along that I had no choice but to go for it. The clincher had been the member of staff snoring his head off; he was the same one who had enjoyed my humiliation in the showers.

  As I walked back along the corridor I was timing my footsteps with his snoring long before I reached his room. Once I was at his door I stopped. My mind was racing with questions about the consequences of what I was doing, then everything was suddenly clear and I started creeping in to his room in time to the racket he was making. I reached the table and waited for him to do a good snort before I picked the keys up.

  Once I had them in my hands I had what I call ‘the traffic light feeling’ in my guts. The one where you are heading towards a set of lights on green, you’re going a bit too fast but you know you will make it through if you can just reach that certain point down the road, so you put your foot down. Your heads screaming ‘stay on green, stay on green,’ and your stomach does a little flip until you’re past the point of no return.

  I didn’t waste time turning around I just retraced my steps and crept backwards out of the room, making sure I didn’t let the keys jangle. It seemed to take forever before I was out into the corridor and let out a silent sigh of relief. Then I saw four heads pop out from the dorm door.

  Tony Collier and three others wanted to know what I was doing. I put a finger to my lips and then mouthed at them to shut the fuck up. I was fuming, scared and pissed off all at the same time. I knew they would want to come with me and I knew if I refused they would make too much row and wake the staff member up. Not wanting to hold a conversation with them right outside the bedroom I was stumped. Like a mime artist I beckoned for them to follow me in step with the snoring and bless them they did.

  We quietly made our way down the staircase and turned left along a short corridor which led to the first locked door. It took no more than ten or fifteen seconds before I found the right key but it seemed a lot longer. Once we were through the door I locked it again and we were then in the small corridor of the extension. This was where the office was which held the boxes containing our own clothes. Again it seemed to take forever to find the right key, I was still at the traffic light moment and even though I knew I couldn’t, I felt as though I wanted a pee.

  Once in the office we found our respective boxes and quickly changed, they in the office, me in the corridor trying to get dressed and at the same time find the right key for the last door. I looked at the four of them and asked if they were sure they wanted to do this. I didn’t want them blaming me when they were punished. I made a point of asking Tony Collier twice. They all said they were up for it. Then we were out.

  The night air was cold and fresh, the sort of cold that stings your nostrils when you take in a huge sniff of a
ir. I don’t know if it was the air or just the fact that we had managed to get out but I felt exhilarated, I had managed to get through the lights on green.

  Slowly and quietly we walked across the short driveway before turning right and running. After a few yards we reached a junction in the road and turned right again onto a road named Water End. For almost forty years I was under the impression it was called Water Lane, but I’ve just Googled it, it’s definitely Water End.

  One of the lads asked me if I knew where I was going and I said I did, I wasn’t lying. There may not be many things that I’m good at but I only need to go somewhere once and I can remember how to get there. I remembered seeing a signpost near the City Centre for Leeds and I knew if I could get to Leeds it was only a couple of hours jog to Bradford so that’s where I was going to be heading.

  Water End was, and still is, a road which spans the river Ouse. Roughly halfway down the road we reached a point where there was nowhere to go if the police turned up. Well that’s not strictly true; we could have jumped into the river. A drop of thirty or forty feet into pitch black, fast running cold water? Fuck that. So we ran as quickly as we could to get over the river. I tugged on Tony Collier’s shirt sleeve and told him to slow down, letting the other three get a little ahead of us.

  “When we get to the end of this road,” I said quietly, “We’ll split up, let them go on their own, you stick with me.” Tony seemed quite happy with this idea and just grinned and nodded as we upped the pace a little.