Page Title

Synopsis

Born in Surrey Docks, into wartime London, the author's life has seen the austerity of the post-war years, the desire for change that led to the welfare state, the cold war and the aftermath, the striving for better lives that led to the social

explosion of the swinging sixties, the disillusion that led to the selfishness of the Thatcher years, the initial optimism of the Blair government, Iraq and the confirmation that climate change threatens the very existence of life on this tiny planet.

The book charts a somewhat unusual life through abandonment, father returning ten years later to consign him to life in the army, an early, unhappy marriage, a civilian career in architecture, divorce, single parenthood, student life, the gradual change to the life he wanted, numerous relationships and some sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. Joining the burgeoning environmental movement, he rescued two charities and realised that he really could make an impact, this recognised with

commendations in 'The Guardian Jerwood Awards'. Various sackings, therapy, marriage again at 52 and the start of a life along with marathon running, renovating five properties and now with a second and stable family. At the same time, the book relates these episodes to the wider social changes at each stage. Fairly contented, the author is still working, still

running and now doing what he always wanted to, writing, with a second book in hand and a third planned. It really is never too late!

Michael's Story

Years later he always remembered it as his first conscious memory. He was five and holding a woman's hand outside the Colleen Bawn, a pub on the corner of St James Road and Southwark Park Road. She was talking to another woman he

didn't know. In his mind, he can only see them between the forearms and knees, the rest is cut off. It is as if they are in a picture frame and most of their bodies are outside it. He then held this strange woman's hand and walked off with her around the corner while the woman he knew went back to where they'd come from. It was a matter of days after his mum's funeral and his other life had begun.

All that followed is remembered in snippets, but maybe it's that way with everyone. Just how far back are you supposed to be able to recall? He could remember being in a strange bedroom, larger than his old one, a pair of brown kid gloves that he wouldn't take off and a three-wheeler bike being carried in at Xmas. Uncle Bob coming around on Sundays to take him home. Bob carried him on his shoulders in a flying angel. The railway arches and the old engine always in the same place on the track above their heads. He remembers someone pointing to the stars and telling him that his mum had now joined them. Many years later he was to meet someone else whose mother had also died when he was a child, who had been told the same story. In his case, it had been at Xmas and, as an adult, at that time of year, he would go out, look at the night sky and feel unbearably sad. It didn't take too long before Bob stopped coming round and he is sure that he had been told to stay away. He didn't see Bob or any of his mum's family again for many years. Most he never saw again.

He now lived with his father's eldest sister and her husband, Aunt Ada and Uncle Bill Coppard. Uncle Bill was a slim, very neat man who worked in a local tannery, cycling to work every morning. Michael remembered that he had a small

engine fitted to a dynamo over the back wheel of his bike which drove it. They had three daughters and the youngest, Thora, had just left home to join the WRAF. Having this new cuckoo in the nest when they were both nearly 50 must have been quite a shock. He later learnt about his father's legendary powers of persuasion and his position in the family as spoilt youngest son. He was also told that a home for boys had been mentioned. Over forty years later he discovered that his old home was within 10 minutes walk of his new one; it might as well have been on the moon.

Aunt Ada and Uncle Bill lived in the bottom two floors of 275 Lynton Road. This was reached via the airy, down stone steps to the front door. The basement consisted of a front room, back room, kitchen and scullery with backyard and outside toilet. Concrete steps then led up to a small garden. Inside, the stairs led to two bedrooms joined by a set of doors. His grandfather lived in the back room on the ground floor and he, Michael, was given the bedroom at the front of the house. It had been Thora's room and she still used it when she came home on leave. The front room was for special occasions and hardly ever used. The kitchen was the main room of the house. It was small with a black range and a table against the

window overlooking the backyard. There was not much light and the flat was decorated in browns and other sombre

colours. There was a sink in the corner and a door next to it into the scullery where the food was kept. Even after all these years, he can still see this clearly. Thora later told him that she remembered the first Sunday tea. They had shrimps and

winkles and, when he had broken the heads and tails off the shrimps, he had thrown them under the table, although nobody mentioned this at the time. He learnt to be amenable but then maybe he was anyway. Only later did he realise about his

misdirected anger.

He doesn't have many memories of his day to day life then, just fragments. Sitting on the crossbar of Uncle Bill's bike going to the allotments at South Bermondsey Station. Eating raw rhubarb and messing his pants as a result. Mind you, it probably wasn't as a result, as it seems that he does this regularly now. He remembers the rhubarb episode as if it were

yesterday. Runner beans, rabbits being killed in the back yard, 'Journey into Space' on the wireless, being good at spelling at school and getting a prize, a book called, The Wreck of the Hesperus, from a very kindly teacher. Nearly 60 years later, he would be told, by an in-law, that, before she met him, she had been told of his reputation as a wild child who would do, albeit quietly, exactly what he wanted to.

The worst was being inspected for marks in his underpants. This particular ritual carried out by Uncle Bill with a razor strop in his hand and the child stood on the kitchen table, and on one occasion, in front of other relatives. Trousers were taken down and underpants removed to ensure that they weren't stained. He can remember the approval and applause when they weren't. He can't remember what happened when they were, but he does remember the strop being flexed and being very scared. It was nearly 60 years later that he was told what happened next.

He remembers very little about his first school, Rotherhithe New Road or the new one, Galleywall Road. High walls and windows, an asphalt playground and outside toilets open to the sky. He does remember playing in Southwark Park with his cousins, Mike and Richard. He remembers the paddling pool and the outdoor swimming pool; the former used to float toy boats in and he has memories of very small ones that had to be filled with solid fuel that was ignited so that they would skate across the water. Much of their time was spent on the swings, swing-boats and the witches hat. The witches hat above all as it twisted uncontrollably. Even typing that out today brings the fear on. He was not scared at the time but is now

because of what it represents. No control over events and not being able to go back. As the hat banged against the central pole with a clang, it also represented something far more frightening; a bell being tolled at a funeral. He can also remember wondering when he would be able to get on a bus on his own and now realises that this had has something to do with

getting away.

A road traffic poster of the time can still send a shudder down the spine. Featuring the pale face of a woman dressed in black wearing a veil, it bore the slogan 'Keep death off the road' . This figure, in mourning, brought back very unpleasant memories for him. Throughout his whole life he had shuddered whenever he saw a hearse and, years later, when he

identified and stood over his mother's grave in Nunhead cemetery, he remembered the feeling of peace that it gave him.

He also remembers a feeling of discomfort when he looked at the old ruined church in the cemetery and the vague memory of being there for a funeral.

He can also remember his dad coming home on leave in his captain's uniform and sitting on his lap in the front room

talking about a sword. It was obviously an important visit. He was taken uptown to a news cinema to see Laurel and Hardy and was photographed standing by the statue of Bodicea on Westminster Bridge. This was with dad and Eve but the

significance of their being together never registered. Eve had knitted him a fairisle pullover. He can't remember them leaving, but later found out that they were married soon afterwards. This was how it was and would continue to be. Many years later someone said that he'd had a lousy childhood. He never saw it like that even though he can recognise that it must have been, it is not experienced in that way. If you don't know any different, how can you tell?, It just was and, anyway, it was his life so it wasn't for others to judge.

He now realises that it must have been like a nightmare in which he was trapped and that it would one day all get back to normal. Gradually he came to understand that it wouldn't, and this was it. He realised much later that this was when Mike was created to look after little Michael. The child needed to be cared for and Mike took on the task. He did it even when Michael grew up and became Mike. The child lived quietly inside, except that he didn't. The adult may have been on duty but the emotions were those of the child and the five year old never grew up. He just controlled Mike's emotional life.

It took fifty years, many relationships, career changes and therapy for these two to come together in the one body.

The adult could then function by, taking on the situation not the torment .

This is his story…..

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