I completed one year of secondary school in England before we moved again, and that year was relatively trouble free barring a few detentions and some lines. I do recall getting bullied in those days by groups of boys (why always groups you cowards!?) but it was nothing severe.
As I turned 13 however this all changed. We lived on a middle class estate with a river and trees behind; during nights and weekends myself and other kids would work on our tree house along with my middle brother. I was the unofficial leader of the kids on my street and we had ‘fights’ with the kids from the next street. I remember one older kid throwing a rock at my brother, and in a blind fury I grabbed a tree branch and proceeded to beat him bloody. That was the first out of 4 times in my life I have lost my temper.
Around this time I was developing through puberty, and I was exposed to a friend’s pornography collection. I was transfixed. Sex was dirty, and here was a guilty little pleasure. I became hooked, hiding pages from newspapers in my room to look at later (Some English newspapers have naked women on page 3, I don’t know why).
I also started to steal from the local shop, taking sweets, magazines, small toys, and lots more – it was a rush, I loved the feeling. I got caught two weeks before we were due to move to Ireland – and I am so very happy I did – this ended my criminal career once and for all!
The shop owner called my father just before a Thursday meeting, and in my Fathers usual style, he roared ‘did you do this?’ I was silent. Then my middle brother for whom I had stolen some crayons, squeaked – ‘where did you get the money for these’. That little shit! I only recently forgave him for this and the other times in the coming chapters where he told tales on me.
The shopkeeper didn’t press charges as dad told him that he would deal with me in a way I would never forget. The owner also knew that we were Jehovah’s Witnesses, as in one of my ‘holy holy’ days, I had returned a science magazine to him as it discussed blood and ‘Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t take blood’.
My father beat me senseless that night, I’m sure he ran out of power in his arm from whipping me with that belt again and again – but that was the punishment over – he knew and I knew that I would never steal again, the matter was closed.
At the age of 13 and a half, (halves were important back then!) the family moved to Ireland, my father needed to spend every other week working in Ireland with his job, so it was an effort to bring the family closer.
I’ll continue with the Irish story in the next chapter, this is the period in my life were I rapidly started moving away from the religion. It will cover first kisses, elder problems, my eventual baptism, what the ‘young ones’ really got up to, and the dogmatism and downright ignorance of the Elders. Also this is the period where my dad nearly died, and what he became after that experience was to shape me for the rest of my life……