Broken Home

I’m from a broken home there I’ve said it got it out in the open and yes we had hard times because of it, my parents divorced at a time when it was nearly impossible to get a judge to agree to see a case like this! It wasn’t like it is today go sign a piece of paper and crack on, my family was the first family that I’m aware of going through this and I was certainly the first in my school and boy did I get some stick! did I buckle and go under? No if anything I think it made me the person I am today (is that a good thing probably not) I didn’t understand it at the time I didn’t really question it, it was something that happened I never expressed any anger over it until many years later after an unexpected letter.

I’m not against divorce it’s a sensible thing and should be done with the minimum amount of fuss for all concerned hell I’ve been divorced once myself (more of which later) what I am against is all the shit that both sides try and throw at each other, the blame that is usually present in modern day divorces there is always problems on both sides usually more on one than the other but nobody is totally perfect, there was probably loads more thrown in my own parents divorce than either I or my brother know, our family was/is very good at keeping secrets, I’m not hells bells I keep writing these books so all’s fair in love and war.

I remember the first place we lived was a first floor flat with three bedrooms quite large I loved it there although I never liked the stairs at either end of the flat ( I visited it many years later and laughed out loud at how steep they aren’t hahahaha) I remember we moved really quickly or I thought we did, my mother confirmed many years later that we had indeed moved quickly, done and dusted within 6 days we moved to a council house in Delves Lane with a huge garden my brother and I loved it, my dad enjoyed the garden although to be honest about the only time I remember seeing him at that house was in the garden I don’t really remember him anywhere else but 38 years down the line my memory is decidedly fuzzy, did I love my dad of course I did he was my dad, did he love me and my brother that I’m not so sure of, my father was a deep person one of the traits I think I have inherited from him (hopefully the only one)we had been at the house for about eighteen months when things became strained people turning up at the door that kind of thing and hushed conversations not for the ears of the boys, if I was in the bath my brother would be pushed into the bathroom to look after obviously so I wouldn't drown in a bath only four inches deep!me my brother being 3 years older than me knew something was adrift but he certainly didn’t confide in me hell I was 7 years old what would I have said.

Then there was the time when my dad slept in my brothers room and me and my brother slept in my mum’s room this happened for a few weeks and we both realised that all was not well and things were so strained that voices were no longer hushed and then all of a sudden my dad was no longer there he was gone, my mum sat us down and tried to explain the best she could, I was again oblivious I wasn’t really aware I probably thought it was a temporary thing, in those days a day was a lifetime its only as I get older that a day shrinks as you get older, I believe my brother was devastated and the sense of betrayal stung my brother for many years, he was older and much closer to my dad, but this wasn’t the end of it, after he had gone there were many strange happenings in the house things moved, items went missing and to be honest my mum thought she was losing what was left of her mind, it transpired it was my dad the lunatic was sleeping out in the garden shed on a night time and then coming in when the house was in darkness, he was doing childish little things, needless to say a quick meaningful conversation with  my mum's two brothers soon put paid to that.

Worse was to come in those days you had to appear in front of a judge and he very nearly threw my mum in jail for contempt of court after she had finally had enough and just would not be silenced she lost it in the court well and truly when my dad had the audacity to say that she was an unfit mother who was mentally unhinged she very nearly played into his hands, now this is where me and divorce don’t agree it was obvious that this was indeed not the truth and the case was revolving around a man telling a pack of lies to cause as much hurt and pain that he could, the fact that my dad fighting for custody for his two sons was just unbelievably stupid he couldn’t look after us even if he wanted to (which he really didn’t) here was a man who would lie if you asked what day it was! why well because he could.

It was a very close run thing and my mum finally won (if you can call it that) purely because he couldn’t get his facts consistent but hey he still dragged it out for 3 days and in those days legal aid meant you paid no matter what you had, and it took my mother 6 years to pay for her divorce but she never missed a payment, my mum was awarded custody and my father had to pay £3 a week for both of us (he only ever payed once and my mum never cashed it we found it the day after she died) and he was allowed to see us every other week on a Saturday this was indeed was when the fun would begin!

He would pick us up from the top of the street and we would climb aboard a bus and head to Newcastle to wander the streets or if the weather was bad he would take us to the Odeon in Newcastle to see triple bills of films that me and my brother never really understood he barely interacted with us, and spent as little on us as possible then back on the bus to be left to run down the street back home, we probably went about 8 times then in the October he had to go and work away (in London so he claimed ) and the next time we would see him was on the Christmas eve, an occasion that made me hate Christmas eve to this day and something I will (possibly) visit in a later Blog, this was the last time we ever saw him he sent a few scribbled letters and he was soon dispatched to the rear of my mind because times got harder and I had other things to worry about.

By this time people at school were aware of the situation (my brother and I have never discussed this god knows what he went through, I was about to descend into hell) and although my teachers were fabulous my brother and I just got on with it heads down and tried to do our best, but kids being kids there were some mean nasty things said, all of which I would never repeat here and yes they are still with me in my heart because I hold a grudge for life not just for Christmas, I would have the last laugh though, because within two years there would be an epidemic of divorce and I was a hardened survivor of the trials and tribulations and the people who had been horrible to me got it back in spades, I showed no mercy and left many of my peers in total disarray something I am not proud of all these years later, but it is something I would do again in a heartbeat if the opportunity arose again, why? These people put me through hell simply because they could and seeing them cry (and they did indeed break their hearts) made me feel stronger than them, I had come through that particular battle scarred but not beaten. Times moved on and indeed a lot of these blogs will cover the later years some of which I’m incredibly proud of and some of which I’m not, Did this make me a stronger person it did indeed but I also paid a heavy price I feel that I’m quite emotionally closed off, my friends that I have are very touchy feely (in a great way) and I don’t know how to respond if you were to ask me how many times I hugged my mother (and I did indeed love her) I can tell you without missing a beat 5 times Twice at both my weddings  once after the birth of my daughter the day I came home from the army and the day she died I kissed her only twice the day I married Shirley and the day she died. When I met Shirley and her daughter I made a promise to do better and it’s a sad fact that I wish I could have done better for my mother she knew I loved her  and I knew she loved me but we kept each other at arm’s length  for the rest of our lives.

I got divorced before I was 22 we should never have got married, but I love a challenge and it was the best thing I could to wind up my bride's step father! but there has always been something about somebody telling me that I can’t do something, I learnt the hard way and although I was the wronged party I walked away with nothing, simply because I wanted to be free, do I hate her for what happened no I was only disappointed she lied and didn't keep her word to tell me if she was unhappy!and I couldn’t live with someone who wasn’t being truthful I didn’t hate her although at the time I didn’t like what she had done to me, but the lesson was learnt and it cost me a fortune, but I was happy! simple honesty would have saved us both a lot of heartache and to be honest the relationship had run its course if we had conversed we could have saved what little heartache we went through, we have spoken briefly a number of times since and there is no regret or remorse on either of our sides (I hope) again I hope to cover the topic in another chapter because there was some incredibly silly moments in our time together and some serious threats of violence from her step father towards me unfortunately for him I was a dumbass, he didn’t scare me (he should of) as much as he thought he could!

The wife also went through a painful divorce (I would like her to write her own story one day) with mudslinging and far be it for me to say that both sides were right or wrong. I feel that the case dragged on simply for the need to strike out at each other and not to let anybody else get the last shot in, I don’t disagree with what the wife did she simply stood her ground in the same way my mother did ! she did what any mother would have done but sometimes I feel a different tack might have shortened the ever dragging case, again her former partner disappeared into the background for whatever reason and we got on with our lives.

As I said at the beginning of this particular blog I’m from a broken home, but I have never played on it, I came from a loving family I had a mother who did everything she could for her two sons (to the detriment of her own life) I occasionally see the scum that pollute The Jeremy Kyle Show who usually open with I’m from a broken home, I’m from a family affected by divorce well boys and girls your talking bollocks your all scum who want the world to give you everything while you sponge of all the hard working people who got on with their lives (oops sorry I ventured off into the land of ranting) what I was trying to say was that here I am further on down the road and I like to think that apart from one or two  little foibles I’m doing alright I haven’t turned into a raving lunatic (well I suppose that depends on who you ask) I only turn into Basil Fawlty on nights that there’s a full moon and a wind blowing from the west! 

This blog is a reworking of a chapter from piffle balderdash and waffle with only a slight reworking I decided to post it here I still stand by every word, I'm from a broken home but it didn't stop me, until the next time ......Toodles!