House on the Hill.

Prologue

Prologue
A bogeyman is usually an imaginary evil character but for me he was very real.
During my childhood, my mum would often say to me, "If you don't go to sleep, Ian, the bogeyman will come and get you."
My mum was right and the bogeyman was real, he was my father.
From the tender age of four, and probably earlier, I was beaten and dragged out of bed and slapped about the head and pushed under the water when I was having a bath. I lived in constant fear.
My mother was beaten all through her marriage to my father and I was constantly told by her to keep everything that happened in the family a secret, to protect the family name. Running away became the norm for me to get away from the constant beatings and the agony of watching my mother suffer. Christmas day was the only time I can remember my father being nice to the family and even having a laugh. Watching the clock, living in fear, listening to the door knock and frightened of what he would do was a constant nightmare. I constantly soiled and wet my bed and cried on my school desk and my education suffered because of the fear and the beatings.
As I grew up I became involved in gangs and football violence because I was rebellious and I thought violence was normal. having been brought up with it.
I finally turned the tables on my father and he was badly beaten for all the heartbreak and beatings my mother and I had endured.
When I was eighteen I left home. I couldn't bear to live in a house with so many bad memories. Everywhere I looked, I saw evidence of past violence; the blood stains on the wall, the hallway where my father tried to strangle my mother, the stairs where I was dragged down by my father, the bathroom where my dad used to put my head under the water and the bathroom mirror where my mum and I used to look at our bruised faces. This was where my mum used to put make- up on our faces to cover the marks so no one would know.
I finally left Derwent Road, the House on the Hill, for good.
Eventually, my mother too left my father and married a man called Jack Walsh. He sadly died of cancer in 2013.
My father died in March 1990 but before he died I finally made peace with him. At the funeral I stood next to his coffin and I cried. I asked him why he never said he loved me?
My mother died in hospital in July 2016, after a serious illness. Two weeks after her death I decided to write this book in her memory and to reach out to people who read this book who have suffered abuse, not to live in fear and run away and suffer like I did, but to go to the authorities and seek help.
Remember there is hope.
My final message goes to my mum. I will love you and cherish your memory always.
Your loving son Ian xx