Fight To Forgive

True Begginings

. As Squeeze sang in the old song 'Cool For Cats' - it's the beatings I don't need.

Before I started to go to the self-help group, if you would have asked me when all my issues had started, I would have come back to you saying mid-teens. How wrong I was.

I restarted my story many times, going back, further back and even further back in time to try and understand when my train came off its tracks. At one stage I wondered if indeed it had ever stood on tracks at all? I knew when I was following the right path for my story. It was when I had to metaphorically pick up the paper I was writing my story on and wring out the tears.

It came as some shock, but the realisation that the start of this story was actually before I was born was quite some surprise and caused an amount of internal disbelief. But this was the last bit of the jigsaw that all the other pieces started to cling to, to make the picture start to form. It is very important to realise what I am about to say is not finger pointing, the blame game or 'looking for excuses' It is fact! You can't dispute facts.

My father was English and of the era of what was known as 'The Stiff Upper Lip'. His father died when he was a child and his mother was a no-nonsense matriarch. Times were tough, no time for those 'Damn Emotions'. As such, he had a tough upbringing and had no memories of a father and therefore a father's role. He could just not hack it. His temper was that of 'light the blue touch paper and stand back'.

My early memories were when I may have an accident at home, break something, drop something, answer back, you know the kind of thing my mum would say those immortal words, 'wait till your father comes home'. Those words struck fear and horror. It meant I was to get a severe beating. I often fell down, went to the corner of the room and cowered, but it's like the beating went on an on till the red mist left his eyes. I will say at this time, it was not his fault, he had no guide when he was a child and he knew no better. He died from cancer. The only good side of cancer was we had that time to talk. I had that time to forgive him, and I did.

There was once when I was trying to leave home, as a young teen. God love me, I had a bag with something to wear and my toys. I tried to leave from the kitchen door to the outside. My mum was screaming and crying, my dad had me by the scruff of my neck with one hand, dragging me back in the house shouting at me and beating me. I just don't know what the neighbours thought. I don't know why they sat back and did nothing. I just remember that shortly after that, mum and dad went somewhere for a few days and I lived with family friends in a village near by till they returned. This was the first time I was away from them. These were a lovely few days. They had a piano, I hacked and banged out 'noise; because I can't play, there were crescendos and quiet bits, I played for ages, but afterwards I felt so much better. I had released my anger through music. A very important lesson learned. The other good thing was I found that I enjoyed cooking. I helped make a melton mobray pork pie. A very English thing. A very special pastry and the meat inside encased in a tangy sticky almost jelly. I digress. If I think about food, I always digress a little...

There were times when I just had strange thoughts. One I remember was I had long hair and a skirt, and was 'almost a girl'. I was at the top of a hill near where I lived. It was windy. Leaning into the wind I flew down to the bottom, then into the air like a bird. Another was that there was a girl I liked who lived down the road, I had a thought that she had rice paper knickers. I went to her house, she took them off and we eat them. I was about 12 then I think!! Now for those phycology types out there, I am sure this means something. If it does, please don't try to find me and tell me, I don't want to know.

At junior school, even my friends would beat me. Often for no reason, but I stress, not often. Maybe four or five times in as many years. We moved to the other end of the country when I was eleven. On one of our family visits back a few years later, I looked up one of these friends. We had a lovely afternoon listening to music. He gave me my first Album (Vinyl) It was Emeson Lake and Palmer, the one with the impression of a white bird in flight on the cover. I discovered the track, Just Take A Pebble. It hit home and always makes me sad and emotional. The words meant so much and explained how I felt.