Chapter 2 – Leaving Home (1929 – 13 Years old)

 

I make no apologies for my past; it was my past which made my future. It would be fair to say, that I had, unbeknown to myself a loving family. It was the event of the death of my father in the trenches of the First World War which caused my mother to alienate herself from his family. She had no family of her own and with him gone, her world collapsed. She turned to disgrace and melancholy and to dull her pain her best friend became the bottle.

She moved me away from his family, at such an age as I was then, that I never recollected any family but her. My mothers despair left her in no fit state to look after me. She narrowly avoided being institutionalised several times. I lived in constant fear, that each knock on the door would bring a policeman and a custodian from the local orphanage. Each knock... only brought another debt collector, or another more unsavoury caller. The two types were hardly distinguishable. I knew when to be present and when to disappear.

My schooling had been sporadic, the teachers were in the best part bullies and enjoyed the mocking, they bestowed on me. Especially reminding me, of the times my mother would turn up at the school hanging onto the wrought iron railings, shouting my name, inebriated beyond all common decency. I would leave picking the dejected creature from the ground, supporting her to whichever hovel we would currently be living in. After each outburst came remorse, until sobriety took its effect and then again back on the downward treadmill.

I slept in and wore the clothes I stood up in. There were no blankets, other than a couple of thread bare ones, the good ones had long since been pawned. Each well intended gesture would end up the same, whatever could be sold for drink was. There was no hiding place that she could not find such was her thirst and to stand in her way, no child of my age would have been strong enough, she would have beaten me to a pulp without realising, such was her need.

I resented everyone and woe betides anyone who so much as mentioned my mother, would see me flying into a rage to protect her. We were the family from nowhere, but one thing was for sure, she was for the poor house if she lasted that long and I was for the gallows.

Each day I walked the streets, watching enviously, families and observing how happy they were. I shied away from any contact, walking the streets and taking any opportunity given to me for mischief, it was coming up to Christmas and in January only a few weeks away it would be my fourteenth birthday. There is not a lot to do with neither friends nor money. I hung around anywhere that was free, browsing the windows in the town was a speciality, even here I was discouraged for my shabbiness. I was one of those people who you know exist, but you don't particularly want to see.

My poor dead father had  always been an icon for me and as those winter days drew closer to my  birthday I knew that there was only one course of action open to me, the same as my father. I remember that early on one of those dark winter mornings I rose early.

The weather was dry and crisp which was fortunate for my boots, which had seen better days, were uncomfortable. The leather was worn and the colour had faded to white where they had been scuffed. Underneath the sole had started to fail, a hole all too apparent.

I was always embarrassed by my appearance and would always sit or run flat footed so no one could see the soles of my boots. But even then with nothing, I suppose, I had some pride or was it conceit. I used to say to myself, “well at least I’m not wearing clogs,” and kicking sparks off of the iron keckers that surrounded the wooden sole of them on the cobble stones like many of the other boys were wearing. I tore off some cardboard and inserted it into the boot, my fingers pushing it into place to use as an insole, teasing it in so it would be comfortable to walk on.

I knew my father had joined the army at fourteen, so with my mind set, I quietly opened the door and slipped out, no one would miss me.

The walk was long, the nearest town which had a recruiting office was Sunderland and that was several miles away. I set off; it took nearly four hours to walk it. I tried hitching lifts, but luck was not with me that day. I had only a couple of pennies on me which I always tried to keep as a last resort. Each village on the way had some form of drinking fountain; I found a few of these on my journey and rested briefly for a few minutes by each of them.

The sun was by now risen and it was pleasant walking, as I walked I removed my thick old jacket and then jumper. In the high street of the town of my destination I asked for directions off of some working men standing outside a public house, they soon set me on my way and within a few more minutes the recruiting office lay in front of me. I stopped, I had butter flies in my stomach, all sorts of images had been racing through my mind as I had walked here. I had, in those nine miles set my entire life by what would be said in those next few minutes.

With my heart in my mouth I turned the handle. The recruiting office was a Victorian house which had been turned into offices. The downstairs was a reception room, with sturdy oak chairs and two wooden tables. Pinned to the front of each was the union flag. There were several pictures around the wall, including some recruitment posters for the local regiment. On one of the desks was a bell not the type you would find in a hotel but a small bell with a handle, slightly larger than the type a lady might use to summon tea.

I waited for a couple of minutes but could detect no noise from anywhere inside the building. I had been very quiet coming in. My hand gingerly picked up the bell, making sure that it did not ring. Thankfully it did not, otherwise I might have dropped it with shock. I listened again...  Satisfied that no one knew of my presence I rang it quickly, trying not to make the ringing to loud lest it annoy the people I had come to see thus impinging my chances of success.

The floorboards creaked above my head and the sound of heavy boots clumped down the stairs, I placed the bell back on the table and turned to meet my nemesis. Through the doorway a figure in battle dress entered. I looked at the soldier in front of me, he was as I had imagined my father to be: the hob nailed boots were bulled to a mirror like finish, his khaki puttees wrapped round on top of his boots the pressed trouser legs of his thick woollen battle dress tucked in to the top of the puttees, and his battle dress jacket done up tight with his chest filling it out. He had on his chest several campaign medals and on his shoulders, flashes denoting his regiment while on his arm were three chevrons and crossed flags above them. He was presumably in his mid-thirties, but anyone over twenty, might have been of pensionable age to me. He looked at me.

'Hello son, what can I do for you?' I looked back at the recruiting sergeant, barely able to find my voice.

'I want to join up, please sir.'

'That's good to know, that a young fella' want a man's life. How old are you?' The sergeant looked at the ragamuffin in front of him, he could see that my home life wasn't a bed of roses , I was skinny and the clothes apart from being worn out, showed that I was not their first owner, to have been their second would have been fortunate.

'I'll be fourteen in January sir.....' I responded.  I was panicking, my only chance might be slipping from my grasp as I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind.

'My dad was in the war.' Against his better judgement, the sergeant knew he had to ask.

'Will your dad be coming to see me?' He knew the answer before he received it.

'No, he got killed in the War.'

'I'm sorry to hear that, he would be proud to know you want to follow in his footsteps.' He now came into the office walked to the desk and sat behind it, he gestured to the chair in front of him.

'Sit down son.' He opened the draw of the desk and took out a number of forms and a pencil.

'I always write them in pencil first then, write over it in ink, when I get everything right.' I smiled and agreed, this seemed an eminently practical thing to do and moreover it gave the sergeant a more human face.

'Now my name is Colour Sergeant Winters, before we can decide on anything there are a few preliminaries that we need to go through. You just call me Colour Sergeant and we'll get on famously.'

The formalities were quickly established, there were a few basic tests which I did, under his guidance to achieve a pass. Everything was in order, he would arrange for a medical.

'We have a doctor that comes to the recruiting office each week; he'll be in tomorrow at ten or in a week's time?' There was no hesitation.

'I'll be here tomorrow Colour Sergeant.'

'That's a good lad, I'll mark you down, there'll be a few of you.' We now went through all the forms that had to be signed.

'Now you’re living with your ma' aren't you?' I nodded, 'she'll need to sign these.' He laid on the table a couple of forms and explained what they were.

'Now when can she come to the recruiting office?' There was a pause while I thought of something to say.

'She...she's not well enough, and it's a long way.' He looked at me, I felt as if my chance was slipping away again.

'Have you got an Uncle that could come in?' Again, the answer was no. The Colour Sergeant looked at me, I believe he was weighing me up, the last thing he wanted was a run away.

'Now you take the form home and make sure that your ma' and no one else signs it...And bring it back tomorrow.' he asked her name and printed it on the form and marked with his pencil, an “X” against where she had to sign.

'I'll need your birth certificate as well, if you haven't got it I'll need a letter from your school.' I smiled, it was one of the few things I could contribute to the proceedings. I had heard boys, who did not have a birth certificate, had to go to the pit solicitor, before they were allowed down with their parents, to swear they were fourteen.

'I've seen it at home, it’s in the tin with all the papers, I've seen it, I'll get it.' It was perhaps one of the few things we had, well it was worth nothing, that's why ma' hadn't sold it. The Colour Sergeant looked at me.

'Now you come back tomorrow, just before ten and the week after your birthday you'll be in the army.' He stood up and extended his arm to me, it was the first time that anyone had extended their arm to me, I felt grown up and self-conscious both at the same time.  I took the Colour Sergeant's hand and shook it.

'I'll be back tomorrow.' I stated it as if my life depended on it. The Colour Sergeant escorted me to the door with my forms, as I left, I could feel him watching me go down the street. I looked around as I got to the corner, and could see him just going back into the recruiting office. He appeared to be smiling, I expect he was thinking to himself, “It might be the best thing that happens to him, if he turns up tomorrow.”

I positively sprang down the street, it did not matter I had hardly a thing to eat all day, that was not an unusual event. I was occupied with thoughts of the Colour Sergeant, his uniform and how I would look. I thought of all the childish things, of returning home in uniform. The first and then the second mile sped past, I did not even notice them, as the third and fourth miles past, I began to think of my mother.

How would I tell her? Could I tell her? The rages that I had seen her in when anyone mentioned the army, what had it done for her......Placing her in purgatory and who was to look after the child she had been left with....The more I thought of it, the more I resolved that subterfuge would be my best course of action. I would steal in like a thief in the night and take my birth certificate. I would stop at the library, borrow a pen and sign the form myself. By the time the intrigue was revealed, it would be too late. I would be in the army.

My pace slackened now, the elation I had felt only a short while ago, had given way to a different feeling. I felt like a thief. I cursed my thoughts, why did I have to feel this way, I had done nothing wrong. It was not as if I had asked to be born or put in this situation, this was the best I could do, the best for both of us.

The sunny afternoon began to chill as I moved on. I put my jumper and jacket back on and trudged home. All too soon I was back at the shared rooms, where my mother was currently lodging. On entering I found her sat in front of the empty grate, just the ashes in it to keep her company. It was a good time, she was sober, but not long enough removed from her usual state, to be worked up. When she was in this condition, she was melancholy and thought of the past. After a while these thoughts would tempt her to drink.

Against my better judgement, I told her where I had been that day and what the Colour Sergeant had said to me. She sat listening with no emotion and as I talked, the tears ran down her face. Within a moment she was sobbing, I can only describe it, from my experiences many years later of seeing an Italian woman with her family dead around her. It was a soulful moment, which did not leave me unmoved. I snorted and wiped back my own tears. It was only a few minutes, though in our pit of despair it felt much longer until she had composed herself sufficiently and she asked me for the papers the Colour Sergeant had given me. I hesitated with them.

'I'll sign it, you don't have to worry... God knows, I haven't been any good, but I’ll do this for you.' She did as she had stated and signed the form, with a nib and bottle of ink that I ran up the stairs and borrowed off of our land lady.

The following morning I walked back to the recruiting office, the doctor performed the medical and pronounced me “A1”. After all the formalities were performed, I swore an oath of allegiance that day to my King and Country and took the Kings shilling from the Colour Sergeant, which with inflation had grown slightly. A rail warrant and a small amount of petty cash was given to me, allowing me to travel and purchase a few toiletries. The date was set.