Andrew Stephen is an author. He is a retired teacher and spent many years as a panel member working for Hope Fostering Services. He now resides in Norfolk, where he enjoys writing, walking, and a slower pace of life. Andrew was kind enough to send us a short story to share on our website. This story is based on his own father, born in 1938.
Andrew says: This story is about my father’s childhood. Some of it is imagined, but not all. Some of the facts speak for themselves, and his story about the Recruiting Sergeant is absolutely true. The picture was broadened by conversations with his two stepsisters and my mother, who remembered the pain described by my father as they became closer. They met at the Embassy Dance Hall in Cambridge, having been taught Ballroom Dancing by the RAF! He was very good at it, and this was part of his attraction. She was also drawn to his vulnerability and a desire for a better life. When she was pregnant with me, she discovered that he was still sending money home. That ceased abruptly. We went to Aberdeen in 1963 and met his family. It was not a success. My father had said that it wouldn’t be. His mother’s relatives were a delight. His father was as I have described him, and his stepmother seemed a bit of a non-event to a ten-year-old. Many years later, I was privileged to do some work for the Hope Fostering Agency in Nottingham after I’d retired from teaching, and realised how good foster parents can transform the lives of children who’ve had a bad start in life. Their self-esteem soars, they do better in school, and they are given a fighting chance of a happy future. I learned so much about the value of fostering and just how much children respond to love and consistency. I will always be grateful to the Agency for deepening my knowledge of how powerful proper nurturing is. I never met my Dad’s foster parents in Aboyne or even found out who they were. Once, I stayed in Aboyne and inwardly gave thanks for the difference they made. I will always be grateful to them.
The train now departing
Robert could hardly believe that at last they were going. As he looked out through the grimy carriage window at the sullen and half-hearted lights of Aberdeen, the sense of escape was unmistakable. He’d imagined it for years, what it would be like, when and how, and just how complete? His father’s shadow was everywhere. Times without number, he had ruined everything Robert had tried to build or enjoy. His travelling companions would never understand his desperation to get away. For them, going to England was about drinking, smoking, and women in a town where they had yet to fail. They were playing cards and muttering about how fed up they were with a port that smelled of fish and poverty. The dance halls smelled of fish, the women smelled of fish, and in the end, everybody did. Robert’s grandfather had run a bookshop on Charles Street near the harbour. He wasn’t like the rest of the family. He loved books, learning, and history. He got Robert interested in his tales, but it was soon knocked out of him when he got home. His father was not a scholar, or much of a human being, really. He was a slight, taciturn man whose chair faced the fire and away from everyone else. He had a ferocious temper and a brooding sense of failure. His own father made it clear to him that becoming an engineer on a trawler was a huge disappointment. Life was a disappointment. Even the famous bookshop looked out on sheds of women gutting fish for hours on end and looking as bitter as the fish themselves. Granite city?
It may have glowed in the frost and moonlight. Otherwise it was hell on Earth. Robert had always enjoyed standing on the hills above Aberdeen, looking at its fairy-land glint in the moonlight. He often went to visit his mum’s family, who were packed into a tiny house on Jasmine Terrace. He was always made welcome there and, even though they didn’t have much money, there was so much laughter in the house and a sense of belonging. His mum was Irish and catholic. Maybe they were different from the dour people he was used to, who told him that punishment was good for him. It didn’t feel like it. It made him sullen, resentful, and sly. He kept his happy moments secret, like the memories he treasured of being a toddler who was loved and who loved his twin brother George, who he knew understood him completely. Like everyone else he loved, George was taken away by a truly horrible illness. Often, he wished it had been him. Death couldn’t be any worse than his abiding sense of lonely pointlessness.
It had all been so different when his mother was well. His father never gambled or raised his voice. Everyone seemed content. Although she had so many children, she had time for them all and sang them songs and told them stories, however busy she was . The happiness couldn’t last though. Mum died giving birth to another child, and his world collapsed. Suddenly, none of them were wanted, least of all the new arrival and Dad took it out on them with his belt and an increasingly vicious tongue. They were all farmed out to other family members, but for Robert, the future would be different. A lady from the hospital or some such place arrived and told him that they were going on an adventure. She packed a case for him while his father gazed into the fire, and soon they left. Robert had no idea where he was going, but it couldn’t possibly be any worse than home.
All this came back to him as the cards were being dealt, as it seemed as if their train would never leave. The only time he had ever been on a train before was from the very same platform. He’d seen trains from a distance but never been on one. He wasn’t sure what he thought about it. The lady was awkward and smelled a bit of mothballs, but she was surprisingly nice. In time, she explained that he would have a new family and a new home where he could be looked after properly. Daddy was too busy to look after him properly, and he would be looked after by a farmer and his wife, who had no children of their own. The lady explained what a farm was and talked about some strange animals. He thought that he might like meeting them-the animals and the farmer- but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t take to most grown-ups. They lied and promised things that never happened. Soon, he fell asleep. It felt very late. He had no way of knowing, but it was dark.
He had been told that they were going to a small place called Aboyne and that’s where he woke up as the train pulled noisily and clumsily into a much smaller station than the one he had left The lady introduced him to a man wearing some rough overalls and said that he would be Robert’s new Daddy. Then she went back across the footbridge to get her train home. He had been delivered.
In the morning he woke with a start. He wasn’t quite sure where he was. Another lady came in and helped him to get dressed. Then he had some breakfast, a rare treat, and he was given a cup of tea just like the grown-ups. It tasted lovely, although he would need to remember to let it cool down in the future, as the first few sips scalded his lips. He hadn’t felt so full in ages. He was beginning to feel cosy and sleepy again when the farmer told Robert that he would need to earn his keep. He took him outside to a hen coop, not that he knew what it was, opened the door, and put him inside. He was told to collect all the eggs he could find and was shown how to push the hens aside where necessary and where to look. And then he left. Within seconds, he ran back, appalled by the screams of a young boy who’d never seen hens before. They pecked the floor incessantly and seemingly wanted to peck his feet too. To Robert, they seemed wild and dangerous. It was the beginning of an adventure which he sometimes wished he didn’t have to join in with. Surprisingly, Gordon wasn’t at all angry. He didn’t know much about children, but he was kind. He taught Robert that his dogs weren’t dangerous and even the biggest animals liked to be spoken to and given a bit of fuss. Moira showed him how to make his bed and help her keep the place tidy. Sometimes he helped with the cooking, but mostly he was outside with Gordon helping with all the jobs he could manage. He tended the vegetables, led cows to milking, and in time he was trusted with heavy jobs like digging or sawing logs. He became stronger and forgot about his own father and his miserable cruelty.
He even enjoyed going to school when the time came. Gordon explained that he and Moira were temporary foster carers, but it seemed like everyone was happy to leave things as they were. One day they announced that they wanted to adopt him. He would be able to climb the hills and see the lochs gleam in the early morning sun for always. Aboyne seemed like heaven, and he was as happy as he’d ever been. Not that there was much to beat in his previous life. His spirits soared. He would be happy for the rest of his life. At least he thought he would. One day at breakfast his new parents announced that they wouldn’t be able to be his mum and dad anymore. From nowhere, a letter had arrived. Robert’s father had remarried, and he wanted his son back to add to the family’s income. Moira wept noisily, and Gordon didn’t know where to look. The dream had become a nightmare. Life obviously couldn’t be trusted. The moment it looked as if things might be fair and worthwhile after all, that illusion, like all of them, was soon shattered. Nothing much was said before Gordon drove him to Aberdeen in his battered truck. Before they got out, Gordon said that they would never forget him and that they hoped he would come back to them as soon as he was old enough to leave home. That was years away. Words were no good to him. He could see no future and feel nothing but betrayed.
Happily, his father was away at sea. His stepmother seemed kind enough, but a bit distant and unsure of herself. He noticed that she was younger and better dressed than his mother. She smelled of a very strong perfume too. Unlike the farm, there seemed to be nothing much to do except when his father was home. Then he was given chores, and in time he took on a paper round. Any money he earned from this and other odd jobs he was given was handed over straight away. This was the way of things now. His father was very strict, particularly when angry, which was most of the time. He was happy to use his belt regularly and viciously. Once, somehow, when he and his father were walking to collect his wages, after an argument, Robert somehow became caught in a gate. That was the official explanation and the one offered at the hospital, where he was told that he would have a scar and a weakness in his shoulder for the rest of his life. He was powerless in a home that was all about power. His stepmother had a curious kind of influence over her terrifying man. He often heard raised voices, and then his father would apologise for whatever he was supposed to have done.
Some new sisters appeared and, mercifully, Robert faded further and further into the background. There were arguments about his father’s gambling and, incredibly, his stepmother rang his father’s employers to complain that she and her children were going without because the wages that should have been coming into the house were being spent at the Bookies. He had heard his father swear that he would never do it again, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. An arrangement was made that she would collect her husband’s wages from the office every Friday. He would receive an allowance, and the children would at least have enough food and clothing in the future. Robert bore the brunt of his father’s weakness and humiliation, silently vowing that he would get out as soon as he could. Indeed, when his father was at sea, he ran away many times, sometimes hoping to get back to Aboyne, but the police always brought him back. His behaviour was erratic to say the least at school, where he was regularly given the tawse and sometimes sent home. He used to love learning and hearing about Kings and Queens, but now there seemed to be no point. He was used to being thrashed. No threat from school seemed to worry him. A wild spirit had been awoken within him. He remained terrified of his father, though. His anger had no limit.
As he approached sixteen, some people he knew went off on National Service. He went to the Army Recruiting Office in the centre of Aberdeen convinced that this was his best chance of escape. He told no one. After a series of tests and a medical, he was rejected as unfit for duty because of his damaged shoulder. He was full of bitterness and despair. Was there really no way out?
Then he read in the paper about the RAF, which also took boys on National Service and taught them a trade. He went to the Recruiting Office half expecting to be turned down again. He was. This time, he couldn’t hide his despair and broke down and wailed, tears streaming down his face. Normally, he didn’t show any emotion, but he just couldn’t help himself. What kind of man was he? The Recruiting Sergeant was nonplussed. He took him into another room, gave him tea, and waited for the storm to subside. Gently and kindly, he asked if he was happy at home. Robert told him the whole story, amazed that such a stern-looking figure in uniform could be so sympathetic. He looked at Robert, thought for a minute, and then made the momentous decision to accept him, saying that, if he were to be found unfit later, he would be old enough to stay away from home. He beamed as he signed his forms and stamped his railway warrant. He was free at last.
And now he was waiting in a compartment containing the hopes of four young boys heading for England. To Cambridge, in fact, where they hoped to learn a trade and have adventures. They had all had more than enough of Aberdeen and couldn’t wait to begin. At last, half an hour late, the train began to lurch out of the massive station. Steam hid the city from view. It seemed to contain the images of his first escape and suggest the unknown joys of his second. Life is full of departures and new beginnings. His new mates were wrapped up in their own thoughts, but surely they could not feel the same sense of soaring delight that he did. He would not look back. Gordon and Moira hadn’t been able to protect him, but they had shown him that happiness was possible, that encouragement was more effective and productive than fear. And that there was always hope. He smiled.
Thank you to Andrew for sharing his story. You can see excerpts of his poetry on his Instagram account – @acstephenauthor.
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