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Sometime in 2008 – Tracey
Nine months have passed since the day we met in the bar. I feel her fist hit my cheekbone. She’s standing in front of me, shouting, shaking in anger. I can see the vitriol in her eyes. This isn’t quite the end, but it’s coming. I tell her not to hit me again.
I had grown up worrying that having witnessed Michael hitting my mother and me, I’d turn out to be a woman beater like him, especially given I’ve got such a fiery temper. Fortunately, I found I wasn’t. There’d been a few times during my life when girlfriends had hit me, and I never struck them back. I’m sure I’ve been cruel in many other ways, but I never resorted to physical violence.
Between the beginning and end of the relationship with Tracey, there was a captivating introduction, exciting storylines, passion, and moments of connection. But then one day, a conversation broke the spell and revealed the ending’s irresistible approach, which despite all our best efforts, or maybe because of them, brought us our parting. Of course, it wasn’t a complete ending. We stayed friends and would meet up for a cuppa now and again. Then one day she got ill, and eventually, the illness took its toll on her and ended her life.
* * *
2014 – What’s Important Now Won’t be later
The notes I’d made for this chapter had been written in 2010, four years ago. Some of them don’t feel relevant any longer. For instance, Tracey had sometimes teased me about how she fancied Ross Kemp, a TV personality, and how I shouldn’t worry because she was not ever likely to meet him. I refrained from telling her I’d occasionally see him at the Arts Club in London.
Most of what was important then, isn’t now, and likewise what’s happening now probably won’t be of much interest later, but little things and sometimes big things continue to haunt us through life.
* * *
2008 – Stories for Another Day
A few months after Tracey and I went our separate ways in late 2008, I met Sue B, and around five years later we too came to part. Stories I may tell another day, but for now, let’s focus on the more distant past.
* * *
1984 – Gibraltar
I was fishing on a sea jetty in Gibraltar with some people I’d met there in 1984. I decided that cutting the head off a fish I’d just caught was the right thing to do. A few minutes later, one of my friend’s mother told me not to do that again. I look back and wonder what possessed me to think it was a good idea in the first place, to put looking tough ahead of the suffering of an animal. The person who did that, well, he was me, but I am no longer him.
Sadly, my life often feels like a dot-to-dot extravaganza of cringeworthy moments. If I had written the Sinatra song, My Way, my version would have included, ‘Regrets, I’ve had a lot’.
* * *
September 1976
On the 29th of September 1615, King James the First signed a Royal Charter which brought Edward Wilson’s school in Camberwell into existence.
Wilson’s school relocated from Camberwell to a site right next to Roundshaw in 1975, so to us locals it looked like a new school. The building was pristine and included squash courts and a swimming pool. By changing its location, it changed its identity. It had been quite a good school back in Camberwell, but here it quickly became one of the top schools in the country.
Being so close to Roundshaw meant kids from our junior school regularly went to the new school on the block to taunt the pupils as they came out. However, they soon realised this wasn’t such a good idea given a lot of the kids were from Camberwell so were up for a bit of fighting, and that, coupled with them being twice the size of the junior school pupils, brought that activity to a succinct end.
* * *
1976 – Wilson’s School – First Day
In September 1976, I, along with another 120 children, wearing our brand-new uniforms, black trousers, blazer, white shirt, black and yellow striped tie, and black shoes, stood in front of the yellow brick building. New kids, new bricks.
We were told that, in future though, we were not to enter the school through this entrance, but instead use the side one. But for this occasion, we marched into the main setting of our life for the next seven years.
* * *
18th October 2014 – Henry VIII and End Dates
I am approaching 50, and I’ve been writing this for close to ten years now. Time becomes more noticeable with age, even though it seems to slip by faster than ever. Long days, short weeks, long months, short years. What seems like distant history, for example, Henry VIII’s reign, is just over nine of my life spans ago. Given how fast my life seems to have flown past, there’s a sense a lot of our history was not that long ago, and how quickly things have changed in such a short period, especially over the last 50 years.
This recognition of transience as I get older, where everything comes to pass, both good and bad, is still very hard to come to terms with. Especially the loss of loved ones, things and situations I hold dear. Still, at least it leads me to appreciate them more while they or I are still here.
Love, time and life are beginning to show their end dates to me.
* * *
1976 – Morden Swimming Baths
I am underwater, I can hear muffled sounds down there. I come up for air and hear a whistle blowing loudly. I look towards the sound. “Yellow armbands out!” The lifeguard shouts whilst pointing at me. I’m tempted to argue I’m wearing mine on my leg, so it doesn’t count, but I don’t. I get out obediently.
* * *
7th September 2014
I’m at a garden party to celebrate my mother’s friends, Colin and Val’s 50th wedding anniversary. Whilst we’re waiting for them to turn up a white-haired man approaches me.
I look at him and say, “I recognise you from somewhere”.
“You should do,” he says, “we sat next to each other in class for five years.”
It’s Robbie, he was one of the good kids from school. I was one of the bad ones.
* * *
12th March 2014
Mum and I pop in to see her friends, Colin and Val. We hadn’t seen them for at least ten years but reconnected with them via Facebook and organised this meeting.
Colin, as you may remember, had been a father figure to me as a child, and both he and his wife had served as an example of a truly happy couple to me. You don’t get to see too many of those in life. Someone recently told me the modern version of the wedding vows should replace the vow, “For better or worse,” with, “For better or forget it”.
Colin and Val bought this house close to 40 years ago. The garden was overgrown back then. Colin cut down the foliage and flattened the ground with a large roller, built an extension, knocked rooms into each other, and together he and Val held parties, brought up their children, looked after Val’s mum, and lived most of their lives here. The central stage upon which their lives were acted out, was occasionally one for me too.
* * *
2012 – Revisiting Wilson’s
Jeff Shaw was my form master at Wilson’s for my first five years there. This meant he was the teacher in charge of our registration class until we got to 16. At that point, the pupils either left or went into the school’s 6th form department.
In 1976, Jeff, our form master looked young, which, given he was only about 15 years older than us, he was. But, still, he was very much an adult to us 11-year-olds. It’s been 30 years since I left Wilson’s and Jeff is showing me around the school, pointing out what’s changed, what’s new, who’s still here, who’s left, and who’s died.
As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but notice how youthful he was. Some people become unrecognisable as time passes, but not Jeff. My mother, on the other hand, looked older than her years in her 30s. It wasn’t her genetics but the clothes she wore, her hairstyle and make-up. Even now, when I look back at photos of her from then, she looks older than her years. She didn’t look old for her age; it was just the culture directing her appearance.
* * *
12th March 2014 – Colin and Val’s House
Mum is sitting next to Val, we’re all chatting. I show Val a few tricks on her iPad. She says she knows them already, which rather steals my thunder. Then I take some photos with my phone, Mum leans over towards Val, they look old and young at the same time.
* * *
First Bad Impressions
In my first few days at school, I made a bit of a bad impression. Firstly, I told our class prefect to put his hand on the desk in front of me, and as he did, I slammed my stump down on a nerve point in the middle of the back of his hand. I didn’t notice at the time, but Jeff assured me years later, that I had him close to tears. Yet another cringeworthy moment.
* * *
April 2011 – Radio 4 Interview – Part 1
A BBC Radio 4 presenter asks me questions on the phone about John Galliano, the famous fashion designer, who’d just been sacked for making racist and antisemitic remarks.
BBC Presenter: “So what was John Galliano like at school?”
Me: “He was five years above me, so I didn’t have much to do with him.”
BBC Presenter: “Was there anything different about him, did he stand out?”
Me: “His hair was pretty much all over the place, in a way, he doesn’t look much different now to how he looked then. I don’t think he was happy being wrapped up in a uniform, so, he made sure it was never worn properly. He was definitely a fish out of water. [A Gibraltarian fish out of water, who sometimes didn’t keep his head, even if he liked giving it.] He was outwardly very camp and made sure everyone knew he was gay.”
* * *
September 1976 Wilson’s School – Sometime in the First Week.
I’m standing near John Galliano in the corridor outside my form classroom.
“You’re gay,” I say, stating the obvious, with a sneer on my face.
He looks at me, “What did you just say, you little spastic?”
“Gay,” I confirmed.
“Fuck off,” he said as he kicked me hard up the arse. (Kicked I said). A tear came to my eye, and then the other one too and then the first one again.
* * *
April 2011 – Radio 4 Interview – Part 2
The BBC Radio 4 Presenter asks me more questions.
BBC Radio Presenter: “So how did he deal with the torments of others?”
Me: “I think he played up to it. He was gay and proud of it. I once called him gay and he kicked me. It’s typical for oppressed groups to attack each other. You see it all the time. This latest incident of Galliano getting drunk and being filmed being anti-Semitic is similar to what happened between him and me all those years ago.”
BBC Radio Presenter: “That’s very interesting but I don’t think we can use that story.”
And they didn’t.
* * *
1976 – First week at Wilson’s
As usual, I didn’t learn my lesson from this incident and decided to call one of the senior prefects by his nickname, Dougal, because his hair curtained his face like a dog puppet called Dougal’s in the children’s program, The Magic Roundabout.
His response was to give me, “Two sides”. This meant I had to fill two pages of A4 lined paper with meaningful writing. Not only that, but it had to be written on a subject. The subject he set me was, “The IMF” (The International Monetary Fund). Trust me, this brought more tears to my eyes than Galliano’s kick. I spent hours copying text from the Financial Times in the school library following his directive. The upshot of this was I have gone through life with a small but occasionally useful knowledge about the IMF. Consequently, there’ve been occasions when I’ve been grateful for his punishment. I realise that does sound a bit dodgy, but at least I’m being honest.
To make matters a little less better, a few days later I was sitting in Sutton Library listening to some music with some large headphones on. At that time the library offered a music listening service. My mum came up to me, I nodded towards “Dougal” who by coincidence had just walked into the area and was approaching the counter.
“Look Mum, there’s Dougal!” I said at the top of my voice (although I thought I was speaking normally).
“They all call him Dougal because he looks like a fat version of Dougal. I hate him, he gave me two sides.”
My mum looked at me, pretended to take off some headphones, put her finger to her mouth and said, “Shhh!” She laughed as Dougal, red-faced, smiled at me.
The next day at school I got another two sides. I think it was on sound waves.
* * *
25 October 2014
I’m at home in front of my computer. This morning, I noticed an appointment in my calendar from this time next year for today. In it, I added a little message to myself, something like, “Hello from me a year ago, I wonder what will happen or if I’ll even still be here.”
Sometimes I go through months of playing computer games intensely. I’m going through one now. The chosen game is online 8 Ball Pool which my daughter Leah had introduced me to sometime ago. It’s a bit of a time waster and certainly stops me from being as creative as I could be. I’m not sure what causes me to do this, maybe it’s an escape, or some kind of meditative state or maybe I just need times of wastefulness to drive me back into more meaningful pursuits.
When I’m playing with other people online, I often find myself laughing because of the interaction between them and myself, so part of it is about connection. But when it comes to playing proficiently, I always get to a point when I know I can’t progress much further, but many other players can, and will always be far better than I’ll ever be. Once virtual reality shows me the reality of my limitations, it’s then I start to get back to intense writing, music production, painting, or photography. It’s then that I enter an artistic stage again.
* * *
September 2007 – The Gateway
I am in a pub garden after a family meetup and John, my stepfather, is walking in front of me. He gets to the gate and stands there. He doesn’t know how to open it. He just stands there waiting. He is in the early to middle stages of dementia. Over the next seven years, we will watch him deteriorate into another version of himself.
* * *
12th March 2014 – Wallington Surrey
Mum and I are sitting in a café. We share a similar liking for cheap greasy spoon cafes and English Breakfasts. The smell of bacon has greeted me in the morning throughout my life.
Mum’s currently selling her house and going to buy an apartment near where I live in Eastbourne. We go through some of the paperwork. She is feeling overwhelmed by the idea of moving, but she’s relieved to have finally decided what to do next. It will be strange to have her living so close to me.
Mum: “Is there a spiritualist church in Eastbourne?”
Me: “I think so.”
Mum: “I’ve been going to one quite a bit lately.”
Me: “Why do you go?”
Mum: “It’s interesting and I feel there’s something there.”
Me: “Maybe.”
Mum: “Oh, whilst I remember, just in case I’m ever hospitalised, tell them I’m allergic to Aspirin. Just a small amount could have a very bad effect.”
Me: [I nod] “OK, I think I’m allergic to penicillin.”
Mum: “Really, how did you find out?”
Me: “The last time I had some I got a rash around my waist.”
Mum: “Oh.”
This café we’re in, it’s full of people, it’s almost like a circus. A couple of female traffic wardens are sitting at another table, and one of them can’t stop looking at me. She’s interested in my arms, probably in how I eat. She’s not that pretty so I don’t encourage her.
Me: “Your friend annoyed me the other day when we looked at that flat you’re buying.”
Mum: “Who, Sheryl? What did she do?”
Me: “Yes, her. She shouted from the balcony to those other people who’d been looking at the flat you’re interested in and told them that they couldn’t have it because you were getting it. I mean how embarrassing. I could have killed her.”
Mum: “Did she really say that?”
Me: “Yes!”
Mum: “Oh dear, maybe they didn’t hear her.”
Me: “Maybe they just couldn’t believe what they were hearing.”
* * *
12th March 2014 – Later that Day
Mum is with her friend Gill.
“Shuffle the cards, Angela.”
Mum shuffles a pack of Tarot cards.
The cards are placed in front of her.
Gill: “Ooh this one’s interesting Angela, I don’t think your move to Eastbourne is going to happen.”
She shows Mum the crumbling tower card.
Mum: “I don’t see why not, I mean I have a buyer for my one, and even if that falls through the company selling me the flat will buy my house at the going price.”
Gill: “Well, maybe it means you need to get the building surveyed properly. Anyway, this card is more about finding power and security within yourself, instead of within material objects.”
* * *
13th March 2014 – Morning
Mum, over the phone to me: “I couldn’t sleep last night, I’d gone over the figures, you know, how much I’d have coming in and how much it was going to cost to live in the flat in Eastbourne and I couldn’t make ends meet. It was only when I called Stephen in the middle of the night and went through it, I realised I was adding it all up wrongly. Sometimes, I’m so silly [she laughs]. So I had a sleepless night for nothing.”
* * *
13th March 2014 – At the End of the Day
It was sunny today, Mum and her friends cut the grass in the front garden, had a cup of tea, and then went to the spiritualist church. It wasn’t so much of a church in the traditional sense, but a grey house on the main road with a sign on it that said, Spiritualist Church.
As Mum sat down with her friend, the woman who was speaking that evening approached her. “Hello Angela, I have a message for you.”
Somebody nearby started coughing which triggered Mum into coughing too. Embarrassed because she was trying to focus on what the speaker was saying, she covered her mouth, giggled for a moment, and fumbled in her handbag for a tissue. For a second, she paused, put her hand to her neck and winced. She angled her head backwards and sideways and said, “My neck’s hurting. I think I’m going.”
She then collapsed onto her friend who was sitting next to her.
The other people quickly gathered around, put her on the floor and felt for a pulse but could not find one. For the next few minutes, a couple of women performed CPR on her, and at one point Mum seemed to sigh. After about seven minutes the paramedics turned up, spending the next 45 minutes performing CPR. Eventually, to everyone’s relief, they got her heart beating again; it was then the ambulance crew took her to the hospital.
* * *
13th March – 10 pm
I’m at my computer, trying to lay out a design. The phone rings.
Doctor: “Hello is that Simon Smith.”
Me: “Yes.”
Doctor: “Hi, I’m a doctor at St George’s Hospital in Tooting, is Angela Hill your mother?”
Me: “Yes. Is she okay?”
Doctor: “Your mother collapsed earlier this evening, and she’s currently here under sedation. We won’t be sure if she’s been affected until she wakes up.”
Me: “Shall I come up?”
Doctor: “You can if you wish but we will probably keep her sedated for a day or so. Is your mother on any medication?”
Me: “I think she takes quite a lot, but I don’t know what exactly. She did tell me to say she’s allergic to Aspirin.”
Doctor: “That’s useful, I was just about to prescribe some for her.”
Me: “Funny, she only told me about that recently. So do you think she’s going to be all right?”
Doctor: “It’s hard to tell, her heart did stop beating for a while. We’ll be running some checks and doing some scans, but we really can’t tell until she wakes up.”
Me: “When will that happen?”
Doctor: “We’ll try to wake her tomorrow”
I get the ward details from the doctor and call Stephen, my brother, who lives in Australia.
* * *
Phone Call with my brother Stephen
Stephen: “Shall I come over?”
Me: “I don’t think you should, there’s nothing we can do until we know what state she’s in. I talked to a doctor earlier and they said it would be best if someone was there when she starts to come around, but they’re not sure of her prognosis yet.”
Stephen: I was only just talking to her today. I told her not to over-exert herself. Why did she cut the lawn, we can pay someone to do that for her?”
Me: “I’ll let you know what they tell me as soon as they do.”
* * *
CHAPTER 19
* * *
