thewizard1944-blog

[thewizard1944-blog]

I was born in an attic in Constable  the beautiful county of Angus in the city of Dundee, Scotland. It was safer to be born at home as it was 1944 and the second world war was still raging in Britain and Europe. I was the youngest child of Margaret and Peter Duff. I had three older brothers and a sister. My mother was a hard working woman who loved her children and often took part time work to put food on the table. My mother was the oldest of five children. My grandmother had five children all by different fathers, at that time a great shame to be known to have a child out of wedlock.Like my mother my grandmother was a hard working woman,working well into her seventies. She lived well into her nineties with no sign of dementia only dying after a fall which caused a deep veined thrombosis. DVT. My father ......well he was from a family of 10 brothers and one sister brought up in a two roomed tenement close in Hunter Street. He was a hard drinking hard fighting man. Violence was all around him as a child and he carried that violence into his teens and into his marriage to my mother. Violence was an everyday occurance, whether it was hitting my mother or laying it to his kids. My poor mother got many a hiding from my father. The only time it seemed normal was the summer holidays when he carted all the family off to a hut in Blairgowrie  to pick berries . I remember picking all day and till it was almost dark. We all thought my father would share the proceeds of our labour with us. This was a vain hope as my father spent all the money in the pub. I remember well the day he took myself and my three brothers on the boat to Fife. Once there he said ok I want to see who is the best swimmer and the winner will get a pie. So off we go swimming like mad.The thing was when we came out of the water my father was nowhere to be found.He had left as and went to the pub leaving us no money for the boat and no money for the bus to get home . We all had to sneak on the boat then when we reached the other side we had to walk a couple of miles to get home. Another time we were in town and he went to the pub and told me to go home. He gave me a pound of fish and a library book and a ten shilling note. I lost the ten shilling note and left the fish and the library book on the bus. I knew I was going to be thrashed so stayed out very late. When i finally went home it was dark. I thought my father would be in his bed . Wrong , he was waiting for me with belt in hand and the buckle end hanging down. He hit me with the buckle end and I saw the stars as my eyebrow burst open and blood spurting out. My mother was screaming and grabbed hold of me to shield me from further blows. Then words I heard before when he beat me or my brothers was " get to the hospital and tell them you fell" there I was again in casualty telling lies to cover for my father.The last thrashing I had from my father was when we were in town and he told me to wait outside the pub while he had a pint of beer. I am standing there waiting for him when I felt what I thought was rain but it was pigeon shit. I started to wipe what I thought was rain on my head as I was wiping I noticed my hand was green. Just as that happened my father emerged from the pub. He looked at what was on my head and started slapping me about the head and body. I was wishing he was dead so this would stop. Little did I know he would soon be dead. As a child there was no tv nor computers, your entertainment was on the streets with all the other kids, only thing you knew about when to finish playing in the evening was when you saw the leerie lighting the street gas lights , then you knew it was time to leave your friends and go home. School was a Catholic one. The teachers there were as violent as my father. The teachers thought nothing of slapping your face or hitting you with a leather strap . I swore then that if I ever married and had children that they would never be subjected to the violence I had seen or had been inflicted on me. The violence stopped in my home when I was ten years old, with the death of my father at the age of thirty seven. With my fathers death a great fear was lifted from my life. I was no longer afraid for the first time in my young life . Little did I know of the violence that was to follow in the very near future. At this time we were living on an estate called Beechwood  . A working class area with lovely hard working people like my mother. It was here that I met lifelong friends. My closest friends were Billy Mearns and Zander Broon. Sadly Billy passed away a few years ago . Zander is still close to me. After my fathers death both my older brothers Peter and Andy went to the merchant navy and my sister went to live with my grandmother. I was then at home with my brother Mick and my mother. Times were still hard and my mother was now working full time in the battery factory. This left us like most of our friends latch key kids. This was the key on a string behind the letterbox of your house so you can get in to the house after school. After school and no one at home it was better to play with your friends till my mother came home. Being a kid it was easy to get up to mischief and I got up to my fair share but on the whole I was a good kid. Little did I know that on Thursday March the 29th 1956 it would be a day my life would change. Unbeknown to me my mother was concerned about my welfare being a latch key kid. What I didn't know was that she had been in touch with the welfare department expressing her concerns worried that I might be led into crime or that something might happen to me during the long school holidays while she was working full time plus overtime which meant she was late home. On the 29th of March 1956 I answered the door to a man I had never seen before. He introduced himself as Mr Ireland. He was very polite and had this bag of sweets which caught my eye immediately. Remember sweets were hard to come by for poor people. Also looking out the window I saw a car in the street. I had never been in a car before and didn't know anyone who owned one either. Mr. Ireland said it was his car and would I like to go for a spin. Well a ride in a car and a bag of sweets how could I refuse. This was to be the worst decision of my young life. I loved the sweets and the journey was great but it seemed very long. At last we stopped by this huge mansion. The place was called Gartmore near Aberfoyle and this huge mansion was called Gartmore House. I was told to get out of the car and go and play with other boys who were in a field. It was a great day but a couple of hours later I was tired and wanted to go home. I started to panick as the car that I came in was nowhere to be seen. One of the kids I was playing with said I should go with him to see the headmaster. The headmaster was a religious man called Brother Wilfred. I told him I wanted to go home, this remark was met with a swift blow to my face, the first of many attacks on my young body by a full grown man. I was told that I would not be going home for a long time that this was an approved school I was in. I was lead away to the basement and given new clothes. Brown corduroy jacket and shorts. The same as the other 80 kids . Their ages from seven to sixteen. All kids like myself who were unable to be taken care of by their parents. I was taken to a dormitory with four single beds and told which one was mine. Now I was told it was supper time. I went to the dining room and told to have a cocoa drink. I said I didn't like cocoa this was met with a blow to the side of my head which knocked me to the floor. This blow to the head was by another religious man called Brother Patrick. I got up and drank the cocoa then off to bed. My head was spinning I wondered where the hell I was and how did I end up in this madhouse. I also wondered what would my mother think if she knew what I was suffering. I woke with a start in the morning . There was a hand between my legs, "jesus christ"I thought,what's going on ? It was another religeous brother by the name of Michael. He saw the look of horror on my eleven year old face, innocent I might have been, but I knew what he did was wrong. Before I could ask what he was doing he told me he was checking to see if I had wet the bed. I also wondered why he had a big slipper in his hand. It was not long before I found the answer. He moved to another bed and did the same thing to another young lad. Then in one swift movement he pulled the covers back and started beating the kid between the legs with the slipper. I was told later that day that the kid had an erection and this was the punishment for this "unnatural occurance " a beating on the erection with the slipper. I was not at the stage for an erection yet but had made up my mind to avoid it . My first breakfast was porridge. It was the first time I had seen porridge and it looked disgusting. I made the big mistake of telling Brother Patrick I didn't want it, and with one crack of his hand he sent my and the chair crashing to the floor. Two days in this hell hole and I looked like a boxer . I wondered how much I could take. Sunday came and the marks for everyone was read out. A B C D The higher the mark the more pocket money you got. All of it to be spent in the school tuck shop. There was nothing for me as I was a new boy. Then the most disgusting weekly ritual was performed. Ten boys were called out at random the told to take off their underpants and hold the open so they can be examined for skid marks. Those kids who had the skid marks lost their pocket money and were beaten with a stick on the arse. It was sadistic and humiliating. I was there less than a week and was distressed at what I had witnessed.  Gartmore House. As mass was compulsory every morning I decided to become an altar boy. This meant getting up an hour earlier and being woken by the priest therefore missing the Brother who liked to put his hands between the kids legs to see if the bed was wet. The priest was called Father McGrory a man whe liked to drink before the mass. A man who also liked to slap my face if I did not pour enough wine in the chalice when he was doing the communion. But I felt the slap was better than getting felt up in bed so I continued to be an altar boy until I left this house of horrors. I was young fit and full of energy this was noticed by Brother Thaddeus an elderly brother who took a liking to me . Every weekend while the other boys were on these long long marches Brother Thaddeus and I and another couple of boys would go off to the countryside at a slow relaxed pace. This activity and me being with Brother Thaddeus had not gone unnoticed by a certain Mr.Shine an evil man in the guise of a teacher. Every weekend he wound pick me out for the long long march. Then Brother Thaddeus would use his authority and call me out to be with him. I knew even then that there would be a day of reckoning with the evil Mr.Shine. I was assigned a daily chore to be done after mass and before breakfast. It was the worst ever job, scrubbing two marble lions at entrance of the great house then the inside porch with its marble floor. In the summer time it was lovely but wintertime was so cold . On my knees , scrubbing , my knees so cold ,so sore. Then off to breakfast ,porridge, which by now I was prepared to eat rather than be assaulted. Then classroom. The first period was the catachism which had to be memorised word for word . A class of twenty people all mumbling away . If had not been so serious it would have been funny. The teacher Brother Michael carried a drumstick which he wielded with deadly accuracy on the tips of the fingers of the kids who could not recite the passage in the catachism when requested. The time rolled on and it was now summertime it was berry picking time. The whole school moved to Auchterhouse in Angus. Well coming from Dundee if berry picking had been an Olympic sport I certainly would have won the gold as my childhood summer holidays was spent picking berries. I was really looking forward to it. My joy was to be short lived for I was in the squad of pickers that Mr Shine was in charge of. The first day of picking I was going hell for leather up the drill picking every berry. The berry canes were very high you could not see who was in the next drill . Suddenly I heard the rustling of the berry canes. My worst nightmare was realised it was Mr.Shine with a furious look and the fist raised ,I dont remember much as he had knocked me out. His revenge was complete. I woke with a throbbing head sore ribs and was later to see in the mirror a black eye. Did I report this incident? Of course not. Berry picking over it was back to St. Ninians in Gartmore.In the basement there was a room called the Boot Room. It was well named for it was there that you were taken when the holy Brothers said you were bad and it was there that you were giving a good booting from these animals. I never worked it out in my head how the were teaching you love and peace that God loved all his children while still beating us kids. What happened to the saying in the bible about better that a man had a millstone placed round his neck and he was dropped in the deepest part of the ocean than harm one of my children ?? How I wished these Holy Brothers had millstone around their necks. I think my experience in this school made me not a believer in God or any religion. The months rolled on and one weekend when I was allowed home I read an article in the newspaper that people in my kind of school were being allowed out on a thing called licence. I approached the headmaster when I returned from my weekend at home. I asked him to fully explain how this affected me. He told me as I was of good charachter and a good student he would look at my case favorably. I was here almost two years and was desperate to go home. little did I know then that there would be no welcome on the mat for me. My mother by now had met a new man. He was ex military and very regimented, but he was good to my mother thats what mattered. Back at the school I was called to the headmaster room to be told I was going home. I was now 13 years old and felt it was the right time for me to go home. Back to a normal school and among my friends was going to be a dream come true, or was it. Did I go home on the 19th of April 1958 to a better life than the one I had left behind previously? I went to my local school, St John's Secondary. It was there that yet again I was physically assaulted by a teacher. His name I withhold, as you will know why later. I was called "smiler" by many teachers for obvious reasons. I was glad to be back home in my own environment among my great friends. It only took a few days for my first encounter with the teacher who was to torment me for the rest of my schooldays. As we lined up in rows every day for assembly I would peep out with my usual smiley face . The teacher looking down the line would see me and call me out. I would have to go to his room where he would strap my hands with a big leather belt. This happened every day this teacher took assembly for the rest of my schooling. I met this teacher many years later in a pub. I asked if he remembered me, he said he did and was sorry for all thrashing that he inflicted on me. When I asked him why ,he told me he was an alcoholic. He said it was my smiley face and being so happy and he wished that he was young again and free from alcohol like me. Thats why he hated me. When I saw him in the pub I wanted to beat his brains out,but aftet I heard his story I felt heart sorry for him. I knew there and then that I would never be an alcoholic, and I was proved right and had my last drink when I was 27 years old, that was 44 years ago. I cant imagine starting again now. Freedom was just around the corner I was 15 years old and had the wanderlust, I decided to hitchhike to London. I manage to get a lift to Perth and was walking with my thumb up for the next lift when a car pulled up. It was a husband and wife. They were heading south and said I could ride with them. The only problem was they were stopping overnight with relatives and I could also stay. I was happy about that as I was tired. Little did I know that I was in for a different kind of ride. I went to bed and dropped off right away I was so tired. In the middle of the night I was woken suddenly by footsteps. I opened my eyes and as the moon lit up the room the female was standing there naked. She was a fine looking woman aged late 30s with a fine figure. I whispered to her what reason did she have for coming to my room. She did not answer she just climbed in to bed and got on top of me. I was 15 years old and I had an almighty hard as a rock erection. As she climbed in bed beside me and slid down on my uncontrollable hormone, I had been thinking if I shout for her husband,and being a big guy he will beat me up, but as she started to move up and down on me all thoughts of shouting for her husband evaporated. I was thinking I might give her an hour or so to stop what she was doing to me, maybe then I would call her husband. I was in the moment and no-one or nothing could stop the explosions that were to follow on this my introduction to nights of passion. Next morning at breakfast she was explaining to her husband how I had a nightmare and she came to my room to comfort me. My face was like a beetroot and I was unable to speak. All I can say is over my ensuing teenage years I was comforted many times. At last the nightmare childhood was but a distant memory. W hen you are 15 years old you fall in and out of love every other day. I was no different . When I went back to Dundee I met a nice girl called Christine. She looked like Elizabeth Taylor, striking blue eyes and hair as black as coal. We were both 15 years old and the hormones were running wild.I took her to the cinema on our first date. In the back row we kissed and cuddled. I was horny as hell and so was Christine. Sadly that night there was to be no sex, just a goodbye kiss and the promise of another date the following week. All week I look forward to meeting the beautiful Christine. We were to meet near her house at 6 o'clock on Friday night. The time rolled on and it was soon 7 o'clock I was seriously pissed off as I was in the mood to take the beautiful Christine's virginity. I knew she wanted me to be the first guy to have sex with her. So off I marched to her house to tell her what a shit she was for leading me on and not turning up for our date. As I neared the house I saw her leaning out of the upstairs window. She told me her parents did not allow her to go out. She said if I wanted I could climb up the drainpipe and into her bedroom. Well my hormones still active I was up the drainpipe like a shot. I was hiding behind the wardrobe but I felt my breathing was too loud. I said I would be better off inside the wardrobe. She told me to be quiet and it would not be long before her parents went to bed. A little while later I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs then I heard the toilet flush and her father say "goodnight" I was more than excited , I took off my pants I was ready. Then I heard the mothers footsteps on the stairs . I heard the toilet flush and my excitement was beyond the pale. Instead of hearing her say goodnight I heard the door open and she said "is that my new coat on the bed I will just hang it in the wardrobe". She opened the door and me with my sausage like a rocket in my hand was facing her. She started screaming for Johnny the husband. I was out like a shot, naked and tearing down the stairs and out the front door like a bat out of hell. I was hiding in the long grass at the back of the house and being thankful it was dark so johnny would not kill me. I made it home in the darkness and was feeling relieved. I knocked on the door and my mother opened the door to see me standing there naked. She looked at me, then she slapped my face, "saying where's your bloody key" not a word about me being naked. My next girl was called "Elizabeth" a beautiful girl with a stunning pixie like face, and as I was to find out she had an eye for me.Her father owned a garage which meant they were quite well off. Eizabeth had a vespa scooter and would come to my house to pick me up to go dancing.  My mates were in hysterics when the saw me on the pillion. They expected me be on a motor bike, which is what I had bragged she had. She took me home to meet her parents. That was a disastrous mistake as the mother hated me on site. The father was a nice easy going guy. I turned up that night in a black T shirt ,skin tight black trousers , black leather jacket and winklepicker shoes. Looking back I can now understand the look of horror on her face. At that time I thought I was Mr. cool. Again I was in trouble after being caught naked with her, in her parents bed. This time I was lucky as the bedsheet was covering us both completely. The mother thought I was on top as she cracked her daughters head with a broomstick. Once again I was on the run, only this time I managed to grab my trousers. Who needs shoe's and shirt when faced with a demented mother. Best of all I had my house key time in my trousers. . I loved her dearly and she loved me ,but the relationship was  to end disastrously for both of us. She came to my house one night with a backpack and said she had stolen £1000 from her dad and asked me to run away with her. This was my worst nightmare, I could not go on the run with her, I had a job and was happy at home. I said no and she left. I saw her again about 25 years later, she looked haggard and was now an alcoholic. I learned of her death a few years later, she was still a young woman. There were many women and many more adventures, but they will have to wait for another day. 

[thewizard1944-blog]

My Formative Years (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/jEKTiFeggu

[thewizard1944-blog]

My Formative Years (on Wattpad) http://w.tt/1SJBpb4

[thewizard1944-blog]

My Formative Years (on Wattpad) http://w.tt/1TMDQhU

[thewizard1944-blog]

My Formative Years (on Wattpad) http://w.tt/1Vxjw43 I was born in an attic in Constable Street in the city of Dundee Scotland. It was safer to be born at home as it was 1944 and the second world war was still raging in Britain and Europe. I was the youngest child of Margaret and Peter Duff. I had three older brothers and a sister. My mother was a hard working woman who loved her children and ofte…

[thewizard1944-blog]

My Formative Years (on Wattpad) http://w.tt/1PUjT1G I was born in an attic in Constable Street in the city of Dundee Scotland. It was safer to be born at home as it was 1944 and the second world war was still raging in Britain and Europe. I was the youngest child of Margaret and Peter Duff. I had three older brothers and a sister. My mother was a hard working woman who loved her children and ofte…

[thewizard1944-blog]

 I was born in an attic in Constable Street in the city of Dundee Scotland. It was safer to be born at home as it was 1944 and the second world war was still raging in Britain and Europe. I was the youngest child of Margaret and Peter Duff. I had three older brothers and a sister. My mother was a hard working woman who loved her children and often took part time work to put food on the table. My mother was the oldest of five children. My grandmother had five children all by different fathers, at that time a great shame to be known to have a child out of wedlock.Like my mother my grandmother was a hard working woman,working well into her seventies. She lived well into her nineties with no sign of dementia only dying after a fall which caused a deep veined thrombosis. DVT. My father ……well he was from a family of 10 brothers and one sister brought up in a two roomed tenement close in Hunter Street. He was a hard drinking hard fighting man. Violence was all around him as a child and he carried that violence into his teens and into his marriage to my mother. Violence was an everyday occurance, whether it was hitting my mother or laying it to his kids. My poor mother got many a hiding from my father. As a child there was no tv nor computers, your entertainment was on the streets with all the other kids, only thing you knew about when to finish playing in the evening was when you saw the leerie lighting the street gas lights , then you knew it was time to leave your friends and go home.