Dear William

Chapter Three: Being Different

Dad managed two Care Homes for teenagers with severe disabilities, or severely mentally handicapped as they were still called back in 1986. I hated the term even then as an eleven year old child. I couldn't describe why, but the word "handicapped" made me cringe. It wasn't anything to do with the associated images it conjured up. There was just something about the word. 

In addition to the two Homes, Dad had also set up a Residential Unit called Hazelwood Court. He often talked about this with his sister, Aunty Ruth when we went to visit her. Ruth worked at the mental hospital where my Dad had been a nursing officer. 

Aunty Ruth was down-to-earth and easy going. The complete opposite to my mother. She and my mother didn't see eye to eye, so my visits to her house were always with Dad and James. 

She lived in a three bedroom semi on a housing estate (similar to the estate we lived on). I had two older cousins Vanessa and David who were both in their late teens when I was eleven, and my younger cousin Ben who was three at the time. 

My mother never accompanied us on visits to Dad's family. 

Nanna, Dad's mother lived in the cottage on the car park of the mental hospital. 

My Grandad, Dad's father had passed away when I was six. 

I had only vague memories of this Grandad as we didn't see him often. I can only recall his soft Irish accent and vaguely picture his face. An older version of my father. I never saw him standing up. He was always in bed. James always referred to him as "Little" Grandad. 

Nanna was very different to Gran. 

She always wore her hair curled around her head in a style I can't quite describe. One time I saw her brushing her hair in the kitchen and was shocked to discover that her hair was actually really long. I had waist length hair myself and so too did she. It was just that she always wore it up in this bizarre ring that went around her head. 

There was one occasion when Gran couldn't look after us. I think it was around the time Aunty Helen died. 

Dad took me to Nanna's cottage to spend the day with her while he went to work at the hospital. 

I didn't like going to Nanna's at the best of times due to my fear of the hospital patients who wandered freely around the grounds. 

I had never stayed at Nanna's without Dad being there and I clung to him tearfully begging him not to leave me. 

Nanna wasn't as child orientated as Gran was and I struggled to feel at ease in her company. 

I wanted to watch Postman Pat on her television, but Nanna wouldn't let me as she wanted to watch Sons And Daughters. 

I wish now, that Dad had made more of an effort back then to get me more involved with his side of the family. 

I was now in my last year of primary school. 

School was a stable part of my life. I wanted this final year to last forever as the thought of moving up to High School terrified me. 

My teacher, Mrs Patrick was lovely. A middle aged lady with a gentle Yorkshire accent. 

I sat on a table with Kirsty, Sally and Heather. We invented a club. Sally was the chairperson. We would secretly pass notes to each other under the table. 

Every Tuesday morning we had Singing Together. A programme for schools on the radio. We were each given a booklet to follow the words to the songs. There was one particularly sad song about a calf going to be slaughtered. It had such a sad tune to it too.