Amelia's story Read online

  Amelia’s Story

  by D. G. Torrens

  (The child first and foremost)

  Copyright 2011 D. G. Torrens

  License notes: This e-book is for your personal enjoyment only.

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  Cover Design by H F Pixel and Ares Jun

  Edited by Firstediting.com

  To my beautiful daughter, it is for you that I have written this book. To help you understand your mother’s life and answer any questions you might have. You are my inspiration, my heart, and my life. I love you, princess.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  The Beginning

  Llandewii

  Colton Hall

  The Arrival of Susie

  Broughton Estate

  Highfield House Children’s Home

  Breeton House (1st Visit)

  Broughton Estate (Back Home)

  Breeton House Children’s Home

  Maidstone Children’s Home

  Bryn Tyn

  A Dangerous Encounter

  Near Death

  A Surprise Christmas

  The Great Escape

  Westbrook Hall

  The Norwegians

  Westbrook Hall Football Event

  Broken Trust

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Where do I start, princess? One day you will ask me why I have never spoken about my childhood, and that, my sweetheart, is when I shall hand you this book. Once you have read the words from cover to cover, you will have the answer to your question.

  For some, a childhood can be a very scary part of life, and for me it was. I learned that when your life and destiny is in the hands of the devil himself (or in my case, the devil herself), there is only one safe place of escape and retreat—your mind.

  In reading this book, you will be taken on a journey of a young woman you won’t know or recognize. That woman is me, sweetheart, your Mama. You may cry and feel the pain and struggle of a young woman, but in turn you will wonder at her strength and will to carry on. I never knew how I would tell you my life story; it is not a straightforward chapter from my life. There are many diversions, which is why I decided that writing this book for you was the best way for both of us.

  But first, my princess, let me talk about you and what I want for you. My hopes and dreams . . .

  As I write this, you are only two years and eight months old. You have the energy of a hundred children and confidence of so many more! You are extremely intelligent and never fail to surprise me. I wonder at your creative skills and learning capabilities, which many have said exceed your years. This is probably why you are not in the least bit interested in sleeping at any time—your brain is far too busy! Only when your body has said, “Enough is enough” are you forced to sleep!

  Based on my own childhood, I had to be sure you wanted for nothing. You need to feel so loved, safe, and secure so you will grow up to be a loving, independent, beautiful woman without insecurities and doubts. I hope you can honestly say that you never knew fear, rejection, or pain. The most important thing for me as your mother is that you always feel happiness when looking back on your own childhood. All those memories will cement the fact that you were, and always will be, loved unconditionally.

  There are a few things I want you to remember and take with you through your own life. Here are five things you can never recover: 1.) A stone once thrown; 2.) A word after it’s said; 3.) An occasion once missed; 4.) Time when it has passed; 5.) A person after they have passed on. Don’t go through your life with regrets, darling. Make the most of every single moment.

  Princess, you have brought me so much more love than I have ever dreamed of and more than I ever believed possible. You are my inspiration and whole world. I love you.

  Now, to end this prologue with a favourite phrase of mine by an unknown author: In the end it’s not the amount of breaths we took, but the moments that took our breath away.

  Back to Table of Contents

  The Beginning

  On a cold December morning, I was thrust onto this planet with great force following a thirty-hour labor suffered by my mother, Heidi Sue Thomas. This was the day my tragic childhood began. My birth was not to be the great family celebration it should have been. Alas, it was quite the opposite. My mother was a twenty-year-old woman—a rebel for her own cause! She met her first love (my father), Christopher Jason Gillingham, in a conservative club in Manchester during the summer of 1968, in which my father was on a two-week leave from the R.A.F. They fell in love, and within three months they were officially engaged.

  My mother was born Heidi Sue Thomas in 1947 in Denton, Manchester. She was born without emotion and did not feel for the needs of others, only for herself. She was incapable of feeling; it was not something that came naturally to her. She could not identify with the word sympathy at all.

  I found out much later in life (during my thirties) some very truthful hurts about my mother. She was admitted to a psychiatric ward in her late teens, and she was an uncontrollable, destructive force, full of hate for everyone. She poisoned everything good that came in contact with her, and she was a true destroyer of good. She never felt remorse for her actions and she could not be reasoned with at all. So, to me, she was not really human at all. If diagnosed in this day and age, she would more than likely be diagnosed as a sociopath.

  However, this was the 1960s, and it was a completely different world back then, with a completely different set of rules. Shame was something no family wanted to suffer, least of all my Grandma and Grandad Thomas (my mother’s parents). They were such proud people, churchgoers every Sunday. Grandad Thomas was a scout leader and a factory foreman, and my grandmother was a housewife and full-time mother. So they did what a lot of families did in that period of time to cover up the shame—they dealt with it quietly, so as not to draw attention upon themselves from the rest of their community.

  They were the first family on their street to own a car (Morris Minor, I believe). To own one car was a luxury in those days, unlike today where there are multiple cars per family. The streets were so much quieter. Children could play safely on the road; that’s how rare it was to see a car. My grandparents bought their first house for £2,500—a large sum in those days. My mother was an extremely attractive woman with dark, sultry looks and deep brown eyes, and she knew it to, and used this to her advantage to get what she wanted and get away with anything she needed.

  My mother had a normal childhood and was brought up by fairly strict parents; they were a typical nuclear family. My mother and her brother, Geoffrey, were ten years apart in age. They were dressed, fed, and cared for well. Mother had a good education and went to grammar school. She would receive a good clip ’round the ear by her father if she was out of line, which was also pretty normal back then.

  At the time of their meeting, my mother and father were both nineteen years old, but the law at the time stated that any couple wishing to marry without parental consent had to be twenty-one years of age. My father’s parents were against the marriage, as they thought my mother was not good enough for their son. Rumors had spilled out into the village with regards to her promiscuous antics and general behaviour.

  Her parents could no longer control their own daughter, and so Granda
d Thomas would knock her from one end of the kitchen to the other, and still she would smile, finding it all hilarious. He did not beat her often; however, when she was totally out of control he would hit her about the house. They reached the point of sheer frustration with my mother and eventually were happy to relinquish all responsibility and pass her on to Christopher, my father.

  However, Christopher’s parents had knowledge of Heidi’s previous stint in the psychiatric ward due to some investigations carried out when their own concerns about Heidi were raised. Grandma and Grandad George, Christopher’s parents, paid a visit to the local doctors, and behind closed doors they asked my mother’s physician for some insight into what was wrong with her.

  They stated that their son was about to marry Heidi, and that they knew something was not right—the public outbursts, uncontrollable temper, unreasonable behaviour, and unwarranted hate. The physician, of course, was not at liberty to discuss patient information, but he advised Christopher’s parents to tell their son that when it gets difficult he should just run the other way and don’t look back. Of course, this is not a response that would be given today; this was a small community village where everyone knew each other and they were all friends. Family situations were handled so very differently back then.

  Marital consent was refused by Christopher’s parents, so a long engagement ensued, during which time holes started to appear in their relationship and arguments became a daily occurrence. My mother’s public outbursts became an embarrassment, and my father could not control when these would occur, as they were not goaded in anyway whatsoever.

  They could be walking down a street, and for no apparent reason my mother would start screaming and shouting, occasionally even lashing out. Father was no longer keen to marry Heidi and called off the engagement, but he had no idea that she was with child (me). However, Mother knew what she wanted and how to ensure she had her wish, my father’s hand in marriage.

  Mother made the trip from Hull to Beverly to request a meeting with the base padre, Rev. Hemmingway, at R.A.F. Leaconsfield, to announce the pregnancy and explain how she had felt that my father had jilted her. What happened following this meeting could not be comprehended in 2012—the church, armed forces, and my mother all came together to collude in what was to be a forced marriage. This meeting took place without my father’s knowledge, and at that point he had no idea that my mother was pregnant.

  Very soon following this meeting, my father was called to HQ for an urgent meeting with his CO. He was puzzled, anxious, and wondered what could be so serious that warranted an urgent meeting at base. On his arrival, my father was directed to the general office and ordered to wait outside until he was called. As he stood waiting by the door, my father began to feel more and more anxious.

  Suddenly, the office door opened, and he was called in by his CO. Father straightened his uniform and walked in. What he saw before him made him freeze with nerves—Rev. Hemmingway and Heidi. He wondered what could have been so important that required the reverend and mother to be present, and a little part of him knew that it was my mother who had instigated this situation, but he had no idea why.

  Father was informed in no uncertain terms that Mother was pregnant with his child. At that exact moment, he felt their eyes piercing through him, as my mother stood there with tears rolling down her face, the perfect picture of a wronged woman, and the padre patted her on the back with a consoling hand. His CO and Rev. Hemmingway continued to stare at my father coldly, whose facial expression showed a scared twenty-year-old man caught in a trap.

  Father was offered a few choices as his misdemeanors were laid out before him. He was going to be charged on several accounts of contravening camp standing orders, for being away from his station without permission, for not assisting with chores . . . the list of fantasy petty charges spilled out before him. Last but not least, Rev. Hemmingway mentioned that deserting his fiancée while pregnant was not good for anyone.

  The CO went on to explain the choices my father had:

  1. Choose to ignore your responsibilities—then you will face all charges as mentioned earlier.

  2. If you do the right thing by proceeding to marry Heidi and accept your responsibilities, then no such charges will be brought against you.

  Entrapment worked. As a young twenty-year-old man, passionate about his career in the R.A.F, he did the only thing he could do and agreed to marry my mother. Following his decision, all charges were dropped. Hard to believe such a thing could happen, but back then this was common and not unheard of at all. Reluctantly, both sets of parents signed the relevant documents to allow them to marry.

  My mother and father had a very small wedding, and they were married by none other than Rev. Hemmingway. There were only a small number of people in attendance. Everyone knew this was not the pairing of those two souls who had once wanted to be together, so the whole affair was kept minimal.

  Everyone wore forced smiles on their faces for the group photos, and then moved on to the small reception that took place in a pub overlooking the square. My parents went on a two-week honeymoon to Scotland, where they spent some time in a cozy cottage overlooking the sea. My father soon had to return to base with his new assignment in the cable bay, where he worked as a wireman to make up wire looms for aircraft modification. Mother was growing daily, and so were her unpredictable moods (more so than usual), which father attributed to pregnancy hormones. This went on until the night I was born, a cold wintry night on December 14. No sooner was I in this world did Father head off to the local pub for a few drinks. Mother remained in hospital for a couple of days.

  Within a short period of time, Mother and Father were given an R.A.F. house on base as a permanent residence, which was a palace compared to the bed-sit they were originally in. It was a spacious three-bedroom house, fitted with everything they would need, and this is where all three of us stayed until my brother, Jake, was born eighteen months later. My father was training to be an Aircraft Engineer, which served him in good stead much later on in his career as he went on to secure a position working directly for the Sultan of Brunei as Chief Engineer for his many private planes.

  However, my mother was getting itchy feet, and she started going out more and more to social clubs with her friend, while my father was away on assignments. On one such occasion, she’d met a man, Robert Thomas, with whom she began an affair. When my father was posted away, she would use that time to build her relationship with Robert. One day after being away with the R.A.F. for a few weeks, my father returned home earlier than expected to find my mother and Robert naked in bed. I do not know where Jake and I were at this time, but thankfully we were not anywhere in the vicinity.

  My father flew into a violent rage and beat the living daylights out of Robert and then turned on my mother and gave her a beating also. He was arrested but not formerly charged with assault. This was to finalize the end of a doomed relationship. Luckily for my father, this would not affect his career as a promising young Aircraft Engineer. He was not at all interested in Jake and I, or what might happen to us, as long as he was as far away from my mother as possible.

  Father never had the time or the peace of mind to form a bond with his two children, so missing us was not a worry for him. Our father could not have been happier for his eventual escape to his new life; this was what he had been dreaming about. He never looked back, not once.

  As for my mother, her affair changed all our lives forever. Mother moved in with Robert almost immediately, and things were once again tough. We were all living in a cramped little bed-sit, with virtually no money and a bad-tempered mother. Robert and Mother eventually married, and Robert decided he wanted to adopt us with a little help in the decision from our mother. The adoption took place a couple of years later. This was met with no resistance at all from my father, who was more than happy to sign the relevant documents and hand over complete responsibility so he could continue the rest of his life. He felt he had no bond with Jake or I, and
he did not want to fight for his right as a father, something he made abundantly clear, much to the disgust of his parents who tried everything to persuade him not to sign the papers.

  My grandparents had pleaded with my father not to sign his rights away. Grandma George was on her knees, crying and pleading to our father, but it was to no avail. This was to be the end of my father’s presence in our lives for over three decades. This was something I have since discovered broke my grandma’s heart, and she never really forgave my father for doing what he did. There was a bridge leading into the village where my grandparents lived, and they both lived in hope that one day, when we were old enough, Jake and I would walk over it together to see them once again.

  My grandparents said their goodbyes, knowing my mother would never allow them to visit us ever again. She had lied to everyone, and led my father’s family to believe she and Robert were immigrating to Switzerland with both Jake and I—a terrible deceit by anyone’s standards. To keep children away from their grandparents is unthinkable; they were good people who often took care of us and had a lot of love to give, as if we were their own children. Jake and I were their first grandchildren and stayed with Grandma and Grandad George for over a month during a period when Mother and Father were trying to reconcile their differences. The bond our grandparents had with Jake and I was very strong.