FURTHER EDUCATION, DETENTION CENTRE I started playing truant more and more. We unconsciously formed a school gang. All of us were having problems at home: cancer, divorce, death, alcoholism. My friend Paul Eckersley (no relation) who was being beaten by his father and going through his parents’ divorce used to steal from his parents and we started to go truanting together. Paul was much different to me in many ways. He was a little shorter but quite stocky, with red, tight, curly hair. We seemed to click from the word go. We were in the same class and having the same name helped, I suppose. Paul later went down the Hell’s Angel route, and also became a hard core drug addict like Roy Pickering and myself. We really didn’t seem to get any supportive help or counselling, just beaten with canes. Paul bought me lots of new clothes which I’d wear to go to our local cities, Manchester and Bolton. Paul used to steal the money from his dad’s pockets as he lay asleep after one of his drunken nights out, when he’d come in and give Paul, his mum and three other kids a hard time. I used to call for Paul. He lived near the old bus station at Leigh, right in the town centre in an old terraced house. I always waited for him in the back garden. They had a big, white pit bull terrier which looked very scary but was very friendly. You know what they say about dogs and owners? Well, this pit bull did remind me of Paul’s dad, who I rarely saw. Angry-looking, thick set, ready for a fight! Paul then encouraged me to try and steal some money from home. He told me of some hiding places. I checked and wow! I found a wallet with lots of crisp cash in it. And so I started stealing from my mother. We used to play truant, regularly. Wagging it, we called it, although quite sophisticated, we thought! We always wrote our sick notes and took them in from our parents. This was my first dabble at forgery, writing a sick note to my form teacher and forging my mum’s signature! I was good at this and never got caught playing truant! We also stole clothes from outside shops. I didn’t have many clothes, so I used to tell my mum that people were selling them at school because they were too big for them. I’d get the money and the clothes, so it was another bit of a scam. When I came home from school (or wagging it) there was no one there for me. There would be a note on the fireplace (just like the Oasis song): ‘Dinner on plate in micro oven. Put on for three and a half minutes, love Mum.’ Not microwave – we call ours at home now a ‘micro oven’ in memory, and laugh about it. I was all alone, getting no help or support, only beatings, which soon stopped as I started to stand up for myself. My uncle would come around to our house and beat me and beat me and all this was in the presence of my mum. I remember barricading myself in a bedroom, so scared and trying to protect myself. He was knocking some sense into me: ‘I’ll teach you a lesson, be good for your mum.’ I’d smell the alcohol on his breath. He was a very angry man, my uncle, always angry about anything. He later developed rheumatoid arthritis, which I believe (and research shows) is medically linked to unforgiveness and bitterness. It wasn’t all bad though. I remember school with fondness, I met some great friends there, not all of them got into trouble. I also remember the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. We all went to the East Lancashire Road from school to watch the Queen drive past and wave. Would I ever be in Her Majesty’s company again, or at her pleasure? I really didn’t have a clue about the future. The Sex Pistols released ‘God Save the Queen’ that year, in a mocking way. And on their first album they covered an Iggy Pop song, ‘No Fun’, and sang of ‘no future in God save the Queen’. Those words seemed to prophesy over many of our lives. I also met up with all the other rebellious people who were going through a lot of hurt and pain. Roy Pickering was a character. Although he only had one arm he could drive better than anyone I knew, chat the girls up better and fight better. When I say he could drive better, he used to take the compressor caps off his mum’s car so she couldn’t start it. She’d have to go to work on the bus and we could then steal the car and go joy-riding in it. We were all about thirteen or fourteen years old. At this time in my life we were shoplifting all the time – we’d have shoplifting competitions in Manchester. We’d steal things for ourselves and things we could sell. For example yo-yos were in fashion, so I took orders for them; we’d steal watches out of cupboards in shops; I stole a load of car keys from a car supplies shop and then we could steal out of cars. Then we discovered motorbikes. We’d buy old motorbikes – it started off with a little moped scooter and then progressed to a Honda 175 CB (we used to go out on the fields on that). The biggest I got was a Triumph 350 for a short while. This of course developed into more when I stole the Vauxhall Viva when I was thirteen. I drove to Manchester and through to Liverpool with pillows on the driver’s seat so that I could sit on them and see over the steering wheel. This brought excitement into my lonely, hurt and angry young life. I didn’t even think about any consequences. When you have nothing left to lose, or it seems that way, you take many risks and life-threatening decisions! This was to put my own life on the line and, sadly, other people’s, time and time again as I got older. Later coming back onto the estate we were seen by my friend’s brother who told his dad, and the police. So there you go; my first car-stealing expedition. We went and got arrested for that and I don’t think I stole any cars after that I first ran away from home around this time. I was thirteen and I slept on friends’ floors after they smuggled me in at night. We then started getting caught for shoplifting, Roy stealing his mum’s car, we just went crazy. In the end, Roy’s dad wouldn’t have him home and my mum wouldn’t have me home; we were too much trouble and embarrassment. So Roy and myself, rather than get bail like our co-defendants and friends, we got sent to an assessment centre at Atherton. This was like a massive school full of unruly young guys, up to age sixteen, I’d say. The rest of the population was all from around Manchester and Liverpool and everywhere in between. It was quite intimidating on arrival. Our possessions and clothes were taken; then we showered, were seen by the doctor and then sent to our dormitory. I didn’t really feel anything. The place was clean, the food was good. I soon settled in. I really enjoyed getting stuck into the schoolwork. The teachers seemed amazed at my grasp of English and my art really excelled. Woodend, as it was called, wasn’t a bad place. Just one or two of the teachers would really lay into (beat-up) some of the other boys. I had made a decision: I was going to keep my nose clean, and I did. We were there for three weeks. Roy and Paul got care orders, put in the care of the local authority. I was given a chance – I got my two years’ probation.

FURTHER EDUCATION, DETENTION CENTRE

I started playing truant more and more. We unconsciously formed a school gang. All of us were having problems at home: cancer, divorce, death, alcoholism. My friend @Paul Eckersley (no relation) who was being beaten by his father and going through his parents’ divorce used to steal from his parents and we started to go truanting together. Paul was much different to me in many ways. He was a little shorter but quite stocky, with red, tight, curly hair. We seemed to click from the word go. We were in the same class and having the same name helped, I suppose. Paul later went down the Hell’s Angel route, and also became a hard core drug addict like Roy Pickering and myself. We really didn’t seem to get any supportive help or counselling, just beaten with canes.

Paul bought me lots of new clothes which I’d wear to go to our local cities, Manchester and Bolton. Paul used to steal the money from his dad’s pockets as he lay asleep after one of his drunken nights out, when he’d come in and give Paul, his mum and three other kids a hard time. I used to call for Paul. He lived near the old bus station at Leigh, right in the town centre in an old terraced house. I always waited for him in the back garden. They had a big, white pit bull terrier which looked very scary but was very friendly. You know what they say about dogs and owners? Well, this pit bull did remind me of Paul’s dad, who I rarely saw. Angry-looking, thick set, ready for a fight!

Paul then encouraged me to try and steal some money from home. He told me of some hiding places. I checked and wow! I found a wallet with lots of crisp cash in it.

And so I started stealing from my mother. We used to play truant, regularly. Wagging it, we called it, although quite sophisticated, we thought! We always wrote our sick notes and took them in from our parents. This was my first dabble at forgery, writing a sick note to my form teacher and forging my mum’s signature! I was good at this and never got caught playing truant! We also stole clothes from outside shops. I didn’t have many clothes, so I used to tell my mum that people were selling them at school because they were too big for them. I’d get the money and the clothes, so it was another bit of a scam.

When I came home from school (or wagging it) there was no one there for me. There would be a note on the fireplace (just like the Oasis song): ‘Dinner on plate in micro oven. Put on for three and a half minutes, love Mum.’ Not microwave – we call ours at home now a ‘micro oven’ in memory, and laugh about it.

I was all alone, getting no help or support, only beatings, which soon stopped as I started to stand up for myself. My uncle would come around to our house and beat me and beat me and all this was in the presence of my mum. I remember barricading myself in a bedroom, so scared and trying to protect myself. He was knocking some sense into me: ‘I’ll teach you a lesson, be good for your mum.’ I’d smell the alcohol on his breath. He was a very angry man, my uncle, always angry about anything. He later developed rheumatoid arthritis, which I believe (and research shows) is medically linked to unforgiveness and bitterness.

It wasn’t all bad though. I remember school with fondness, I met some great friends there, not all of them got into trouble. I also remember the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. We all went to the East Lancashire Road from school to watch the Queen drive past and wave. Would I ever be in Her Majesty’s company again, or at her pleasure? I really didn’t have a clue about the future. The Sex Pistols released ‘God Save the Queen’ that year, in a mocking way. And on their first album they covered an Iggy Pop song, ‘No Fun’, and sang of ‘no future in God save the Queen’. Those words seemed to prophesy over many of our lives.

I also met up with all the other rebellious people who were going through a lot of hurt and pain. Roy Pickering was a character. Although he only had one arm he could drive better than anyone I knew, chat the girls up better and fight better. When I say he could drive better, he used to take the compressor caps off his mum’s car so she couldn’t start it. She’d have to go to work on the bus and we could then steal the car and go joy-riding in it. We were all about thirteen or fourteen years old.

At this time in my life we were shoplifting all the time – we’d have shoplifting competitions in Manchester. We’d steal things for ourselves and things we could sell. For example yo-yos were in fashion, so I took orders for them; we’d steal watches out of cupboards in shops; I stole a load of car keys from a car supplies shop and then we could steal out of cars.

Then we discovered motorbikes. We’d buy old motorbikes – it started off with a little moped scooter and then progressed to a Honda 175 CB (we used to go out on the fields on that). The biggest I got was a Triumph 350 for a short while. This of course developed into more when I stole the Vauxhall Viva when I was thirteen. I drove to Manchester and through to Liverpool with pillows on the driver’s seat so that I could sit on them and see over the steering wheel. This brought excitement into my lonely, hurt and angry young life. I didn’t even think about any consequences. When you have nothing left to lose, or it seems that way, you take many risks and life-threatening decisions! This was to put my own life on the line and, sadly, other people’s, time and time again as I got older. Later coming back onto the estate we were seen by my friend’s brother who told his dad, and the police. So there you go; my first car-stealing expedition. We went and got arrested for that and I don’t think I stole any cars after that

I first ran away from home around this time. I was thirteen and I slept on friends’ floors after they smuggled me in at night. We then started getting caught for shoplifting, Roy stealing his mum’s car, we just went crazy. In the end, Roy’s dad wouldn’t have him home and my mum wouldn’t have me home; we were too much trouble and embarrassment. So Roy and myself, rather than get bail like our co-defendants and friends, we got sent to an assessment centre at Atherton. This was like a massive school full of unruly young guys, up to age sixteen, I’d say. The rest of the population was all from around Manchester and Liverpool and everywhere in between. It was quite intimidating on arrival. Our possessions and clothes were taken; then we showered, were seen by the doctor and then sent to our dormitory. I didn’t really feel anything. The place was clean, the food was good. I soon settled in. I really enjoyed getting stuck into the schoolwork. The teachers seemed amazed at my grasp of English and my art really excelled. Woodend, as it was called, wasn’t a bad place. Just one or two of the teachers would really lay into (beat-up) some of the other boys. I had made a decision: I was going to keep my nose clean, and I did. We were there for three weeks. Roy and Paul got care orders, put in the care of the local authority. I was given a chance – I got my two years’ probation.