Issue No. 24: THE FAMILY - MY BROTHER TOM

There was much that divided my brother Tom and me. There was the age gap of seven plus years. This may not seem much to adults but, in effect, it is a generational chasm to children. He left school when I was seven and was married when I was twelve. He was a ‘Teddy Boy’ when I was at Junior School. My adolescent years were the 1960s and all that went with that decade.

I hero-worshipped Tom and, when he grew restless about facing a long apprenticeship in the shipyards and joined the army for a few years for adventure, I was lonely and saddened by his long absences from home, especially when he was posted to West Germany.

Tom had his circle of friends and I was too young to join in. In that brief period of shared childhood and adolescence, between my self-awareness at the age of five and when Tom left school when I was seven and a half, I remember too few incidents that brought his and my worlds together.

When Tom was in his early teens, he declared that he and his mates were going to cycle to Plessey Woods in Northumberland and camp out there for a week. This was miles away and Mam was worried about the distance and his welfare. However, he pointed out that there would be safety in numbers and, eventually, she relented. He then said that they would need lots of food for the week, so he raided the pantry with Mam’s consent and stocked up with a variety of tins, bread, margarine, jam, etc.

I remember being excited by the prospect of the cycle trip and convinced myself that I was going too, although I was only seven and my new bike had stabilisers on the back wheel. The large group of lads set off one morning from our house and Tom pedalled down the path and out into the street to join the others. I frantically tried to follow on my bike, but it unbalanced before I reached the front gate and tipped me into the hedge. I cried with frustration and impotence as the group cycled off into the distance.

All day I wondered how far they had travelled, whether they had reached their destination, where they had pitched their tents and what they had eaten for their meal. I didn’t have long to imagine. Before nightfall, the back door opened and Tom re-appeared. He explained that they had given up on the idea en route and turned back. Mam nodded knowingly.

“Right, put the food back in the pantry”, she said.

Tom replied “Can’t do that, Mam, we got hungry and ate it all!”

Turnips and Bonfires

Halloween and Bonfire Night were the highlights of the dark evenings on our estate. Just before Halloween Night, Tom would appear with a couple of giant ‘snadgies’ or turnips, which he and his mates had pinched from the farmer’s fields near Cleadon Hills. He expertly sliced off the top ‘lid’ of the turnip, gutted it (which was added to the lentils, potatoes and ham shank for Mam’s big pan of soup) and carved out the eyes, nose and mouth for the lantern’s head, before inserting the candle. There was no American-style ‘trick or treat’ in those days, just kids spooking each other with the gruesome lanterns and tales of ghosts and witches.

‘Bonty’ Night (or Bonfire Night or Guy Fawkes Night) on 5th November was a great family occasion – but deadly dangerous. In our back field, on every piece of waste ground on our estate and in every estate and neighbourhood in the town, the kids had been building up massive piles of wood for the big fires for weeks beforehand. Some of the fires were huge, with wood of every description, tarpaulin, old doors and so on. There were often raids on other sites to pinch some of their wood. On Bonty Night, the pyres were set ablaze, surrounded often by whole families. ‘Tatties’ or ‘Chetties’, as we kids called them (aka potatoes) were roasted and fireworks set off. Trying to retrieve charred ‘spuds’ (aka potatoes) from a collapsing fire, whilst bangers were being thrown around, inevitably led to accidents year after year. We didn’t think about this or the terror that our cats and dogs went through. We loved the danger of it all – silly buggers!

Running Away from Home

Tom both loved and resented me at the same time, I guess. I didn’t realise the resentment at the time but, clearly, Dad discriminated between us so blatantly that Tom wouldn’t have been human if he didn’t resent me as the favourite. The fact that Dad also made Mam join in the criticism of Tom, when he was present, could only make matters worse. That’s why he treated Rob Wilding next door more like his little brother than me, and that’s why, one night, he ran away from home.

I remember only fragments of that night but those fragments are seared on my consciousness. It was very late at night. I had been asleep but had awakened and come downstairs because of a commotion. I was six years old. Mam was agitated and worried. Tom had left a note saying that he and his mate, Terry, had run away from home. The commotion had been the police visiting the house. I drifted off to sleep again on the settee. I awoke to find Dad in the room, still wearing his heavy overcoat and flat cap. I heard Mam say “I’ve got to tell the bairn the truth. He must know!” Dad became very, very angry and threatening and clenched his fists. I had never seen him like that before. He never physically punished me; he left all the smacking to Mam. He said in a clear, loud voice “If you do that, I’ll kill you!”

He meant what he said. I was so shocked that I jumped up, hugged both their legs and sobbed. They pretended that nothing had been said. I later wondered what Mam had wanted to tell Tom that had made Dad so angry. I never found out until more than twenty years later.

Dad went away again. In the early hours of the morning a policeman arrived with Tom. He had been found on Cleadon Hills. The helpful copper suggested that Mam should thrash him, and Mam duly obliged, venting all her pent up anger and frustration in the process. I cannot recall any rational conversation between Mam and Tom as to why he ran away, just him crying softly after his punishment behind his closed bedroom door.