by Tom Marcus
‘I did go,’ I muttered. ‘I fell asleep on the hot pipe.’
Grabbing the underside of my chin, she pushed my head up so I was forced to look at her. The collar of her blue habit was absolutely pristine white. I guess you can wash the stains out of anything. It didn’t matter what I did, these two wouldn’t believe me.
As I was shouted at and accused of being a liar and wicked, among other things I didn’t really get, the head sister grabbed both my hands and held them in front of me, palms up. Then she turned to her desk, looking confused. She can’t find a ruler! Yes, I’m not going to be hurt today. I tried my best not to smile or look at the bookcase in case I gave away what I’d done. I was seconds away from freedom, I knew it.
When you’re willing to hand out punishments such as hitting a kid with a ruler or washing their mouth out with soap and water, you become quite adept at improvising. I hadn’t seen the cane leaning against the desk as a threat because I hadn’t seen it being used before. As one sister held my fingers out straight the other one whipped the thin cane into the palm of my hands twice. It was a rapid pain, instantly taking my breath away and making me cry.
As I was escorted from the office to my classroom I was reminded that lying is wicked. There was also something about God’s will but I’d zoned out because the pain in the palms of my hands was so intense. As an adult you can shake the pain off but as a young kid you don’t have the ability to withstand it. I had learned that I would do anything to avoid more punishment.
I spent the next hour or so being shouted at by the teacher because my handwriting was too scruffy. I couldn’t hold the pen properly as little welts started to rise up in perfect straight lines across my palms. I was getting attacked from every angle, even the kids in my class started to join in, telling the teacher that I wasn’t holding the pen right or I was still on the first page of the words I had to copy. I needed a way out. A way to stop the sisters thinking I was bad and to make sure I didn’t have to do any more work that day, especially writing.
I’d nearly got away with it in the sister’s office, but by hiding the rulers I got hit with the cane instead, so I’d made the situation worse for myself. The lesson ended and as the kids headed towards the art room for painting I made sure I was the last one out of the classroom. I didn’t want to be seen right at that moment. I would be walking into another firing line as soon as I rounded the corner. I didn’t want to be hurt again.
Then I saw the red box on the wall in the corridor and I knew what I was going to do. Every now and again we had a fire alarm test where we all lined up in the playground, and I understood what the box was for. As soon as the hallway was empty, I stood on my tiptoes and pressed the fire alarm hard, pushing the clear plastic into the button underneath. Even though I was expecting it, the instant scream of the sirens in the hallway and the flashing lights made me jump. My heart was pounding as I skipped quickly around the corner to rejoin the kids in my class who were all now walking fast towards the exit, directed by teachers coming out of the various classrooms.
Lining up outside, it was cold and there were constant demands to ssh from the teachers as they did a head count of each class. But I was happy. I’d created a situation which had given me some protection; no more shouting or being punished, for now at least.
The kids got excited when the fire engine arrived but the teachers knew this was highly likely to be a false alarm given there was no smoke or fire anywhere. One of the firemen met the head sister and walked into the building. It only took minutes for them to reappear and the teachers to start funnelling us back inside.
Walking past the enormous fireman in his big thick uniform, I saw him smiling at the kids in front of me who were all waving at him excitedly. He turned his attention back to the head sister, not noticing me. I wasn’t waving. I was thinking about how I was going to stay invisible in this school. As the sole of my pump slapped open and shut on the cold concrete beneath me I remember thinking to myself, If you are in trouble, make a big sound somewhere else. At six years old I would write my letters back to front and miss words while trying to read, my written arithmetic wasn’t at the standard of the rest of my class and I didn’t understand the purpose of church or God. But I did know how to survive. Not to fight back, but to live another day.
3
STAND AND FIGHT
It was in secondary school that I learned some of the most important skills for any MI5 surveillance operator. I learned how to survive on the streets, to feel confident I could look after myself no matter what. I learned to fight back.
By then I knew my life wasn’t the same as all the other kids’. I was underweight, the slowest and weakest in most sports; I didn’t go on holidays during half term; and I was in the bottom class for nearly every subject. My mum and dad never came to parents’ evenings and I was starting to fall into the habit of living on the streets, sleeping in squats to avoid the carnage at home.
I was old enough to understand that my dad was an alcoholic, a bad drunk. Even though he wasn’t a father in any sense of the term, I could see he was haunted by something and that booze was his escape. Unfortunately, it emphasized all his worst characteristics. I was at home enough for my mum and dad not to worry I’d run away but I found solace and learned resilience by keeping out of the way.
I couldn’t wait to get out of school. By the time I was fourteen, I was counting the months until I could join the Army at sixteen and get away. I wanted to belong to something, learn how to fight and protect others, be a part of a family that wanted and needed me there. It couldn’t come quick enough.
Other than finding somewhere to sleep and food to eat, I had two problems. The police and paedophiles. There would be regular police patrols looking for signs that boarded-up buildings were being broken into – usually by a melting pot of drug users and gang members. The derelict buildings, from houses to small warehouses, were all privately owned by landlords waiting for the property boom and/or local investment before spending money on renovations, so they boarded the windows and doors up with either steel or heavy woodchip sheets that were instantly used as drawing pads for local spray can owners.
I used to search for a few telltale signs that would indicate whether the derelict building I was looking at was safe enough to sleep in or not. The key thing for me as a small, underfed scruffy fourteen-year-old was the presence of activity. If it looked or sounded like there were people there I would move on. Of course I had to be in fairly close proximity to my school and home – I tried to keep within range of a twenty-minute run.
Parks were normally no good because it is constantly wet in the north. Plus parks and open spaces aren’t like they are in posh central London. They are completely open and normally filled with teenagers doing drink and drugs, and gangs looking to take advantage of that.
One night, moving past a boarded-up terraced house, I noticed broken glass under the window frame, empty beer cans and a small mountain of cigarette butts. Can’t sleep in there, too many people lurking in dark places. Further down this dark street was a warehouse I’d stayed in before. It wasn’t really safe for a young teenager, late in the evening, alone, but it was this or be at home. At least out there I was able to control what I did to some extent.
The warehouse was typical of the type of buildings abandoned around there; a huge old mill that became useless over time. Smashed windows, open door, roof partially gone, broken bits of everything scattered around. I squeezed through a gap in the security fencing and quietly moved towards the edge of the building. It was already past my bedtime and I was tired, not to mention hungry, but it looked like I had found a place to curl up. Inside it was dark and stank of piss and cat shit. Horrible. There was just enough light coming in through the broken windows to show a flight of stairs going up one side of a wall.
It was fairly quiet – the lack of cardboard, newspapers or old blankets meant this wasn’t a regular sleeping spot – so I squeezed myself underneath the stairs, at the lowest point. Sitting with my ba
ck against the wall and with my rucksack, which doubled as my school bag, on my feet to partially hide me, I slowly dropped my head, pulling the hood of my coat up to try and retain some warmth. The staircase gave me shelter from the weather and only left me open on one side. It was a good spot for someone like me.
Jerking awake, I didn’t know what time it was. It was still dark. Freezing cold. But the noise of shouting men and women was getting louder. The beam of a torch swung into my part of the warehouse, searching for something. I could see the silhouettes of people against the sky outside – the group was swelling in number. One of them threw a bottle up to the roof and burst into hysterics as it smashed on the floor. Drunk or on drugs. Probably both. Being around people like this had become normal for me but it didn’t mean I liked it.
Stay still. Don’t move, Tom. I tried to slow my breathing down as the entire group came in, twelve people, mostly guys, three or four girls. Teenagers or older I think, but everyone looked old to me. I was trying to keep an eye on them all while hiding my face, waiting for my chance to make a run for it.
Too late. The beam of the torch caught my eye, which reflected like any other wild animal at night.
‘Is that a cat?’
One of the male voices boomed out again: ‘Who’s that?’
Blinded by the torch, I decided to make a run for it. Go. Now!
Grabbing my bag, I sprinted as hard as I could towards my exit, almost instantly getting grabbed, the group closing around me with multiple voices telling me to ‘calm down’, the odd ‘who’s this?’ My vision was affected by the bright torch which was still intermittently being pointed into my face.
‘He’s a kid!’
‘Please, I want to go.’ I didn’t like this at all. I was now completely surrounded. The guys looked aggressive, all smoking or drinking, the girls were not much older than me and seemed completely out of it.
‘Make him fuck her!’ one guy called out.
‘Shag her and you can go,’ another one said.
I knew what sex was, but I’d never even kissed a girl properly, never mind anything else. I barely knew my own body and my voice hadn’t broken yet. Sneaking about in the darkness looking for a safe place to sleep, dealing with the rows and neglect at home and being the invisible loner at school – all that I could cope with because I knew I had only two more years till I could escape. But this situation right here frightened me.
Trying to make another run for it, I was quickly pushed back into the centre of this makeshift prison. One of the guys grabbed a girl in a tracksuit top and leggings with big hoop earrings, pushing her towards me. Her arms instantly went around my neck as if she was getting ready to kiss me, like she knew what was expected of her.
‘Shag him, go on Leanne!’
They were like a pack of horny wolves, barking their desires at these girls who were too drunk to care or object. Leanne didn’t want to be here either. Even though her eyes were glazed and she was swaying a bit I could feel she hated this. She was like a beaten, broken slave doing everything she was told just to survive another day. How do I get her out of here while saving my own neck?
The laughing and shouting around me grew louder as my bag was ripped from my shoulders. It only had a few school books in and a sandwich, all wrapped in a carrier bag to keep them dry. Nothing of any value. I turned, trying to see where the bag had gone, and one of the drunk men gripped my hips and repeatedly forced my pelvis towards the girl, who was still holding her obviously well-drilled position. We weren’t the same height and my groin was being forced to bang against her mid-thigh, but it brought me even closer towards this poor girl.
‘Stop! I want to go home!’
One of the jeering wolves punched me on the back of my head as someone else tried to pull my trousers down, instantly triggering claws pulling at me from all directions. Swinging my arms out while trying to pull my trousers back up, I knew now I had to fight my way out of this corner. Don’t take the beating, fight! I’m not sure what happened to Leanne but for a few seconds all I could focus on was surviving.
‘Oi!’ A voice boomed out of the darkness and as quickly as this gang pounced on me, they ran, disappearing in all directions.
‘You OK, young man? I’m a police officer.’
As the male shadow moved towards me I tried to adjust my clothing while scrambling to pick my school books up from the dirty floor.
I really didn’t want to be taken home by the police – it would bring even more pain into my world.
Standing up, I came face to face with the policeman who’d saved me just seconds ago.
‘Shouldn’t you be at home?’ he said.
‘I’m going now. It’s OK. I know the way.’
I was desperate to avoid my mum and dad being introduced to the police. Turning to leave quickly, I knew I would have to stick to the better-lit main roads and run home to avoid the gang of drunk wolves.
‘Wait, you’ve been hurt. Are you OK? I can call a squad car to come and collect you.’ The man pulled a walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket.
‘No! I’m fine, don’t call anyone. I’m going straight home now, my mum will be expecting me.’ She wasn’t, but if this policeman thought I had a loving home it was likely he’d just let me go.
Moving close to me as we walked towards the exit, he continued to question me. ‘Did you know those guys?’
‘No, they just grabbed me. I think one of the girls, called Leanne, was drunk. She looked scared. Maybe you could help her?’
Not being able to do anything for Leanne was already eating away at me; it always will.
‘Yes, of course, I’ll get my other officers to search the area now. Here, have a drink of water and take this, it will calm you down.’
He produced a plastic bottle of water and a small yellow tablet.
‘But I can’t swallow tablet medicine . . .?’ I started to say, confused. It was true, at that age I still hadn’t got the hang of it.
He pushed the tablet towards my face. I closed my mouth and turned my head, trying to move away.
‘No, I can’t swallow them.’
His fingers ripped into my upper arm. It felt like he was crushing the bone as he pulled me towards him, trying to force the little yellow pill into my mouth, finally showing his true colours.
‘Swallow it, you little shit!’ he hissed at me.
‘No!’ I was almost horizontal as I pulled away, my feet scraping on the floor, looking for traction to propel me away from another would-be rapist. In the struggle he must have dropped the tablet but he continued to spit vile insults at me in hushed tones. I distinctly remember I was the only one making a lot of noise. He wasn’t a policeman, I knew it now. The more his hands moved over me the more I could smell the same thing I had to deal with at home, alcohol.
He wanted the same thing as the gang. Got to get away from this right now, otherwise . . . Well, being fourteen years old I didn’t know what was likely to happen. As an adult, looking back, I know. The world is filled with fucking animals preying on those weaker than them.
Your life is filled with defining moments, some good, some horrific. Experiences that shape you for the better and memories that feed the worst parts of your future actions. I made the decision right there and then to fight. I hadn’t been able to go to karate lessons or anything like that as a kid, but I knew there had to be a way to beat this guy. I was still shouting and pulling to get away as his stinking hand crawled around my mouth to try and silence me. Suddenly I gained some stability under my feet and, as his body cast a huge shadow over me, I pushed off the floor as hard as I could, driving my head into the lower part of his chest.
He fell backwards but his grip on my top was pulling me down towards him. Instinctively, I stepped forwards and my foot landed on one of his knees. Finally he released me, and as my head lifted and I got ready to run I saw him lying on the floor, the walkie-talkie he was using as a prop on the ground next to him with the battery cover hanging off. His erect peni
s was already sticking out through the flies of his trousers. I hadn’t understood some of the things he had been saying to me – now I knew.
Seeing him start to get up, all the while violently describing what he was going to do to me, was enough to send a surge of pubescent adrenaline coursing round my body. My bag, still unzipped, struggled to stay on my shoulder as I sprinted out of the warehouse, back out the gap in the security fencing and towards home.
No one came after me and I never saw the gang or the rapist posing as a policeman again. Sneaking into the house using the key on a string around my neck, I found it dark and quiet. Obviously my mum had taken an extra shift at work, and because the house didn’t smell, I knew my dad was at the pub. Catching sight of the clock in the hallway I saw it was gone eleven at night.
I grabbed two pieces of bread from the kitchen and squirted tomato sauce on them to make a sandwich, then went upstairs to my bedroom.
It was ironic, really, that the only time I felt safe and calm was when I was home alone. I had narrowly avoided something horrendous in that warehouse, but the daft thing was that if I’d stayed at home I would have been OK because my mum and dad weren’t in. I’d gotten into a habit of running from danger and becoming blinkered and unable to see the safe zones around me.
I was almost asleep, still dressed, when I realized I was soaking wet and filthy. I was so annoyed I’d finally got to bed only to have to get up and strip off. Hurry up, Tom, I thought to myself, get to sleep, you’ve got school in the morning.
It’s only looking back on it now that I realize how, even at that young age, people have the ability to compartmentalize horrific situations so they can survive. I never thought about that evening again. Being able to lock memories and feelings away like this isn’t a failsafe, though, it’s a ticking bomb.
The experience didn’t stop me from going back to sleep in squats when things kicked off at home. I’d escaped once and I believed I could do it again. As frightening as it was, if that attack in the squat hadn’t happened, I might have become completely broken. It’s easy to condition yourself to be constantly abused.
