We would never know if I would have killed that boy on my stag night but, again, it was something I hadn’t started myself. How would you have reacted if someone was trying to stab your brother?
I wouldn't regard myself as normal, yet I don’t consider myself a freak. In light of this, my suicidal tendencies decreased. As for what happened to Titch, the ex-boxer, well, I'm far from perfect.
The final brick on the path to recovery was that of Frank's release. A few weeks before the trial started, the boy who survived relented on his story. They also found one of the bouncers who was now an old man.
He confirmed there were only two of us. He stated that without any doubt a large group of them had pursued us out of the club with obvious intentions. When asked why he hadn't mentioned this when quizzed at the time, he said he didn’t want to get involved as he had only just got out of prison himself. Life, eh? Full of surprises. In the end, he wanted to confess too.
Neither him, nor the boy, could identify a picture of Frank, or the lad who Frank said was with him, so the case collapsed. There was no interest in spending the money on a trial to see if an outnumbered dead man had killed some people who were attacking him three decades ago.
Frank met me on the day I was released, as did my probation worker. I had to spend the following two months in approved premises. It was like a cheap hotel where the only residents were people on ViSOR. This is a database of records of those required to register with the police under the Sexual Offences Act 2003 or those jailed for more than 12 months for violent offences.
They are quiet places, full of worries. There were no games of charades on a Sunday evening.
It was harder than being in prison. To start with, I had to sign in seven times a day, to let them know where I was. There was nothing to do and everyone simmered with tension. Many fell by the wayside and were recalled back to prison. Frank visited daily and kept me going. He’s been a brilliant brother, all things considered. Few would have forgiven as he has.
He’s here today to pick me up. I’m moving to the seaside, you can imagine my destination. I’ll always have hope. Although, I have to register my whereabouts to the authorities and will need to do so until I die. I keep the letter from Kirsty with me at all times. I read it to Frank. He said he believed me anyway but would have stuck by me regardless.
The staff came to wave me off. I showed the manager my letter. She cried, and said, ‘But you were in prison for nine years.’ Maybe I deserved those nine years. Few of us are guilty of nothing. Perhaps it took nearly a decade behind bars for me to find out who I was.
As for what I was convicted of - you’ve read my story, so you decide. Was what I did beyond the boundaries of acceptable behaviour? Am I a sick pervert, or just a kind lonely man trying to offer a desperately sad and lost little girl some kindness? In my heart, I know I only had good intentions.
As we drive through the outskirts, I wind the window down. Now, I am free. Next time you are in a bar ordering a pint, take care to look at the man beside you. Do you know what they’re thinking? Are they happy? We all fight our own unique battles.
Will I return here? I think that I shall. Strangely, I want to help Kirsty, if she’s still around. So, as you sup your beer, I could be the person next to you. Please, say hello.
The End
Life
Thank you for reading Fifty Years of Fear. An experience at times that was no doubt uncomfortable, as it was writing Vincent's story. I hope there are many thought-provoking points inside, ones which will stay with you as you view and interact with the world.
The concept of liking Vincent is a strange one. It’s human nature to look for the positives in the people we read about or meet. We search for similarities and understanding. Some amongst us, but by no means all, have an unlimited capacity for forgiveness. Even for something as terrible as the crimes in this book.
I used to read some of the mail to the prisoners when I worked inside. I watched them at their visits, too. If it was your child or husband who had lost their way, would you cast them out? Could you ignore a letter from one of your parents who wanted to try and explain? Or perhaps it was your best friend whose sins altered your view of the world and made you question your judgement.
I remember a note from a grandmother to her grandson who had knifed his girlfriend to death. It began, ‘I know nobody else will have anything to do with you now, and I can't begin to understand what you've done, but you are still my grandson.’ Many people's lives are damaged, not just those who suffer directly.
Do you believe Vincent was a worthless criminal? He was certainly a victim too.
Like most mental health issues, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is hard to diagnose. Research suggests that genetic, brain, environmental and social factors are causes. BPD is approximately five times more likely to occur if a person has a close family member with the disorder. Many people with the condition have had a traumatic past, such as abuse or abandonment during childhood.
Some have been exposed to unstable relationships and upsetting experiences that have severely affected them. Vincent didn’t have an easy life.
The one point I’d like to comment on is the loss of memories. Vincent can’t remember anything before the accident. This links with Jake in “The Boy Inside”, who was in a variety of children’s homes and foster care.
When we are very young, we don’t know who we are. We recognise ourselves from the people who look after us. The people who say, ‘You like ice creams,’ and, ‘You love bunny.’ This is usually our parents but it can be anyone who is constantly by our sides.
Remembering is a learned skill. One we haven’t mastered when we are little children. Therefore, our carers hold our memories for us. A sense of who we are promotes emotional wellbeing. Recalling, for example, that being pleasant to other kids, means they will be nice back. That is pivotal in our young lives.
Discussing your child’s day is an important part of their development. How many times have you asked your youngster what they did today on the way home from school, only for them to say they couldn’t remember? We teach them to be story-tellers.
Prompting and cajoling the information out of them helps them to form bonds not just to people, but also to time and places. Explaining, ‘We’re going to Nanny’s today, do you remember last time?’ provokes thoughts of who they are and what’s important to them. They may shout, ‘We had chippies,’ or, ‘I didn’t like the dog.’ They are settled as they begin to understand how they fit into life.
If our children aren’t nurtured in the correct way, is it any wonder they go off the rails? Once behaviour patterns are set, it’s incredibly hard to re-wire someone. We must get it right from the start. It isn’t about not making mistakes, but more about consistency, routine and patience.
We fear the unknown. Experience is arguably the most valuable commodity in the world. It’s what businesses pay big money for. If we know how to react and respond to an event because we have seen it many times before, then we are comfortable and relaxed. We can behave in the right way.
What happens if you can't remember growing up, like in Vincent’s case, and nobody reminds you? Imagine how unsettling it would be to have an incomplete past? How about the sad tale of a child going from foster care, to a children’s home, and back again? Who holds those precious memories then?
It’s not just the toys that are left behind.
Memories ground us, so our futures may fly.
Ross Greenwood
2017
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank, in no particular order, Yvette Smart, Nicola Holmes, Kev Duke, Alex Knell, Rachel Brightey, Mark Blackburn, Kate Symonds, Louise Holmes, Emma De Oliveira, Jo Curtis, Jamie Jones, Steve Mansbridge, Barry Butler, Jono Hill, Kaisha Holloway, Caroline Vincent, Ros Rendle, Jim Ody, Richard Burke and, of course, Amanda Rayner. You all played a part! Alex Williams, yours was a big one.
Special thanks also to fellow hounds, Tara Lyons, Jane Ja
mes, Netta Newbound, Anita Waller and Tony Forder.
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Fifty Years of Fear Page 21
