The Angel Whispered

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  • Format: Paperback
  • Copyright: 2012-06-27
  • Publisher: Textstream
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The Beginning My life began in May 1960 in a small pretty mining village called Conisbrough In the county of South Yorkshire. The house we lived in was a very small mid terraced house with a bright blue door and a white step that my mother used to kneel and clean it until it shone the house had the view of Conisbrough Castle. My mum was a petite lady who always looked after herself and tried to look smart even when she was cleaning and my father was a tall thin man but broad and had very dark curly hair he wore glasses that were thick rimmed and black edged, He always enjoyed a few pints and a good laugh with his mates. I was told it was a very hot spring sunny day when my mum went into labour with me; my father was not even around at the time probably he was at work or at the pub therefore my mother took herself to the Rose Hospital in Doncaster where she gave birth to me at 11.55 pm on a Sunday evening. I was told that my mother did not have an easy birth with me and was very weak afterwards. When mum brought me home a week later, my father was waiting at the door with his hands outstretched he took me off her and told her to put the kettle on she brought her own bag in and my father sat with me on the settee and mum carried on as if she had not given birth to me after all she had the house hold chores to do. I was the first born to my parents who had been trying to have a child for a long time, until I came along the marriage had been on a roller coaster, up and down so they thought that when I arrived the marriage would be saved and become better. My mother had fostered many children and my father was a miner but my mother and father were down to earth people from very plain backgrounds but with very high morals. So my life began... My parents had very little money as my father always found an excuse not to go to work, he used to drink a lot quite heavily so my mum had to juggle very little money around work, household bills and look after me, also the other children that she fostered too but there was one thing the house was always spick and span that smelled of lilacs and polish. My family were not very religious, my father used to say "these Priests and Vicars should do a proper mans job and not tell us how to live our lives!" so religion, politics and money were three forbidden subjects around the dinner table. I always knew I was different from the other children even from an early age as I used to play quite happily on my own, (So my mother used to tell me), but I knew I was not alone I had a friend, her name was Mary and she used to be with me all the time. She used to sit on my bed and she always wanted to play and talk to me, even when I didn't "see" her I always knew she was with me. My earliest memory of Mary was on a cold winter morning, I heard my mum crying in the kitchen not really understanding why. As I was only small at the time, and I remember lying down on the settee which was faded red brocade and it felt very scratchy and rough on my skin.

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