你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,
I woke up one morning in September drenched in my own urine. The bullying had gotten so bad that I was physically shaking. It was seven-thirty in the morning and I did not want to return to school. I was scared. The very few people I had talked with since entering the school were not strong enough to stand up to the bullies, with me or for me. Since entering Mr Redmond’s class (7DR) I did not know where to turn to. I was not enjoying my arrival to Reddish Vale High School at all. If I seemed to be smiling, during my first year at school, it was superficial. It was a lie. Inside my head was dizzy, lost and full of fear.
The high school had a farm located close-by to our tutorial room. I would often go here at lunchtime throughout my first three years in Reddish Vale. To protect myself from getting hurt I would not allow people to become too close a friend. I sat on the 177 bus to school with James Cliff and Ben McGreavy but would not really associate myself with them in school. James was a hit with the girls, I was not. Ben was in a different class, and had his own interests with other groups, I did not want to intrude. The armed forces of the U.K. mustn’t have had have more ranks than Reddish Vale High School, there was Peggy Rowe (head teacher), Mr Fowler (Deputy head teacher), Mrs Huntingdon (our head of year from year 7 to 11), and numerous teachers. Yet I could not speak to anyone about the bullying. And when I tried to do so, I was watched. I felt trapped, unsure of what to do. I did what Mum advised me to, that being to get my head down and work. So in classes I worked. I competed for our tutor group in the Science Challenge, the Inter-Tutor group, and played as much football as feasible. 65 merit points, and 99.5 percent attendance later, and July arrived. I, Ben, and James as a treat for great attendance were taken with many other 99% upwards students to Alton Towers for free. That early summer’s day was mostly spent avoiding queues and riding the new ride, the Nemesis. We had to force James Cliff onto the ride but he went back for more. He was a good friend.
Every high school student around me had heroes, be they from bands, sports teams, the movies, family and friends, etc. I chose to have several heroes, Morecambe & Wise, and my Nana amongst them. One such hero was a German footballer called Uwe Rosler. Uwe was brought into Manchester City F.C.’s line-up by Brian Horton from Bundesliga club FC Nurnburg. Uwe was a holder of five East German international caps. Rosler’s enthusiasm, and 64 goals, made him hugely popular with City followers like me – in his first three full seasons he was the top scorer with 22, 13 and 17 goals respectively. His performance even outshone his more illustrious countryman Jurgen Klinsmann and won him City’s Player of the Year trophy in 1995. In April 1998 he returned home when he joined Bundesliga leaders Kaiserslautern. He was not a glamour-loving footballer, nor a man who asked too much, but he always gave his all, and his spirit encouraged others to give theirs too. That is why he was my hero, and remained a hero even in 2005 when he was a football club manager in Norway. He even battled off cancer. Uwe Rosler is a true living City legend. He now manages Fleetwood Town, and his sons play at City. Colin and Tony are named after City legends Colin Bell and Tony Book.
By June of 1996, I was rewarded a prize for my effort and work in English by Reddish Vale High School. This was similar to the Nobel Peace Prize, but much smaller and of less of an international recognition. I would have also won the Inter-tutor group athletics long-jump had someone not jumped that extra centimetre beating me! During the course of year eight I lowered my guard to Michael Clews, William Duncan, James Cliff, and David Jackson. Occasionally, I even allowed the highly immature Adam “Madman” Morris into our group. Me, William and Adam became known to our P.E. teachers Mr Moore and Mr Short. I would only ever do P.E. if it was swimming, or football. They would have to find me spare kit and force me into other sports, as I would purposely forget my kit on other occasions. However, they would always seem to find me kit. It also meant evading bullies. Adam and William were compulsive users of excuse-notes from their homes. My effort grades were above average in everything, with the exceptions being the nothing subjects (drama, art, and music). These grades carried on into year 9, by which bullying and bed-wetting was rife. I did however manage to gain an award for I.T. in year 9. Something they would later regret in year 10, as I crashed every school PC calling for many technicians to repair PCs. Well it beats Adam putting Smarties in the floppy disk drives to see what would happen!
Out of school during years 7-9, I was close friends with Dan and Peter Ridyard who lived on Crayfield Road (having moved half a mile from Broom Lane). This was convenient as they both lived around the corner from me. Peter was the eldest, a few months younger than I. Dan was a year younger, cheekier and bolder. Over time we would get into trouble playing knock a door run, trespassing on golf courses, stealing golf balls, making dens, making bonfires, playing in builders’ sand, etc. Dan and I became close friends as Peter drifted off. Dan and Peter both attended Burnage High School for boys only. Dan introduced me to Rob Hanna his school mate. Rob kept a huge distance between himself and personal hygiene in 1997. He is most definitely not gay. Rob remained this way until in 2002 when he moved to Cleethorpes! I’m sure since then he has discovered soap and a tooth brush.
By September of year 9, Mr Rob Oxley had taken over from Mr Redmond. Mr Oxley was tall, loud, and strict. However, he was easy to fool or pushover. He did not have full control of our class. Graham Rothwell, Barry Rhodes, John Duncan, and Chris Grimes were expelled from our class. He was now taking more control of class. The exceptions being the lunch hour we opened up the tower lockers, removed the inner-shelves and locked James Cliff in there for a laugh. Sadly, David Jackson found James too easy a victim for a laugh, and James would not defend himself. After a month of this going on, I stepped in and ended up with a steal toe-cap in my face bruising my face and alleviating James’ bullying problem. Who better to go for than defender of the victim?! I could easily fight people off if needed to, but found the verbal name calling and constant taunting too much. The teachers themselves seemed too afraid to help stop the bullies and this allowed the bullies the upper hand. When alone the bullies would befriend me, but in their packs they would pick on me.
The Sunday afternoon that followed Asa’s 19th birthday celebration night would scar me for life, and cause me to miss two weeks of school. I was on Scotland Hall Road Park playing field near my Nana’s home. The park was behind Seven Acres Lane, in Newton Heath. Me, a lad called Noel I’d met and his two friends were talking whilst I cycled around the swings they sat upon. A large group of thirty or so males (ages ranging from 11 to 19) entered the park from an illegal pathway beyond the Clayton Vale railway track. The group looked intimidating so Noel, his friends and I moved to the park edge. My mountain bike would not go any faster, and I could see that the large group was running at us. I jumped off the bike leaving it on the ground. I ran as fast as I could onto the road, just behind Noel.
Noel and I returned to the park field twenty minutes later. My mountain bike was where I had left it. Without a worry I ran to the bike, grabbed it, lifted it up, and turned ready to leave the park. From behind several trees behind me emerged several of the large group. They had been waiting to ambush somebody. Rocks hurtled past me, stones and sticks hitting the ground around me. As I turned around to see how far behind me they were, a large piece of tarmac thrown from about 10m slammed into my face. I fell over. I was dazed and unsure. I could hear them getting closer. Confusion set in. Panic did not set in. I was dazed. I looked up. I was ready to die there and then. I was awaiting torture. My attackers closed in. They looked at me. They could see how they damaged me. They could see how I was. They ran. I was ready to collapse. I wanted to pass out.
An arm reached down to me, Noel had returned. He lifted me up so I could stand. All my weight was on him. I was floppy, exhausted and dazed. He helped me back to Nana’s house. Nana rang Dad, who was now at his house at the top of Ludgate Road. Nana called for an ambulance. I collapsed.
I awoke in the bathroom upstairs, Nana holding a cloth over my face. I was shaking, tortured, shocked, and deep into fear. I could see my burgundy and white Manchester City shirt was below the blood that covered it. Nana was rubbing my back trying to calm me. I could taste the blood running down my lips. I looked up and saw myself in the mirror. The left-hand side of my cheek was swollen up as large as a tennis ball. A gash stretched from under my eye to the side of my face. Small cuts punched red patches around my eyebrow. Blood poured from the top of my nose. Below which I had no distinguishable nose features down to my nostrils. The nostrils were flaps of skin waving about. I could see fragments of my nose bone. Blood was everywhere. I could not see through my left eye. I was horrified. I panicked more.
Dad came rushing in. He told me not to worry. Dad rubbed my back, covered my nose in the cloth, and lifted me up. He helped me down the stairs. A taxi drove us to Asa’s nearby house. Ace drove us to Crumpsall Hospital. From here on a combination of nausea, dizziness, and confusion make the story patchy.
I remember waking up in Nana’s house and spending several days recovering in the same room. Despite two witnesses and details I could remember the Police failed to catch anyone. Many stitches, and some nose surgery later and I recovered. I returned to school slightly traumatised but none the less more determined to avoid problems.
During year 11, my careers advisor Jenny Edge had persuaded me that there were more routes after school than A-levels or working full time at McDonalds. She had told me of the BTEC National Diploma in Animal Care, and even found me several colleges to which I could study at. This talk had also advised me where to do my work experience. I was to carry my placement out at Manchester Pets and Aquatics in Ardwick. This placement came and went, and Ron Bale (the manager) offered me a part-time job. This job lasted until the following summer, where I worked full time until August 1999.
On the day Manchester City beat Macclesfield Town two goals to nil, I contemplated buying a pet mouse. I wanted to name any new pets after the goal-scorers that day (Gareth Taylor and Shaun Goater). The next day I went to work, and returned with three mice. Silverside, Redcoat, and Dash were the three male mice. Speedy Gonzales was a female mouse amongst them. Speedy Gonzales killed all the males except for Dash. They lived in my room happily for a long time, and reproduced several times (allowing me to sell them to Manchester Pets and Aquatics). Mice will always make brilliant pets, as they are active, rarely aggressive and inquisitive little friends.
On a Sunday in January 1999, Manchester Pets and Aquatics experienced an armed robbery. The criminals forced staff member Lee into the store with a knife to his back. They had bats, knifes, and a sword in their possession. They forced us to the ground. Debbie was forced to the ground behind me, and one thuggish member spotted the phone nearby to me. He lifted the phone, slamming it onto my right knee. As he walked past he kicked Debbie in the back. They forced Ron the manager up the stairs. He was forced to hand over the days takings. The criminals left with their new found wealth. Within minutes half of Manchester’s Police force was on the doorstep. It was too little, too late. I broke down in tears much later.
On the 9th of March, 1999, City beat Burnley by six goals to nil at Turf Moor Stadium. Shaun Goater bagged a hat-trick, with Andy Morrison heading home, Horlock curling one in, and Allsop bagging a strike. This gave City hope of returning to the Nationwide Division One.
Nana had been unwell for many months. She had always suffered from Diabetes since I was born. A silent car pulled into the farthest car park at Crumpsall Hospital. Dad, Ace, Uncle Pud, and I climbed out of the car doors. We walked into the hospital, neither of us speaking. Our feet slapping the cold concrete ground echoing down long corridors. We walked directly to a ward. A body lay still, motionless on a bed three beds to our right. “Come on Nana, get up. Let’s leave here now,” I thought. Her silence, unconsciousness, peaceful body beneath the blankets did not remind me of how Nana would act. This was the first time Nana had not offered me a Vanilla Slice or packet of Chewitts on my arrival to the same room as her. A tear trickled down my cheek. I could see Dad, Uncle Pud and Ace struggling to hold back their tears. Ace was crying, he had moved into Nana’s spare room in recent years whilst he was studying at Salford University. Nana’s battle with Cancer was coming to an end. Her body was being pumped with Morphine to alleviate her final pain.
The phone rang on the 29th of April, 1999. Mum answered the call. She could not hear anyone. Bernadette took the phone. She told Mum that Nana had died. I knew she was dieing, but I did not know to react when she had died. Nobody so close had died, whilst I was over the age of five. My wise, humorous, loving, caring, and hugely influential Nana had died. I could talk openly with Nana about my ambitions, and we would talk about animals all day, whether in Morecambe, Morrison’s supermarket or Newton Heath market or even her family home.
I did not cry immediately. I walked up the stairs at our home on Broom Avenue. I opened my door, closed my door. I sat by my bed, and pulled the quilt onto myself. A torrent of tears released over me. I cried myself to sleep.
The funeral of my Nana was to be held midweek during the spring school term. I wanted to go to the funeral. My Dad had passed the message about where the funeral would be held, and the time it was to be held. I would have to make my own way. I wanted to go, but did not have a black tie or white shirt. I decided I did not want to let Nana down by going to the funeral in my scruffy clothes, so I would go to school instead. I started walking to school, across the Highfield Country Park. I could not walk anymore, I wanted to break down and cry. I found a spot in some bushes to sit down. I sat there all day crying. Had my Dad or some other family member collected me, I would have gone to the funeral. I wanted to say my goodbyes at the funeral, and Nana’s final resting place. It would take me almost six whole years to visit Nana’s final resting place. My memory of where it was wiped away and I was too afraid to ask Dad for the location. I would visit Nana’s house and expect to see her, and for her to offer a friendly hello. The once warm house grew cold, and Granddad grew lonely by the day. I’d sit on the three-cushion settee by Granddad and expect Nana to come around the glass lounge door and offer biscuits and cherryade. I hope there is a heaven, for Nana will be caring for everybody there.
In May 1999, City looked to be remaining in the Nationwide Division Two. 89 minutes had passed at Wembley Stadium, and Gillingham was leading by two goals to none. Kevin Horlock hit a lucky strike in, the deficit had been halved but time was running out. City were dominating, but time was against them. Somehow in the moments of injury time, Paul “Crocus” Dickov had broken away from the defenders. Goater’s shot ricocheted off the defence, before Paul Dickov fired the ball into the net. City was level when the full time whistle went. Thirty agonising minutes of extra time was played. The penalty shoot out went ahead. Dickov’s penalty hit the right post, and ran behind Bartram hitting the left post. It never crossed the line. Nicky Weaver saved a shot from the Gillingham striker moments later. City had won 3-1 on penalties. City was back in Division One for the 1999/2000 season. What a day!
In June 1999, following my year 11 exams, I met Joanna Fallows at work. She was on work experience from a school in Hyde. She lived in Gee Cross. We would enjoy many nights at 10-pin bowling, the cinema, Pizza Hut, and Lazer Quest (where Dan and I often went each weekend). Joanna was a tall lady, brunette, 36DD, and a very sporty lady. We enjoyed swimming at the Hyde Leisure pools a few times together. This was a very good relationship, especially as I did not feel anyone would ever like me. We drifted apart by August, as I had quit Manchester Pets and Aquatics to spend more time with Joanna. This backfired as Joanna seemed intent on just shopping. I hated shopping. We split up, and I started work at Co-op Pioneer in Gorton. My first kiss and my first taste of foreplay came with Joanna. I was too young though. Young and naive.
In August 1999, Mum and Paul took Astrid, Paul and I to Barmouth (Abermaw). The Welsh town is located on the west coast of Wales south of the legendary village of Harlech. We stayed at a holiday village called Sunnysands. The sandy beaches were clean and white. The sea was warm and clear. I would often walk south down the coast six miles into Barmouth. In the mornings the beach was often undisturbed, and many a Cormorant or Blue-Velvet Swimmer Crab would be observed. I would leave Barmouth with sunburn and a perfectly relaxed state of mind.
Registration for college was looming, and on the day I received 8 grades Cs, a grade B in Geography, and a grade D in Electronics at GCSE level. Not the best, but by far not the worst. I hadn’t revised at all, ever, not once. I attended North Trafford College, handed my grades to Elaine Lamb (the potential tutor) and agreed I wanted to be part of this college (even if it was in the shadows of Old Trafford football ground).