APRIL
APRIL 1ST 1999
I miserably got Jordan
and Melly ready for their contact session with the reptile. I dressed them in
nice gear considering they were going to church and the fact that I was never going to give that sly git the satisfaction
of being able to tell people that my babies arrive dirty and unkempt. I then
threw on a pair of shorts, sweatshirt and my running shoes. At the church Jordan
clung to me hopelessly and sobbed heartily when I tried to hand him over. Mel
sat in the pram looking like her world had fallen in. I just had to leave them
like that. I felt like the world’s biggest betrayer. I wished they were older so that I could explain that I’d soon be back for them. I hated the stupid court, the ignorant so-called ‘welfare’ officer, police for not putting
GW in prison where he belongs, social workers for not taking his kids off him and rendering him unfit to be a father, the
smug b…. td that stood in front of me but most of all I hated ME for being so blind and trusting and so ruled by Mr
EVIL.
On my way out I spoke glassy eyed
to Lorraine’s husband John Dowel [another church leader.] I
asked him to make sure that Gareth is supervised and that he is blocked from taking my babies off anywhere. I explained that Gareth is devious, smooth talking and not-to-be-trusted.
I gave him a brief low down of his vile behaviour and John just looked at me as if I’d arrived from another planet. It is so inconceivable that people don’t realise that scum like Gareth walk
the Earth amongst us – people who seem to be so polite gentle and generous but who are in fact dangerous despicable
fiends. But then again I suppose that if they looked like the devil no one would go near them! When I think about
the throng of strangers in the streets that we all walk amongst so often I wonder how many of the women are suffering in silence
in their own homes and are scared stiff of the man in their lives; probably the very same decent and amiable guy who we see
at her side helping with the shopping or driving her into town. She knows she’s
living a life of terror behind closed doors, unable to escape. She knows that
she’s as risk and that no one gives a damn. She may be a neighbour, work
colleague or relative. She also knows that the next beating he gives her could
be the last one. She could end up dead.
But who cares? The attitude of society is, “So what? It’s just one of those things.” There are so many
such female victims and therefore so many such beastly men. It’s a shocking
reality.
I thanked John for his support and
that of the church and hauled myself off for a run; but my heart wasn’t in it and my thoughts were on the babies. I prayed that they weren’t unhappy. Andrew
and Shell zoomed off in the distance on their bikes. Amazingly I ran for the
whole session without the need or desire to take a rest. It’s as if my
body was trying to pound the hurt and turmoil right out of my heart and mind.
The babies were overwhelmed on my
return – Jordan came tearing towards me. Gareth grabbed him
in a bid to kiss him goodbye but Jordan let out a high-pitched shrill and turned himself rigid, like a plank, with arms waving
up by his ears. I cuddled him, he relaxed and we made our exit. At home the babies wanted lots of cuddling.
My neighbour told me that while I
was out a gang of teenage girls had been down my drive peering in at my kitchen window.
She said she’d shooed them off. We got nattering about the problem
kids in this area that go around in gangs from nearby roads. She said she’s
sick of them being rowdy, chucking litter, ringing the bell…. Her elderly neighbour caught one seventeenyear old yob
peeing on her wall.
Two hours after we left the church
I got a phone call from a social worker to tell me they’d been contacted by NSPCC by an ‘anonymous person’
who is worried about all four of my children. This ‘concerned’ member
of the public has apparently told the NSPCC that my children are abused and neglected and various other things, which the
social services have asked for details of in writing. The social worker informed
me that she will be around to see me about this in due course. I screamed down
the phone, “Why won’t you lot leave me alone? This is purely and
simply harassment. You know who is behind these so called ‘anonymous’
calls – GARETH WILLIAMS and his nasty lying family.” I continued
the onslaught, “Your superiors have already hauled that vengeful venomous little man in to request that he stop wasting
your time and mine. Isn’t it long overdue that you force him to cease provocation?” I informed her, “The
repugnant bullet-shooter had not long ago spent two hours with the children on his contact session and something to do with
that must be bothering him since he is backbiting to you people now.” She
grunted polite apologies but lamely insisted that social services are obliged to follow up all allegations of maltreatment where children are concerned. I hissed,
“You do-gooders should start doing your job and investigate the real child
batterers – scum like the very same G Williams who sends you scurrying round to scrutinize me. But strangely those hardened criminals continue to elude you. You should find out the identity of all complainants [you don’t have to reveal
it to anyone else.] If you are refused, you should not pay any attention to the
call, as it is obviously malicious in nature. It should not be too difficult
to ascertain which calls are genuine and which are not and then you should prosecute the muckrakers.”
APRIL 2ND 1999
Andrew and Shell spent the afternoon
with a couple of pals at the Eirias Park fairground. During the babies’
nap I gave the house a bit of a dusting and then ran around with the vac. I heard
the bin crashing over so I flew to the window to see some little prat scarper. He
couldn’t’ve been more than six years old.
From 7.00 pm onwards the kids and
I vegetated in front of the set while munching on choccy eggs. At about 11.00
pm Shell announced she was off to bed, but barely had she opened the lounge door when she screamed, “Mum, mum the house
is full of smoke.” I tore out with Andrew in hot pursuit yelling, “Everyone
out, quick – Andrew, you grab Jordan, I’ll get Mel.” Then Andrew and I shouted in synchro, “Hang on,
let’s find the fire first.” The three of us sped about the place
hunting high and low but there was no fire. The alarms were silent. There was just this strange acrid smoky stench lingering all over the house. Bewildered, I checked up on the babies – they slumbered on unphased. I ventured outside. The air was clear and healthy. Back indoors, the sooty stench
loitered.
I was just about to zoom around opening
all windows when another aroma seeped in to replace the soiled smells. The new
sweet scent was beautifully bouquet-fragranced and quite uplifting. It was the
same as the one that I was convinced embodied my mum and it was spreading everywhere and engulfing the whole house. My imagination leaped into overdrive. Is mum with us right
now? If so, how can she be all over the place or has she brought some divine
pals with her - angels? And if it is mum
with us – she who personifies comfort and goodness, what or who was with us before?
The thought horrified me but I decided that we mustn’t tell anyone about this because we would be branded lunatics. Andrew and Shell asked, “Now do you believe us?
We didn’t cause the rotten whiffs earlier.” I apologised for doubting them and for being unable to answer their questions as to where the smells were
coming from. I told them we mustn’t be worried though and that a perfectly
acceptable explanation is bound to surface in due course. They said they were
scared that the bad smells might return so I told them to bunk up on my bedroom floor.
As they slept soundly I prayed for the unexplained phenomena to stop and I made a mental note to log any strange occurrences
down. I tossed over the idea of contacting a priest for some divine intervention.
APRIL 3RD 1999
It’s such a gloriously hot day
that I find myself sprawled on my sun bed with cider in hand enjoying the rays. My
thoughts drift back to my lousy time with GW, of all things. I can’t believe
that I actually allowed him to dictate to me. He banned me from joining the squash
league. He’d threaten that if I joined I’d have to take the babies
with me cos he had no intentions of looking after them. Maybe it was just as
well that I didn’t go – anything could’ve happened to my cherubs.
I remember the time where I’d fled his house after he’d stolen all my money, smacked me about my head and
shoved me through the door with such force that I’d tripped and stumbled down his drive scraping and cutting my arms
and legs on the wall while I struggled to keep Jordan in my arms. He’d
refused to let me take my own pram and, desperate and destitute, I’d been forced to stand begging in a second hand baby
shop for a dirt-cheap pram. I’d been too proud to ask dad for help and
I’d dreaded him telling me, “Told you so.” Staggeringly I actually
went back to my tormentor after a week because I believed his protestations of remorse and his promises of reform. Just shows how worthless I felt, how much I believed his belittling insults and how much authority he exerted
over me.
Andrew is in a right stromp. He reckons all his Llysfaen mates are at the Eirias fair and he really wants to join
them. I made it clear that he can go by all means but not to expect a penny more. I reminded him that he’s already had more than a fiver out of me plus Easter
eggs and his pocket money.
I awoke in the middle of the night
after another powerful dream, which kept me awake pondering its significance. I’d
been a solitary figure amongst the hustle and bustle of masses of tourists and townsfolk in en enchantingly beautiful and
picturesque unknown foreign place - a place where the air was pure, streets unpolluted and where a snow-capped imposing gargantuan
mountain stood. Gazing at its majestic demeanour in awe I had felt an enormous
compulsion to climb it. It was beckoning and daring me with what seemed like
a promise of untold unimaginable riches at the top.
APRIL 6TH 1999
Isn’t that just typical! Just as I was about to embark on the kwikie excursion, Melissa filled her nappy to
overflowing level. Then, once changed and ready for town, she posited all down
her jacket and jumper. Don’t babies just love to share their regurgitated
food with you at the most inappropriate moments!
Ol Tone is on the news preaching about
“proper standards of civilised conduct.” Well, I don’t call
releasing convicted terrorists from jail ‘civilised’.
That damned putrid smell returned
this afternoon and loitered in the downstairs rooms. I can’t blame Andrew
and Shell; they are browsing around the market. The ‘smoky presence’
just as mysteriously sloped off after a few minutes.
APRIL 7TH 1999
Dad is taking the stick insect to
court to try and reclaim his two and a half thousand quid. He had to pay eighty
pounds tho for the privilege.
APRIL 8TH 1999
I took the babies for their contact
session with the spirit of darkness. He snarled that dad won’t get a bean
back because he has mum’s diary and she has written that the two and a half grand was a gift [so he goadingly claims.] The creature with his brains in a bog roll then smugly insisted that I’ll have
to see my solicitor about the return of my stolen items. I asked, “How
can you call yourself a Christian? Go back to the bowels of the earth where you
crawled out from.”
I completed an obstacle course avoiding
dog excrement during my jog to Llanddulas. All the crackpot council do is erect
ineffective silly little signs warning about dog-fouling fines. No one gives
a sh…. I reckon they should employ someone to photograph owners who allow
their dog to defecate on the pavement. Give that culprit an on-the-spot fine and publish the photo in the local rag. It’d be cheaper in the long run than paying some poor guy to sweep the matter
up.
Late afternoon the kids complained
that the ‘smoke’ was in the upstairs hall. It was, but not as strong
as usual. Nevertheless it still bothered me.
During tea the now familiar sweet
flowery fragrance flowed into the kitchen. I t had a soothing effect and we all
smiled at each other. I wondered if mum had come down to keep a beady eye on
us and calm our fears about the earlier sinister stench. I mumbled something
about a whiff of flowers wafting in from outside.
The five suspects of Stephen Lawrence’s
murder were interviewed on TV to “give their side of it.” Lying thugs
– they should be prosecuted NOW. What are the police scared of? The father of one suspect is a violent drug trafficker – there’s a clue. They live in a big posh house – says it all. The Mickey
Mouse Met say there’s not enough evidence! Despite the huge public enquiry,
unparalleled publicity and massive public outcry spanning years, the top crook of the metropolitan police keeps his job and
the murderers continue to walk free to commit more hell on Earth. God bless the
Lawrence family for hounding the Met. I hope they never stop. I wish more people would follow their example and DEMAND JUSTICE.
It’s no wonder people don’t bother reporting it - our so-called law enforcers are on the side of the criminal. But the police then have the gall to tell us that crime statistics are down. Beggars belief. It gives some insight into how untrustworthy and undependable our ‘crime fighting’ force is and it isn’t
difficult to work out why thousands of crimes are never solved. It is a grim
state of affairs when so many gruesome crimes barely get a mention, never mind hit the headlines.
The European commission is institutionally
corrupt; commissioners are forced to resign in disgrace. Fudge up after fudge
up occurs; and they want a Eurocurrency and a Eurosuperstate!
The British medical association want
to reduce the spread of alcoholism by labelling bottles of grog with unit levels and the recommended daily intake. Do they seriously think that’ll do a fat lot of good? Are
they going to label methylated spirits too?
APRIL 9TH 1999
Social worker Elaine Berry showed
up with details from the NSPCC to question me about violating my children. The
caller states that Melissa is two years old; she is ten months old – it is pretty obvious that she is a baby. The caller states he has witnessed me slapping Andrew across the head, hitting him with a broom stock handle
and that a “social worker named Rowlands” is involved. Only GARETH
WILLIAMS and his hateful family know about Mr Rowlands because it was Mr Rowlands who reprimanded Gareth about wasting social
services’ time! The ‘concerned’ caller states that my children
are “left home alone regularly” and that the younger two are often alone.
He states that he contacted police but that they didn’t respond. How
the hell does Gareth Williams know that the police didn’t respond? Does
this mystery man watch my house continuously? GW has police connections; maybe
they keep him posted. With all the
bullsh….t I’ve had to put up with it’s about time police put CCTV on my house and then maybe the idiots
will CHARGE my malevolent ex with HARASSMENT. [There is more chance of me winning
the lottery tho, despite the fact I don’t play it!] The depraved nonentity
says: “The two year old girl was hospitalised last month for burns.” Gareth
Williams learned about this fiasco from Vera’s report and social services know that Mel had eczema. Three doctors and a community physician diagnosed eczema. It
is stated on the NSPCC letter: “Mother is white American.” No one
knows I’m American except my preposterous pig of an ex and his equally detestable family. To her credit, Elaine did say she believed me but that they do have to investigate all accusations and
referrals. But this trash makes a mockery of social services. The b…. making these atrocious lies [and it’s pretty obvious who the venomous culprit is] should
at least have the decency to reveal himself; and if the coward won’t, then he shouldn’t be taken seriously. If he is proved to be a lying troublemaker, he should be charged with: slander, harassment,
wasting public services…. That should carry a nice jail sentence. The way things stand, where’s the protection
for women like me – the victims?
Ironically there is quite a scandal
surrounding social workers in the news. They fail to find adoptive parents for
kids who are in ‘care’. In one authority, out of three hundred and
ninety kids in care, only one was placed in adoption. Barnardos say that ‘care’
is as abusive as child abuse and that social workers turn down huge numbers of suitable caring people who are desperate to
adopt; making race, religion, disability et cetera the excuse.
The news is also full of benefit swindles. Fraud surrounding housing benefit is bad enough but councils are exposed as incompetent
and idle. Only fifty percent of all councils have anti-fraud strategies of which
eighty percent ignore the government’s basic checking scheme, despite receiving massive grants to set up the schemes! Some councils don’t bother investigating any fraud; thirty five percent don’t
prosecute or recover cash where fraud is detected and the investigating council employees are poorly trained. So much for the clamp down on crime!
The disgusting Hillsborough football
injustice was exposed on TV tonight. Ten years on and relatives still want the
truth to come out. Police chiefs are guilty of gross negligence concerning crowd
control and of a shameful cover-up. Constables warned senior officers of the
looming disaster – of crowding into a cramped area, of dreadful crushing…. But immediately afterwards, senior
officers embarked on a dirty tricks campaign. While fans lay dead and dying,
relatives were asked if alcohol had been consumed. Police passed the buck and
blame was shifted on to the victims who were accused of being drunk and troublesome.
Astonishingly, during the enquiry, statements made by police constables who witnessed the whole thing were changed
by the special unit set up to investigate the police so that police action was deemed favourable and they were cleared of
any blame. Staggeringly the Lord Chief Justice knew about the changed statements
and, to add further insult to injury, one major player in the corrupt proceedings was promoted
to chief constable.
Well, the guilty won’t get away
with it – the public know the truth and so does GOD. I think school kids
should watch programmes such as Panorama, Dispatches, McIntyre undercover, The Cook
Report, Trevor McDonald’s Tonight…. as part of their curriculum – then they’d grow up hungry for
change and with the awareness and confidence to challenge corruption. Most of
the stuff they are forced to learn now is as boring as an oral hygiene pamphlet anyway.
Schools are the State’s tools; their purpose is to stifle kids’ spirits and mould them into slaves of society. And they even want to get them indoctrinated earlier.
They want to get their clutches into babies now – they want three year old tots in full time school.
APRIL 10TH 1999
The kids asked me about their uncle
Malcolm today who they met only once at their nan’s funeral. We thus embarked
on a heart to heart about my family. I reminisced that mum suffered inwardly
with feelings of hopelessness and helplessness. My brother blames her for his
own faults and for causing the family rift, which started over ten years ago with his wife Carol. I was dragged into the conflict which was so trivial but which festered.
Dad remained neutral. Over the years mum and I tried to patch things up
with Malc but he didn’t want to know. It seems I am only worthy of condemnation. He shunned mum over the years, which cut her to the core so deeply that she’d
often say to me, “If my family don’t want to know me when I’m well, I don’t want to know them when
I’m dying.” But, just to save face, Malcolm did the very thing that
she had always said she didn’t want, he showed up during her final days. I
strongly disliked him for that and for the way he and dad carried on just before she died.
I can see them now in dad’s house supping brandy and behaving as if there had never been a rift and as if they
were masters of the universe. Mum barely got a mention. I’d felt quite uncomfortable in their company and told them they had more faces than Big Ben, but
they dismissed me as being a typical emotional woman talking a load of old flapdoodle; just in the same patronizing manner
that mum had often been subjected to. She hated that show of superiority and
would say, “Bloody Larges; who do they think they are?” I see a lot
of good in dad but the pompous attitude and showy façade at a time of such distress and with the son he never sees and who
caused mum such grief and heartache just made me feel so sick and despairing. Dad
actually accused me of causing trouble with Malcolm at that time.
It’s hard to believe that Malcolm
and I used to be so close – the best of friends. There were times when
I too would tire of mum’s depression and would threaten to “do a Malcolm” and shut her out of my life because
I was fed up of trying to counsel her when she constantly went on about the same thing.
Despite the fact she and dad loved each other in their own strange ways, divorce was discussed many times but somehow
they never got round to it, so they ended up miserably coexisting in a largely unhappy marriage. My nasty threat cut her to the bone but at the time I didn’t care – I simply couldn’t
cope with her burdens. At the funeral Malc and I consoled each other and agreed
to let bygones be bygones, but only a few days later he made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with me. He couldn’t even speak to me on the phone. Months passed
until I phoned him to ask if he and Carol would like to be godparents to Jordan and Melissa but I was given short shrift as
they brought up years old grievances. What got to me more than anything was that
despite the fact they’d only met once [at mum’s funeral], Malcolm was happy to chat openly to Gareth about me
after we’d split up last October. Dad had to intervene.
APRIL 11TH 1999
The bizarre smoky ‘presence’
came again tonight. It seemed to seep in to the lounge from under the door. We were being regular couch potatoes when the eerie unknown entity gatecrashed. It was about 11.00 pm. This time it seemed
thicker and more menacing and we all began to complain of ‘tickly’ throats.
We explored the house and found the same repulsive odour in all rooms except for two – Jordan’s and Melissa’s. Strangely theirs smelt of Roses and they slept soundly. Within minutes the enigma had disappeared and the house was back to ‘normal’. Even the flowery scent had gone. They mystery was unnerving
and we all piled into my bedroom for an uneasy night. The two cots were put at
the foot of my bed, Andrew crashed on my floor and Shell hopped into bed with me. I
am still reluctant to tell anyone – I’ll only be called a liar or a nutcase.
They say suffering is good for you – it produces strength and stamina.
We’ll see. I know one thing; something spiritual visits us but I’m
not sure of the significance. I sense an evil omen and a good force and that
there is a power struggle between the two. My belief and trust in God gets stronger
daily now. I feel there is nowhere else I can turn.
APRIL 12TH 1999
The Authorities are cheeky devils. They’ve now banned a church from advertising the healing miracles of God because
they say there isn’t enough proof and they have to protect ‘vulnerable’ people. They’ve got some nerve. They should go and pick on their
own type and leave the church alone. It is sacred and should be respected as
such. Proof is not required. Faith
is. God does not want people to make him prove how powerful he is. He just is. People should believe it and live according to
his rules. The council like to control
but they’ll get a rude awakening one day when they realise that they can’t control God. The truth is, the ‘vulnerable’ need protecting from officials. Governments just want the poor,
weak and disadvantaged to stay dominated; like slaves. The truth is, officials
are terrified that the ‘good’ guys will win and the bad guys, such as control-freak councils, will lose power
and be crushed.
This evening I watched Jailbirds. It featured a desolate victimized frightened girl called
Star. She is in prison for minor offences relating to drink and drugs because evil predators targeted her and, like thousands
of other susceptible youngsters, she became hooked. Behind bars, she self mutilates
because she already hates herself. She’s been abused all her life –
sexually and otherwise. But she is treated worse by the prison authorities. The guvnor gave her an opportunity to say why she self-inflicts, but when she, shaking
uncontrollably, attempted to explain her feelings, he just slapped her down and treated her like a two year old. She’s been controlled and bullied all her life; she doesn’t need more injustice. She shouldn’t be in prison. Those wealthy, powerful upper classes who fail in their duty to bring
to justice real criminals and, worse, those who protect hardened criminals should be locked away. For all the ‘Stars’ of this world just give them love, kindness and fair play. Jail is not for them. How many drug barons, drug pushers,
drug smugglers, gangsters, dictators, Mafioso…. do we have in prison? And how many bent officials [the protectors of
evil people] do we have in prison? Why are the oppressed, such as Tianamen Square
students, behind bars???
APRIL 14TH 1999
Andrew and Shell came out with something
this morning that took the wind right out of my sails. They said that they now
understand the ‘smells’ because God has explained everything to them. They
told me that the horrible smells represent devils and that the nice smells mean angels.
Apparently Satan is trying to stop us spreading God’s word by spooking us.
He does not want me to write this diary. The kids continued with, “
God says we’ll be able to see the devils soon – they are red and ugly, have horns and black eyes and smoke is
all around them. We have to get rid of them.
He says the best way is to spray them with air freshener immediately – they hate that. Soon we’ll be able to destroy them with our thoughts.”
I stared at the kids, open-mouthed. Of course I did consider the possibility
that they were just fantasizing, like all kids do, but then I contemplated the unthinkable – that they could be right
and that maybe God did speak to them. Anything is possible and no one is an expert
in the field of spirits. After all, I’d already decided that mum visits
us. The kids confirmed that “Nan is one of the angels and comes down to
help fight the bad spirits – she guards us. Jesus watches over the babies.” This was all a bit far-fetched, but it did offer one
explanation for all the unexplained phenomena.
What Andrew said next nearly made
me choke on my tea. He went very serious and declared, “God says we have
to defeat the evil on Earth. We have to help change the bad people into good
ones. He says we only have six years to do it because if we don’t, doomsday
will be here and we’ll all be in hell when we die.” I asked him how
he knew about doomsday. I asked if he’d read the bible. “No chance,” came the reply, “The bible is only twenty five percent true.” He said that God had just told him. I
asked how. He said, “His voice comes into my head.” He got irritated then and said that he has told me before that he speaks to God. He complained, “You don’t take me seriously. You
don’t believe me.” I told him that I am listening now.
Both he and Shell explained how it
all started. It was during a BBQ party at Gareth’s. Their friend [GW’s cousin’s daughter] and my two were miserable because all of us adults were
getting drunk and rowdy. The three kids escaped into a field and the friend showed
my kids what she does when things get bad for her at home. They sat in a field
holding hands and concentrated hard. God had come to them and said, “Thank
you for having faith in me. Don’t worry it won’t always be like this
– everything will change for the better soon.” I did wonder if the
kids had been watching too much science fiction! A lot of it makes sense tho. It is true that greed and evil rule and that the world is deteriorating daily –
just like all the Watchtower pamphlets state.
I’ve watched Colwyn Bay going to the dogs. My road alone is more
violent now than it has ever been.
The kids tell me that God needs human
help because Satan is winning upon Earth right now. They tell me that God talks
to other people and that many are working unobtrusively towards righteous rule but that he is unable to reach most people
because they choose to follow Satan’s weak and wicked way. God also tells
them that people who do nothing to stop the spread of evil are also the devil’s followers, despite their prayers and
church worship. They say God will reveal more in due course when we are ready
to learn, but for now I’ve been told to press ahead with this book. I’m
keeping an open mind. What else can I do?
I told the kids not to speak about this to anyone because we’d only be laughed at or booked in for a psychiatric
consultation. To think I used to be a devout atheist; just like dad!
APRIL 15TH 1999
Jordan cried when I left him with
the brute from hell. It breaks my heart to see his little angelic face so strained
and troubled.
When I collected him afterwards he
ran hell for leather to greet me. Gareth grabbed him but Jord let out a terrific
scream and turned himself into a board. He refused to calm down until Gareth
released him and he was allowed to run into my arms.
Tonight I watched a hard-hitting programme
about kids who are forced by courts to see their loathed fathers. If such a child
refuses, the mother could end up in prison. Children go through hell during visits
with brutish fathers, yet courts say this can only be beneficial to the child! One
child said that a welfare officer gave her trick questions. One woman said her
ex had threatened her with losing her kids if she left and that he’d kill her.
Instead, as soon as a judge awarded him contact, he killed the two children [one aged three years and the other aged
four years.]
The so-called children’s act
fails children. Courts abuse kids, yet the judge cannot be held accountable. It is scandalous. There was a hotline
number for Domestic Violence victims and women who fear for their children’s safety at the hands of their ex partners. I spent all night trying to call but failed to get through. It gives some insight into the enormity of the child cruelty problem in the home. Well, brutal cowardly fathers had better start thinking long term and realise that little Johny is not
going to be so little one day and that his merciless childhood naturally needs to be avenged.
Big bad daddy is already weak in mind since he can only pick on women and children.
He daren’t challenge anyone his own size. One day he’ll be
an old man. He’s in for a surprise when he cottons on to the fact that
what goes around comes around.
APRIL 16TH 1999
I love the greeting I get from the
babies when they awake from a nap. They get so excited – they bounce about
and flap their arms. You’d think I’d been away on holiday.
APRIL 17TH 1999
I read an alarming piece in the Mail
about Moscow’s deadly germ weapons. In 1972, Moscow [along with one hundred
and thirty nine signatories] pledged that they wouldn’t develop biological agents for offensive military use. But in the same year Moscow developed hundreds of tons of anthrax, plague and smallpox to use against the
West. US cities were named as targets.
One hundred kilograms of anthrax can kill three million people. Moscow
developed six hundred kilograms a day. In 1979 there was an ‘accident’
in a deadly secret factory. One hundred innocent workers died. The government staged a cover-up. They destroyed the hospital
records and the KGB, disguised as doctors, produced falsified death certificates. Yeltsin
and other Soviet officials hid the truth from the world; but in 1989 the US and UK governments protested and in 1990 fifteen
Westerners ‘inspected’ Soviet germ factories. However the Soviets
weren’t bothered. They had a timewasting and liquor befuddling strategy;
which worked. Our diplomats were fed obvious lies yet they did nothing. The deadly
germs are still there and could wipe out half of humanity. Typically our meek
incompetent ‘officials’ couldn’t find enough evidence for any concern.
God help us!
APRIL 18TH 1999
Those hideous things turned up to
haunt us again. The smell was ghastly.
Andrew and Shell paled at the sight of the devils and began to tremble with fear.
Of course I did wonder if their imagination was getting the better of them, especially when they described our horrible
guests; but there was no mistaking the death-like stench. I quickly tried to
play the whole thing down and suggested we get spraying with the air freshener. It
worked and before long, things were back to normal. But after about an hour the
sweet heavenly scent appeared. The kids described the apparition that they witnessed
as “shapes of dancing white light.” I was in no hurry for these welcoming
beams to leave us, but they didn’t hang about for long.
APRIL 20TH 1999
The high court at the Hague was set
up six years ago to try war criminals. Only six people have been convicted though
so far and none of them come anywhere near bigwig status. Anyway, since the court
is controlled by the West, no Western leader will ever be put on trial for war crimes.
How totally one-sided can you get? Carry on dictating USA/UK.
APRIL 21ST 1999
Mel has me mesmerised. All her movements are so slow and deliberate, and delivered with such concentration and intensity.
Linzi popped in with some of her cast
offs for the kids. That’s the beauty of having rich pals. I joked that when I’m rich and famous, I’ll remember her. She reckons she won’t be that well off for much longer, what with her looming
divorce and new living arrangements. She joked that she’ll soon be rummaging
around the charity shops, like me.
That ruddy awful stench slithered
in again. It’s a pity Linzi wasn’t around to witness it. It only occupied the living room tho and thankfully wasn’t as intense as it has been. The kids were
outside with friends. I quickly sprayed the place with Lavender and soon the
unwelcome monsters had sloped off. The friendly spirits didn’t come. I still don’t really understand it all. The kids say that I will when the time
is right, but for now I’m told to just press on with this book.
APRIL 22ND 1999
Jordan broke his heart when I left
him at the church. My ‘run’ turned into a half-hearted stroll. I decided I’m too heavy and that today is the day I’m serious about slimming
down to nine and a half stone, which means that I have one and a half stones of blubber to shift. Out came the portion allowance guidebooks and mini scales. I
already know the ‘right’ foods to eat – I just eat too much of them.
I’ve no intentions of setting silly time limits though.
There is more bad press for social
services. Fifty thousand kids are in ‘care’ because local authorities
turn down suitable adoptive parents in the name of ‘political correctness’.
They say it is wrong for children to be placed in families of different ethnic backgrounds despite proof to the contrary. Some suitable adopters are turned down because they are too middle-class, working-class,
or they live in a remote spot or they are too fat, too old…. Social workers insist that no matter what barbarity is
evident at home, a child is better off with natural parents. Our scandalous adoptive
system is in shambles because of bureaucracy, high costs and incompetent social workers.
Prince Charles is in the papers. He’s backing a private school’s attempt to replace funds, lost when the
‘assisted places’ scheme was scrapped by Labour. There are only thirtynine
pupils at the centre of the controversy. With his wealth, power and position
he shouldn’t be just concentrating on the few academics, he should be striving for a suitable education for ALL kids.
I watched a real heart-rending documentary
about a British woman who was driven by a dream to help poor and abandoned Vietnamese children. She may not realise it but I truly believe that God instructed her to do so, just like he did Mother Theresa. God can only reach most of us in our dreams.
Around 10.00 pm my doorbell rang a
couple of times but no one was there. Don’t tell me the sly snake is up
to his old tricks. Then again it could be neighbourhood morons with nothing better
to do but play ‘knock-a-door-run’. They’re a pain in the a….
in this area.
A gang of yobs [some in their teens]
attacked Andrew and Shell and their pals Emma and AJ [from no 7.] The four of
them screamed down my drive with rocks and mud balls chasing them. I ran out
to see what the commotion was, played hell with the louts, and they fled, except for two.
I grabbed hold of one [a teenage girl] and shoved her through the gate and then I pushed the other [a little lad] out
after her. I was yelling so much that staff from the old folk’s home darted
out to tell me to shut up. A few of
those little buggers live together, largely unsupervised, near me. They are persistent
troublemakers and some are runaways. I’ve seen police, probation officers
and social workers sniffing around them a few times but it makes no difference. The
public purse pays for these ‘officers’ to do nothing.
The flamin’ remote control wouldn’t
work for me all night, yet it behaved for Andrew and Shell. It’s as if
there is a curse on it for me.
APRIL 24TH 1999
I watched a moving channel 4 documentary
about Martin Luther King and his fight for black equality. During his Washington
DC speech in June 1963, he says, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they
will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character.”
Quite right. I remember being told at school to research someone famous
so I wrote about Martin Luther. But I never realised the battle he’d had
against a lawless FBI and Whitehouse corruption. The documentary revealed evidence
of a dirty tricks campaign at the highest level of American government to try and destroy him.
Dr King not only spoke out against racism, he spoke about God and righteousness and gave thousands of his followers
hope for the promised land, which he had personally seen.
APRIL 25TH 1999
Andrew and Shell ran in to inform
me that the doorbell won’t work for Shell but that it will for Andrew. I
had a go at it and sure enough they were right. It wouldn’t work for me
either. Andrew must have magical fingers.
It’s a damn nuisance. I wonder if it has anything to do with our
mystical visitors. Nothing surprises me any more – it just annoys me.
Jordan’s being a real pain in
the neck lately when it’s time for bed. He simply refuses to stay in it. Time to scan the baby books for the experts’ advice. They say you should just carry him to bed; if he gets up, put him back.
Repeat this every time he gets up. If he drops off on the floor or in
the hall, just pick him up and calmly put him to bed. Don’t shout, threaten,
smack…. This may continue for a while but it will start to subside and will stop when junior realises there is no reward
i.e there is no joy of negative power over mum. Here goes!
APRIL 26TH 1999
We had a day of recurring visits from
the unwanted paranormal. Some visits were more acute than others. Each time we dutifully sprayed air freshener in the offending areas and all was clear for a short while. We were only visited once by our ‘guardians’. I hope this doesn’t mean that the evil spirits are stronger and more powerful than the righteous
ones. The kids told me that they’d glimpsed their nan fleetingly and that
she was smiling to reassure them. I’m not sure how long I can hack all
this. In my mind I’m pleading for it all to stop. I’m still thinking about contacting a priest but something is holding me back. I guess I’m scared of being ridiculed or, worse, being referred to a shrink or, worse still, being
referred to the authorities and losing my children. It’s also quite uncanny
but a lot of the time now Andrew’s and my thought patterns are on the same wavelength.
Quite often I’ll say something and he’ll remark, “I was just thinking about that,” or he’ll
ask me a question about something that is on my mind at that precise moment. It’s
never happened in the past. Now it seems to be a common occurrence.
The damned remote was playing up on
me all day too, yet Andrew just looks at it and it works immediately for him. It’s
quite eerie – as if the thing’s alive.
ARPIL 27TH 1999
Don’t babies and toddlers have
such strong emotions about everything! Just
because I told Jordan he couldn’t play with my crockery, you’d think the end of the world was nigh. He threw himself face down onto the floor, kicked his legs in frenzy and howled.
I got my nose stuck in the bible this
evening for some spiritual wisdom. It says that by observing the law of the land,
no one will find justice. How true. Many
of our laws are unjust. Mahatma Gandhi aptly said, “An unjust law is itself
a species of violence. Arrest for its breach is more so.” I like the bible bit that says, “Bless those who persecute you – do not curse; don’t
take revenge. Overcome evil with good.”
Sound words of advice. I’m not one hundred percent confident that
I can obey it though. It’s human nature to swear, curse and fight back
if someone wrongs you and I think some people have to be physically defeated or locked away since they will simply refuse
to change their ways and behave in the right way. I have a belief though that
true Christians and those who genuinely work for the good of others and towards an upright world have angels protecting them
from physical harm so that they can continue to exert good influence. I think
the good ones who do die do so for a special reason – to highlight some atrocity and/or heighten our awareness. I think that they are now in heaven working with all the other good spirits to try
and get through to everyone [especially the wicked people] with the message of God.
And I think that they are giving their loving loved ones the strength and protection to fight for justice, since it
is up to the relatives on earth to do God’s work and kick up a fuss with the authorities. Despite the very real risks for their safety [since all courageous people who stand up for righteousness
face a constant life sentence of death threats], I reckon Stephen Lawrence’s mum and dad are carrying out God’s
work superbly and that Stephen is so proud of his parents.
Andrew said to me tonight, “Imagine
having a friend for life.” I replied, “It’s called your mum.” Then I told him that some people do have friends for life but that I’d found
that friends come and go according to the circles in which we move.
APRIL 28TH 1999
Something strange happened while I
was vacuuming the house. I’d just finished the lounge floor when I nipped
out to empty the wastebasket, but on my return I spotted a birthday candle leering at me through the hairs of the carpet. I also found two bits of paper rolled up into strips, like tapers, next to it. I stood motionless, stunned into silence. There
was no question of anyone else being responsible – the kids were outside playing and the babies were asleep. I worried about what was going to happen next.
Detectives hope that the revulsion
over Jill Dando’s murder will make the underworld give up her killer. Oh,
for heaven’s sake, get real. Killers don’t give a brass monkey who
dies or who cares as long as they get paid. If they did they wouldn’t be
murderers. Experts say that the gun that was used on Jill was the type used by
a ‘professional’ hit man. Jesus! We just accept these ‘professional’
criminals. The world is bloody insane.
Such guns were supposed to be banned after Dunblane but there are hundreds still in circulation – surprise surprise. Judges and police may as well hand out badges and trophies to law-breakers –
they do enough encouraging of it. In my view if you’re not a vigilante
you are a victim. Anyway I have a hunch that CID know who killed her and are covering up. There will be another miscarriage
of justice when they do finally convict and hang out to dry some poor vulnerable innocent soul. The authorities are fond of their record on miscarriages of justice.
Do they think the people are gullible? Does anyone trust a judge, police
chief or a politician? They should be thrown to the snakes; they are such a disgrace. And in any case why can’t we read the report on Dunblane? Why is it that some reports are locked away from the public eye for thirty, fifty years or so? And anyway, I wonder when we’ll find out what it was that Jill Dando knew, that the powers that be were so fearful of her telling us lot,
that she had to die. What secret was so important that she had to take it to
her grave?
I was incensed at what I read in the
Daily Post. John Lewis and Haydn Gough are jailed for three months because they
gave a thief and his mate a good hiding, because THE AUTHORITIES FAILED THEM. In
the name of God, salute these vigilantes and free them – they are our heroes.
We need more like them. Do us all a favour for once and JAIL the JUDGE
and then sack HIM.
I tried to phone Gareth’s ex
wife but she’s off work, so I wrote her a letter instead, begging for her help.
I want her to help me expose GW for what he really is. I’m terrified
that he’ll get unsupervised contact eventually. I poured my heart out to
her. I told her that he’s always threatening to get my babies off me. I told her of his threats and that he’s already carried out some of them. I said it is not about the babies, he just wants an excuse to continue making my life
hell. He did very little with them beforehand.
Most of the time he was drunk and couldn’t be bothered. I’m
worried that if he has them unsupervised he might do something really bad just to get me back or because he’s drunk. I told her that he left Jordan toddling around the house alone when he’d dropped
off drunk. He was rarely alone with the babies but when he was I’d return
to find Jordan sleeping uncovered in a cold room. He’d always have a dirty
nappy on and bad nappy rash. Or he’d be left alone in his playpen picking
up fluff and dirt off the floor and eating it.
I told her about the times that he
hit me, bent my fingers back, punched me in the face, squeezed me around my neck, locked me out of the house [mine and his],
stopped me taking Jordan when I tried to leave him during one of the times that I was staying at his house. I told her about the times he would throw things at me including a wine glass, which he smashed on me. He often smashed up ornaments and picture frames and just left broken glass lying
around not caring who got cut. I used to find bottles of spirits that he’d
hidden around his house. Every morning I’d find discarded lager cans dotted
all over his garden and the bin would be full of empty beer cans.
I told her about all the stalking
[including the fact that he involves his daughter and also gets her to harass my kids.]
I spoke of all the officials that he and his family [including his aunty and cousin] had sent to investigate me, such
as those from Social Services and NSPCC. I told her that he makes totally untrue
vicious allegations to the authorities, including the police, and I said that he and his cousin lied to my ex husband in the
hope that he would apply for custody of Andrew and Shell.
I mentioned the time GW swerved his
car into Andrew. I spoke about her own two children and about all the crimes
that he gets away with. I mentioned his debts and I said that I’m sure
he is part of the underworld because he seems to have a lot of protection and the police can’t touch him. I said that he used to tell me that I didn’t know who he was.
I asked GW’s ex-wife if what I’d written was familiar to her. I
also told her that it worried me that the head mistress of her children’s old high school had made a comment that I
should get Gareth charged with child abuse and that she’d been sufficiently worried about problems and violence in his
household that she’d called in the authorities on numerous occasions, as had the primary school teacher. Also, the authorities had recently been called in to her daughter’s new school because of concerns
about her daughter. I ended my letter by saying that I’m praying that she
will testify for me in court; not just for my sake re custody of my babies and contact issues, but to stop the rot. We need to stop the lying b…. from abusing other women and children.
I encouraged her to contact her own solicitor to push for a public enquiry into police and social services dealings
regarding her own children. She should demand to know why they failed in their
line of duty to protect her children, why her ex husband was given a good character reference by the police, and why she was
denied anything to do with her children by the authorities. I stressed that not
only were the local people very worried about their welfare but so too were senior teachers of the primary and secondary schools. So much so that numerous referrals were made to the welfare agencies. I offered to pay her travelling and other expenses.
As I got pen to paper, my thoughts
were racing. I’m utterly amazed when I recall the horror that my children
and I endured at times and how difficult it was [and is] to break free of that controlling monster. Thank God I got out when I did. If I’d stayed
with him any longer or [perish the thought] had got married to him I’m sure
I would’ve ended up hospitalised or even dead. The violence and threats
were getting uglier and more frequent towards the end. I’d been too scared
to leave him even though I didn’t live with him and did not have many overnight stays with him in the last few months. Even dad had warned me not to stay overnight with him as he feared for my safety. I also feared for my babies. The Beast
promised that I’d never see my baby again. He’d say he would destroy
me, that I’d never work again and that I’d lose Andrew and Shelly too. He
would promise revenge for years to come. Yet, astonishingly, even then I’d
been clutching at straws, hoping he would give up alcohol altogether as he had so often promised and that he would turn back
into Mr Nice Guy again. He also managed to play on his various ailments.
He was a secret drinker. I once asked him to give up alcohol just for one week. He
boasted that he could do it. But I caught him drinking alone in the twilight
hours; he didn’t even go to bed. He said he needed “just the one”
because he was in pain with his knees. After every argument or upset with anyone,
he’d drink more than ever. Then he’d do things, which he would later
deny when he was sober. He’d even throw away my children’s favourite
foods when he was drunk or he’d chuck out condiments and other items off the dining table just because I hadn’t
cleared them away. He once got in such a rage that he snatched a full bottle
of brasso [that I’d bought] from my hand as I was helping him to clean his brasses, and he slung it with such force at the shed that it splattered and dripped
down the shed wall from top to bottom. He also got into a furious temper when
I was perched up a ladder in his house, painting his dining room ceiling. He turned abusive, began bellowing and swearing
at me and ordered me to stop painting and to “put the brush down NOW.” So I did, collected my belongings and my kids and left.
On other occasions [under drink] he
threw me out of the house and locked me out. He locked the kids out too, even
his own son. When I was heavily pregnant with Jordan, he turned violent and attacked
Andrew. He smashed Andrew’s head repeatedly against a wall and threw him
into the fireplace. He then hit me, told me he couldn’t stand me, told
me to get out, pushed me out, threw my bag out and broke my handbag. On other
occasions he kicked and thumped my dog and then ordered me to rescue him as he cowered by the gate. If my dog fouled the porch area, Gareth would pull me out of bed and order me to clean up the mess, even
if I was asleep.
During one night, after Gareth had
spouted off, he locked me outside. I was in my dressing gown. I phoned my dad to ask him to collect us but Gareth went berserk and stood in the doorway refusing to let
me take Jordy. He ranted on at me and dad saying, “You haven’t seen
violence yet but you are about to be on the receiving end of it. You won’t
know what’s hit you by the time I’m finished. You’ll pay for
this for years to come. There will be the biggest bloodbath you’ve ever
seen.” I begged him to let me take Jordy.
But he pushed me away with such force that I scraped my legs on the wall. Eventually
the police brought Jordan out to me, and the b…. then caused my dad to be breathalysed.
He took eighty pounds from my purse and my house keys that night.
On other occasions I would find that
he’d stolen or smashed up some of Andrew’s and Shell’s things. For
example: batteries, stationary and books, a watch and even their microscope. He
stole tools from me including a brand new set of spanners and a heavyduty staple gun.
During one Christmas period he and his son got blotto on neat spirits. GW
began calling me names such as: “two-faced, bitch, tart, frigid.” Later
I found him sitting in darkness, just staring wide-eyed at the Christmas tree. He
seemed to be in a stupor and totally oblivious to anything. It was late and unsafe
to leave with the children, so I went to bed. I awoke half an hour later to face
a terrifying torrent of mental torture. Rigid with fear, I lay trembling when
he yanked the quilt off me and bellowed, “Go home; get out of my sight. I
can’t stand you, you slut, cow, f….ing lesbian. You are known as
the local bike. Even the police mock you and have got it in for you and your
pompous prat of a father. Everyone hates you.
Bloody Larges think they’re so good, so intelligent, so smart. They’re
not. They’re conceited little pricks.
You’re all twats.” He was something possessed. I tried to calm him and whispered that he’d wake the baby.
I pleaded to be left alone. He barked, “I don’t care. I’m not in the mood to worry about Jordan.
I can’t be bothered with him right now.” Eventually he left. Two hours later, he returned in floods of tears saying he was in pain, ill and dying
and begging forgiveness. He was like a little boy lost; so meek and mild. He admitted being alcoholic and pleaded with me to help him, saying that he
was petrified of losing me. He said he drank because I wasn’t there for
him and because he felt insecure about our relationship. I went to make a cuppa. I later found him with his son supping more beer.
He snarled, “Piss off will you and take those idiot kids with you. I
can’t stick them. I can’t make it any clearer to you.”
The next day I left with the kids. I had to tell him that I just wanted a temporary
break [just like I’d done on various other occasions until he’d managed to sweet-talk me round.] He wouldn’t let me take my pram or the present he’d given me.
He stole the kids’ rechargeable batteries and he ordered me to give him all the money in my purse. Then he snatched my engagement ring off my finger. He also
refused to let me take my dog’s food. When I grabbed Jordan and legged
it with Andrew and Shell in hot pursuit, he came after me yelling obscenities and making awful threats. In my haste I stumbled, scraping my legs against his garden wall, and I almost dropped Jordan. We went home in a taxi while that male chauvinist pig called the pigs on us! He’d phoned the police to complain that I was a hysterical
woman, causing a disturbance.
At other times, he would threaten
me with hit men if I tried to bin him off. He said I’d be crucified. He said the police would never protect me and that I wasn’t worth bothering
with. When I was heavily pregnant with Melly, he became furious just because
I spoke for a few seconds with an ex boyfriend. He threatened the ex, ranted
and raved at me and then pushed me outside, ramming Jordan’s pram into me. Jordan
[who was screaming hysterically] was sat in it. I suffered cuts and bruises to
my ankles.
He constantly accused me of affairs
and he hated me talking to other men, even though they were only the fathers of my kids’ friends. He’d cause a scene in the street and would squeeze me by the arm causing intense pain and bruising. Another time, on the night of the christening, Gareth kicked off. He smacked me hard about my head and I tried to get away from him.
His dad intervened and ordered his son to leave me alone. I then attended
to the two babies. Whilst I was upstairs I could hear Gareth’s mother,
his sister and his daughter and Gareth running me and Andy and Shelly down. They
were planning how they were going to stop me seeing Jordan and Melissa ever again. They
said that they knew the best judges….
During his sober periods he’d
be the perfect family man. He was loving and helpful. He’d cook delicious meals, he’d do odd jobs around my house [he could pull apart and fix anything]
and he’d be the ideal father figure to Andrew and Shell. But those loving
moments and happy family times would be so easily shattered. We might be in the
car driving back to his house after a day out, perhaps after having a lovely meal at my parents’ house, and he would
just turn nasty without any kind of provocation. He would be hurtful, insulting
and frightening. He’d even threaten to stop the car and just abandon me
and the kids [including baby Jordan] on the roadside. We might be in the middle
of nowhere. I learned to just clam up at those times and let him get it
off his chest because if I’d argued he probably would’ve told us to get out or he would’ve started driving
like a maniac.
During his nicer periods he managed
to get me [and my parents] to help him pay his debts so that he didn’t lose his house because his ex wife still had
a claim on it. I would scrimp and save on my own bills and on groceries and I’d
work to give him all my money. Later I found out that he’d secretly bought
himself a thousand pound shot gun and gun case and new fishing equipment. One
of his debts had managed to creep up from eleven thousand pounds to seventeen thousand pounds.
He even failed to keep court appointments regarding his debts; thus incurring more.
I cannot stop the thoughts and the
feelings of shame. I’m so ashamed that I allowed that despicable deceitful
fraudulent selfish ogre to dictate and control me. In the doing, not only was
I putting my own life and health [especially my mental health] at risk, but I put my own kids’ lives in danger; even
my two vulnerable little babies were at risk from him. That is unforgivable. Why was I so weak? Looking back I really
didn’t realise that I was living such an oppressed and destructive life style.
I blamed myself for his behaviour. I was so controlled by him and so influenced. I actually believed his insults and that I wasn’t worth any better. When I did see sense and did try to break free, he would immediately change into Mr Charming, Mr Wonderful,
Mr Full of Promises…. I’d wanted so much to hang on to that good
side of him. Incredibly I tried to change my own behaviour so that he’d
be nicer to us all. I learned to back down when I saw that he was getting irritable
and angry and I would try so hard to please him. I tried everything to help him
control his temper. I’d encouraged him to attend AA, to do Tai Chi relaxation
and meditation, to go for counselling, become a regular church goer…. I
was even prepared to go along with him in support. I’d even phoned the
Samaritans in desperation. But the more I did things for him and the more
I gave in to him and ignored and suppressed my own needs and the needs of my children, the more he abused us all. I couldn’t see the reality. It was a vicious circle
– destructive, damaging, sick…. The longer I left it, the harder it was to do the right thing. My confidence was becoming more and more eroded. It was so
hard to find the courage and self-reliance to finally break free - once and for all.
Little did I realise that once I did decide to finally break free of him for good and go it alone with the children,
that he had other ideas. He had no intentions of letting me go. And he even had, and has got now, the support of the State in his evil mission to continue to control us. God, I hope that monster’s ex wife helps me.
APRIL 29TH 1999
Church again today. Mr Fabricator informed me that Andrew was seen by three people yesterday risking his life by carrying shopping
home on his bike, as he’d taken a tumble. He insisted that I was irresponsible
allowing it to happen and that he’s only warning me because he cares about Andrew.
I glowered at him and replied, “Oh, I get it; I’m to expect more NSPCC/ Social Worker visits, am I? On
the way out, Andrew hissed, “Lyin’ b…. std. He wants me dead.”
Jordy and Melly were their usual ‘reserved’
selves in his company and reluctant to see me leave. Jord has backtracked into
nappies since these sessions started. I put it down to anxiety. After every visit
with heinous-features, pud’s pull-ups are saturated. But does the court
care???!!!
The little blighters from across the
road and their idiotic mates were catapulting rocks and they didn’t care where they aimed. Missiles landed in my yard, on my shed roof, at car windows and other residents’ windows. I went out to scream at them and threaten them, as did a few other neighbours. They scurried off smirking.
I watched a moving documentary about
a remarkable disadvantaged baby who, despite all odds, simply refused to die. God
bless him and his parents who bravely fought medics and judges for his right to live.
Baby David was born premature and handicapped. But David clung on to life
and much of it was spent in and out of hospital. The hospital decided that it
was in the baby’s interests if he died. The family took the matter to court,
only to be told by a judge to “leave good judgements to doctors.” How
overbearing and clinical can you get? The family had no ‘voice’;
no one cared what they wanted. Doctors acted unlawfully when they gave David
a harmful drug – but the baby survived it; and he struggled on when he was removed from a ventilator, much to the medics’
surprise [and disappointment.] This harrowing tale exposes the power of love
between a mother and her baby. David was meant to live. He was determined - a little fighter. I reckon God is working
through him. David couldn’t communicate but his message is the power of
God.
