My Story - Part 2: Life in Sunderland

Best place to start is the beginning. I was born in 1952 in Sunderland, NE England. My dad was a very proud Scot from Leith and mum from Gateshead. This is where I was born and spent the first 11 years. http://www.mc-gregor.org.uk/gallery_sunderland.html.

I don't want to go too deeply into my hirschsprung's because that has been dealt with elsewhere, http://www.mc-gregor.org.uk/history.html & http://www.hirschsprungs.info/stories/Gerry.php. I was the youngest of 5 but Martin was born about 18 months later but he did not live long. Mum told me that the doctor said that as I was so poorly it was either him or me. That made me more special to mum and more spoilt. I was diagnosed at 9 months and then spent most of my time from then until 5 in hospital in Newcastle. 

After coming out of hospital, I enjoyed my life in Sunderland. Playing with my brother Duncan and our friends Alan & David. German's & British, Cowboy's & Indians. In the cobbled back lanes play footie or cricket. Hoping the ball would not go over one of the walls and have trouble getting it back. We would have big adventures, going off to Tunstall Hill or Rocky Hill (not its proper name),which was even further off. We could go anywhere we wanted to so long as we were home for meals, which suited Duncan & me.

Our biggest adventure was to satisfy one of our hobbies, train spotting. Duncan & I would spend hours at the main station or the good yards taking numbers down. These of course were proper trains with smoke coming out of them. Our big adventure was with our friends and another one whose name escapes me now. He was a couple of years older and mapped out a day trip. Catch the train from Sunderland down to Darlington, there catch an express train to Carlisle and then a normal one back to Sunderland or that was approximately it.  I was about 9 and so Duncan was 12, imagine doing that now. Things went well until we got to Darlington. We had a little time to fill and got excited about the trains passing and looking for their numbers. We were in the waiting room and one of the station porters kept telling us off. To cut a long story short, we were put on a train back to Sunderland and our parents informed. Ouch, not a good ending.

School was OK but nothing great. Our first school was St Benets in Monkwearmouth, quite a long way to go as a 5 year old. We live on the Durham road as it is now called, Riversdale Terrace, near Barnes Park. My great memory of that school was not long after I started there, Duncan & my eldest brother Ian, coming round and playing a Lonnie Donegan song, It Takes A Worried Man. Duncan on a ukulele & Ian on a guitar. I was so proud to have such clever brothers and that was the start of Duncan's musical career, which lasted many years. For some reason we change church's to St Mary's and school. This school was run by nun's who for some reasons did not seem to like us. Duncan & I were both altar boys. This did have a big plus, if you had to serve at morning mass, you could be late for school and eat your breakfast in class. We always seemed to serve at the same masses and so walked back to school together. I once tried to re-trace that route, on one of my visits back to Sunderland. The area had changed so much I failed.

For us, no having to be taken to school and picked up, nope, we either walked or went by bus. Also returning home ourselves at lunchtime, as that was our main meal, typical northern. We all fought to be first in the door to lick the pudding spoon. Jumping off the bus and early as possible to beat the other. We never once thought how dangerous it might have been. Those days of freedom were great and my illness never seemed to interfere. Yes, I did have to have enemas and go back to hospital sometimes as an inpatient others for check up, etc. One other thing that took a lot of time was speech therapy. I had a stammer, the doctors said it was post operational shock but who knows. I still do have it but it hardly bothers me now.

Now because of the time off school, I was not expected to pass my 11 plus. The school had a special stream for those expected to pass. They had extra tuition and had trial exams. Much to the disgust of the nuns I kept doing so well that I forced my way into that class but then I would be dropped and then forced my way in again. I learnt at an early age not to do thing that people expected of me. That if I was to survive it was up to me. When I was born a large percentage of hirschsprung's children died. The baby in the bed next to me did. I did not and am still here being awkward. 

To prove them wrong I went and passed my 11 plus, off to grammar school. At that time my Dad lost his job and so he decided he wanted to run a pub. He searched for a few months to find the right one and decided that the Cross Keys in Greenlaw, in the Scottish Borders was the place to be. That did mean that I had to go to grammar school for about 6 weeks. Mum & Dad had to buy the whole uniform, Blazer, short trousers, cap, rugby strip, football strip, etc, all new. The school would not budge, how stupid of the school, it cost my parents a lot of money for such a short time. Mind it was run by the dreadful Christian Brothers and they were the start of my troubles. As I was a weak child or that is how I was treated, understandably, I never took any PE or games there. My games & PE strips were as new when I left as when they were bought.

This is the start of the hard part. At that school we had a Latin teacher. He was an old priest and he would tell us to go out and stand beside him. As we did his hand would go up the back of our trouser and he would satisfy himself by fondling us. If he did it to our class he must have done it to other classes and for how many years. Also how could the other priests not of known? Now that may not have harmed me to much but in my teenage years this was not the last time something similar happened.

Within the past couple of years I have contacted the Catholic Church to find out if anything else had been reported at that school. They did seem very keen to help but not much action, except they put me in contact with an extremely sympathetic and helpful man in Moray. Even my local priest does not want to know. I will not venture further into my views on their actions except to say, not impressed.

In October we left my beloved Sunderland and moved to a new country, Scotland and from a town to a small borders village. What went on there is another tale. Time to pack for tomorrow.

To follow the story go to Part 3 - Family