Street Kid Fights On: She thought the nightmare was over. Judy Westwater

up. Grudgingly, she arranged to meet me in Manchester.

      I put the kids in the pram and headed for the city centre, a couple of miles away. I was running over things in my mind. If anything happened to the children I would never forgive myself. Perhaps this was Mum’s chance to help me. If she could lend a sympathetic ear maybe I would find a way out of my disastrous marriage. She had got away from my Dad, after all. Surely there was some advice she could offer?

      It was already dark and it had been a cold day. I blew on Jude’s fingers to keep them warm and bundled them both up tightly in a blanket.

      ‘We’re going out now. Keep that blanket round you,’ I said as I wheeled them along.

      We met outside a restaurant in the centre of town. Mum was with my stepfather, Paddy, who had driven her into the city. She gave me a half-hearted hello.

      ‘So these are the children,’ she said.

      I could tell straightaway that she viewed this meeting purely as a hassle. She wasn’t glad to see us. She barely glanced at Jude and David, who were staring with wide-eyed curiosity. There was an awkward pause.

      ‘I just really need to talk to you, Mum…’ I started, but my voice trailed off.

      She looked at me with a perplexed expression. I could see her wondering what on earth I wanted from her. ‘Maybe you’d better come home with us,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a car.’

      The journey was silent. Back at the house, my youngest half-sister Lily was in the living room.

      ‘Shall I take these kids upstairs?’ she asked.

      Jude and David were tired because it was getting late and I was very grateful that they would be taken out of hearing. Mum went into the kitchen to make some tea and I followed her. I felt like a stranger in this house but I needed her to listen to me and this seemed like my best chance.

      It was not to be. Before I had a chance even to say a word, I heard a commotion at the front door. There was hammering and then raised, shouting voices. My blood froze as I realized that it was Roger. I’ve got no idea how he found me but I can only think that he either followed me that day, or he had found Mum’s address on one of my letters and when he discovered I was missing he came straight round there.

      ‘Where is she? Where is she?’ Roger was yelling.

      Mum continued to put on the kettle and completely ignored what was going on.

      ‘I’ve done it now,’ I thought, and my whole body shook as Roger launched himself into the kitchen in a fury. He didn’t say a word to Mum, just pushed me up against the sink threateningly while screaming abuse and shaking me hard. I looked towards her for some kind of protection but, to my horror, she avoided my eyes and deliberately turned her back on me. I was on my own.

      When Roger finally stopped shaking me, Paddy came into the kitchen.

      ‘She’s a nightmare! You don’t know what she’s like,’ Roger told him.

      Paddy shrugged. ‘I don’t want anything to do with this. Here,’ he reached into his pocket and brought out a £5 note. ‘Take this and get her out of here,’ he said to Roger. ‘And I don’t want either of you to come to my house again.’

      My heart sank. Here I was, betrayed and abandoned again. Slowly I went upstairs, rubbing my arm where he had gripped me. I picked up my children. Why did nobody care? Why could they not just have listened? I hadn’t wanted much from them. As we left the house Roger shouted for everyone to hear, ‘Just wait till I get you home.’

      The last thing I saw was my mother shutting the door behind me. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

      Back at Compass Street a wave of nausea hit me. It didn’t feel like my own home any more. It was difficult to accept that my mother had abandoned me yet again. Worse still was the fact that she had let down her own grandchildren. I had no money and nowhere to go. I was terrified of what Roger would do. I’d tried everything I could think of.

      After I had put the kids to bed, I crept downstairs. Roger was working on his bike in the back room. He cast a glance at me through the open door. There was a smug expression on his face. He had, after all, come through the whole thing £5 richer and the undisputed winner. The look in his eyes said, ‘You belong to me. There’s nothing you can do.’

      It was the first time he had met my mother but he showed no interest in her at all. He just said, ‘None of your shit family wants you, not even your own mother. You must have done something really bad for them to throw you out.’

      From that day on, I began to live in the kitchen. I felt utterly hopeless, and in the depths of my depression I shrank inside myself. I closed the living room curtains, too afraid to be seen by neighbours. I didn’t answer the door to the window cleaner, milkman or postman. There was no point. No one cared. No one was going to help. The kitchen was tiny and there was hardly enough room for the two children to crawl around. I could open the back door, but bad weather often kept us inside. There was no radio or TV and I spent the day keeping busy as best I could until Roger came home and started his tirade yet again.

      That winter, in the cold and the damp, David’s bronchitis got worse and the doctor suggested that a warmer climate would make a big difference to the baby. Then, around Easter 1967 Roger came home with the news that Speedy had sold the Globe to a Russian impresario called Charley Henchis. Mr Henchis was taking the act abroad to Beirut as part of the after-dinner entertainment in a casino. I didn’t know where Beirut was exactly, but I guessed it would be warm. When Roger was offered a job riding in the new show he snapped it up. The move would mean a big pay rise.