my true roots by carl

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Growing up in northern Britain 1976 in a Working Class family was shall we say interesting. I was eleven and lived at home with my mother who was 46 years of age and her older sister my aunt. I had never had a father. I was small skinny kid. relatively intelligent and good at sport. i was just about to finish primary school and move on to secondary school.It was a normal day at school. Lessons were being held and it was nine thirty when one of the admin came into class. She spoke briefly with our teacher who then said Carl would you go with pat please to the heads office your mothers here to pick you up. I got up a little surprised and walked off with the admin. My mum was a cleaner at a local factory and started work at 7.am so for her to be at the school was somewhat of a surprise despite this i thought i has not overly worried.

When i went into the office my mum was chatting with the head Mr Gaffney. My mum was explaining that Aunty Mary was ill and as my other Aunt was at work no one would be in for me at lunch time and could she take me to see my aunty mary. As it was one of the last days at school the headteacher didnt see it as a problem and with that my mother and i left the school and went to the bus stop. The bus came in five minutes and we both got on. She paid the driver and we sat down. My aunt lived seven miles away in the City so i prepared myself for a half hour journey and chatted away to my mum...We had gone six stops when i felt her grip tighten on my coat sleeve, come on were getting off she said and with that i was yanked off the bus. Now like most young boys at the time my hair was unkempt and long. It was blonde and shoulder length. The fringe came half way down my nose and the sides over my ears and long enough for me to chew when i daydreamed. My mum hated it as stated she was old school and a mature woman who didnt expect her young son to look like a girl. The flip side of this was i hated getting it cut. I dont know why because i had been to the barbers on numerous occasions and screamed every time so much so that my mum often gave in and the barber was always forced into giving my locks a trim and tidy up and very glad to see the back of me.

I was shocked. We had got off the bus at Park Brow shops and from about forty yards away it was evident that the light was on and shutters open at the barbers shop. My mothers manner had changed. She was determined and my sleeve was held very tightly as despite my protests and to be honest fairly horrible name calling we closed in on the door to the shop. The barber there was Sony and he was about fifty i had last been here about six months ago and He was an okay guy who knew my mum from growing up together. We reached the door and from the outside the two chairs were empty soon they wouldnt be. I pulled but my mother was a strong woman and she had her prey, She turned the handle, panic now, I sobbed and told her i hated her (i never did) but my hair was mine and it should stay firmly on my head. I expected the door to open but it didnt and when I looked although the lights were on no-one was there. She tried again and tapped the window but no-one came and as i struggled i could feel her frustration growing. Three times she tried until defeated we went into the newspaper shop next door, my arm still firmly gripped. My mother bought cigarettes and a newspaper before asking the lady who served her if she knew where Sony was. The reply was what i wanted. He had opened the shop up for business but after ten minutes had come into the paper shop and told woman that he had to rush away but he would be back to open up properly in a bout an hour. We had just missed him and as the steady rain showed no signs of stopping and with no where to wait we began to walk home as my mother wanted a cigarette before the bus. I was ecstatic. I walked with a slight skip and my mum smoked as we walked obviously fuming at being thwarted. She barely spoke as we wondered home but i was determined to be more diligent next time. It wouldn't be that easy i thought and her look told me she wasn't happy. We walked for five minutes mostly in silence but i was happy no barbers for me yippee. Suddenly it all changed. As we walked around the corner at Quarry Green shops the grip tightened again. before could fight i was dragged through the door of the worst barbershop in Kirkby i had forgotten and this time the door opened.

The shop had five waiting chairs. Four were unoccupied and a man about 40 sat in the other reading his paper. There were two barbers Pat Mghee and Tom Macdermott who were both in their sixties and famed for hair-cutting prowess and not exactly being up on youth fashion. The shop was in full working order. The barbers had two customers and were busy cutting and clipping the two men. The floor had the hair of the old, young men, and boys like myself and the small of talcum powder mingled with the chat about the horse racing. My mother was quick. Placing herself between myself and the door my coat was quickly taken off me and i was pushed towards the furthest waiting chair away from the the door and she sat right beside me holding my arm tighter than ever. Cheated i felt and told my mum again of my hatres and increased blubbering only to be informed by the waiting customer to be quiet.

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