The text:
A precis of a life
A Present from the Past
An Anonymous Autobirography
I have no memories, some of my past is present but only because it is a part of my being.
I understand my father dies suddenly when I was nine months old, I never met him. I never missed him. Later I learnt something about his life and grew to appreciate what he had achieved in his short half life. For a farm boy in the hard times of the 1920's, with no education other than the ability to read and write, but with an innate interest in wireless and motor cars to have achieved the status of owning his own house, garage, and cafe by the 1930's was quite phenomenal in those days.
My mother who loved us both until the day she died never spoke of him to me.
She never touched either of use ever again, it was as if a net curtain surrounded her. I could see her dimly but could never get to know heror touch her in any way, no hugs or kisses. I did not find this unusual.
My formative years were spent in the house of my grandfather and grandmother, which my father had built for them adjoining ours. They were both in their seventies, working class Victorian. My grandfather had been a tenant farmer all his life. They treated me kindly but were very distant in time.
They lived with my aunt, who had been a nurse in the first world war. During that service she had contracted sleeping sickness, as a result of this she was quite severely disabled. She was genuinely attached to me, she was the only adult with whom I had any contact. I still think that for the first four or five years of my life I treated her very badly. Presumably because she was the only target for my incoherent frustration. I was the only child in my world. Later I met three cousins who moved into another house we owned on the other side of the road. I also met another boy of about my own age whose father owned a neighbouring farm. It was a very small village, half of the males had died in the first war so children were still scarce in the countryside.
Anyway this was the gang I grew up with. We did not have much contact with adults, the little we did have generally involved running away because we had been caught scrumping or playing on a haystack. Most of our time was spent building secret dens. Once we were in bad trouble after my fell into a secret underground bunker we had built in the corner of his garden.
This was a happy time.
Then I went to the village school. There was only one class, about twenty children aged between five and fourteen, from the surrounding countryside within walking distance. We did not know that we were about to declare war on Germany again. Not a lot happened immediately then petrol and almost everything else was rationed and cars in the village became very scarce. Ours was stood up on blocks in an old shed. We turned it into a de-luxe den. The garage closed and my granddad joined the home guard with his shot gun but no ammunition.
As a gang we prepared for war, we would secretly watch the home guard drilling and rehearsing military tactics, then we would practice on our own. We saved some of our sweet rations and our best catapult pebbles and and stored them in one of our secret dens, an old hollow tree overlooking the road. When the Germans came they would not get past us. We practiced on any passing traffic. We were not discovered. We patrolled looking for German spies or parachutists.
Fireworks had been banned as part of the emergency. Before the war these were sold from the garage and I knew where those left over from last year were kept. These we liberated and added to our emergency supplies, it was when practicing with these that we made our big mistake. We did not notice that a spark had fallen among the remaining bangers and jumping jacks. We were obliged to abandon our tree rapidly, we went home and said nothing. Later that night there was a commotion, the village policeman had observed a tree on fire, the fire brigade from the nearest town were called, the home guard were alerted in case of enemy action. We said nothing, our secrets remained secure.
Later that year a Gypsey Moth flew low over our school which was a cause of great excitement, our teacher told us her boyfriend was the pilot. We were even more impressed with her after this. She was a young teacher and very nice to us. I can't remember she had to use any discipline for our behaviour.
I must have learnt quite quickly, I could read comics and write my lessons by the time I was six. I really don't know who taught me.
I know this must be true because when I was six I was sent to a boarding school and to get in I had to pass some sort of common entrance.
This changed my life radically.
Being moved from Milly Molly Mandy land to a boarding school in the 1940's was nullifying. I was dressed in a uniform and taken to a railway station, there I was put in the guards' van, sitting on my trunk and the tuck box my grandfather had made for the occasion. I don;t think my mother cried or kissed me goodbye, I'm sure if she had I would have remembered. The railway system must have been very efficient in those days because I was put on trains, changed trains and taken off trains for the next few years without having the least idea of where I was for the next five years.
Because of the war all of the teachers were Victorian indeed some of the older ones were Dickensian. They did not start beating me seriously for the first year after that it became an increasingly frequent experience. The atmosphere of brutality naturally spread to the pupils and bullying was a way of life. I do not remember being particularly unhappy there, I adopted a cool hand Luke attitude to the bullies, when beaten I would not lie down eventually they became too exasperated to hit me again. As for the master I learnt to look them in the eye and thank them politely. They did not like this and beat me the harder but it made me feel better and improved my status with my fellows.
This strange life was taking place in the environment of the world war. We were aware that the situation was much more unpleasant elsewhere, we did not complain or feel ill used, it was just a way of life. I did not excel in anything and never met a master who inspired me. I did not consider them as human beings, they were aliens from a different world.
My mother was working as a driver and supervisor in the NAAFI, serving various bomber stations in East Anglia, my holidays were spent alone in various temporary lodgings in that area. Apart from generally mucking about on my own and exploring the surrounding countryside, my treat was to travel in the back of the NAAFI van to the dispersal points on the aerodromes where the crews were served NAAFI tea and rock cakes before they left on their night raids. I suppose I was something like a mascot and I was given various treasures such as a compass inside a brass button issued so that the airmen could find their way home in the event of being shot down over Germany.
My birthdays were always spent at school where parties were not encouraged, as for Christmas toys, they were scarce during the war. I do remember my grandfather made me some tanks using a cotton reel and elastic band and a match stick. At school the food was meagre and disgusting, we were always obliged to clear our plates, we all carried a special rag in which we could secrete the gristle and boiled cabbage which were particualrly inedible.
At home in the countryside we were never short of good staples, we grew vegetables, kept a pig and some chickens. True tea and sugar were severely rationed, the former did not concern me as for the latter this was augmented by the large quantity of jam and preserves which my aunts made in large quantities for the local Womens Institute. We picked the necessary fruit, mainly rosehips and blackberries. Christmas apart from the dinner was spent playing embarassing parlour games with elderly relatives.
The end of the war coincided with my move from Junior School to Senior School. This was a lot tougher. Now we had prefects for whom we fagged, they could now beat us previously that was a privilegereserved for our House Masters. Indeed school prefects had more powers then the House Masters, they together with the Head Master could beat any boy in the school whereas Masters could only beat those in the House to which they were attached. They however developed other ingenious punishments to overcome this defficiency, some mental some physical.
With the end of the war my mother returned to Milly Molly Mandy land but they were both changed by their experiences. I was even more distanced from my mother and my gang, they had no comprehension of the world away from them in which I now lived. once my mother asked me what the word homosexual meant. Not an easy task for a young adolescent boy who had grown up in a heterophobic environment in which going out with a local girl was a heinous crime leading to an instant expulsion. In truth I did have a secret liason with a local girl, one I could not reveal even to my fellow pupil, our meetings were all too brief for anything untoward to occur. On Sunday afternoon we were allowed out in groups to practice cross coutnry running. My tactic was to start very fast, when out of sight of the persuiing pack we would meet at a prearranged point behind a hedge as the pack ran past there was time for a brief kiss and cuddle. I still remember she brushed her teeth with Pepsodent. I had got a taste for this forbidden pleasure when at an earlier time playing mothers and fathers with my cousins. Sex education was most definitely part of the school curriculum. Illicit homosexuality was rife in the dormitories indeed some of the Master swould grant favours for such services. The Chaplain was particularly prone to temptation. i considered such behaviour as a betrayal akin to sneaking to them on fellow pupils. I would prefer to take my punishment without granting such favours. I never felt abused by such activities.
At home during the holidays I spent my time with my dog, the 4.10 shot, my bike and my pony called Nigger, because he was black, this word now so despised has always carried affectionate connotations to me. Learning to ride involved a lot of falling off. My grandfather now in his eighties tried to help but it was really beyond him, he died shortly after when I was at school. So he also was never mentioned again.
Somehow I learnt this country sports without the benefit of any adult instruction. I even attended the local hunt and was blooded for being there for the kill. Meat rationing was still minimal so the rabbits I snared or shot were a welcome addition to my pocket money. My needs were small, a trip on my bike to the nearest town. I preferred th emain films to the Saturday morning kids show. When not riding shooting or fishing I was reading copiously mainly modern classics or science fiction to which I became seriously addicted. In those days this was only available in seedy adult bookshops along with Health and Efficiency and very soft porn through which I browsed with some embarassment. Occasionally I would buy such a book which I would hide from my mother and take it to school, a very dangerous activity. On one occasion one was discovered in my tuck box. After the Sunday service in the Chapel, I was publicly humiliated in front of the whole school for disgusting an ddegrading behaviour. Then I received six of the best from the headmaster. The treachery of my fellow pupils hurt me more than the thrashing.
At home life around me was changing. Both my gradnparents had died and my auntie had moved away to live with another aged aunt. My mother had remarried not for love of the man, she thought I needed a father figure in my life, she was completely wrong, I was living in a world beyond parental control, I di dnot reject them or it, there was nothing to reject. I did not rebel. I had adopted a new persona. I had become an upper middle class snob, the public school system had done its work. If I had been born slightly earlier in Germany I would have joined the Hitler Youth and become an S.S Officer.
We sold up our holding in Milly Molly Mandy land and moved to the South Coast.
At school I studied hard, largely on my own outside the classes I attended As a result I obtained surprisingly good results in my School Certificate Examination much to everyone's surprise. As a result it was decided I would stay at school for a further two years. Nobody, including myself, had any idea what course my studies would take. As I now realise the wrong choice was made. I was put in the science stream rather then the Arts stream. As a result I found mmy satisfaction in sports and the Cadet Corps, in both of which I became mpderately successful. I lost interest in my studies, finding satisfaction in the improvement of my status earnt on the playing field.
In the big world outside things were happening again, we were fighting the communists in Korea. This time America was reading the charge with the British Empire in a supporting role. There was a wide belief that the third world war was about to begin.
Having watched the images and heard the stories of the fate of civilians and refugees in the 39/45 war I was of the opinion that the safest place to be was in the army; there you are given a gun and food, a degreee in history is of little use in such circumstance.
Incidentally subsequent research has justified my decision prior to 1939 90% of the casualties were military personnel, now the percentage has been reversed, in modern warfare 90% are civilians.
As a result of this decision I sat the civil servants exam, passed and applied for entry to Sandhurst.
National Conscription was still in force so one had to do two years in the army anyway. What did a few more years matter. Better as an Officer than a Private, as I said I had become a bit of a snob.
After a few more character tests and basic training I entered Sandhurst as an officer cadet.
Life there was hard particularly in the junior term, but my life in a public school had prepared me well. The discipline seemed quite natural, it caused me no suffering.
Unfortunately whilst I was there the Korean War ended, well at least as far as the British Empire was concerned. It now had other priorities which I had not forseen. It was in retreat always the most difficult and dangerous of any Army manouvers.
After battle training I received my commission as an officer of her majesty the Queen and joined my regiment, the 17th regiment of foot now stationed at Khartoum in the Sudan.
I did not know that plans were in hand to evacuate the Sudan. I had no interest in politics. The whole ethos of the army was to express no interest in politics religion or sex. Though the latter subject sometimes arose behind closed doors particularly among the subalterns after a mess night. We just did our duty. I was still a virgin.
At this time my name was changed for me. When I joined the mess the colonel asked my name - I said John, the name by which I had been known for twenty years. He said "Can't have that, too many Johns already, haven't you got another one?" I said rather hesitantly well my second Christian name is Charles. This had also been my fathers second name. "Right your name is Charles" and so without any formality I was rechristened into the army. Despite several attempts no body has been able to change it back.
Our duties were minimal. We practiced various aspects of desert warfare relating to the desert campaign of the last war, our equipment comprised that which had been left behind from that time. Water discipline, surviving on one water bottle a day was very character forming. Our afternoons were occupied with all the usual sports, during the brief rainy season we even played rugby. Our only active duties were keeping apart the Northern Moslem and the Christian Nubians from the South. The latter supplied all the servants for the army so we were naturally prejudiced in their favour.
Occasional pot shots were exchanged. Fortunately Kalashnikovs were not generally available, any casulaties were slight. After eighteen months it was time for us to pack up and go. We were the rear guard company, the last British troops to leave the Sudan after 150 years. On leaving my old Nubian servant said to me with tears in his eyes "Why are you leaving us? My family has served the British Army for three generations. Now they will kill us." He meant the Moslems from the North. He was right they have been doing so for the past fifty years.
We left for the coast on a lovely old steam train. The officers in mahogany panelled first class carriages, the troops in third class cattle trucks! Very traditional. The Band played us out, apart from that there were no celebrations.
Steaning up the Red Sea to rejoin the battalion we were informed that some sort of Emergency was happening in Aden and we must disembark temporarily. I never knew what the emergency was all about, it appeared to be rather more serious than the Sudan. There were more bullets flying around. Our role was as usual, piggy in the middle. We were not there very long before continuing our journey through the Suez Canal. I was disappointed to be missing the action but after a couple of years we were due some R and R in Cyprus.
In those days there was no flying home every six months. We were sent and came back whenever or whatever we had been sent to do was done.
We were shortly in for another surprise. Cyprus is a lovely island which has been posessed by numerous civilizations. Currently it was posessed by by the British, it's population of Truks and Greeks were the residue of previous owners.
Our rest camp was tented accomodationon Salamis Beach surrounded by orange groves. Completely indefensible.
The surprise we got on our arrival was that Archbishop Makarios has decided that the island was Greek and it wa shis devine right to kick the Turks out. The Turks did not agree. This was all a great pity because Britain as part of the dissolutionof its Empire had decided to give it to both of them. Our role in this confontation was as usualy piggy in the middle.
Now my company commander, a major, had been in Singapore when the Japs came in the back door. His first order of battle was to surrender. He was still on the troop ship in the harbour at the time. His war service was spent building the Burmese Railway. He survived this physically but was mentally damaged, he could not have survived in the civilian world so the army kindly retained his services.
He taught me one vary valuable lesson. How to make things not happen. The story is this. It was Ramadan and the Turks who largely lived within the walls of the old city of Famagusta decided to attach the Greeks who for the most part lived in the suburbs surrounding it. They were the merchants the Turks the labourers, they also were 90% of the Police Force. In the event of a Turkish uprising their 'phones were off the hook and they were busy elsewhere. It was our duty to plug the gap. It was mess night in the Officers and Sargeants Mess. After the formal dinner in full dress uniform with all the Regimental Silver on the table it was the tradition for the young subalterns to engage in dangerous games for the amusement of the senior officers. Everybody was expected to get drunk. On this occasion the Major was duty officer. It was his custom, when he was drunk enough, to wrap himself in the Union Jack, sit on the piano and sing "Rule Britannia". The colonel noticed he was not in his usual place, he then discovered that a message had been received about the riot in Famagusta and had left with his driver to reccie the situation, armed only with his medals and his swagger cane. He did not want to spoil the party so had told no one of his decision.
Because of the state of the command structure it took longer than usual to get the battalion into riot gear and on the road. When we arrived in the square where the riot had been reported it had been turned into a fiesta. A table had been placed in the centre of the square at which sat the majorsurrounded by various local dignitaries whome he introduced as Greek Wallah, Turkey Wallah; Good men, No problem, More Ouzo all round. Come on chaps let's have a song. He had moved the mess party to another place, he was roaring drunk, everybody was laughing. No riot, we took him back to barracks. He had made the riot unhappen, it was never spoken of again.
Shortly after this I was to discover that I had not acquired this skill. It happened like this - After Sunday lunch the colonel had detailed young officers and sergeants to walk around town unarmed and in mufti. This was very welcome as the town had been put out of bounds recently. He was trying to establish an aura of naormality.
As me and my sergeant passed a Greek workshop a group of young lads were shouting abusively at us, we ignored this but quickening our pace we headed for the main thorofare. Just as we made it they openned fire with automatic fire from a short distance behind us. Unfortunately for me they started the burst on my sergeant who was seriously wounded, only one bullet passed through my leg fracturing my femur. I was more surprised than hurt. In the ensuiing melée before they coul dput the boot in a group of old moslem ladies in their black head scarves surrounded tham and kept us off. When the emergency services finally arrived they pumped me so full of morphine I was as happy as Larry for the next two days.
When I recovered from the morphine I found myself in traction in a hospital bed. In this condition I was flown back to a militia hospital in England where I spent the next six months.
Now for the first time in my life I was off the rails with time to think what I wated out of life. This was to have a disasterous effect on my military career.
When I rejoinmed the regiment in Cyprus I was questioning the system. The military establishment does not take kindly to being questioned. Quite rightly so, the army requires people to do really silly things which no sensible person with any common sense would choose to do. Obeyng orders is necessary. Questioning them is dangerous and confounds military discipline. Even I soon realised I was no longer good at my job. But the questioning habit once caught will not get lost, it has plagued me ever since.
I submitted my first resignation, it was refused. Those in high places now decided to reverse the process of withdrawal from the E,pire. Cyprus was the launch pad for the Allied attack, this was all top secret so of course we all knew. The French Foreign Legion began to arrive on the Island from Algeria. They were fired up for battle and practiced on the local population. This further destabilised the security situation. Our orders were to guard these camps and shoot anybody trying to get out. I became increasingly concerned about the role of the military acting as armed police men against the civilian population and our supposed allies. I again tended my resignation, it was refused.
So Suez happened and America stopped this colonial adventure.
We were then shipped back to England, where we were stationed in Plymouth. I had accrued a substantial amount of leave which I had not taken whilst on active service. My character had changed since I started questioning my role in society.
I had acquired a rather Bohemian character with an interest in Trad. Jazz and what was then considered the low life of the coffee bar.
This did not go down well in the mess. I had met a Polish entrepreneur, a very likeable dubious character with exotic stories of his escape from behind the Iron curtain. He had opened a coffee bar on the Barbican where I fancied a beautiful young waitress, he had to go to hospital for an operation and asked me to run his estabishment while he was away. I readily agreed and applied for my leave. All went well and I finally lost my virginity. This came to an abrupt end when the Colonels batman told him of my activities. I was immediately taken back and confined to barracks.
It was a bit of a stand off, the colonel threatened to charge me under the catch all clause of military code, conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline. I said fine go ahead and again submitted my resignation. This time it was accepted. I left the army and returned to Brighton where my mother was running a gest house on Marine Parade owned by the Girls Guildry, a sort of mini Girl Guides. It was the summer holiday home for their girls.
I now had artistic pretensions and had decided on a career as an Interior Designer. Starting at the bottom I obtained employment in th elocal top class Furnishing Emporium.
I was somewhat surprised when my beautiful waitress arrived on my doorstep. She had told her mother she was pregnant and was promptly sent packing with a small suitcase and a train ticket to Brighton. We were both happy with this arrangement and my mother to her credit took it in her stride. We subsequently found she was not pregneant but the suspicion had achieved the desired result.
Quite soon I had acquired a better position in the West End of London and we moved into a scruffy bedsit in Barons Court.
A year later we decided to get married to get the tax rebate which paid for our honeymoon in France. Shortly afterwards she did become pregnant.
My new career progressed rapidly so I took my contacts with me and formed my own contract furnishing business. We moved to a larger flat in Ealing. My wife went to acting school and went on the stage at Questors Theatre.
When my wife became pregnant we were happy. Somewhat to my surprise I found I liked my children and because of my total lack of family experience, I just assumed it was my job to look after them along with my mother. This had not yet become fashionable.
Unfortunately mmediately after the birth my wife became euphoric and hyperactive. She did not sleep and rapidly decame delusional. I reluctantly called the doctor who promptly committed her to the asylum along with her new born daughter.
Once agai my mother came to my aid enabling me to keep my business and the household together.
I had not encountered mental health problems before so I had been studying them in the local library. When my wife's condition failed to improve the doctors required my consent to give her ECT treatment. I was not convinced this was appropriate. When they threatened to section her and carry on regardless of my opinion, I kidnapped both her and my daughter during visiting hours and took them home. They were very angry about this and threatened me with various legal retribution should anything untoward occur. It did not and gently, without the use of drugs my mother brought my wife back to normality within six months.
We were now in the swinging sixties and London was a buzz. I had openned a boutique and a modern furnishing shop. Blow up shairs and trendy nick nacks. I travelled round the world buying exotic goods. We knew several of the local bands who later became the Rock and Roll Father Figures still with us forty years later. Nobody suspected that at the time. I even roadied for one of them because I was the only one with a van.
All this ended when my wife ran off with a pop star leaving me with the children. Depressed and humiliated I gave up my business in London and retreated to Brighton to rethink my future.
In London and acquaintance of mine with whom I had run a local folk club had left his beautiful wife and child. She was left in dire straights. She had helped me look after my children in my latter days in London. She now joined me in Brighton and we formed a relationship.
Happy times were back again, unfortunately I had now lost faith in the career structure. I became at various times a social worker, a carpenter, a chef and a Life Guard. For no good reason I decided we should go to Ireland.
During our relationship we had tried to return to London, didn't like it, went to Yugoslavia, liked it but were forced to return when we ran out of cash. Then we went to Scotland to visit one of my former business associates, liked it but were obliged to return to Brighton for my mothers dying days.
Very confusing. So we decided to get married. In the meantime my lady had produced two more children so now we were seven and struggling.
I can't think why but I decided we should go to Ireland for a honeymoon.
A very silly idea, with five children. We failed at Plymouth again. In retrospect this is not surprising we were all living in a lorry which I had converted to contain us. My family rebelled. In desperation I bought a near derelict Victorian Bakery.
I knew nothing about baking. Fortunately a gentleman baker who had worked there for forty years took me under his wing and taught me the trade. After serving my apprenticeship I became the Master Baker.
I was enthused. For the next ten years I and my second wife supported our families and the business thrived.
We baked good bread and made good pasties. Workign fourteen hours a day and bringing up a family however takes a toll. Our marriage suffered.
Fortunately, through no fault of mine the bakery burnt down before it killed me.
I lost the ensuing battles with the insurance company, the bank, and my solicitors. I won my case but they got my money.
On the road again. When enthused by his craft I had developed the skill of baking bread as it had been done in earlier times, in wood fired ovens anywhere given good flour, pure water, yeast and a little salt. As such I became an outside caterer. To be honest I had nothing else going for me at this time.
My second wife did not approve of the life style which my straitened circumstance had forced on me. I could see her point of view, but there was nothing I could do about it.
A parting of the ways was inevitable.
Once again taking to the road travelling around the British Isles, with occasional forays on the continent of Europe, making a precarious living building field bakeries and providing on site catering.
The residue of my family had settled in and around Glastonbury where I returned to lick my wounds from tiem to time.
There I got involved in the Pilton Pop Festival, otherwise known as Glastonbury Festival. This in turn led me to involvement in various community and commercial ventures in the town itself.
I kept my involvement with my family during its natural diaspora.
Glastonbury in itself had changed from a small typical Somerset market town to an international centre for myth and mischief. So much Healing was going on it became increasingly difficult to distinguish the sick from the sane.
I for my part developed a rather cynical detached persona. I moved between various cults none of whom trusted me. Amusing myself by writing short stories, poems, and plays. All strictly for amusement only. I had become very wary of any commercial involvement preferring to survive on a minimal income and enjoy my time.
My final commercial venture, running a small corner shp, failed. A super market openned its doors just behind me!
This made my decision for me. In future I would treat work as a four letter word. I was old enough to try something different. I retired to the countryside. Not so much a traveller, not New Age more Old Age or as I preferred to call myself, White Trailer Trash. The life suited me. But it was not all roses. I got involved with my family second time around thay were having their children and partners.
I did not find the role of grandfather came as naturally as that of being a father. It did not make matters easier that I thought the partners my daughters had chosen lacked character and had bad habits, worse still I was right they didn't last long. I got the blame when they ran away. It was not the solitary life i had been expecting, indeed I seemed to attract a selection of lost boys and girls who came seeking refuge from the wicked world. They came, stayed a while then went back to rejoin their real worlds. I did not find this unusual. By this time my daughters had also left, leaving me living in the middle of nowhere as one of my granddaughters put it.
At this time my second wife returned. Some years before she had run away to Norfolk with a psychotic serb. There I believe she had a hard time but has by the strength of her own character got herself back on her feet again and had decided to rejoin the family. She did not really come back to rejoin me. I was just there and could not be ignored. She would never talk of her time away, well not to me anyway. By this time in my life I was used to people not wanting to talk to me, I quite liked it, I didn't have to bother to try to talk to them.
So for the next few years we cohabited happily enough. The family came and went, their partners came and went, more grandchildren arrived.
Busy doing nothing finding this not to do. The land on which I had lived for the past decade was sold under my feet.
This brought to a head a feeling that had been growing within me. It was time to move on.
I had enjoyed my trnure, looking after the land on which I resided. I had no desire to possess it. Wherever I live is my home, to be cared for an kept in the best condition I could achieve depenmding on the various circumstances which had brought me there. In the tradition of the Boy Scouts I endeavor to leave it slightly better than that in which I found it.
I have never possessed my life, rather it has possessed me, for this reason I have never felt angst, never achieved ambition, never been lonely. I always had my life to live with; We share the adventure and the mystery of life. This responsibility we share as our duality. 'Our' motto is That's a fine mess we have gotten ourselves into.
This self aontainment of this mental balance, no doubt the result of my environment in my formative years, like all things carries with it advantages and disadvantages.
With its isolation it makes comprehension of many of the higher achievments of humanity difficult to grasp.
Compassion Love Group Identity are minimised. One always feels outside such passions, this does not mean I am oblivious to them rather it is as if they always remain just beyond my reach. One only misses what one can never remember having only to the extent that on eis aware of such qualities in others.
Enough of the deeply revealing. I have written the bare bones of a life.
It is not over yet, the corpse has not yet decomposed. If you want to put some flesh on my bones try the Appendices.