Lives less Ordinary

Finally, after our neighbours had re-arranged the furniture,scraped the remnants of cheese and tomato sandwiches and broken biscuits from a nearby biscuit warehouse our family were alone. The bakolite radio was already on. Judging by the dirth of records Bill didn'f have an interest in music but, by the look of the stack of RNIB books on the shelf to his right he did enjoy reading. However it didn't take any of us very long to recognise he was an alcholic. His drinking begining about seven and continuing until he was totally incapacitated and unable to lift his beer glass to his mouth. His chain smoking, woodbines I think, dominated his life and once ours when he set fire to his armchair. I don't suppose I would be here now had it not been for my brother Michael coming home late from his friends.

I can remember being his additional guide when he kept an appointment at the eye clinic, Cheyne Walk, Northampton. I still hadn't got used to another blind man taking the place of my dad. Not used to his thin arm and nicotine stained hand linked through my arms. Just as I'd done with my dad I'd hesitate whether going up or down steps.

  I try to remember the few times when I saw the nicer part of my stepfather. Like the time we spent at Northampton Woolworth's and him buying me a vynyl doll, with rooted hair and eyes that clicked open and closed. It must have been something of an adventure for a ten year old.

 Bill was such a clever man that once I went with him to the Broadcasting House in London where he took part in a quiz. I remember the revolving doors at the entrance, then going into a lift then being shown into a little room whilst Bill was placed in front of a microphone- with his guide dog laying beside him. He never liked losing and resorted to the 'bottle' when we returned home later that day.