UTOPIAN DREAM

Chapter 1...Island of Dreams

On April 10th, 1978 I commenced working on a contract at a pipework engineering company in the Black Country, just a few miles from Birmingham. I was a design and engineering draughtsman, trained in mechanical engineering. Earlier contracts had involved plant layout, technical illustrating, casting and fabrication detailing. In fact anything I thought I could get away with. A few days previously my boss had asked me whether I would like to work on a long, well paid contract in North Wales. I dismissed it at the time, but my pipework contract became the catalyst that pushed me along that irreversible journey to Anglesey, my island of dreams, leading to happiness, despair and ultimately tragedy. For there is no other word to describe it.

At Great Bridge the drawing offices were vast. Row upon row of drawing boards, seemingly as far as the eye could see. I was given the task of providing the preliminary layout drawings for the jet fuel station at the, as yet to be built, Queen Alia International Airport in Jordan. I had never seen a jet fuel station at a civil airport. There were no drawings or standards to work to. In fact I did not even know where the company's drawing stores could be found. I was unable to find my section leader and chief draughtsman, assuming that they existed at all. I was out on a limb. I felt decidedly ill, so I took a few days off sick to think things over. Eventually I telephoned my boss and asked him whether that contract by the sea was still vacant.

The contract was still vacant, so I jumped at it. Anything seemed better than what I was doing at that moment, consisting mainly of scratching my head. The company I ultimately worked for specialized in contract, engineering design. Its headquarters were a few miles away in Walsall. I had been working for them about a year, on various contracts in the West Midlands. I liked working on contract, as I never stayed long enough to get bored with the work, nor sick of the working conditions, nor workforce.

I had worked on about six contracts during my first year in 'flexible employment.' The most interesting being at Birmingham Mint, where at that time the furnaces were found to be subsiding due to a subterranean fire. To me, making coins for third world countries was no more interesting than stamping out washers. What I did find interesting were the commemorative medallions for such things as space exploits, as I had always been interested in high technology, particularly space research and development. Whilst there I drew up the ground floor plan of the existing works, a jumble of old and new buildings. The mint fronted onto Iknield Street, the ancient Roman road, whilst its foundations were located over a monastery. Naturally enough the cemetery was next door. Part of the works had been extended into this cemetery at one time, resulting in the exhumation of a number of graves. It was in this extension that a number of disused subterranean rooms existed, illuminated only by one solitary electric light bulb. The ground floor plan which I drew up, naturally included these rooms. I tell you this story, because going down there alone filled me with dread, which was only later equalled by the visits from my future mother-in-law.

Problems with my last contract, was only one of the reasons for wanting to go to Anglesey. Apart from the money, I also needed a girlfriend. I had had none for over a year. I knew quite a few women, but none intimately. I found Birmingham women very difficult to get to know, tending to be very distrustful. On the other hand I always seemed to get tongue tied, probably from the effects of alcohol, which aggravated my life long fear of being verbally abused. I was twenty-nine years of age and had never been married. I had my own council flat, fully furnished with modern furniture. I had a car, a red Ford Escort estate, which was essential for my line of employment. I was an eligible bachelor who did not know how to be anything else. I was an introvert. When it came to women, I did not understand them, and I probably never will. There were times when I wished that they had never been created, and many times when I have wished I had never been born. Such has been the affect of women on me.

How I came in possession of my council flat is a story in itself. I had arrived in Birmingham from Northamptonshire in September 1972, to train for eleven months on a draughtsman's course at Handsworth Government Training Centre. Near the end of my course I found a single room flatlet in Birchfield, just up the road from the Aston Villa football ground. The building in which the flatlets were located consisted of two semi-detached houses, slowly being converted into a hotel. I lived there for over three years whilst working as a draughtsman. My job consisted of detailing a never ending stream of shell and tube heat exchangers. The job was, needless to say boring, but I was thankful that I was at last paying my way in society.

Eventually the hotel neared completion, and after three years living in one room, I felt that I deserved something much better. There was only one way to get it, and that was by getting evicted. Fortunately the landlord and I saw eye to eye, so it was decided that the grounds for eviction would be a week or two's rent 'arrears.' When the matter came to court, I was advised that all I would have to do was stand in the witness box and agree to everything that my landlord's solicitor said. I remember that day well, as our case was preceded by building society applications to repossess homes, where mortgage arrears existed. I never dreamt, that one day I would be in the same boat, as I never borrowed money. Getting a council flat seemed bad enough.

My case finally came up, whereupon I duly said, "Yes," from the witness box. It was then, simply a matter of waiting for the bailiffs order, which never arrived. I later learned that my landlord and his solicitor had slipped up. Since the building was now operating as a hotel, evidently I could not be evicted from it. You cannot be evicted from a hotel. The thought of not paying my rent for the remainder of my stay there, never entered my head, since all I wanted was a decent self contained flat.

Fortunately my landlord came up with a solution. He owned the property next door, which was being converted into self contained flats. The plan was that I would move in next door, whereupon the whole eviction process would begin again. The attic flat I moved into was small and dingy, whilst everything was covered in building dust. Could I be evicted from a building site I wondered. The whole eviction proceedings were carried out again. Days past and still I heard nothing. The thought of spending years in that dimly lit room galvanized me into action. I phoned up the bailiffs department to find out why I had not heard from them. I think they were taken aback. Promptly the next morning my bailiffs order arrived. You could not see me for cement dust as I sped off to the local council housing department, with my little note in hand.

After checking the details at the housing centre, I was given the keys to my first real home. That was in April 1977. The flat was perfect. Located on the fifteenth floor of a tower block in Newtown, it overlooked Lozells and Handsworth. Areas noted for ethnic minorities. I fitted out the flat with new Shrieber and MFI furniture, but as things were to turn out, owing to my work I was to live there infrequently.

A few days before I moved into my council flat, I held a going away party at my flatlet in Birchfield. It was typically a wild affair, though I can't remember much about it as I was rather inebriated. By this time only one other flat in the building was occupied, and that by a married couple. The following day my flat stank of aniseed, whilst mattresses once piled up in an adjoining flat had been moved to various rooms, where the rent collector found them decidedly worse for wear. During the night someone had stolen female underwear from the washing line, whilst keeping the couple awake by knocking on their door repeatedly. Out of this mayhem I got to know Ellis, Danny and Tommy, the former becoming a close friend for many years. We became drinking partners in the Costermonger, the Hole in the Wall next door, Teddy's and the Roundabout, the latter two formerly known as the Tavern in the Town and the Mulberry Bush, which the IRA had blown up on November 21st, 1974 killing twenty-one people. As with so many public houses they were later renamed again, the Yard of Ale and Bar St. Martin respectively.

I never remained content to stay in one pub for long however, I was essentially a loner, something which I had been since the age of ten. I don't know why, but I was never a man's man. I had no interest in sport, and felt little companionship in the company of other men, whilst women always seemed to elude me, though I knew a few to speak to, such as Caroline and Ann. Apart from my future wife, these were the only two women to visit my flat, then only for a chat. Often I would go alone to the Duck Inn, which like the Yard of Ale was an Olde Worlde type of pub. On many of those nights I went alone to the Opposite Lock night club. Later to be called Bobby Brown's. As with going, I always left alone. Occasionally I went to Scandals night club in Solihull, in the hope of seeing my ex-girlfriend Pam, but it was never to be.

I was a lonely sole and I was sick of it. Under the influence of alcohol I became enveloped in my dreams. My day dreaming appealed to me more than the realities that surrounded me. Maybe that is why I became involved so little with people, who in the main were mediocre conservationists. Only my day dreams compensated for the depression of being alone. Under the influence of alcohol I would often smile whilst in a world of my own. A parallel world showing how I wanted things to be, but because of my introvert nature, could not achieve it in reality. One of my mates once said that I was the only person he had seen spew up and smile at the same time. In fact some of my friends use to call me smiler. My in-laws were to later call me chuckles. I felt that Birmingham society was claustrophobic, poisoning my mind. I had to get away. Hopefully, in Anglesey, I would find the right woman for me.

At four-thirty on the morning of Monday, April 17th, 1978 I left my meaningless existence behind, commencing the long car journey north. The streets of Birmingham, the Aston expressway and the M6 motorway were all brilliantly lit, but my mind was shrouded in darkness. I had strong doubts about whether what I was doing was the right thing, as I did not know what to expect at my destination. I had never been to Anglesey, before. In fact I had not been on holiday since my school days, when I went with my mother and younger brother to Cornwall. Holidays are no good unless you have someone to go with, whilst there always seemed to be more important things to spend my money on. My new contract I knew, would be no holiday, but it was to become the nearest thing to it that I had known for a long time.

I will always remember the breaking of the dawn, as I drove along that long and winding road. Before me, their peaks slowly coming to life in the suns searching rays, stood the mountains of Snowdonia. To the right Carnedd Dafydd, whilst to the left Glyder Fawr obscuring the highest peak of them all, Snowdon. As the mist rapidly cleared, the dark cold waters of Llyn Ogwen came into sight, I knew at that moment, that I had made the right decision in coming. On that morning I fell in love with Anglesey, a love which despite everything that has happened since, I still have. On I drove, through Bangor and onto the island, where the hilly terrain gave way to monotonous lowland comprising of stone walls, grassland occupied by sheep and the occasional cereal crop. Amongst the remains of windmills, stood out miles distant, a solitary symbol of my journey's end. Although I did not know it then, it was the factory chimney at where I would work. A huge smelter called Anglesey Aluminium, which the locals called Tinto, after the owner, Rio Tinto Zinc, on the outskirts of Holyhead.

I parked my car near the entrance, and entered the works. The power hungry plant, whose electricity was supplied by the local magnox nuclear power station, was enormous. It reflected the power and the wealth of the nation. It exuded confidence in the future. Here one learned the meaning of pot lines, hundreds of electrolytic furnaces in four rows, each row almost a quarter of a mile long serviced by huge beam cranes. Metal services; where gas fired holding, casting and annealing furnaces processed the aluminium into the required alloy and shapes, such as slabs, bars and ingots. Green carbon; where the sacrificial anodes for the electrolytic furnaces, were formed in hydraulic presses out of petroleum coke, kept stored in massive concrete silos. Carbon bake; where the new anodes were heated in gas fired pits, and thence to be flash welded to anode bars. Work never stopped on the pots and furnaces. Pots were stripped down and rebuilt on a continuous basis. The heat from the molten metal eventually distorting them into inoperable shapes.

During my stay at Tinto I worked in a large wooden hut, which formed an annex to the engineering department. In that hub I was to share an office with one other draughtsman, initially an electrical draughtsman called Ron, then Bill, a mechanical draughtsman like myself. Bill was to become a great friend, whom I was to confide in a great deal, but as it later turned out, not enough.

Initially, I shared an office, in a large 'temporary' hut, with an electrical engineer. He quit his contract after refusing to combine an electrical power drawing with an electrical control drawing. It was not long before I realised that much of the work was job creation, to satisfy plant employment statistics, presumably in return for regional aid. For the remainder of my contract I shared the office with Bill. Bill Mosley, from Walsall, West Midlands, arrived on the scene two weeks after my arrival. We both worked for the same firm. He was divorced with three children, one of whom lived in the United States. We both lived initially at a bed and breakfast place in Valley, run by a cheerful elderly woman called Mrs. Owen. She was a typically Welsh woman with a pleasant enquiring personality, whom I came to admire very much, due to her motherly qualities, in particular her breakfasts. I do not know which was more difficult, getting through a long day at Tinto, or devouring one of Mrs. Owen's stupendous morning meals. Typically it was a traditional 'Welsh' breakfast, consisting of cereals, grapefruit followed by an enormous fried serving of sausages, bacon, tomato, fried bread, mushrooms, black pudding, then toast and marmalade with lashings of hot tea. How I got to work on time I will never know.

On a Friday evening, four weeks after starting my contract at Tinto, I went to a disco in the basement of the Queen's Head public house in Holyhead, with my Welsh workmate, Brian. I cannot remember dancing with anyone, but I did get to talking to Karen, who was busily telephoning her mam at the time. There was something strange about her, but I was too pissed to care. In any case, by Brummie standards she was a hell of a lot more sociable. She left the disco with her sister Gillian, an attractive married woman with long straight hair. I must admit that I was attracted to her but in all the years we were to know one another, we exchanged hardly a word. Something which years later I was to deeply regret. I promised Karen before she left, that I would take her out at two o'clock on Sunday afternoon.

I called on Karen that Sunday afternoon as promised. Her mother Helen was waiting. I well remember our first encounter. She sat on the settee and told me about her daughter's problems. Karen had contracted pneumonia at the age of six months. Whilst in hospital meningitis had been diagnosed. For some reason it appeared to be quite a common disease in that part of the world, whilst in circa 1960 it was still considered fatal. Karen had survived by the skin of her teeth, but the inflammation of the menges had caused damage to the membrane resulting in impaired memory and epilepsy, namely petit-mal. Helen made it plane to me that Karen would always require looking after. Nothing that Helen told me deterred me from my promise to take Karen out that afternoon. There was also nothing to indicate that. Helen was anything other than a concerned mother. Indeed, physically Karen looked much like her mother, but her effervescent personality came from somewhere else. That afternoon Karen and I explored the southern coast line of the island, its almost inaccessible coves, the RAF base, and finally the giant sand dunes further to the east. They seemed to reflect the obstacles that lay ahead in my life, but, they just stood there silent. As with our first visit, I was to remember equally well our last, years later, conducted for totally different reasons. Back at Karen's home I was introduced to lobscouse soup, whilst that evening we went to the Tinto Club with Brian and his girlfriend Cathy, a nurse from Bangor.

I took Karen out three or four times per week. At the weekends we would explore the island and surrounding hinterland. We would visit, museums, castles, stately homes, neolithic remains, nature reserves, slate mines, seaside resorts and beauty spots, of which the area abounded. In the evenings we would go to local pubs such as the Drai Gough, Welch Fusiliers, Beach Hotel and the Sportsman's Inn. Night clubs were few and far between, and since Karen refused to dance there was little point in taking her to one. One of the places we use to go to a lot was the squash club at the Beach Hotel, since many of my work colleagues played there. In retrospect I now wish I had done the same, as a means of shedding the stress which was slowly building up inside me. My lack of interest in sport was to be my undoing. I was content just to watch Karen watching Bill play. She seemed to get on better with him than with her own father.

For the first two weeks I took Karen out every day. It disappointed me when I realised that she could never remember what she had done the day before. I never got use to this. There were some things which she could remember from years previously, but in the main there was no recollection at all. I did not find Karen's petit-mal much of a handful. The first time it happened we were walking along that vast expanse of beach near Llanddwyn Island, with the landscape rising like the mountains of the Moon in the background. As we walked aimlessly along, Karen dropped the purse she had been clutching. She made no attempt to pick it up. I turned towards her. She was mumbling to herself as she stood still. Saliva formed around her mouth as she called out, "mam." She looked so helpless and alone, for there was absolutely nothing that I could do for her. On that occasion she did not vomit, but merely spat out some spittle. On subsequent occasions I was not to be so fortunate. Sometimes she would be sick over her clothes or in posh surroundings, causing a great deal of embarrassment. It was obvious to me that Karen would never be able enough, to be a housewife in the true meaning of the word, let alone work for a living. She was not an extrovert, and yet her personality glowed so strongly that it was a pleasure to be with her. She was never angry nor temperamental. Maybe she simply did not know how. Her exuberant personality made up for all her deficiencies however. She made me happy, putting the spark back into my life that had been missing for so long.

Just where Karen got her personality from I cannot be sure. Karen would often tell me how after school she would go and see her nan, who lived close to her own home. She admired her nan very much. They would have a good laugh together over tea and cakes. Her nan was probably the only close relative who really cared for her. I never met the woman, as she died a few years before I arrived on the scene. Karen never spoke in a similar way about her parents. Indeed she rarely spoke about them.

The last week in May I had off as a holiday, taking my friend Ellis down to the Cotswold's for the day. We visited the Fleece Inn at Bretforton, the only public house at that time owned by the National Trust, before going on to Hidcote Manor Gardens, Moreton-in-Marsh, Bourton-on-the-Water and so on. Later that week I visited my parents and brother in Northamptonshire, before returning to Anglesey, and the new love in my life.

I was being paid very well at this time, Basic pay was eighty-four pounds, plus thirty-two pounds for overtime, and forty-seven pounds expenses per week, which as I returned to Birmingham infrequently, meant that my savings accrued quite rapidly.

My relationship with Karen developed further. On Sunday, June 11th 1978 we toured Snowdonia and stopped at Aberglaslyn Pass, a beauty spot through which the cold shallow waters of the Afon Glaslyn flowed. It was a lovely sunny day, with Karen wearing a dress I had bought her in Birmingham. She looked exquisite in it. The river was filled with large rocks by which it was possible to reach the far bank. At least I could. I foolishly asked Karen to follow close behind. Karen did not have much confidence in herself, a feeling which was quickly reinforced when she slipped on a rock and fell into the half meter deep ice cold river, feet first. She was not amused with me, since I thought more of saving the camera I was holding, than of preventing her from getting wet. I fished Karen out without further harm, a rather large catch, for she was a big woman. She never complained. Her facial expression said everything. By this time I already had an inclination of what her mother could be like, so I was beginning to be fearful of her. Helen's responses were unpredictable. To call them moods would be inaccurate, but at this time I had still not formulated an accurate opinion of her. Needless to say, the journey back to Holyhead was full of apprehension on my part, and I suspect, delight on Karen's, for if a battle needed to be fought, she was perfectly prepared to let her mam do the fighting. When we arrived back at the lair, much to my amazement and relief, Helen just laughed, I do not think she would have done, if she had seen the river.

Together, Karen and I visited many places such as South Stack Cliffs, noted for it's colony of sea birds, and of course the lighthouse, linked by a chain bridge to the numerous steps leading down the cliff face. Karen liked to go to the local nature reserve, located near the end of the causeway, to watch the owls blink at her. Mrs. Owen, my landlady, always called it the nature research. One night. I went to do a little 'research' of my own, I drove the car to what I thought would be a secluded spot. South Stack.

"Oh look!" exclaimed Karen.

I looked. I was not amused, for we were not alone. There before us were numerous pairs of tiny eyes, all staring at us. Some were black and white, obviously one time pets, probably released by their owners.

"Bunny Wabbits," said Karen grinning from ear to ear, her eyes watering with excitement. Needless to say, I did not get any research carried out that night.

One of the places we visited time and again was Newborough Forest, for it was here near the magnificent wind swept beach and distant nature reserve that we made love on a bed of pine needles. I of course took precautions, but there was one thing that I did not allow for, Karen's innocence. Little did I realise that the language of love was going to be mentioned elsewhere.

For Karen's eighteenth birthday, on Tuesday, June 27th, 1978 I bought her a book about nature in the West Midlands entitled 'The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady' by Edith Holden. Karen liked the book immensely, for she was very interested in wild life. To improve relations with her parents, I invited them all out for a meal at the Anchorage Hotel restaurant. They agreed.

There we all were, Karen, Helen and her husband Glyn, and of course myself, all tucking into our sirloin steaks and thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Everything seemed to be going fine, but Karen's innocence, and above all her sense of humour, appeared to be working overtime.

Not to be left out of the conversation Karen blurted out, "What's a penis?"

"What!" cried Glyn incredulously.

"What's a penis?" Karen again asked, this time displaying a cheeky smile and twinkling eyes. Unusually Helen was dumb struck, whilst Glyn was obviously taken aback.

"Ugh, don't say things like that," he replied, sounding rather flustered. I felt like crawling under a stone, 'after' hitting Karen over the head with the wine bottle. The conversation became quite subdued after that. I could read their minds. "What is he teaching our daughter, say?"

I did not know what to say, so I did my best by ignoring the incident and saying nothing. Even so I could not help but be embarrassed by the whole incident. The bill came to twenty pounds, which I paid immediately. I felt it was money down the drain. Whether Karen's parents gave her a lecture about the birds and the bees, I honestly don't know. But I certainly told her to keep her mouth shut at all times in future, when interrogated by her parents about our sexual encounters. I should have realised that my words would go in one ear, and out the other.

This incident highlighted two problems. Firstly, because Karen's parents had treated her like a pet, rather than a young woman, her education was seriously lacking. Although Karen went to about three schools, including a special school, her parents took her out of the education system at the first opportunity. It was as if they felt that nobody's opinion mattered but their own, not even the wishes of their daughter. Her father would often whistle after her like a shepherd calling his dog. Secondly, the incident made me realise that there would be no secrets between Karen and I, as she would innocently tell her mother. Then on later occasions her sister. Everything about our sex lives when asked.

The only other problem which I had at this time stemmed from an incident which occurred one year previously, during my first contract. One afternoon I was returning home after work, when my car stopped at traffic lights on a dual carriageway in Dudley. Approaching me from a hundred metres behind was a lorry. It did not stop, at least not until it had rammed my car into the vehicle in front. The driver of the lorry said that he would pay for the damage, and I stupidly believed him. I had the car repaired at a cost of three hundred pounds, which represented several weeks wages at that time. When I presented the lorry driver with the bill, he then suggested that the insurance company would pay. The insurance company refused, since they had not been notified in a reasonable time. I therefore took the matter through the small claims court, without legal assistance. On July 27th, 1978 the court hearing took place at which I attended. The lorry-driver failed to turn up. Upon returning to my flat with my mate Ellis, I discovered that someone had tried to force the door open. Before returning to Anglesey, I fitted a second lock to the door. The bailiffs later repossessed the tractor unit. The months dragged on and it all seemed so unreal, that when I received a begging phone call from a person claiming to be the drivers partner, I authorized the release of the tractor unit. Naturally enough, promises about repaying the money were not honoured. When the bailiffs went to reclaim the tractor unit, they found it in a garage in pieces. The cost of keeping it off the road must have clearly out weighed the price incurred in paying my repair bill. The whole episode took a lot out of me. I was a naive fool, both then and later.

On Friday, July 28th I took Karen to Birmingham whilst her parents went to Blackpool for a week. The next day was sunny and hot I recall. In Bogart's Karen met some of my friends, including my ex-girlfriend Jill a student, with her boyfriend Ian. Lapping up the sunshine with her friends on the grass in Temple Row was Jackie, a school teacher. I often went drinking with her on Friday nights and Saturday lunch times. Later that day we went to the Pot of Beer, a museum type pub near Aston University, but the one she came to love the best was the Longboat. There we would sit outside in the evening still air, over looking the rubbish floating in the canal basin, and gaze up at the GPO tower with its hazard warning lights blinking on and off. By Birmingham standards it was a romantic setting. She liked watching those lights. To Karen they were like the blinking eyes of an owl or teddy bear, telling her that all was well. Whenever we went to Birmingham I would point out the lights to her, as we approached the city from miles away along the motorway.

During our stay in Birmingham I remember visiting a home furnishing store near Lancaster Circus. I wanted a letter box, but they did not have one that I liked. Where upon Karen immediately voiced her feelings by having a fit and vomited copiously all over the counter. The male assistant insisted on cleaning up the mess, and so we left without purchasing anything. On our return trip to Anglesey, Karen had another epileptic fit, causing her to vomit over her clothes before I could get the car door open. Whether her fits were caused by a change in diet, or because the full days she spent with me over taxed her brain, I simply do not know. Certainly I tried not to expect too much of her at once.

On August 13th, 1978 I moved into a caravan near the causeway. My landlady suggested it as she wanted the weekends to herself. At first the move seemed ideal, since I would now have somewhere private to take Karen. Unfortunately the mobile home was only three metres from the main railway line, seemingly simulating an earthquake each time the shock wave of a train struck it. Somehow I appeared to get use to it, or maybe I was just kidding myself. By far the greatest disadvantage was the condensation, which only became apparent as autumn turned to winter. The mobile home offered the opportunity for Karen and I to make love in civilised surroundings, but I honestly cannot recall us doing so, for there were more important and entertaining things for a mentally handicapped woman to do. Our home on wheels became the ideal location for experiments in home cooking. Teaching Karen how to cook was good fun. Of course she could not remember the recipes, but then neither could I. We made pancakes and omelettes in abundance, with me of course doing the washing up afterwards. The joy we had at eating one another's cooking was indescribable, at least for me. Our kitchen capers undoubtedly cemented our relationship further.

The following Friday, Karen and I went to see the block buster movie 'Star Wars' at the local flicks. The screen was abysmal, with a large patch visible during bright scenes. Afterwards we went to the Legion for a drink, where we met Helen and Glyn. The next day I took Karen to Caernarfon Castle and the Welsh Fusiliers museum. Later that day we took a boat trip to Fort Belan. The weather was really great. We cooled off in the Black Boy Inn, and quenched our thirst in the Half Way House on the way home. Sunday saw us visit Din Lligwy fortified village, which dated from circa 400AD. In the evening we went to the Tinto Club for chicken and chips, and a chat with friends, who usually consisted of Brian and Babs, Gerwyn and Vanessa, Garreth and Dawn, and finally Alan and Denise. Compared to Birmingham, Anglesey was friendlier by far. Our weekends in North Wales were often like this. We never ran out of places to explore, nor friendships to establish. This was unquestionably the happiest moment of my life.

On the following Friday, September 1st, 1978 I took Karen to see our friends in Birmingham, which included a visit to the science and art museums, and of course that show room of Great Britain, the National Exhibition Centre. On the Wednesday I took her to see my mother and stepfather in Northamptonshire, for the first time. They were pleased to see her. My mother and Karen got on great together, a friendship which was maintained throughout the years to come. On the Thursday we visited a stately home, Burghley House, whilst the following day Karen and I visited the Farnborough Air Show. What she made of old masters and the world's latest flying machines, I found hard to tell.

These visits here and there certainly opened up her mind, but only slightly. I knew from looking at her old school exercise books, that she was once capable of doing much more than she could now. Her brain had since been dulled by medication and inactivity. When I first met her she did not even know what month of the year it was. I found this dispiriting, whilst the thought that she was taking more drugs than she needed to, to control her epilepsy, constantly nagged at me. Another thought that nagged away at the back of my mind was that her epilepsy might be caused more by the atmosphere at home with her parents, than with the physical damage to her brain. We returned to Holyhead on the Sunday, whereupon I faced aggro from Karen's parents, though the details of this I am unable to remember, I believe that it was because Helen objected to my taking her daughter to see my parents. They never gave me any grounds for this objection, but it slowly dawned on me in the coming months that they did not want our relationship to get serious. Even at this stage there was an apparently invisible wall between us which I was never able to penetrate.

Talking to Karen's parents I found very difficult. We had nothing in common. They had no hobbies that I could talk to them about. Although they both had jobs, they had little to show for it. Glyn worked as an engineer on the Sealink container ships, whilst his wife worked in a school canteen. They lived in an old stone built terraced house. There was nothing remarkable about the place. There was no garden, since what little they had was concreted over. I do not think they used the garage as it was too small for the car, a British Leyland Princess. Glyn's money seemed to be spent on horse race betting and drinking. What was left over was usually spent on another car. He earned about the same as my total earnings. In other words, good money. Helen never spent her money on much, except sheets and blankets which clogged up the airing cupboard, and pullovers for Karen. Although the airing cupboard was full, Karen's bed spread was filthy for years, even after they moved house. It was more than my life was worth to suggest to Helen that she should wash it. She never bought dresses and bra's for Karen, just the odd bargain from the market. It was as if she could not accept that her youngest daughter was now grown up. Karen's father did not like doing jobs around the house. I remember one day Helen buying a large electric fire for the lounge. To install it, the old coal fireplace would have to be removed and Glyn did not like that idea of course, since the task fell to him to do. He was even reluctant to repair Karen's bed, after a protruding nail scratched her.

The only other occupant of that house was Taff, an old mongrel which slept on the kitchen floor. It had no basket, was never exercised, but was simply left to fend for itself for most of the day. It received no affection and rarely any attention. The main visitor to the house was John, Helen's father. He was a retired blacksmith with a build to match. Whilst I was there, he would sit in his chair and say nothing. I felt that he was weighing me up. John was one of the few people that Karen hated, though I never asked her why.

The only other regular visitors to that house were Karen's sister, Gillian and her children. She lived in a council house with her husband Gwynfor Harris , who worked on the pot lines at Tinto. I got the strong impression that the only reason Gillian came around was to torment us with her screaming brats. That was probably the only reason why I rarely visited her home. In addition to the three children she was eventually to sire, they had a very large old English sheep dog, which did little except roam the streets and gorge itself. Just how they managed financially I could not figure out, as they lived very close to the poverty line. She had a good taste in furniture and decor, which was unfortunately restricted by her financial resources. Her parents furniture was plain, no doubt reflecting their minds seemingly set in grooves, unable to adapt to the changing times.

On Friday, September 18th just a few days after I had visited my parents, my parents visited me. They stayed at Mrs. Owen' place in Valley. I took Karen and my parents to the Anchorage Hotel, praying of course that the only thing that would pass between my girlfriend's lips would be the chicken and chips from a basket, plus of course a drink or two. This time the evening passed without incident. The next day we all went to the Llenchwedd Slate Mine at Blaenau Ffestiniog, a tourist attraction. The train took us down into the dark cold depths to see the abandoned caverns, many of which were filled with water. Here miners once worked by candle light, with shot and shovel. In those days they had to buy their own candles. Attitudes to work had changed greatly since then. Who knows what attitudes would prevail in ten or twenty years time, I pondered.

That evening my parents visited Karen's home to meet her parents, Helen and Glyn Roberts. They were pleased to see us, on the surface at least. Helen always seemed to put on false smiles, whilst Glyn, who was a tall well built man with a strong resemblance to the Scottish miners union leader Glyn McGahey, only wanted an easy life, so he accommodated his wife as much as possible by going to the boozer, usually with Karen. At the Legion he would drink bitter, whilst at home he enjoyed the perks of his job. Duty free whisky or port, and tobacco. Karen's parents were both in their late forties, whilst my mother and stepfather were in their early sixties. All I can remember of this meeting was the anxiety on their faces at the thought of coming to blows with Welsh barbarians, or should it be druids?

The next day the four of us went to Newborough Forest, from where we made the long trek to see the nature reserve on Llanddwyn Island. This was by far the most picturesque spot on the whole of Anglesey, in my opinion. We relaxed on the beach, the distant lunar like landscape reflecting the distant dreams I had for Karen's future. That evening we all went with Karen's parents to the Tinto Club for a drink. Everything appeared to go well. The next day my parents returned to Northamptonshire, England!

On October 24th, a Tuesday, I took Karen to the Menai Bridge Fair. She was full of life as we went on many amusements, including the tilting centrifuge. A few years later I took her to the fair again, but this time she refused to go on any of the machines, refusing to believe that she had ever been on them. At times like that I felt like feeding her pills in order to bring out that carefree nature she once had, but I knew that that would be unfair on her.

On October the twenty-ninth I visited the motor show at the NEC with Ellis, whilst on November 4th my diary states that I took Karen to see the firework display on the headland near Holyhead. It was nowhere near as grand as the municipal displays in Birmingham, in celebration of Guy Fawkes' attempt to blow up parliament, but Karen enjoyed it immensely nevertheless. My life was still between two places, as it was to remain for some time. The outlaws, as I affectionately called them, would not let Karen go to Birmingham with me, so it was at this time that I seriously started thinking of marriage. This subject was discussed at length with my workmate Bill, over the next few months.

I spent Christmas Day at Karen's place, enjoying Helen's cooking. She was a good cook, though not as good as my mum. The next day, Boxing Day, I took Karen to Birmingham, then without delay onto my folks' home, where we stayed for five days. Finally, we returned to Birmingham to see the new year in at Bogarts, for the last time. We had a very good Christmas and new year, in stark contrast to those yet to come.

By Monday, February 12th, 1979 I had been going out with Karen for nine months, She had certainly improved a great deal in that time, not only through her cooking but also in her reading, which she also undertook in the caravan. On this particular date, I decided that seeing Karen's grandmother 'Gaga', was long overdue. Karen hated Gaga, an opinion which I suspect was instilled in her by her mother. Either Karen loved you or she hated you, there was no in between. In fact every time I was to mention Gaga, Karen would say,

"Ugh! That woman." As if she was about to spew up.

I thought no woman could be that bad. and sure enough she was not. Gaga took a close interest in all her family, even those as far afield as New Zealand. Gaga did not like Helen. She could not understand why her son had married so far below himself. The enigma at last began to fall into place. In limited conversations I had with her, Helen would call so and so, common! But after listening to Gaga I realised that Helen was upset at herself being regarded as common. Upset of course, is putting it mildly. Deep down Helen was fuming, determined to get her own back on all and sundry. She was suffering from a persecution or inferiority complex, which at times was to show itself in exaggerated aggression, and scheming vindictiveness. If she was to suffer from her in-laws refusal to accept her, then so must everyone else. Although I understood this, I did not realise just how far she was prepared to go in order to make other peoples lives a misery. That was the first and last time I spoke to Gaga. The outlaws heard about the meeting from Karen, and so criticised it that I did not dare go there again. They had turned me into a mouse without me realizing it. Having succeeded so far, they would go further, but I just could not accept that at the time.

Marriage appeared to be the answer to all of our problems, Being married, we would have the law of the land on our side. Karen's parents would not dare to cause trouble. I never asked her parents for permission to marry, simply because it was not possible to have a conversation with them. They hated conversations with me, and often spoke to one another in Welsh, in my presence. I made a point therefore of not learning the language. It was bad enough understanding them in English. Whenever I started talking to them on some subject or other, Helen would turn to her husband for support.

"That's a stupid thing to say, isn't it?" Helen would say.

Whereupon Glyn would inevitably reply in the affirmative. This treatment was most off putting, and being a sensitive person, it never failed to shut me up.

On Friday, February 3th, 1979 I paid Bill twenty pounds for a diamond engagement ring, which he bought from a friend in the jewelry trade. I did not want to buy something really expensive, as I was afraid that the marriage either would not go ahead, or that Karen would loose it during one of her fits.

It had been my intention for a long while to get engaged on St. Valentines Day. That evening I picked up Karen as usual. We sat in my car outside her home as I proposed to her. I then explained the problems that we were likely to face. Marriage to me was not something to be taken lightly. I was thirty years of age, and the idea of being tied down to one woman, or rather this particular pair of in-laws, did not appeal to me one bit. I did not want children, but I knew that Karen loved them, and wanted her own. In her present state I knew that she could not look after herself, let alone children. Maybe her condition would improve, as happened with so many epileptics, but I knew the problem of looking after children would ultimately fall upon my shoulders. As it was, I felt that I would have more problems than I knew what to do with, without the presence of children. Little did I realise how enormous those problems were to be. Karen sat there and looked very serious as I explained all the pros and cons to her. There was a long silence as she brought her lips in tightly. Finally she nodded and said, "Yes." We kissed in tears of emotion, after I slipped the ring on her hand. Karen having no trouble in selecting the correct finger.

I knew that to go back into her parents house and announce the happy news, was asking for trouble. I had a safer solution. Instead we went to the Legion and announced it to all of our friends there. Karen taking a particular delight in showing her new ring to everyone. Later we took Gill to the Tinto Club to celebrate the happy event, by the end of the evening Glyn had gone to the Legion for his usual tipple, only to be greeted by handshakes and 'congratulations.' Needless to say, he was stunned by the news.

I took Karen home, making a hasty retreat as soon as she stepped out of the car. I knew that her broad smile would get around her father's initial feelings, but as far as her mother was concerned, battle lines were now drawn, with no rules for what was to follow. That ring was to remain a thorn in Helen's side for a long time. Incident was to follow incident, after which she was to tell Karen, "Take that ring off!" But Karen was to doggedly refuse time and time again. She knew that it was a passport out of a house of hate. A passport to love and relative independence. She knew that there were few men in the world who would want to take on the obligation of looking after her.

To her mother however, Karen's eventual departure represented an empty house to come home to when Glyn was on the boats. No one to voice her spiteful views on. But more importantly, there would be no one to keep an eye on her husband, whom she regarded as a womanizer.

On one occasion Karen pointed out to me a woman in the Tinto Club, whom her father had had an affair with. After listening to the verbal spite that came out of her mouth, I could tell that her mother had given her a good grilling on the subject, over and over again for her to remember it so well. Alas, I cannot remember the name of the woman, a name that Karen had no trouble in remembering. There was no doubt in my mind that Glyn's infidelities would make Helen furious and vindictive, since it would exacerbate her inferiority complex. Making sure that Glyn looked after Karen whilst in port, was one sure way of keeping him to one woman.

Glyn was a tall well built fellow, with features that many women would find attractive. He got on with everyone down the Legion, passing the time playing snooker, or when accompanied by his wife, bingo. Outside the influence of his misses he was a nice bloke, and I liked him. Karen certainly did. He had a sense of humour which was seriously lacking in his spouse. Why he married her, I could never understand. He was a third and often second engineer in the merchant navy, though he was never away from home for more than a week at a time. He never wanted to aspire to the heights of chief engineer, since drinking meant more to him. He was content to stay where he was in his job. He only wanted a quiet life, but it eluded him.

Helen on the other hand, was an overweight woman who wore tight fitting slacks and blouses, in the main. She had short curly hair and a laugh like that of a witch, "he, he, he." Outwardly, she looked ordinary. The sort of woman you would walk past without taking any notice.

On Saturday, February 17th, 1979 I was obliged to move my belongings from the mobile home I was living in, to a small touring caravan, as my landlady's son had married, and therefore needed the larger caravan as his new home. I had many things to carry, so by the end of the day my arms felt tired, though I did not realise this at the time. That evening I picked up Karen as usual, whereupon we decided to go to the Anchorage for a meal of chicken and chips in a basket, something which we did often, On the way there the car descended a hill, at the bottom of which was a right hand bend incorporating a sudden drop. At this point the car skidded on ice or marbles from a connecting unadopted road. It caught me unawares. I over corrected the steering, causing the car to hit a wall, demolishing part of it. The front part of my corrosion riddled car was badly damaged. Fortunately neither of us was hurt, as we were both wearing seat belts. A sports car traveling behind us also skidded, but survived. People came from nowhere to push the car off the road. I had made one mistake, and was about to make another. I telephoned Karen's parents for assistance. They agreed to come over. Whilst waiting for them Dawn and her boyfriend Garreth arrived on the scene. If I had known what was to happen next, I would have gone off with them.

It did not take long for Helen and Glyn to turn up. Helen insisted on taking Karen to the local hospital, even though there was not a mark on her. The hospital authorities were obliged to inform the police, so later that evening I was interviewed by a policewoman in my girlfriend's home, with Karen fit as a fiddle, looking on. I made a truthful statement, and honestly thought that that would be the end of the matter.

The next day, I moved out of the touring caravan and into a bed and breakfast place in Holyhead. The move was long overdue. The damp in the caravan during the winter months, coupled with the stress I was under from the outlaws, produced aching pains in my back. I thought that the pains were produced by the mattress I was sleeping on, but a new mattress did not improve matters. I was to have these aching pains in my chest, stomach and back, mainly in cold damp weather for the next four years, until finally I went to see a doctor about it, in October 1982. Even then the first Quack got his diagnosis wrong. I was a very independent character, who did not like to rely on anyone. Some years later I was to develop another illness far more serious. I was not to see a doctor about it until it was too late. I did not think much of doctors, neither then nor now. They all tended to suffer from one failing. They all thought they knew better than the patient, and since I never put over my views strongly enough, there was little point in seeing them. And I am talking about the competent doctors. My doctor at this time in Birmingham was a robot. At least I thought he was, as he never smiled. His answers were curt and swift, like a machine. As such I never went to see him, and neither did I bother to register with a doctor on Anglesey until around February 1981, although it is so unimportant that I honestly cannot remember for sure.

On the twenty-fifth of February I moved into a flatlet in Holyhead. It was a move that I should have made long before, but as things were to turn out, one problem was to be replaced by another. That evening water poured through the ceiling, then the electricity supply went off.

The following weekend I went with Bill down to Birmingham. Whilst there in my flat Helen telephoned me. She told me that the police had called, informing her that they wanted me to report to them first thing next Monday morning at Holyhead police station, before going to work. Upon my return I reported in at the police station, where I was told that the police wanted a proper statement, as the previous one was unsigned. They evidently regarded the accident as more serious than at first thought. It was their view that I was driving at an excessive speed. I was not, For some reason which I do not understand I made a false statement, stating that Karen had grabbed the steering wheel during a fit, causing the car to crash.

The police later went around to Karen and questioned her, as her parents looked on. The outlaws did not like their daughter getting the blame of course. I was summoned for careless driving, to which I pleaded guilty by letter and was fined fifty pounds. I could tell from the smirk on Helen's face that evening, that she knew about the court's decision, and had planned it right from the start. It was hard for me to believe that she would go to such lengths, but after that, various incidents occurred that were to confirm those initial feelings.

Because of the crash, my red estate car was declared a right off by the insurance company. A few weeks later however, the car was back on the road again, after someone had rebuilt it. I was obliged to use the works bus in the morning, for the next few months. Although I had enough funds to purchase a car, I did not want one. I did not like cars and never had. If I could get by without one then so much the better. I use to feel mentally sick of the never ending stream of bills for road tax, insurance, annual MOT tests, car repairs, petrol, oil, parking fees and finally fines. The day a manufacturer produces an automobile with technology as revolutionary as the disposable razor was in its field, will be the day I finally enjoy motoring.

During my period of enforced shanks' pony, I visited the Legion often, usually on a bingo night, which was Wednesday. It was normal for Karen and her parents to be there. I never got any enjoyment out of playing bingo however. I just went there in order to be in everybody's good books. On Friday. March 30th, 1979 however, this idea backfired. Something was in the air, I could tell. On this occasion Helen kept talking to her husband in a subdued yet firm voice. She then got up and took Karen over to the fruit machines. Glyn then turned to me and asked a rather Earth shattering question.

"Are you having sex with my daughter?" he asked.

I was shocked by the remark, and immediately countered the question the only way I knew.

"No, certainly not," I replied.

He asked me a number of times, and I repeated my answer. I could see no good coming from saying any different. The matter was dropped, but it only turned out to be the second round in a silent war of nerves.

By this time I was seriously considering buying a home on the island, preferably well away from the outlaws. I also needed job security, something which I felt would be more obtainable as a self employed draughtsman. Half the contract draughtsmen were self employed. An arrangement that was cheaper for Tinto. An electrical draughtsman thought that the rest of us should do the same. Three of us thought about resigning from the contract firm and going freelance, but the issue was dropped for some unknown reason. At least for the moment.

During the Easter Bank Holiday, Karen and I visited Birmingham, Northamptonshire and London, including the Battle of Britain Museum at Hendon, the Tower of London, Madame Tussaud's wax museum and the Planetarium. We also visited my favourite location, St. Katharine's Dock. We had a great time but Karen was to remember nothing of it the next day.

By now I had three thousand eight hundred pounds in the building society. I was the only contract draughtsman not to own property on the island. The ownership of the flatlet I was living in at Holyhead changed, whilst a female friend of Helen called Megan, became the cleaner. The residence went decidedly down hill soon after, when a prostitute and her three small children moved into the top floor flat. One day one of her little girls knocked on my door and asked me whether the water was hot. I thought it was a strange request to ask, since all she had to do was to turn the appropriate tap on in the communal bathroom. I walked to the bathroom, just a few steps along the landing, and turned on the hot tap. I then returned to my door, where the child was still standing, and told her that the water was definitely hot. The next day when I came home from work I realised that my door was not locked. Someone had locked the mortice lock in the open position. I discovered that some of my best girlie magazines were missing from my wardrobe, but as far as I could tell, that, was all. A few days previously I had discovered that someone had tried to force my flat door open. From then on all I wanted to do was to move out, but where to?

The following Saturday, as Karen and I were leaving the Legion with her parents. Helen attacked me verbally, accusing me of having obscene posters displayed on the walls of my flatlet. The following Wednesday whilst playing bingo with my in-laws, Helen again got onto me about the posters, ordering me to burn them, She then had a conversation with her husband, obviously trying to goad him into something, but I could not hear what was being said. I suspected that they knew about the magazines, but that Glyn did not want to bring up the subject. Helen told me that her friend Megan had seen the posters from the bathroom window, which was possible. I had bought the posters in Birmingham five years previously, in order to cheer up my drab flatlet. In order to placate Helen, I took down the posters. I felt that my entire life was being examined under a microscope. I found this very stressful, and felt relieved a few weeks later, when I moved into another flatlet just up the road.

Saturday, May 12th, 1979 signified that I had been with Karen for one year. We celebrated by going to the sailing club and MCU (marine craft unit of the Royal Air Forces air sea rescue) with my neighbour Paul, an Irishman in the RAF. We stayed there until 2am, getting thoroughly sloshed. It was a great night.

On Friday, May the twenty-fifth I took Karen and Dawn to Birmingham. The outlaws would not let Karen go, so I simply failed to return her to them the previous evening. By now I was treating them with the same contempt that they had for me. I was fed up anyway with Helen telling her daughter that I had another woman in Birmingham. I never had. On the way to the railway station we met Helen's father, John.

"You're not satisfied with one woman, you want two," he contemptuously remarked.

He was of course right, but I was not in the mood to hang around and talk about the subject. I ignored him, plodding on to the station and thence to Brum.

I had known Dawn for almost a year. She was very attractive and intelligent, but she had two obvious failings. Being from a one parent family she showed little respect for her mother. She demanded her own way, with her own life style, to the point of being butch. I never got to know her that well, and judging by the way she treated her boyfriends, it is just as well. We took her out a number of times after she had had tiffs. She was not however the sort of woman one would marry, if one wanted a quiet life and a long lasting marriage that is.

I remember taking her to the Mermaid Inn disco one Saturday night, to which Dawn countered with the sight of the water mill at Llanddeusant, views of Amlwch oil terminal and the desolation of the abandoned copper workings on Parys Mountain. I must admit that I am glad I went there, for there is no one image that springs to mind when one thinks of Anglesey, but certainly Parys Mountain was the bleakest image.

We stayed in during that first evening in Birmingham, drinking all of my beer and bottles of spirits, I seem to recall. The beer had gone flat, being around for months, as I was not one for drinking at home alone. Karen got really sloshed, spilling a large drink over the mattress and duvet that Dawn slept on in the lounge, my flat having only one bedroom. Whilst Karen was two sheets to the wind I turned my attention to Dawn.

"I feel intoxicated," said Dawn.

This I took to be a come on, I turned towards her, and whilst giving her a French kiss, fondled her right breast which was not at all firm like Karen's. I was however too inhibited to take the matter further. I think Dawn found me rather freakish, as I never gave her an opportunity to really understand me. That evening after we had all gone to bed, I got up and went to the kitchen for some milk. Dawn was lying there in bed as I kneeled down and kissed her. Perhaps it would have gone further if it was not for killjoy banging on the bedroom wall. She can get her brain to work when she wants to I thought. Every other time we were all waiting on her hand and foot. That was to be the last time I kissed any woman, other than Karen, for many years. The next time would be under far more strictly controlled circumstances.

I took Karen and Dawn around the local museums, then down to Stratford upon Avon to Ann Hatherway's cottage, the wax museum and other Shakespearian haunts, not to mention Birmingham's night life.

The circumstances of our departure from Holyhead deeply worried Karen and I. Karen was legally old enough to decide her own future, a point which her parents categorically refused to acknowledge. I did not like the idea of being forced into marriage without Helen and Glyn's consent. I wanted a wedding that Karen could remember, with all her friends invited. A wedding in church. Neither of us looked forward to returning to Holyhead to a string of verbal abuse. We therefore delayed our return, whilst Dawn returned by train to Anglesey, alone, as she had to sign on the dole.

On the Wednesday morning the two of us went to Birmingham registry office to get married, only to learn that we could not get married until Friday at the earliest. That evening we returned to my flat on the fifteenth floor. As we stepped out of the lift, we were unexpectedly confronted by Helen and Glyn.

"Where's the other woman?" asked Helen.

"Oh, she's gone home," I replied, "Come on in and we'll talk thing's over."

Helen would have none of it. Realizing that they were no longer outnumbered, Helen attacked me, physically, whilst Glyn dragged Karen into the lift. Finally Helen released me, dashed into the lift, whereupon they all disappeared from view. Rather than exacerbate the situation by chasing after them, I decided to telephone for police assistance from my flat. As it turned out the police were not prepared to do anything, except keep me talking. I slammed the phone down in disgust. I returned to Holyhead the next day, very despondent, and at a loss to know what to do.

I strongly believed that Karen's memory, at least in part, was being impaired by all the tablets her mother was giving her. At that time Karen was taking at least eight 2mg tablets of Rivotril each day. One evening I boldly plucked up courage, and took one of Karen's tablets. According to my diary it was Thursday, May 31st, 1979, and I was no doubt, feeling a little reckless. Having taken the pill, I went to see my mate Paul in the flat next door.

"Paul," I said, "For God's sake look after me tonight, as I've just taken one of Karen's pills."

Whilst he got ready to go out, I sat on his bed waiting for the symptoms to appear. Eventually he was ready, whereupon we both departed for a night on the tiles. It felt great. No effects so far, I thought, as I promptly fell down the stairs. I quickly recovered, deciding to adopt a more cautious approach from then on. We went to the sailing club, where I spent much of the evening falling off the bar stool, to everyone's amusement. Next, not to be beaten, we marched off to the Scimitar Hotel, for a disco session. At this point I have vague recollections of propping up the bar whilst feeling very tired. Using my in built inertial guidance system, I somehow managed to find my way home alone. The next morning I could remember virtually nothing, and had to ask Paul to fill in my enormous memory gap.

A few days later I applied for and received a birth certificate for Karen, one of the requirements before the wedding could take place.

After the tablet tumbling incident, I was determined to do something about Karen's predicament. On Wednesday, June 6th I went to see Karen's general practitioner, by appointment. I waited until all the other people waiting had seen the doctor, then I marched in. Dr.St.John turned out to be an elderly woman. I sat before her and explained who I was, and about whom I had come to talk about. I knew that she could not discuss Karen's case, but I did hope that she would listen. She did not. She was deaf. I thought she was having me on. Surely any doctor who was hard of hearing would wear a hearing aid, after all that is what doctors prescribe. I therefore ended up talking to her rather loudly, to which she just put up her hands as if to say 'no more.' I left disheartened, having accomplished nothing.

In her statement to the police, five years later, she stated, 'Karen had a mental age of about ten years. She may have been prescribed epilim or phenobarbitone. When Mr. Allen visited me, he demanded to know what drugs she was receiving. He was arrogant, I refused to discuss the matter with him, whereupon he became furious. For thirty years I served as doctor to Karen's parents, who were perfectly normal and reasonable individuals.

As for Karen's mental age, her brain from an academic point of view, may have had a mental age of about ten years in certain respects, but it is what you do with the brain that you have which is more important. I have known many women whose loving personality and tolerance fell a long way short of that of Karen's. As regards her drug treatment in earlier years, I was later told by a GP or dentist that the extensive damage to Karen's teeth had been caused by drugs. Whether this was an acceptable risk, I cannot say, since I was not around in those early years. I was however told by a female friend, that Dr.St.John was regarded as a soft touch for drugs. As regards demanding information regarding the medication Karen was receiving, her pills were not only kept on top of the refrigerator for all to see, but in fact I had some given to me by Helen for our trips to Birmingham. I therefore knew what drugs Karen was taking. I also knew that on that same refrigerator were Helen's pills, which she kept for many obscure ailments. I regarded her as a hypochondriac, both towards herself and Karen.

It was whilst on our trips to the Midlands that I tried to reduce Karen's drug intake further. Upon our return, I would then attempt to convince Helen that the new drug intake level was satisfactory. As for the GP's remark about me being arrogant, I have yet to meet a doctor who cannot be. Just why a doctor would refuse to discuss over prescribing of drugs, when the medical records should have clearly shown that to be the case, merely underlines the GP's own arrogance. As regards the last remark in her statement, all I can say is that the medical professions interpretation of the words 'normal and reasonable' differ from mine. Having said that, I realise that it is virtually impossible to assess someone when you take them out of their natural environment and seat them down in a doctors surgery.

My diary for that day simply states 'go to surgery 6pm -- got nowhere. Went to Legion - met Karen.' The defence rests, for the moment.

Saturday, June 23rd, 1979, 'Karen's mum on the war path again!' I think this is a reference to a party I had gone to at the town hall, late the previous Saturday night, after I had taken Karen home. Helen tried to convince her daughter that I had been carrying on with some other woman there. The only reason why I did not take Karen, was because I had not been invited. My friend Brian went to the venue, but he was doubtful whether I would get in. I doubted whether Karen and I would get in together, and anyway, Helen always wanted her daughter in at a reasonable time, not 2am. The path of true love is never smooth, but ours was like traveling along eternal rapids.

Details of Karen's birthday on June 27th are sketchy. After the revelations of the previous year, the outlaws found it impossible to accept another dinner invitation. I believe we took Karen's sister Gillian and her husband George out instead, though where we went my grey matter fails to recall.

On Friday the thirteenth of July, 1979, two days after the American Skylab space station fell to Earth over Western Australia, I felt as if I had been brought down to terra firma. The matter of becoming self employed had come to a head. The originator of the idea dropped out, leaving only two of us to 'test the water.' The two of us had decided to go freelance, but effectively stay on the same contract. The contract company that employed me decided to take legal action, whereupon the management at Tinto asked the two of us to leave the plant until the whole thing blew over. My main reason for wanting to become self employed was to create a more secure future, but if anything, all the squabbling that then took place only made my employment prospects very dim. I had not anticipated being suspended from work during the dispute. My loss of earnings, straight away left me in no doubt that I had made a mistake, but I could not see how I could rectify the problem, which could drag on for six months or more.

The following Monday I signed on the dole, then went down to Birmingham. I told Karen and her parents absolutely nothing about the dispute, both then and afterwards. The next weekend my parents brought me back, stopping on the way at Bodnant Gardens, a National Trust property. They stayed on Anglesey for a week, before taking me back to the West Midlands with Karen. From there we went to Northamptonshire two days later, returning to Birmingham at the weekend, then to Holyhead to sign on for unemployment benefit. I also called on my colleagues solicitor Mr. Roberts, to hear the latest news about the hopeless situation I was in.

Whilst during all my travels, a local councilor had evidently been going around trying to serve legal papers on me. My colleague had been quickly caught out, when a man turned up at his home wearing a boiler suit, only to be served the necessary papers when he opened the door to him. I believe that I finally resumed work on August 13th, having lost four weeks wages. I resumed working with my original contract company, returning to Tinto with my tail between my legs. I knew that there were rumours of redundancies in the air. If there was any foundation to these rumours, then I knew that I was likely to be the first to go, after all the trouble I had caused. Unfortunately, I was on such good money that caution flew to the wind. It maybe that my problems were already-impairing my sense of reason. Bill told me that there was a letter on the chief draughtsman's desk relating to redundancies, but for some reason I took no notice. The contract between Tinto and HMG, to employ a certain number of people, was presumably about to run out.

On Saturday, August 18th I took Karen to the Legion, where there was a dance to a local group. Karen would never dance as she was terribly self conscious. So with Karen's approval, I danced with an attractive young woman wearing an evening dress, called Hazel. We danced where I could keep an eye on my wife, and vice versa. Whilst dancing I realised that I was being hit on the head occasionally, by someone behind me, apparently using their knuckle. It turned out to be Helen's friend, Megan. I left the dance floor, and as it was late I decided to walk Karen home. As we left the Legion, Helen's father John, came in. We did not exchange words, as I was not in the mood.

As I entered the lounge of Karen's home, Helen flew at me in a violent rage. Between the blows raining down on me, Helen accused me of fondling the breasts of the woman I had been dancing with. Evidently Megan had told John this story, who had then telephoned Helen, whom I suspect secretly lusted after me. As I retreated into the hallway, Glyn ordered me out of the house. The story of course, was totally untrue. That was the last time we went to the Legion on a Saturday night.

The following Friday, I managed to exchange my flatlet for a far quieter and more civilised dwelling place, further up the road. It was a large attic flat. The place was well kept, and quiet. I liked it very much, but as things turned out, I was not to stay there long. The next day I plucked up enough courage to go down the Legion to see the outlaws. Sure enough they were there sitting in their favourite corner.

"Hello," I said, trying to put on a cheerful face.

"On your bike!" said Glyn, firmly.

Well that was that, I left disconsolate, but not defeated. I was not the sort of person to give up so easily, especially when I knew I had right on my side.

Two days later, the Earl Mountbatten of Burma, and three people with him, plus eighteen British soldiers in another incident, were blown to bits by the IRA in Ireland.

A week later I returned to Birmingham and bought a yellow Vauxhall Firenza at a car auction. It took the bank two days to clear a cheque from the building society, resulting in two days lost at work. I was loosing too many days at work for one reason or another. Days I could not afford to loose.

On September 5th I took my neighbour, Dorothy, to the Sportsman's Inn for a drink. She was a small, mature and friendly woman, who worked on the nearby RAF base. We had a take away meal around my place later. She wanted to stay the night, but my heart was still set on Karen. Fortunately she did not take this rebuff too hard, and we later visited the Legion on bingo night, so that I could at least reassure Karen that I was still thinking of her, from a distance at least.

On Friday, September 14th, 1979 I got the car engine tuned, as it was back firing. I had taken it to a man at 6pm who specialised in engine tuning. I collected the car an hour later, and it seemed to be working all right. I then drove the car past Karen's home. I had never given up hope of seeing Karen again, but as regards her parents, I now considered them a lost cause. If we had got together again, there would only have been another fabricated incident. As I drove past her home I noticed that her bedroom light was on. The opportunity that presented itself was too good to miss. I parked the car at a discreet distance from the house.

As a result of having taken down the posters in my flatlet, I now had plenty of Blue Tack lying around the car. I took some of this and nervously threw a few pieces at the lighted window, hoping that Karen and not her mother, would appear. After three pieces hit the window, a face finally presented itself. It was Karen. She opened the sash window.

"Do you still want to marry me?" I asked as loud as I dared.

She nodded, then said,"Yes," in a nervous voice.

"Well come on down," I replied.

She then disappeared from sight, for what seemed like ages. I wondered how she was going to get out of the house. Unknown to me, Karen's parents and her sister, were in the lounge watching television. To get to the back door Karen had to go downstairs, then through the lounge and kitchen. As she walked through the lounge, the welsh dragon noticed her.

"And where are you going?" her suspicious mother asked.

"I'm just going into the back yard for a breath of fresh air," Karen replied, her grey matter struggling to keep one step ahead of her mothers.

"Oh, that's all right then," replied Helen.

Karen eventually appeared at the back gate with a big grin on her face. There was no time for formalities. We ran off to the 'new' car. I drove off as fast as I dared, not wanting anyone to take the registration number of the vehicle we were in. I was not sure how long it would take before the outlaws discovered their precious daughter missing. It all depended on how good the television programme was. I knew that when her disappearance was discovered, all hell would break loose. I did not know to what lengths the police would go to get her back. I knew that in some cases it was normal for the police to observe traffic as it crossed the bridge leading to the mainland. It would take about forty minutes for us to reach this bridge. As far as I knew, the police would not know what car I was driving, but I could not be certain.

I therefore decided that we would not cross the bridge that day. We stayed the night in a bed and breakfast place in Menai Bridge, over looking the straits. It cost four pounds per night each, with no questions asked. The next morning, having negotiated the bridge without incident, we went to Caernarfon registry office. It was here that I learned the ins and outs of British law as it pertained to marriage. We were told that owing to residency rules, we could only get married in the district where we resided. In our case, we could either get married on Anglesey at the registry office in Llangefni, or in Birmingham. Birmingham seemed to be the only realistic alternative, since Llangefni was too close to the in-laws for comfort. As it was now a Saturday, arrangements for a wedding could not be made for two more days. I felt very apprehensive, since I had reasoned that it would not take much brain power for Karen's parents to figure out just what we were planning.

Our expected marriage did not follow traditional lines, for as it turned out, we had our honeymoon before the wedding, instead of afterwards. From Caernarfon we went to Porthmerian, the Italian renaissance village inspired by William Clough Ellis, and used in the TV series 'The Prisoner'. After a snack there, we drove on further south to Harlech Castle, from the battlements of which we were presented with a magnificent panoramic view, which I will never forget. Continuing our exploration, we traveled inland along a picturesque winding lane, to see the Roman Steps, believed to be a medieval pack horse route over the mountains. I tired Karen out that warm sunny day, whilst trying to find the far end of the steps. We never found them. I hoped that our marriage would be equally as endless. The views were magnificent and far removed from our real life problems. From then on I knew that it would be my job to shelter Karen from those problems. It was a task I was prepared to fulfill, little realizing that in the end I would need someone to look after myself, or at least share the burden.

We spent Saturday night at a bed and breakfast residence on the northern outskirts of Barmouth. The next morning we wandered along the Panoramic Walk, from where we looked down onto the sand bar in the river estuary. Before long we had resumed our travels, heading east over the Cambrian Mountains towards the West Midlands. After a long down hill drive, we stopped for a drink and a meal at the Three Tuns Inn and brewery, at Bishop's Castle, on the border with England. Upon our arrival in Birmingham we went to the Costermonger to see our mates. We told none of them of our plans. I was afraid that one of them might tell the outlaws as a joke, and also, since it was at short notice, I did not want people promising to turn up for the ceremony, then failing to do so.

Sunday had been another long day for Karen, culminating with one of her epileptic fits. When dealing with her fits, the first thing I had learned was never to panic. Getting flustered often caused more damage than doing nothing. Preventing her from having fits, by not taxing her brain too much or for too long, was easier said than done. Another thing I learned was that if she had a fit and failed to take one of her pills, then she would soon have fits with increasing rapidity.

We stayed that night at my flat, fearful that Karen would be abducted again, or that we would be visited by the police. First thing Monday morning we went to Birmingham Registry Office on Broad Street, taking our birth certificates with us. The formalities were relatively simple. I was told that we would need two witnesses, and that as the ceremony would last only a few minutes, punctuality was essential. The wedding was scheduled for 11-15am on Wednesday, September 19th, 1979. It would cost twenty pounds and twenty-five pence for the marriage licence.

Later that day we called around to see my GP Dr.Robot. Whereupon I registered my 'wife' on his books, in order to get some pills for her. Clothes were also a problem, since Karen had none but the jeans and pullover she was wearing. I took her to Marks and Spencer's, where I bought her a matching black velvet skirt and jacket, also a dark red blouse, black shoes, underwear and casual clothes. I even had to ask a store assistant to measure Karen for a bra, as she did not know what size she was. It was another long day, made even longer by a knock on the door. Since I was not in the habit of getting visitors, I looked out of the window. There below was a police car. We stayed away from the door, but later resolved to move out of the city. That evening we drove down to my parent's place.

My parents were pleased to see us, though being in their early sixties, they were obviously not looking forward to trouble. They nevertheless agreed to attend the wedding, and so also did my brother. On the Tuesday, Karen went and had her hair permed. She came back looking an absolute dream, displaying one of her broad grins that I loved so much.

On the Wednesday morning we arrived in Birmingham in two cars. After the two hour drive, I think we were more nervous than tired. We were certainly apprehensive, and definitely not looking forward to trouble. I realised that it would presumably have been easy for Glyn or Helen to telephone the registry office, in order to find out when the wedding would be. We approached the building cautiously, with a strong sense of foreboding. Fortunately the only people we saw were part of an Indian entourage, having their photographs taken. The room where the marriage ceremony was to take place had an abstract mural covering one wall. The elderly, thin faced gentleman who conducted the ceremony, wore top hat and tails I recall. He was a very amusing figure. Neither Karen nor I could keep a straight face. It was obvious that he loved weddings, and there was no doubt that he loved ours, despite there being only three guests in attendance. He made our day.

Next came the difficult bit. There had been no rehearsal, so no one was sure whether Karen would have trouble in saying the correct words. Much to my relief and to my relatives astonishment, she only had to repeat one line. The wedding ring was gold, the design of which complemented that of the engagement ring. It cost twice as much, having bought it from a jewelers in Birmingham the previous Monday. To my surprise, Karen had no trouble in producing the correct finger for the ring to be slipped onto.

After the ceremony, which lasted no more than a quarter of an hour, we all trooped outside with me clutching the marriage licence. It was our passport to happiness, so we thought. There then followed the traditional round of marriage photos near Alpha Tower and the Repertory Theatre. It was a gloriously sunny day, with the colour in the nearby flower beds seemingly reflecting the glow in our hearts. As a reception had not been planned, I decided that an impromptu meal at the Duck Inn, located a mile up Broad Street, was called for. The meal went down well, after which my relatives returned to Northamptonshire, whilst Karen and I went to Stonehouse Lane Police Station, to give ourselves up.

After giving the policeman on reception our names, I said, "We have just got married without my in-laws consent, although my wife is over the age of consent."

"You mean you've eloped?" asked the officer.

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that," I replied.

Until then I had not looked upon it like that. I always thought it was kids that eloped, and I certainly did not feel that young.

"Well it's not our duty to tell the in-laws. You'll have to do that yourselves. Do you understand?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied apprehensively, "I'll see to that."

"By the way, congratulations!" he said with a smile.

I must admit I was taken aback by that remark. They're human after all, I thought.

I most certainly did not relish the thought of telling Helen the good news, even from the other end of a telephone line. Instead I chose the cowards way out, and got someone to do it for me. I phoned Glyn's mother, Gaga. She was very pleased to hear that we had married at long last, and promised to pass on the good news. I knew she would enjoy telling her son, and especially Helen.