UTOPIAN DREAM chapter 2

Karen and I had both wanted to get married in church, with relatives from both sides present, but our marriage was to mark the beginning of a long series of disappointments and disasters. In Great Britain at this time, three fifths of all marriages ended in divorce, whilst another two fifths ended in acrimony or worse. At my age of thirty years, marriage did not come easy. It took me many years to find the right woman, where in my society, female emancipation had rendered the poor and often redundant male, largely superfluous, particularly in the cities. Without a doubt, after years of searching I had found the right woman, but marriage was far more complex than I realised. My inexperience with psychological matters, coupled with my ignorance in the detailed workings of the welfare state, were ultimately to prove my downfall.

We returned to Holyhead the day after the wedding. Many people have since asked me why we returned. There were three main reasons. I did not want Karen to become severed from her friends and thence become home sick. I knew that with her mental condition it would be cruel to do so. I also naively thought that my in-laws would come to accept me. Above all, I had a good job on a good contract, and I did not like the idea of being pushed out of it.

1979 was the year in which the Conning Party came to power whereupon they fulfilled their election promise by introducing a financial ideology known as monetarism. Monetarism in the UK, Reaganomics in the USA. Monetarist's believed in a more open economy, meaning less government interference and greater control by market forces. Exchange controls were abolished in an attempt to encourage foreign investment, both ways. In order to safe guard the value of the pound, interest rates had to rise in order to prevent too much money flowing out of the country, to places where higher rates of return existed. This was bad news for many British companies who were already heavy borrowers. Unfortunately, many of the British electorate were either unaware of this policy, or failed to understand the dangers of proceeding along such an economic path. Monetarism received most of its support in the USA, whom the British government followed like lambs to the slaughter, never once admitting that they could be wrong. Liquidation followed liquidation, mainly in the traditional manufacturing industries.

Over the next eight years unemployment was to rise from one and a half to three and a half million people, at least officially. Unofficially, some sources quoted six million unemployed. Certainly the trade union movement lost two million members during this period. I could not help thinking that monetarism had more to do with destroying trade union power, than creating wealth for the masses. Certainly the government's anti-union legislation, which was introduced during this period, appeared to reinforce my initial impressions. Millions of unemployed was to be the price the working class would have to pay for the government's refusal to negotiate with the unions. The Conning Party were in an unforgiving mood after being forced out of office during the coal miner's strike a few years previously, as a result of the three day working week it had reluctantly imposed on the rest of the nation.

The spectre of monetarist induced recession was already apparent to myself and my colleagues. Aluminium prices were falling world wide, ultimately-resulting in the closure of Great Britain's other aluminium smelter, located in Scotland, which to my astonishment was swiftly demolished. It was obvious to me that the contract at Tinto was more secure than any I would be able to get in the West Midlands. I was also aware that when redundancies arrive, contractors are the first to be dismissed, usually without warning. Like most people I tried to look on the bright side, often by ignoring reality, something which governments are good at. What my marriage needed in order to survive, was financial and social stability. Instead I was to walk a financial tightrope. As for my in-laws, I had adopted a naive approach to them. I should have gone to my solicitor to obtain a nuisance order, in the hope of keeping them away from us. In this I was to later fail, because I was unaware of my rights, whilst seemingly unable to put across my problems forcefully enough. No one from my wife's side of the family warned me about them. The only words of warning I was to receive came months later from my grandfather.

"You will never be able to trust them, mark my words," my grandfather told me. In his eighties, he had the wisdom of Solomon and I ignored him. I was a fool.

That Thursday afternoon we went around to Dawn's place to tell her the good news, but she noticed the ring on Karen's finger before either of us could say anything. That evening we went to the Beach Hotel with Dorothy.

It was during the next day that we saw action. That afternoon we met by chance our friends Brian and Babs, near the unemployment benefit office in Holyhead.

Whilst talking to them Karen exclaimed, "There's Gillian!"

I looked but did not see her. A few minutes later Glyn, appeared, obviously notified of our presence by Gillian. His exact words I cannot remember. He sounded baffled, astonished and angry. He kept saying over and over that one day he would get even. Then he withdrew. I had expected worse, little realizing that this was only the first round.

A few minutes later we were due to see the staff at the local day centre, less than a mile away, close to where Gillian lived, we therefore said our goodbye's to Brian and Babs, then rushed off to the car. On our way back to the car we came face to face with the ogre, Helen! She stood there on the corner of the street, refusing to let us pass. I told her that we were in a hurry to attend an appointment. I did not state where. She sounded most annoyed when I told her that we had already met Glyn, and that he had done little but shout abuse. Finally, since words were not enough, I put my hands on her shoulders and moved her bodily out into the road, so that Karen and I could get by.

After reaching the car, I then drove Karen to the day care centre, where I hoped she would be able to stay whilst I was working. Facilities for the female handicapped in the locality at this time, were very limited. There were workshops for males at Llangefni, but only this day care centre for women. The staff greeted us warmly, then showed us around. It was a modern cheerful building mostly occupied by senior citizens, although I did notice one young man in a wheel chair. This I thought was an ideal place for Karen to go to, and she certainly looked pleased at the prospect. As we left however, our smiling faces turned grim, for there before us was the entire gang of outlaws. Glyn, Gillian and of course, Helen. On the narrow concrete ramp leading down from the centre I came face to face with hate.

"You assaulted my wife," Glyn yelled accusingly as he approached me.

"Of course I haven't," I replied nervously, as I quickly assessed the situation. I found it hard to believe what he was saying.

"Of course I haven't," I said again. "I just moved her aside because she wouldn't let us pass."

By this time I was stuttering with fear and hardly sounded convincing.

"He's lying. Go on hit him!" screamed Helen.

Glyn, possessed by his hen pecked mentality, duly obliged by reluctantly smashing his fist into my head. I think he only hit me once or twice, causing my face to bleed. I did not return the complement, fearing that it would aggravate the situation. Anyway, I did not believe in violence.

Karen and I retreated into the day care centre, whilst the gang of outlaws waited at the pass. I remember asking the staff to call out the posse, the police, but I think there was something wrong with the telephone. Finally, one of the staff went outside to remonstrate with them. The outlaws moved off to the end of the road. About an hour later they finally left the scene, after which Karen and I made a quiet exit.

The entire incident had upset many of the elderly people. It was obvious to me that it was too much to expect the staff to look after my wife after this incident. Some years later I was told by my friend Bill, that this incident was reported in the centre's occurrence book, but I never saw a copy, so I cannot comment further. After leaving the centre we drove to Tinto, to see Bill. He was surprised to see my mouth bleeding. We decided there and then that Karen and I would have to move out of Holyhead for safeties sake. I decided that the best thing to do would be to see Mrs. Owen in Valley.

That evening we spoke to Mrs. Owen, who was sympathetic to our needs. She phoned around, and found us an old terraced house which had been used as a holiday home, located just up the road. We moved in straight away. I felt indebted to Mrs. Owen then, and indeed still do. During the first four days after our return from Birmingham, Karen had at least four fits that I knew about. The cause was obvious. I desperately wanted an amicable solution, but I was at a loss as to know how my in-laws could be placated. I thought that in time wounds would heal. Instead, they were to fester.

Whilst I was working away on my drawing board at work, Karen would be staying with Dawn's mother, whom I paid expenses. Over the next few weeks it, became obvious to me that Karen did not like the arrangement. Something was troubling her, causing me to become inquisitive.

"What did you do today?" I asked Karen.

"Dawn gave me a bath," came the reply.

"But I gave you a bath yesterday," I said.

"I know but she insisted," said a disgruntled Karen.

Knowing what Dawn was like I asked, "Did she wash your....?"

"No, I did that," she interrupted.

Karen started having fits more frequently, until finally on October 25th, 1979, Dawn's mother, with prodding from her daughter, told me that Karen could only stay until Christmas. I sensed something unhealthy about the situation. The next morning Karen stayed at home. She preferred to stay there on her own during the day. We never spoke to Dawn again, although I often saw her walk past our home at lunch times, presumably on her way to see her girlfriend in Trearddur Bay. Being intelligent and attractive, she was one friend I was to deeply miss in the years ahead. I badly needed a young woman to look after Karen, and keep her company whilst I was working. Maybe I did not look hard enough, for I never found such a person. In the back of my mind I was afraid of what my in-laws would think, and how they would use it to prize Karen and I apart. To this day, I do not believe that it is possible for one man or woman to look after a mentally handicapped person without assistance. The mental as well as physical strain on the carer eventually becomes too much to endure.

One day whilst working at Tinto, I was called to the manager's office. There I was told that my in-laws, who were at the main gate, were demanding to know where their precious daughter was staying. After much deliberation I gave the manager my last address in Holyhead. This information was then passed on to my in-laws, who then left the site, I was deeply upset at my in-laws attempts to involve my employers in this sordid mess. Prior to this incident, my employment prospects were already black enough.

Whilst at work on Friday the twenty-eighth of September, I received a letter from my in-laws solicitor, demanding to know where Karen was living. I thought, two can play at this game, so I went to see my solicitor, Mr. Roberts. The outcome of this meeting was a letter sent to my in-law's solicitor, a lord something or other, I believe. I was not impressed by the name. They could have gone to see the prime minister for all I cared. I am not certain what the letter from Mr. Roberts contained, but it certainly told them to lay off.

During the period when there was no one to look after Karen, I would come home from work at lunch time, to make sure she was all right. Usually I would come home with two packs of jumbo sausage and chips from the local fish and chip shop, whereupon we would then sit down and eat them whilst watching the children's television programme 'Rainbow.' Well I did anyway.

I managed to arrange for a woman by the name of Vera to visit Karen every Tuesday morning, in order to help her with her reading. It was hard going for Vera. I do not think she realised the improvement she made to Karen's reading capability. In the evening I would also help Karen to read. At this time she could read six pages of average English in one hour. Getting her to read fast was initially difficult since she lacked confidence in her abilities. To overcome this I started by helping her to pronounce each word, then after a few days I would go on to read every other word. When she became proficient enough, I would let her read every other sentence. It was important not to push her too hard, thereby inducing a fit. She had to be kept cheerful at all times in order to maintain her morale, as her brain battled away against the side effects of her drug therapy (chemotherapy).

To improve her reading even more, I later bought her for Christmas a Texas Instruments 'Speak & Spell'. It was without a doubt one of the most rewarding things I ever bought her. She could spell just over half the words stored in its memory. I must admit that there were even words that I could not spell, and still can't, judging by how irritated I get when my spell checker throws them up onto the screen of my word-processor for correction. In fact, my ability to remember peoples names was far worse than Karen's. During the days alone, Karen would do her knitting, or perhaps some painting. The paint always seemed to go where it should not, but I did not mind. These activities were however no compensation for the lack of companionship. She started having bad fits, and the only likely answer I could think of was to find her a pet. She liked cats, and had once had a kitten called Ben, who mysteriously disappeared during our courting days, so I decided to get a replacement.

One day as we walked past a pet shop in Holyhead, I spied a number of small notices in the window. One of these advertised kittens, and gave a local telephone number. We hurried over to a nearby telephone kiosk and dialled the number. It turned out that the present owners of the kittens also lived in Valley. I was even more surprised when I realised that they not only lived in the same street as us, but also next door. It had to be fate. There was no turning back now. It was not long before we were around next door, to be greeted by their menagerie. There was a pony in the back yard, pussies galore, and I think a dog and an aquarium. There were four kittens to choose from, all tiny fury bundles crawling over one another inside a cardboard box. Karen looked down at them, wearing her beaming smile. If she could have had her own way, she would have taken them all, I am certain. She was rationed to one, since I could see myself ending up looking after it. Karen found it difficult to pick one as they were all equally as playful. Finally she made her choice, I offered money but the family refused. It was the best deal I ever made. The kitten we called Fluff, as I was uncertain as to what sex it was. Karen often called Fluff 'bechan', meaning little female, for that is what Fluff became, a substitute for children. From then on Fluff was her baby. The date was Saturday, November 17th, 1979. They were to stay together until that fateful day which was to drive us all apart, forever.

It was on a Saturday the twenty-ninth of September that I first saw a photograph in an estate agents, of the bungalow I was later to buy. It was new, located in the centre of Anglesey, in a village called Gwalchmai, I was vaguely familiar with the village, as Bill and I use to go there to see the local entertainment in the Gwalchmai Hotel on Thursday nights, occasionally. I do not know to this day what attracted me to the place. The only thing it had going for it was its central location. Were I to be made redundant I reasoned that I would not have to travel far to any other point on the island in order to reach my new job. Since buses traveled along the main road nearby, I reasoned that even without a car the place would not be too remote. It was ten miles from Holyhead, a distance which I thought would be too far for my in-laws to travel, since they hated going any long distance except by train. In any case, I never thought they would find the place, since it was off the beaten track.

The bungalow was located up a short cull-de-sac serving five plots, three of which already had bungalows built on them. Since the asking price of the property was low compared to that in Birmingham, and since it would not be long before the estate was completed, I reasoned that I was on to a good thing. It was also a quiet location, by no means a stressful environment. As it was to turn out, every one of my assumptions was to prove widely off the mark. Buying that property was without doubt the worst decision I ever made. Just buying the place was to take another five months, even though I was to engage a solicitor Mr. Snail, in Bangor on October second. I also saw the assistant manager of the Xtra Building Society on the same date. During this period there was a mortgage freeze, but even with all the extra time I found the procedure of buying a house and moving in, far from smooth. In the coming months, never was I to loose so many working days 'off sick' just in trying to acquire a new home. It was to leave me with a bitter feeling against those politicians who firmly believed in a home ownership society.

On the first of November I got rather a nasty surprise. Mrs. Jones came around to tell us the dreadful news. The outlaws had performed an underhanded trick. They had evidently got someone to follow me home from work. They now knew where we lived and had visited Mrs,Jones to tell her so, in the hope that we would surrender without a shot being fired. We both looked at her grimly. There would be no surrender, was the message, leaving Mrs. Owen to walk off into the sunset with the task of conveying the bad news.

With that, sickening news from Mrs. Owen, I felt a strong urge to go down to Brum, where we delighted in the sight of the municipal firework display in Summerfield Park followed by pints of ale at the Duck Inn, Pot of Beer, and near my flat the Cross Guns, where Karen enjoyed watching the cockateel kept behind the bar.

On Friday November 16th, 1979, Karen's parents visited her in Valley whilst I was at work, but they were not let in. The next Monday they called again bearing gifts, Karen's clothes and crocodile tears. Mrs. Owen called around that evening to persuade me to let the outlaws look after Karen during the day. I do not remember my response, but I realised that the situation could not go on like this forever. On November 27th, Gillian gave birth to her third child. Karen was taken by her parents to see her. Karen had many fits at this time, probably due to the confusion of loyalties in her mind. I therefore let her parents, and later her sister, look after her during my working hours from then onwards, little realizing that behind those false smiles, Helen and Glyn hated my guts.

It was to be two years before I learned the truth, in a letter from the Department of Health and Social Security (DHSS) to my solicitor. Unknown to me at this time, Karen had been receiving Attendance Allowance (AA) and Non-Contributory Invalidity Pension (NCIP). These were state benefits which formed part of Great Britain's welfare state, and were paid to people as of right, who could not look after themselves properly. Her GP, Dr.St.John, had evidently arranged for Karen to receive these benefits. Five days after our marriage, the allowance book had been handed over to the DHSS in Holyhead by my in-laws, at which time they stated to the staff that their daughter was now married and her whereabouts unknown. On February 6th, 1980, two months before Karen's benefit entitlement ran out, renewal claim forms were sent by the DHSS to my in-laws address. Glyn returned them to the DHSS, stating that the whereabouts of his daughter were unknown. By this time of course, the outlaws were in almost daily contact with their daughter. They had known all along, exactly where I worked and what my permanent address was in Birmingham. They soon found us living in Valley, whilst Karen was only too willing to show them where our new bungalow was, long before we moved into it.

At the time of these goings on, I was totally ignorant of their two faced attitude. They were determined to sell their daughter down the drain, to spite me. It was a blatant example of how little they really cared for their youngest offspring. It is a feeling which I still find hard to grasp. How could they have been so callous, I was later to wonder. Although this pitiless act did not seriously affect our financial well being at this time, it did have a profound effect on us a few months later. This single act was to have incalculable consequences for all.

Irrespective of my in-laws attitude to me, the love I had for my wife never faltered. I was still deeply concerned about Karen's drug therapy. I arranged through our GP, Dr.Robot, for Karen to see a specialist at a Birmingham hospital on Monday, December 10th. Whilst there, Karen had an electroencephalogram test (EEG), in which electrodes were attached to her head in order to record brain signal activity, which showed up as waves recorded on a moving chart. It was a technique with which I was, years later, to become familiar with. After analyzing the results, our doctor was advised to change her medication from Rivotril to Tegretol, which he did. From then on Karen's daily intake of pills was three, one milligram tablets of Tegretol, as opposed to eight or nine, two milligram tablets of Rivotril when I first met her. Karen's awareness of her environment and her memory, improved considerably, though her memory still remained impaired.

At Christmas, Karen and I went down to my parents place, returning to Anglesey for the new year, during which Bill brought his family around. We all had a good time, especially Karen, who showed everyone how well she was doing on her new Speak & Spell.

In the months which lay ahead, during which time my mortgage approval was being held up, plans were made and implemented, appointments kept and numerous phone calls made from work. Furniture was ordered, floors and windows measured for carpets and curtains. Better locks were bought, a nameplate ordered and a search made for someone to fit the television aerial for when we finally moved in. The biggest problem that we faced by far, was the electricity meter. We had been assured by the builder that the electrical system had been tested and approved by the electricity board, we had our NHBC insurance policy, and approval from the building societies valuers. Despite all this, I was consistently unable to get an electricity meter installed. It did not matter how many times I telephoned the electricity board, I just could not get them to fit the damn thing. There was no telephone available in the hut where I worked. Instead I had to make time consuming calls from the room adjacent to my boss' office. This obviously did not improve my employment prospects.

There was also the problem of the garage drive, or should I say the ramp. It was so steep, that when I tried my car out on it, the exhaust pipe struck the ground when I drove over the ridge at the garage entrance. To get the car into the garage, I had to design on my drawing board at work, a special hump in the ramp. This hump increased the initial angle of slope, to allow for an angle of slope considerably less than the original, near the garage entrance. It was one of my better design jobs, one which the builder was only too pleased to implement, before we moved in. I was aware that a steeper ramp could wear out the clutch on my car at a faster rate. I was not to be unduly pessimistic as it turned out.

Gardening equipment had to be bought, and being a barren site consisting of sandy rocky soil, I simply did not realise what I was letting myself in for. I knew nothing about gardening, but I knew that I wanted something nice to look at. The builder of the estate lived next door. He said the ground was excellent for growing things in, and I must admit that his weeds really looked healthy. In fact he grew little else but weeds. What I did not realise was that in terracing the site, most of my top soil had vanished. As a child I would play in my parents garden, but when weeding time came along I did my best to wander off elsewhere. As such I simply did not realise what I was letting myself in for. I had visions of the Chelsea Flower Show, but in reality the weeds were to have a field day.

I stayed in most of the evenings at this time, saving up my money for the mortgage deposit, and the countless items that would have to be bought for the new home. Karen and I just sat there watching the goggle-box, whilst waiting for the happy day when we would finally move into our own home. It was a never ending game of patience, with phone calls and visits to our solicitor with which to relieve the boredom. Finally the day came when the financial matters were settled. We had at last bought our new bungalow. There was just one problem. No one had told the builder, and since I had not been given any papers with which to prove that the deal had gone through, he steadfastly refused to let me have the keys. More delay! finally on Friday, March 21st, with the keys to our bungalow in my pocket, Karen and I set off in a dilapidated Luton Van, which I had hired from a local farmer. The speedometer and temperature gauge did not work, but some how we reached Birmingham. That weekend the awesome and heart rending task of moving all my furniture and personal belongings out of Birmingham was carried out. It took all day just for Karen and I to load the van with my gear from the fifteenth floor. We had no help, and I must admit that I was surprised at how well Karen coped. The only mishap occurred when I told Karen to take my space shuttle model outside, meaning to the lift. She misunderstood what I meant, causing it to make its final dive down the rubbish chute. Needless to say, I forgave her. The next morning I realised that we could not get into the van since the door key had been broken off in the lock by someone else on a previous hiring. I seriously considered smashing the window, as working a bent wire coat hanger between the door and door frame in order to release the locking mechanism was not the answer. A fellow then came along and offered assistance. He was a mortuary technician by trade. Putting the broken key up to the lock, and after some wangling around, the door miraculously opened.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"When you can get into bodies, you can get into anything," came the reply.

It seems strange how small incidents like that, I could remember so well. One of the other things I could remember was the lounge carpet. After unloading the Luton Van at the bungalow, everything was in its place, except the lounge carpet. We finally moved out of Valley a week later, but still that carpet had not arrived. It turned up the following week. It was cheap to buy and looked cheap. It had no stiff backing to it, so the folds in it became rather pronounced. I tried to cover them up with furniture and rugs without much success. I never could afford to buy another one, whilst even all my pacing up and down in the years to come, failed to make much impression on it. One day the name plate arrived. I had decided to call the bungalow Sunny Dale in the hope that it would entice holiday makers to stay there, should I ever need to. Anglesey was however renowned more for its high winds than sunshine. The name was engraved in gold lettering on Welsh slate. I was very pleased with it.

The saga with the electricity board continued.

"This is Mr. Allen again. I still haven't got my electricity meter installed. Why not?" I would ask.

"We haven't got a test certificate," would come the reply.

"But everything works," I replied in desperation.

"How do you know everything works?" the man sounding very suspicious.

I thought hard, then feebly replied, "because the builder says it was all tested and approved months ago."

Well I could hardly tell them that I had bypassed the non-existent electricity meter, and now had the place looking like Blackpool illuminations, could I?

"Well we'll have another look through our records, but I can't promise you anything," would be the inevitable response.

I got nowhere until Wednesday, April 16th, 1980. That week I had worked at Tinto two years exactly, and on that particular day I received a call from my contracts manager in Walsall. I was informed that my contract at Tinto would be terminated a week next Friday, and that I was to report in to the head office on the following Monday, April 28th. I was to be the only one 'sent down the road' as they say. When I asked why, I was told it was because of all the trouble I had stirred up in wanting to change employer months before. It seemed a fair comment, which I just accepted. I was not outwardly shocked. Like everything else that was later to happen, I kept my emotions under wraps.

That day I telephoned the electricity board again.

"I've got to have an electricity meter as I'm leaving the island," I pleaded.

"Your leaving are yea. Right we'll have to come around then. Will tomorrow do?" came the unexpected reply.

I felt very angry by their belated positive response. All the weeks they had kept me on that bloody phone, I kept thinking.

I had already decided to let the bungalow for the summer, whilst I worked on other contracts in the West Midlands. To this purpose I immediately set about designing information leaflets at work, for prospective holiday makers. They looked very professional. The next day I canceled my order for a telephone to be fitted inside my new home. It was to be the first of many austerity measures.

The saga with my rates took a lot longer to unwind. I informed the water board and the local council of my presence, but neither of them informed me that I had to convey this information to the Inland Revenue first, in order to get the bungalow rated. This was to result in serious financial repercussions later.

My financial situation was now very dodgy. A few weeks previously I had six thousand pounds in my building society account. The bungalow cost eighteen thousand pounds, towards which I paid four thousand pounds deposit, leaving me with a fourteen thousand pound mortgage. I had also spent the remaining two thousand pounds on furniture, legal fees, etc. My mortgage repayments were one hundred and thirty-three pounds per month, whilst the rent for my council flat was forty-two pounds monthly. My savings were now the lowest they had been for years. I realised that electricity, rates, food and travel costs, would eat away at my remaining savings in next to no time, if I did not get on a well paid contract soon. I now knew what it was like to burn both ends of the financial candle at the same time.

During my final days at Tinto, I not only run off on the office duplicator my information leaflets for prospective holiday makers, but I also drew up a resume of my work history, in case the worst came to the worst. I was not one for giving up. Like other contractors I could adapt, provided there was something worth adapting to.

According to my diary I reported to head office in Walsall a day late, owing to car engine problems. I was informed immediately that there were no contracts available. Things were grim, as about ten of the firms draughtsmen had got the elbow from a nuclear power company a week before. Since nothing appeared in sight, my boss agreed to let me return to Anglesey, provided I kept in regular contact by telephone, which I did.

I returned to my bungalow in Gwalchmai and beavered away each day at the garden, hiring a rotavator in the process. On the financial front, I cast out my lifeboats by putting holiday advertisements in the Wolverhampton Express and Star, Leicester Mercury and Manchester Evening News. I worked away for five weeks on that garden, during which time I was paid my basic wage. On Friday, May 30th, the inevitable happened, I was made redundant. I had savings of around two hundred pounds at this time, plus two hundred and fifty-five pounds redundancy money, received a few weeks later.

On Sunday. June 1st, 1980 Karen and I went to see Gaga. She was confined to a bed in C & A Hospital. About a week earlier she had had a stroke at home. She looked so old and haggard, with blueness around the eyes. She looked at us with a vacant stare, saying nothing. We quickly left. Her appearance in hospital was to haunt me in later years. She was later transferred to St. David's Hospital where she mercifully died on September 16th. Although I did not know her well, it was one set back that I could have done without, for life was to get very tough from then on. I little realised at that time, just how close I was to get in departing this world the same way. Maybe in the end, I will.

I was very fortunate in quickly obtaining employment with another contracting company, in Birmingham, detailing scaffolding and concrete shuttering, at Kwikform. Unfortunately the contract was to last only eight weeks, ending July 25th, during which time I was paid an average of one hundred and ten pounds per week net, which was sixty pounds per week less than at Tinto. They did not pay me a basic wage whilst I waited for another contract to turn up. I was therefore obliged to sign on the dole and ask my union to obtain for me the holiday pay which was due. I finally received it. It was a lesson in just how easily employers were prepared to step out of line, if they thought they could get away with it. As the government's policies took effect, causing further unemployment and weaker trade union power, the abuse of part time employees and contractors by employers, was to increase.

On Saturday, July 5th, 1980, I started letting my bungalow at a rate of one hundred pounds per week. I would go up to Gwalchmai on a Saturday morning, mow the lawn and collect monies due, before returning to Birmingham. I let the bungalow for seven weeks, up until August 30th. I had reluctantly become a member of the black economy. I did not like the idea of letting my home, but I had no other choice. I knew there would be hard times ahead. By now I had a clear picture of British manufacturing industry shrinking fast. It was from this time onwards that I became scared and confused. I contacted numerous agencies, and sent resumes to many companies. I kept a note book which eventually contained about fifty company addresses that I had written to. My diaries were to be littered with the addresses and telephone numbers of employment targets. In the following two years I must have sent out at least two hundred resumes. They never led to an interview. I developed serious doubts as to my own capabilities. I was to spend my time worrying, refusing to give up, and eventually making myself ill. The pains in my stomach, chest and back, became more persistent. I also developed pains in the back of my neck, and eyes. I refused to see a doctor, believing that I deserved the pains for being such a failure.

I registered in Birmingham as unemployed on August 5th, signing on every two weeks at the unemployment benefit office. I also collected tax rebates from the Inland Revenue. A few years later this system, as well as earnings related unemployment benefit, were scrapped. I wanted to claim for supplementary benefit from the DHSS but was unable to get through to them on the telephone, to arrange an appointment as advised. Every time I telephoned them the line was engaged. It was some time before I twigged that the telephone was off the hook. Had I visited them, I would have been lost for words to describe my present circumstances. My financial life, with two homes, was too complicated for even me to handle. Had I known about my wife's allowances, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have returned to Gwalchmai, abandoned my flat, and signed on for supplementary benefit, attendance allowance and all the rest.

For a few weeks I left Karen with her parents, but I eventually brought her to Birmingham. By now our flat was bare apart from one single bed, a two ring mini cooker, and the curtains. There were not even any carpets, whilst our clothes hung from coat hangers suspended from the door handles. Everything else was in the bungalow, or its adjacent garage. Karen was depressed in this environment, and Fluff did not like it either, for there were no mice, no moles, and most of all, no cats to play with. At this time Fluff started swinging her head in a peculiar fashion. I concluded that it was some form of mental illness, a forewarning of what was to come.

I telephoned the social services department, in the hope that I could get my wife admitted to a day care centre or workshop during the day. That was on July 31st, six days after my contract in Birmingham ended. It was not until August 28th that Karen visited the day care centre in Erdington. She liked the place very much, and was taken there by taxi, every Thursday for the next five weeks. During her stay there she made a plastic woven basket, which we later used to put fruit in, and a lovely pink elephant, which I still have to admire, for it stands inside my lounge wall cabinet. It is the one last link that I have with my love. When her parents saw it, they refused to believe that she had made it, probably because they never gave her such an opportunity. I remember when she brought it home, wearing that beaming smile of hers, so prominently. Oh, how I wish those feelings were here again. I doubt whether her social worker, June, fully realised the goodness that she achieved in just a short space of time. I wrote to her in the beginning of October informing her that we were leaving Birmingham, as I had the offer of a job in the Middle East. In fact that part of my story is best forgotten, but I will recount it here, for it shows just how desperate and confused I was at this time.

My attempts to get a job in August 1980 were, like those of most people on the dole, simply a refusal to accept the inevitable fact that there were no worthwhile jobs available. Much of British industry found itself hamstrung by high interest rates, forcing management to improve efficiency just to pay back existing loans at the previous lower rates. Improved efficiency meant automation. Automation meant redundancies, throughout the monetarist world. The growing number of unemployed was depressing wage rates, to the extent that I could not find a job with sufficient remuneration to support myself, my wife and my mortgage.

Greater competitiveness, as a means of survival, meant that more emphasis was being placed on robots and computers. Even my own profession was finding itself being automated to some extent, through the introduction of computer aided design terminals. More unemployed on the bread line, meant a smaller home market for goods and services. This meant that the competitive edge of British made goods sold abroad, was being eroded as the economic gains of bulk selling to a home market diminished. This would result in the need for ever greater efficiency, creating even more redundancies. In the new cut throat, no holds barred economy, unemployment was creating more job losses. This problem could only be staved off by increased consumer borrowing particularly amongst the lower paid and newly unemployed, who would find it virtually impossible to keep up with repayments. This problem would undermine the value of the pound further, particularly as much of this borrowed money would be spent on imports from the Far East, where employees working longer hours would be able to adapt to technological change faster and produce more, necessitating in a further rise in interest rates. It slowly became apparent to me that the British Government's monetarist policies, were inflicting more damage to British industry, than Hitler's Luftwaffe ever managed to do. Inevitably, the only sector to emerge supreme, would be the all thinking, all doing, microprocessor. With trade unions impotent, and political parties incompetent, in which direction would society head with its millions of unemployed human beings? What was urgently needed was social reform, which could only come from a forward looking, idealistic government, whose views were not based on vindictive economics.

I managed to get invited to a couple of job interviews in the West Midlands, but without ultimate success. I did not have the necessary recognized qualifications to get a worth while job, even though I had done the equivalent of two years higher education. To get them I realised that it would take at least two years and cost an enormous amount of money. Money which I simply did not have. With the rapidly changing job requirements of British industry, there was no guarantee that any new qualifications I obtained, would be worth anything in two years time. I was also to learn later, that even with government financial support, job vacancies now, could mean job vacancies swamped later. I also knew that passing exams at my age would not be easy, and there was also the problem of knowing what to do with my wife in the mean time. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her with her parents, as I felt that they did not really care for her enough. On the other hand, my parents showed a marked reluctance to get involved, over the coming years, mainly due to their age.

Like most people who were in a desperate need for a fix, I was prepared to lie, I made my own examination certificate, a higher national certificate in mechanical engineering. I had never seen such a certificate, so the whole thing seemed a crazy idea, but I was desperate. I made it out of some stiff card and letraset, from an art shop. It looked like my GCE certificate.

I had six GCE '0' level passes, including maths, english and of course, art. Whilst serving in the merchant navy as a navigating apprentice, I was a student at Plymouth College for four terms after which I passed my, Board of Trade, second mates foreign going certificate, in signals (Morse code & flag recognition) and written's (navigation, chartwork, mathematics), but failed orals (highway code for shipping) three times. I had of course, also done eleven months full time training in mechanical engineering draughtsmanship, under the direction of the Department of Employment. All this was the equivalent, of roughly two and a half academic years of apparently now worthless training. There was simply no system in Great Britain whereby the qualifications of different examining boards could be related to one another, especially from a prospective employers point of view. Starting from scratch each time, when changing career, invariably leads to waste of time, money, and worst of all, promotes disincentive.

I also needed some engineering apprentice's papers. To get these I photocopied my own indentures, changed the copy from navigating to engineering, then photocopied the altered copy at the local post office. I also needed references from a fictitious company. It was here that I became confused. Under stress, I made headed note paper for two non-existent companies. One used the address of an office block which contained numerous registered companies, and the other used my home address in Birmingham. Each headed letter sheet carried a dummy telephone number in order to make it look realistic. In truth, the only thing to be realistic was the dummy. Me.

With the company letter sheets, I got a batch of one hundred printed off each. I was not certain as to which to use. I could either use my address in Gwalchmai as my home address, and my Birmingham flat as my business address, or I could get the GPO to redirect the mail from the office block, to my Birmingham flat. I chose the latter. I should have known better than to rely on a nationalised industry. I had been taught in engineering one golden rule. If you want something to work, keep it simple.

I applied for the job in Saudi Arabia, through an agency in London. They telephoned me a week later, asking me to attend an interview. Judging by the resume I sent them, I knew they would. They wanted plant engineers to install and operate some of the most expensive and complex processing systems in the petrochemical industry at that time. I knew without question that I was the man for the job. Since I had worked on oil tankers and had intimate knowledge of heat exchangers, pipework., and instrumentation. I had no doubts about my practical abilities. The interview was held in a very smart hotel in London on September 18th, far removed from the hot sandy wastes and ethylene smells of an Arabian refinery. An offer was put to me almost straight away. The pay was fourteen thousand pounds per annum, after tax. They wanted a copy of my examination certificate, indentures, marriage certificate, driving licence, twenty-five passport photos taken after I had had a hair cut, a ten year passport, and finally, a full set of radiographs of all my teeth.

"No problem!" me thinks,"Dim problem ar y cwbl."

As we use to say in Wales when asked to carry out some lunatic scheme.

The passport was the first problem. In order to get one, the application form stated that the photos and form must be countersigned by an approved person such as a priest, counselor, or doctor, who had known me for at least two years. I did not know a priest as I was not religious. I knew no councilors, whilst Dr.Robot was only too pleased to inform me that he had only had to put up with me for one year. I regarded myself as British, having come from a long line of Anglo-Saxons, Danes, Vikings, Romans, etc. After toying with the idea of forging the application, I finally got my stepfather to get me and Karen a passport each from his boss, a company director I had never seen. Legal or not, it was certainly ridiculous. It was the sort of bureaucracy upon which governments thrived, with little regard for the stress it produces. The government promoted the idea of a mobile work force, whilst at the same time refusing to issue identity cards. Years later, I was to meet a man who had an answer to this unrealistic state of affairs, which I will eventually reveal to you. Radiographing my teeth was no problem. It was the fixing of my teeth before hand that hurt. I needed three fillings!

As the weeks past by, I received one form after another. I suspect that the post office got wind of my deception, as I never received a redirected letter from the agency, asking for a reference. On top of all that, I received an Arabian police file to fill in. That was it. If they beheaded princess's for adultery, what would they do to me? I quit. The entire episode left me with an intense feeling of guilt, and hopelessness. I felt a strong urge to get out of the rat race, but my obligations made me a prisoner within my own society. Failure to have an exclusive National CV Centre, smart identity card and professional guild, employer backed, internet based training schemes, are the major reasons for this nation's low productivity, not to mention a modern constitution of course.

On October 8th, 1980, I dropped everything and fled to the high country, Gwalchmai, abandoning my council flat at long last. The entire incident put me off job hunting for a long while. Just after my thirty-second birthday, I signed on at the Unemployment Benefit Office (UBO), and registered with the DHSS at Llangefni. The previous day I had gone to Holyhead, as I thought that the nearest offices to register at were there. Had I been allowed to register in Holyhead, my wife's allowances should have quickly come to light. As it was, things were to go from bad to worse. In my application for supplementary benefit, I submitted my building society, bank account and mortgage details, everything asked for. A week later I received a standard letter from the DHSS which I at first failed to understand, putting it aside. A couple of days later, not having heard any more from them, I picked it up again and read it.

The DHSS had decided to refuse us our rightful entitlement to benefit, without giving a reason. I failed to understand the logic of their decision, but simply accepted it at face value. The thought that they may be incompetent or sheer bloody minded, did not enter my head, which by now was reaching overload. I never went to Llangefni to have it out with them, since it never occurred to me that they had made a mistake. After all, they knew the welfare benefits system. I did not. On October 23rd, I visited the manager of my local Xtra Building Society. I got little comfort there. He was not even prepared to make representations to the DHSS. It was whilst dealing with the building society that I came face to face with the full meaning of economics, that cold blooded science where individual debtors are sacrificed to the glorification of financial stability, plus the economic growth of the company.

Although I carried on signing on at the UBO, at Llangefni, I knew that the situation could not carry on indefinitely. Finally, on or around December 6th, I left my wife at her parents place, whilst I reluctantly went down to my parent's home in Northamptonshire. It was whilst down there that I finally got the DHSS to award us the supplementary benefit that we were entitled to. Even so, it still took two and a half months. I returned to North Wales, and to my wife, on Tuesday, February 24th, 1981, signing on at Llangefni the next day.

The separation had placed a great strain on my parents, who could see me taking root there in their own home, and upon Karen, who was told constantly by her mother, that I had deserted her. I had no intentions of doing so at any time during our marriage.

During 1980, Karen and I had accomplished very little together. During the May bank holiday weekend, we had visited the aerospace museum at RAF Cosford where there existed an excellent collection of Nazi rocketry, and that great symbol of British engineering skill, and political negative mindedness, the TSR2, tactical strike and reconnaissance aircraft. It was with the cancellation of this project that I realised that the country was starting to go down the drain. Also visited that year, according to my catalogue of photographic slides, were Birmingham's Botanical Gardens, Rockingham Castle, the Farnborough Air Show, in which we saw the Tornado fighter-bomber, and the ill fated Nimrod AEW, and lastly the illuminations at Walsall Arboretum, which Karen loved.

By and large 1980 was grim, but we were still a long way from reaching our ultimate low. The full meaning of what it was like for a family to be unemployed, was yet to hit us. With twenty to twenty-five per cent unemployment on the island, I stood no hope of getting a job locally. The only bright note so far was that I had saved our home from the bailiffs. During the period that we were living apart, all of our unemployment benefit and tax rebates were being used to maintain the mortgage repayments. If we had not had parents to rely on, then I do not know what we would have done. In the years ahead, I thought many times of burning our home to the ground, and then claiming on the insurance. It would have been just another holiday home fire, carried out by the Welsh Nationalists, as far as I was concerned. I did not do it because I considered myself to be an honest man. I am now almost certainly something else.

I finally received supplementary benefit, seven months after becoming unemployed. We were very poor, but still very much in love. I was still unaware of my wife's allowances, even though I had told two people working behind the counter in the UBO, and the staff in the DHSS offices next door, in Llangefni, that I had to look after my wife. Indeed I had to bring her with me to the UBO every two weeks when I signed on, rather than leave her at home unattended. I asked at the UBO whether I could sign on by post. They would advise me to enquire at the DHSS. When I did so, the staff at the DHSS would tell me to ask at the UBO. I would have got more sense out of the dummies in Madame Tussaud's chamber of horrors.

On the morning of March 1st, 1980, there was a knock at the bedroom window, we had both overslept as usual. It was Glyn. He informed us that John had been taken to C & A Hospital with some problem or other, which he had acquired whilst moving into his new home, I did not feel very distressed at hearing this news. Perhaps as a punishment for my lack of pity, the exhaust pipe on my car promptly broke in two, I quickly got a new exhaust and fitted it myself. On March 5th, John kicked the bucket in hospital, the day before he was due to have an operation for a hernia. I made a point of turning up at the funeral, but I obviously did not grieve enough, as my clutch failed on the fourteenth. Four days later I picked up my car from the garage. In fitting the new clutch plates, the mechanics discovered that my 1800cc engine had been fitted with a 1200 clutch. Being smaller than necessary, the clutch had worn out faster. It was just one of the problems one faces when buying at a car auction.

I drove off, heading for the UBO to sign on as usual. The engine sounded perfect. A week or two before, I had finally found out why my car had been back firing ever since I bought it a year previous. I had previously taken it to tuning experts and even a garage in Birmingham, where I was told that I needed a new carburettor. I stupidly bought one, but the back firing eventually resumed. I finally searched for the problem myself. It was not long before I noticed that the rotating cam in the mechanical distributor had no grease on it, thereby causing the contact breaker switch to wear out prematurely putting the engine timing out. I felt that I had been ripped off in the past, but pleased that the fault was now fixed, at long last.

Just a hundred metres from the UBO however, the car engine went dead. The same garage mechanics towed it back in, and stripped it down. The timing belt had broke because the overhead camshaft had been jammed by a valve stem, whose spring had broken due to the changed harmonics of the engine, since I had fixed the timing. You just can't win I thought to myself. The garage proprietor explained the situation to me, the cost of the repair was immediately obvious. Three weeks benefit, on top of the money I had already forked out for the clutch and exhaust pipe. It was a financial black hole with no way of knowing when something else would go wrong, as ultimately it would. My finances were very low. The bullet had to be bitten. I turned my back on the automobile and told the proprietor to scrap it. I think he was taken aback, as it remained on his forecourt for months, even after my wife had given him all the necessary documents. Eventually it was repaired and hopefully gave someone a lot of pleasure. I have always hated motoring, but never more than at that moment.

From then on we became very isolated, but fortunately buses ran along the nearby main road every two hours, except Sunday. This road linked Holyhead, Gwalchmai, Llangefni, and Bangor, in that order. The last bus of the day would leave Holyhead and Bangor at a quarter to ten each evening. On Sundays there were no buses because the pubs were shut, or vice versa. Amongst our state benefit, there was no provision for a car. The deeper one lived in the countryside the more expensive life became. How people in the countryside lived without a bus service, I simply could not imagine.

On February 26th, 1980, I went to Liverpool for an interview. I had applied for a place on a computer programmers course. Although I was accepted, I turned it down because it did not lead to a recognized qualification. I know now that I simply have not got the memory to do something like that, which is why I have to write everything down in my diaries, without which this manuscript could not have been written. Soon afterwards, I applied to go on a Training Opportunities Scheme (TOPS). It was a Higher TEC course commencing on March 23rd, at Leicester Polytechnic. I was informed that their were only fifteen places for four hundred applicants. Given a wish, I would have preferred to have gone on a TOPS electrical engineering design course leading to a recognized qualification with which I knew I could get a job, but there were no such courses in sight.

On the second of April I went to Blackpool for an interview. I had applied for a place on a TOPS non-destructive testing (NDT) ultrasonics course. I failed to be accepted because I did not have the necessary six months experience. In the field of NDT, experience came before qualifications at this time. My interest in the subject had been aroused, whereupon I started collecting information from various NDT examining centre's located around the country. As with the rest of the British training and education system, I found out that there were numerous NDT examining bodies, each usually devoted to a particular industry. I should have dropped the subject there and then, but I foolishly continued, in the absence of anything better.

April twelfth saw the maiden flight of the American space shuttle Columbia, returning to Earth safely two days later. The weather was great, ideal for gardening. In fact, it did not rain for three weeks. My parents, and both Bill and his daughter, visited us over the Easter bank holiday weekend, whilst the following Thursday, Karen's parents took my wife to Llangefni market. On April 22nd I started constructing an ornamental fish pond in the garden. I badly needed something to occupy my time, and give me a feeling of purpose coupled with satisfaction. A fish pond seemed to be the answer, although I realised that no matter what I decided to do, it would cost money, The leisure orientated society would not come cheap.

On the surface at least, everything seemed settled, but my mind was far from tranquil, and was to change much during the next three years. On April 26th Karen was taken to her parent's home for lunch. Exactly three years later Karen and I were to have our last meal together. What happened in the meantime was to become an example of the unacceptability of unemployment in a civilised world.

Her parents were always coming around, or at least that is how it seemed. Because I could not afford a telephone, I never knew when they would appear next. This would place a great strain on me, since the only reason they came around, was to take their daughter away to Llangefni market for the afternoon, or to their home in Holyhead for a week or more. They never asked me if it was OK. They never complimented me on the way I looked after her or the bungalow. I seemed to mean absolutely nothing to them. When they did talk to me I felt that there was some ulterior motive. When Karen went away with them, her mother always showed me up before her, by insisting that I give my wife some money. There was no money for luxuries. One day Karen came back from the market with a kettle for the cooker. We already had an electric kettle however. I knew it was not Karen's fault, so as usual I said nothing. I felt that Helen was constantly trying to drive us apart. Karen and I never argued. I did not believe in it, and I have my doubts as to whether Karen was mentally capable of doing so. Instead I kept it all bottled up inside me. I should have gone to see my doctor then, for some drug to relieve the anxiety, but based upon my experiences years later, I can only conclude that it would have been a waste of time. In the end, no one was to take me seriously, not my in-laws, nor the welfare state, and certainly not the medical profession.

On Wednesday, June the tenth I discovered that I did not have to sign on, owing to a civil servant's dispute with the government over pay and conditions. I had told the staff at the UBO a few weeks before that they would not get anywhere, but as usual they were not prepared to listen. They obviously felt that they had a special understanding with the powers that be, and that it was only a matter of days before Mrs.GG would realise that their unswerving loyalty to stinginess with regard to the unemployed, would earn them an ex gratia payment or two.

I must admit that I got a great deal of pleasure in watching both sides slog it out hammer and tongs. I believe that I signed on only once or twice for the rest of the year, as the dispute dragged on for months. I think it knocked a lot of sense into the civil service, making them feel that they were just as oppressed as the unemployed. The message slowly sank in, as during the next few years a warmer and certainly more efficient attitude developed towards claimants. The bad old days slowly receded, but for me, not fast enough. It use to cost me two pounds and eighteen pence in bus fares, for me and Karen, each time I went to sign on. I was not allowed to claim that additional expense. I was glad of that industrial dispute, if for no other reason than it saved me quite a bit in bus fares, not to mention getting soaked to the skin whilst standing at bus stops in rainy weather.

On July nineteenth, 1980, my fish pond was inaugurated with the arrival of my parents carrying live fish. The fish pond was the fourth I had built, but the first using reinforced PVC sheeting. It was built at the foot of an embankment, and incorporated a marsh garden containing irises, astilbe, primroses and the like. There were also lilies, oxygenators and floating plants in the water itself. For fish I stocked the pool with shubunkins, goldfish, golden orfe and koi-karp, not to mention water snails, to keep the pool clean. Whilst digging the pond, I did not have to go down far before hitting solid rock. To achieve a realistic depth of water, I built up the sides of the pool, and for economy covered the PVC edging with turf on two sides, making it look very natural. The remaining side was covered by four large paving slabs, upon which Karen could stand and view the fish in safety. These slabs led to some steps I had made in an earth retaining wall, leading to the top of the embankment, upon which stood a rustic garden seat from which a Heron's eye view of the fish could be obtained. I was very proud of what I had achieved, and on sunny days I often sat on that seat to admire my work. Constructing the fish pond and its surroundings had required an immense amount of physical hard work, not to mention planning. These were capabilities which could have been put to better use, had a full employment society existed.

Supplementary benefit paid for the short term economic needs. It did not however finance long term psychological requirements, such as the need to have a day out somewhere, let alone a holiday. Constantly looking after my wife, and worrying about the next visit from my in-laws, caused stress to build up within me. At the same time, I would be bathing Karen, telling her what clothes to put on, and generally keeping an eye on her. I did all the cooking, because it was quicker and less troublesome than as a team. I sometimes let Karen peel the potatoes, when she volunteered. As for washing up, she usually left the cutlery and plates covered in soap suds. As for the laundry, I had a temperamental washing machine, which I never got around to fixing, and a tumble drier which I did get mended before the point of self-destruction was reached. I of course did all the ironing, house cleaning and gardening. I could get Karen to push the vacuum cleaner around, but not with enthusiasm, made obvious when she would constantly push it backwards and forwards over the same spot. I never could get her interested in gardening,.She was always interested in wild life. Presumably that included weeds.

Karen would often pull the thread out of her clothes, and sit for hours in the bathroom, pulling the thread out of the towels. Although I did not know it at that time, ruminating like that was considered to be a symptom of stress. Living at Gwalchmai away from friends, with little to do all day except word puzzles and knitting, left her feeling very frustrated I suppose, but she never complained. I now wish that she had, for I think that the only solution was either to leave the area, or have children. Leaving the area was not as easy as it sounds. The bungalow was up for sale, but there were no takers. There were literally hundreds of properties for sale on the island, but because of the high level of unemployment, it was a buyer's market. Our property looked decidedly unattractive, since the estate we were on was nowhere near completed. It never crossed my mind during all the time that we stayed at Gwalchmai, that Karen was unwell. Had we had children, I am sure that she would have amazed everyone by looking after them well. She was always a level headed woman who always thought hard before doing something new. I remember the time when she once told me that it took her a while to work out the layout of our bungalow, something which most people take for granted. Children would have added life to the place, but was that morally speaking, sufficient justification for introducing them to a non-nuclear free world, with only unemployment to look forward to? There is of course the counter argument that man has always managed to overcome fundamental problems within and between societies, thereby ensuring a continuation of the species. There was no medical reason why Karen could not have children. Her problems were not hereditary, and she was fit enough to survive the rigours of child birth.

Maybe the problem lay in me, for my financial problems together with the problem of looking after Karen, eventually wore me down both physically and mentally. Karen would wear out a pair of shoes in a couple of months, and no matter how often I told her off about it, she would leave the bathroom basin covered in soap suds. She regularly left soap on her face which would usually result in a red rash. I often felt that there should have been some organization which I could have turned to for training, guidance, and the occasional relief. There was nowhere that Karen could go to during the day. No day centre that I knew of. There seemed to be no one that I could turn to for help. I felt so alone and forgotten, with only total indifference from the DHSS.

During my parent's stay in July 1981 we visited Bryn Bras Castle, whilst during the next day we went on a guided tour of the local magnox nuclear power station, which I found very interesting and surprisingly down to Earth. My mother took Karen to have her ears pierced in Holyhead, after which my wife proudly displayed her gold earrings for all to see. The next day my parents set off home via Aberystwyth. It was not a happy day for me as six of the newly introduced fish had given up the ghost, presumably due to the trauma of transit. It was also the day I commenced letting my bungalow, necessitating our transfer to the in-laws lair. We stayed there for six weeks, It was grim. Shortly afterwards Prince Charles married Lady Diana Spencer. Prince Charles and I were the same age, but our prospects were to be very different.

On August the fifteenth, 1981, I took Karen to the open day at the local airbase, an event which I looked forward to going to every two years. On September the fifth I cancelled the 'for sale' of my bungalow. I had had only one couple come to see it, so I thought that if I cancelled it, it would please my in-laws. I cannot say as it had any effect on them at all. During our stay with the outlaws, I took Karen to see the Tunnecliffe collection of bird sketches at Llangefni library, as she had a strong affection for our feathered friends. We also visited Bangor museum of junk, and climbed the mountain on the outskirts of Holyhead, whilst visiting the nearby lighthouse, I think that was all we did that year. Without a car I felt we could accomplish very little. We were prisoners, trapped by our financial circumstances. I tried to have as little contact as possible with my in-laws during this period. As such I became withdrawn. It came as a great relief to me, when we finally returned to our bungalow. Sunny Dale on Saturday, September 5th, whereupon I commenced the overdue weeding of the garden.

I also painted the rendering on the bungalow, a standard conforming white, but my mind was never far away from my grandmother, Hilda Millard. She was in her mid eighties. Like many elderly people of her age, she suffered from osteoporosis, a loss of calcium as a result of a hormone deficiency, as well as senile dementia. She had reverted to her childhood, and could no longer recognize the man who was now looking after her, her husband, to whom she had been married for sixty-five years. Her husband, also in his mid-eighties, found it difficult to look after her. He wanted a home help. Somebody decided that it would be best to put her in an old folk's hospital for a while. It was whilst in there that she broke her hip, a common occurrence for people with osteoporosis. She was operated on on Friday, September 11th, two weeks before her sixty-sixth wedding anniversary. She died a few weeks later.

I think her husband felt very-guilty and bitter, for allowing the move into hospital and its consequences. I wrote to him soon after, in the hope that it would cause him to snap out of his grief. A few weeks later his home help arrived. The entire episode made me realise just how vulnerable the unemployed and elderly really were, in an uncaring society. Although she had been near death for at least the last two years of her life, death with dignity was not available through the National Health Service (NHS). Whether this was an ethical problem, or simply one of providing employment to an army of welfare state workers, no doubt depends on whether or not you are the victim. But in reality everyone is on the same side of the fence as the grim reaper.

As regards further job training, I had serious doubts about whether to apply for another course. My brain was slow due to lack of use. This was something which the instructors had allowed for during my training to be a draughtsman, at the Government Training Centre, later known as Skillcentres. In colleges, polytechnics, and universities, they did not. You were thrown in at the deep end, and the mad rush to obtain qualifications, regardless of whether you understood the subject enough to do the job on your own when you finally entered industry, became the overriding factor. It became obvious to me that everyone except the student, wanted to keep courses as short as possible, often with no recognized qualification at the end, just to save tax payer's money. No MSC sponsored course was longer than a year, often resulting in a waste of money, for it often took two years at least to train someone well enough for industry, a fact recognized in industrial training in West Germany. If British industry, and not government, were to manage Britain's education and training then hopefully substantial improvements would follow. I never had any confidence in any British government managing anything, for they were slow reacting bureaucratic organizations, out of touch with the nation's needs, in a world of rapidly changing job requirements.

I opened an account for Karen, which she could use whilst I was out job hunting. Karen's bank account, however, presented problems. I had put forty pounds in the account. In next to no time my in-laws told me that there was no money in the account. When I finally returned to Holyhead and read her bank account, there was a strange withdrawal on it, identified only by a series of letters and numbers. I presented this statement to a member of the bank staff. Within five seconds of looking at it, she informed me that it was a 'computer error.' Computers do not make mistakes, only the idiots operating them do, as my word processor was only too keen to point out. This mistake had created a great deal of friction between me and my in-laws. I immediately closed my wife's bank account and refused to pay the bank charges. I also closed my own account at the Midland Bank, and opened one at my local sub post office.

On Tuesday, February 16th, 1982, I received an unexpected visit from the rates valuer, almost two years after I had bought the place. I cannot imagine what finally prompted him to turn up, though I do remember that he had a long list of places to visit, the directions to which I was unable to provide him with.

Whilst living in Gwalchmai, Karen quickly made friends with the neighbours, including two young girls, Sonia and Melinda. One day I realised that I had not seen Melinda for some time. I queried Karen about it, who then told me that Melinda had had an serious accident at school on a trampoline. This highlighted a problem with Karen. She could not instigate a conversation, whilst if you asked her a question, she would always agree with you. This was to have serious repercussions later with her parents. I never saw Melinda again.

On Tuesday, March the ninth, or thereabouts, I visited the Citizen's Advice Bureau (CAB) in Holyhead. I think it concerned my rates, but I cannot be sure, as I had gone into town to pick up my wife from my in-laws, and may have simply visited the place on the spur of the moment. It was the first time I had visited such a place. I saw numerous DHSS leaflets displayed, which I had never seen before. At this time it was the policy of the DHSS at Llangefni to stack some leaflets on a radiator, adjacent to the interviewer. It was not possible for the interviewee to see which benefits these leaflets related to. In effect it meant that you could not get a leaflet unless you knew what to ask for. Only about half a dozen different leaflets were kept on the radiator, the others being in a cabinet, out of sight, and no doubt from the staff's point of view, out of mind.

During my dealings with the DHSS and the UBO, I slowly came to realism that if you did not specifically ask for some benefit or other, then you simply did not get it. The prime function of these organizations was therefore, not so much to relieve the suffering which accompanied poverty, as it had been at first envisaged by parliament, but to act as a scourge, defending the unacceptable face of capitalism. I grew to hate them. A hatred far more intense than anything I had ever known before.

During that visit to the CAB I found three DHSS leaflets of interest; Invalid Care Allowance NI212, Looking After Someone at Home NP27, and Invalidity Pension for Married Women NI214. I later casually mentioned these benefits to my father-in-law.

"Oh yes," he said, "she use to get allowances before she got married, Attendance Allowance I think it was called, but I didn't think she was entitled to them now."

I did not question him further on this point. I had to find out more about Attendance Allowance (AA), and anyway there was no rush, I thought the local DHSS would quickly sort out my wife's benefits. It would only take a month, I assumed. I never thought in my wildest imagination just what I was letting myself in for. In the end it was to take the DHSS two years to sort out. At least two years too late. It was to produce in me an intense feeling of loathing, which words cannot adequately describe. That feeling appeared to go on forever. At this time I also had other things on my mind.

I was determined to pursue my new interest in non-destructive testing (NDT). If the government was not willing to train me in something relevant to the job market, then I was prepared to pay for the training myself. On Saturday, March 13th, 1982, I left Karen with her parents and traveled alone to Birmingham. I had gone there officially to look for work, since it was necessary for me to sign on in West Bromwich on the following Wednesday, otherwise my supplementary benefit would have been terminated. This had all been prearranged with the UBO at Llangefni. They were not aware of the real reason, which was two weeks training in ultrasonic inspection, followed by four days of magnetic particle inspection. The course consisted of inspecting ferrous plate, castings, or welds. It was made clear to me at the time, the difficulty I would have in getting a job, but it simply did not seem right just to sit at home and give up. The courses were at West Bromwich Technical College, just six miles from my friends in Birmingham. For accommodation, I stayed just down the road at the YMCA, which was ideal as far as studying was concerned. At the weekends I would go into Birmingham, on one of the many double decker buses. I signed on as planned at the local UBO, at 9am that Wednesday morning, before going into class. The course went well though it was brief. When I returned to Llangefni on my next signing on date I found that the UBO had no record of me signing on in West Bromwich. I lost two weeks benefit as a result, not to mention the cost of the course and accommodation.

I was not prepared to be demoralised. On April the seventh I applied for attendance allowance, five days before that the movie spectacular started in the South Atlantic, better known as the Falkland's War. For those who had grudgingly bought a TV licence, it was at last value for money. For those who had not, guess who, it was an unexpected bonus. It kept millions of bored unemployed, glued to their television sets for weeks. The war was fought between Argentina and Great Britain, over some barren islands which most British people did not know existed until then. Whilst the British government wished they had never existed, under the British flag at least. The islands had a population of about eleven hundred people, possibly one for each person killed in the war, although the exact figure may never be known. It was a war fought essentially to save the face of politicians and dictators, especially after the order was sent out to sink the Argentine cruiser, Belgrano. After the war, which was to cost General Galtieri ten years imprisonment for creating such a box office success, the British Government's standing was to ride high, winning them the next general election. The effects of monetarism were swiftly forgotten by the electorate, who could unquestionably understand war better than economics. The economic cost of a military presence on the Falklands was to remain high, long after hostilities ceased. It was the necessary price of principle.

For those who could afford to get away from the TV, they could have gone to their local cinema to see the award winning British movie, 'Chariot's of Fire'. On April 13th, I went to the DHSS office and formally applied for Invalid Care Allowance (ICA), though as with Housewives Non-Contributory Invalidity Pension (HNCIP), I could not figure out whether we would be financially better off, since I knew that some benefits would be granted with one hand, and then deducted from our supplementary benefit (SB) with the other. It was a recipe for the ultimate stress induced mental illness. I was later to realise that the entire benefits system was a game of snakes and ladders within a mine field. The mines represented how much you could endure, before you either lost interest, got a job, succumbed to physical or mental illness, or past away by 'natural causes.' The next day I wrote to the DHSS at Llangefni, asking them to back date my wife's allowances, and asking whether there was some alternative to my signing on every two weeks with my wife being present. A photo copy of this letter, along with many others, was later supplied to my solicitor. It reads as follows:

As usual the letter appeared to meet with indifference.

On May seventeenth I commenced a four day dye penetrant inspection course at West Bromwich, whilst staying in the local YMCA. Fortunately the course fell between two signing on dates. During the course, the staff advised me that I would stand a better chance of obtaining employment if I went on the TOPS NDT course at the college, starting in September. I informed them that I had already tried, but that the MSC would not accept any further applications. They advised me to re-apply, which I did. I was interviewed at West Bromwich on June the sixteenth, and was later informed that I had been accepted for the course, considered at that time to be the best NDT course in the UK.

To every positive aspect of life there always seems to be a negative one. Karen's parents were without a doubt the negative side to our marriage, it saddens me to say. Karen found it difficult to keep things clean, especially her clothes, which Helen would constantly point to, on all of her trips to see us.

"You're not looking after that girl," she would say.

Inevitably the brainless brawn beside her, would agree. Karen often made a mess of the lounge carpet, near the settee, which proved impossible to restore. For some obscure reason, she kept toothpaste tops and coffee jar tops in her purse and handbag, respectively. I use to think that it was a substitute for money, and all the other important things a normal woman keeps beside her. Every person has their idiosyncrasies which one has to accept, but Karen was not normal, forcing me occasionally to put my foot down. One day I went to check her purse to see whether she had enough money. I was horrified to see a one pound note, a five pound note, a ten pound note and even a twenty pound note in her purse. To her they were just pretty pictures, like those hanging on our lounge wall. I questioned her about it, but she could not remember whether she had taken the money from my clothes, which were hanging in the wardrobe, or from someone else. After that incident I hid our cash under the bedroom carpet. Karen used to spend much of the day doing word puzzles, like criss-cross, sitting on the settee for hours, with five or six pens in her hand. The trouble with this pastime was that the light leather covered settee would soon be covered in Biro marks, which were very difficult to remove. As usual, it did not matter how many times I told her off about it, it simply would not sink in. There was no point in shouting at her, as her brain would then switch off completely, or worse, she would have a fit and express her disgust by vomiting. There was no other way, except by talking to her gently and repeatedly, in the hope that one day the message would sink in.

The other villain of the peace who liked to damage the settee still further, was of course our little bundle of joy, Fluff. To Fluff, the settee was there to sharpen her claws on. In fact I think I should have called her Claws. Of the two, there is no doubt that I got a better response from Fluff. When sighting Fluff's talons tugging at the leather, I only had to scream, "0i!" and she would dash off to the nearest corner. I never tried that with Helen.

Trying to get Karen to tell the time was a classic example of effort, exasperation, and finally success. Both Bill and I got blue in the face, trying to teach Karen to read clocks. Without a doubt, Bill had more patience and a calmer approach than I. Then one day it happened.

"It's a quarter to three," said Karen to me.

I looked down from the TV to my wrist watch and casually said, "Yes it is."

Then the penny dropped, I looked up at her to be greeted by one of her broad smiles.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

Whereupon she commenced to explain to me how to tell the time. As for me, I cheat. I use a digital watch.

Times were still hard. During the winter months, we rarely got up before midday, mainly because there was no reason to. There was also the cost to consider, for getting out of bed meant switching on the electric heating, and cooking a meal. It was cheaper, and far more relaxing, to stay in bed and experience shared bodily warmth. I could usually afford only one hot meal per day, with a hot mug of cocoa with cheese and crackers at supper time. I did not loose weight, though I think Karen lost a fraction. In truth, she needed to, though of course her mother did not see it, that way.

"Oh, look at that girl, isn't she thin. You're not feeding her right," Helen would say, constantly.

I wish Karen had lost a lot of weight, for the fact is that she weighed more than me, mainly because she never took any exercise. At this time our evenings out together were scarce, but essential. It was no joke staying indoors, day in, day out, looking out of the window, watching the rest of the world go by. Fortunately we had no hire purchase (HP) debts, only the mortgage, of which the DHSS paid the interest. The capital of which, I somehow managed to pay throughout my period of unemployment, in order to placate the building society. Being a new mortgage, the capital was never more than twenty pounds per month.

On June the twenty-first I went to see my solicitor Mr. Roberts, regarding my rates, which the DHSS were refusing to pay. When I received my general and water rates demands covering the previous two years, I sent them to the DHSS, expecting them to be paid at last. A week later the DHSS sent them back to me. There was no covering letter. It was a blatant example of the kind of treatment I received off them, over the years. I went to the DHSS, where I was told that because they had been paying me too much towards my mortgage, they expected me now to pay my rates. I pointed out to them that I had no savings, as I did not expect this financial demand. In any case it had been their mistake, not mine, assuming that a mistake had been made. To this day I still do not know how to work out the monthly interest, payments on a mortgage, any more than the so called experts do apparently.

The DHSS were however, adamant. There was no budging them. I use to go in, and there behind the interviewing screen would inevitably be a young over stressed, underpaid, poorly trained and inevitably inexperienced woman.

"I'll just go and have a look at your file," she would inevitably say.

I got the feeling that the manager was there behind the office door pulling the strings. Rarely did I see my file, and as far as I know I never saw the manager out front, and certainly not offering words of comfort. I felt sorry for those who had to work under him, for they must have been desperate people, prepared even to sell their souls to the devil.

I went to the Citizen's Advice Bureau in Holyhead. They telephoned my local DHSS who refused to say anything of consequence.

"Just leave it with us," they said.

Well I left it with them for a while, but I was in no mood to be ignored, even if the manager of my local DHSS turned out to be Mrs. GG herself.

In desperation, I decided to take the government to court. At least that is how it seemed to me at that time. I went to see my solicitor, Mr. Roberts, who referred me to a specialist in DHSS matters. My specialist was very good at his work, and over the next year or so achieved quite remarkable results. Like most people who make a name for themselves, he eventually moved to London. He had a rather uninspiring name, Mr. Grimes. Words cannot fully express the gratitude I still feel towards him, for eventually knocking my local DHSS for six!

On June 25th, Karen was interviewed by a GP sent by the DHSS regarding our application for attendance allowance (AA). These visits were to take place on an annual basis, to determine whether she qualified for AA just for the daytime, for both day and night, or not at all. In Karen's case, I could only get AA awarded for the daytime, but just how she could miraculously recover at night I could never figure out. A few years later a case was taken to the European Court concerning an epileptic, who required attention at night. The case, involving AA was won. It was an example of just how far ordinary people had to go in order to get fair treatment from the social security people.

Looking through the pile of forms and letters from this period, many of which bring back, painful memories, I notice that on my application for AA the name of my wife's GP had been changed. This was my in-laws doing. Whilst on a job search, my in-laws had changed Karen's doctor back to her original GP, Dr.St.John When I returned, the outlaws did not even inform me of the change. I was collecting pills for Karen from my GP in Gwalchmai, a Dr. Owain, for months before the staff there told me that my wife was no longer registered with them. I was hurt more than annoyed, at the way my in-laws had ignored me again.

That was not the only way they ignored me. During my job search I was informed by my neighbour, that a consignment of plants had been delivered to my home. These were replacements for plants which had not survived the previous year. I telephoned my father-in-law and asked him whether he would mind planting them in my garden. He agreed without hesitation. When I eventually returned to Gwalchmai. I found the plants still wrapped in their parcel, in the garage. They were not even pushing up daisies. When I made protestations, I was just fobbed off by the in-laws. If I had known they were going to take that attitude then I would have asked someone else. The evidence of their feelings towards me kept piling up, but my brain was too tired or too involved with other problems to really appreciate how much they hated me.

I could never depend on them, never. The only reason why they let us stay with them during the letting of our bungalow was because Helen wanted Karen there with her, if not permanently, then at least temporarily. In May 1982 I had gone to my parent's place, after doing the dye penetrant course. During my short stay, I bought a tent, two sleeping bags, and a gas lantern, whilst my stepfather lent me a portable gas stove. What I had bought cost about one hundred pounds, of which my mother paid half. My intention was to go camping around North Wales, whilst my bungalow was being let to holiday-makers. Karen of course, could not keep her mouth shut, and told mam.

"I'm not having my daughter going camping, and catching the death of cold.
You'll come here and stay with us," barked her mother during one of her visits.

I got the impression from this remark, that Karen was not too keen on the fresh air life either. I knew Helen was prepared to take the matter further. If we had gone camping, then I am certain she would have turned up on the Saturday, whilst I was handling the change over and doing any necessary gardening. I realised that I would only get that woman out from under my skin when she was dead. Oh, how I prayed for an accident.

On Saturday, July 4th, 1982, the bungalow letting's commenced, as I trooped off sheepishly to Holyhead with a smiling Karen. I was always calling her bone idle. I now felt like calling her something a lot stronger. The bungalow was let for eight whole weeks. During the first week of letting, someone spilt drink over our colour television set, blowing one of the valves. Being an old set, it took months just to get a new valve for it. No sooner did I get it fixed than the channel selector started playing up, so I eventually gave it to Bill, who by this time had also been 'sent down the road' along with all the other contractors at Tinto. Meanwhile, back at the bungalow, holiday makers became irate when they discovered that their was no television. I had thought that they would have wanted to get away from all that, but I suppose that's what keeps the lid on society, mindless television programmes, the welfare benefits system, alcohol, drugs, and novels by Jeffrey Archer MP.

During our stay at the lair, I was determined that we would not be dominated by Helen totally. So, on Monday, August the twenty-third I bought two British Rail runabout tickets for six pounds each. Using these tickets, we went to various places along the coast, as far as Chester, returning each night to my in-laws new home in Holyhead. On that particular Monday we went to Rhyl, where we visited the amusement park, and the lavish indoor swimming pool known as the Suncentre. Although Karen took her new swimming costume with her, she obstinately refused to put it on. The next day we went around the museums, shops and along the city wall of Chester. Wednesday saw us in a quieter location, Llanrwst, where we visited a local manor house, and then to the Victorian seaside resort of Llandudno. On Thursday we really exercised our rail tickets by visiting Colwyn Bay, Prestatyn, and then Rhyl again. Friday saw us walking through the old town of Conwy, with its castle and town wall. Later that day we visited some of Karen's relatives in Llandudno, where we had a drink at the King's Head located at the foot of the tramway leading up Great Orme's Head. On the sixth day we went to Llandudno again, spending the day in the park on the peninsula, known as Happy Valley. The seventh day, Sunday, was definitely a day of rest, as by now we were suffering from train lag. As Karen would say, I was knackered. That was the nearest thing to a holiday we were to have during our entire marriage.

During August and September I took Karen on regular visits to the dentist. Her teeth were very bad, far worse than I had originally thought. The dentist dismissed the idea of false teeth as she was an epileptic, and could conceivably choke on them during one of her epileptic fits. She was therefore fitted with crowns along the front, with numerous fillings elsewhere. Evidently her parents had not bothered to take her to the dentist for ages, if ever. I was told that the work would take months. Karen's parents promised me that they would maintain the appointments whilst I was away on my TOPS course at West Bromwich Technical College. As usual my in-laws let me down, or should I say they let down their daughter. When I returned from the course at Christmas, I found that they had simply ignored their daughters needs. I do not think they could give a damn about anyone but themselves. The work on Karen's teeth was not completed until mid February 1983, two months after I had finished my course. I was not happy about this state of affairs, since it meant that Karen and I had to make bus trips to the dentist in Holyhead, incurring unnecessary expense, but I knew that the work had to be completed, for Karen's sake.

In addition to the train excursions from my in-laws home, we also went on long walks, as in the previous year, across the nearby mountain to the lighthouse. Those walks gave me the closest feeling I could find to being free, in a life full of stress and despair. On one such walk we took my in-laws mongrel dog, Taff, with us. Taff was an old dog but eager to go, since it was never ever taken for a walk. We were obviously going at a rate of knots across the mountain that day, as just as we started to return Taff collapsed. It was only for a few seconds, but enough for Karen to notice, and of course she had to tell mam when we got back.

Helen put the block on us taking Taff out again, even though it was always enthusiastic to see us from then on. I realised that you could tell a lot about a person, by the way they treat their pets. Taff never had a kennel nor a basket. Even Fluff had a basket. As for toilet. Taff would often urinate on the kitchen floor, simply because that was where it was kept all night, only to be booted out of the back door by Glyn, then left to wander the streets. It was definitely a dogs life for Taff. It made me wonder what sort of a life had they given Karen before I met her. My in-laws never gave any affection to my wife's cat, Fluff, so I was apprehensive about leaving them both there when I went on my TOPS course in September. My parents were not prepared to look after them, as they were afraid of trouble. A few days after we married in September 79, Helen telephoned my mother, threatening and swearing. After that my parents swore never to see them again, as the phone call had disturbed them greatly.

One of the jobs that my in-laws got me to do during the 'holiday vacation', was to help Glyn put up a two metre high interwoven wooden fence. I did not like the idea, as the reason for putting it up was to stop Karen talking to the little girls next door. My in-laws neighbours were nice people. The little girl's father took a photo of Fluff, which I still have in an album. Reluctantly I helped erect the fence, though I could not help feeling that its presence was insulting. My in-laws never wanted Karen to have any friends.

Perhaps Helen regarded it as a challenge to her authority, or maybe it was because she simply disliked people. My mother-in-law would often make insulting remarks about any relations we went to see. Karen's friends were invariably described as common by Helen. I got sick of hearing these insults, and so subconsciously stopped seeing people. It seemed the only answer to a quiet life, but it was to put me further under Helen's spell.

Another job I did for my in-laws, was to help Glyn paint the exterior of their new home. Their new home was actually some years old. It was a timber framed semi-detached building, located at the entrance to a long cul-de-sac, adjacent to an old folk's home. It had three bedrooms, with the stairs leading directly into the lounge. With the money he earned, he could have bought better, though as he was not a keen gardener, I could see why he bought it. The garden was all grass, which I mowed once a week whilst residing there. The green green grass of home, and you can keep it!

During the painting, co-operation with Glyn was impossible. Since I had painted my own bungalow, I knew how to do it. I told him that the first task was to wash the walls with a bleach solution. This I set about doing. I washed the front down first, only to find that he had already started painting the rear, on top of the dirt and fungus. My father-in-law showed a similar disinterest with apple trees, which he pruned almost to the stumps. Glyn was a big man who felt that he could learn nothing from anyone. He always had his TV pointed at his favourite chair, and was certainly not interested in what others were already watching. I had the feeling that the only reason Glyn bought the house was because he was nagged into it by Helen, who did not want to be outdone by Sunny Dale. At about this time Karen's sister Gillian, bought a bungalow in Holyhead, which was far better than her previous home, a council house.