A Good Little Church Boy

Having been depressed again recently, I thought I would get some more down on the Blog. I stopped having counselling a few months a go, but I found that getting it off my chest did help It's taken me a while to want to do this so here goes.

Church On Sunday

My Father always insisted that we attend Church on Sunday, unless we were away such as the holidays already mentioned. If I was at camp we had a service anyway and if it was Remembrance Sunday or St Georges day, I would attend Church with my Scout troop.

Our local Church was a fairly modern C of E building.. My Father despite his ideas was in no way a Catholic, despite his beliefs about 'sin', but every Sunday, come rain or shine, my Brother and I would put on a tie, sometimes our school uniform, but always in a shirt and trousers and walk to Church. The only time I ever remember being driven was when my mother was alive.

Our Vicar throughout my childhood years was a man called Mr Vincent. He was probably in his late forties as I remember him, dark, greying hair with quite a long-ish bushy beard which could vary in length. Sometimes it was quite long and halfway down his chest. He wasn't fat but more expanded in the waist and when he wasn't wearing his dog collar, he would wear a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows.

The other thing I recall about him was he had terrible dandruff and when he wore his black shirt it would be covered in flakes from his scalp and from his beard. He was never married that I knew of but lived on his own in a large old Vicarage behind overgrown shrubs and trees.

We would usually sit as a family when I was younger, presumably so my Father could keep an eye on us, but later on after my Brother had left home, I would usually be allowed to sit wherever I wanted, with Nathan as his parents went to the same Church, and we would try for the back pews, or at least as far back as decency permitted.

Unless my Father was angry with me or building up to one of his explosions, Nathan and I would meet inside the Church and take a pew together.

I remember nothing of Mr Vincent's sermons, I probably wasn't listening as Nathan and I would whisper to each other and muck about as quietly as possible, always standing when a hymn was called, although perhaps not singing and trying to avoid the gaze of the Vicar as he stood elevated by his pulpit.

Again if my Father was in a good mood, Nathan and I would walk back together, sometimes to his house, sometimes to mine through the park. If his parents were going somewhere without him, there would be opportunity for us to masturbate together in his room.

Masturbation was my  main 'sin' in my teens.

None of this would be possible if my Father was in a bad mood. I would have to sit next to him and make it look like I was paying attention. Of course he knew Mr Vincent quite well. It was he who had performed my Mother's funeral and must have watched us two boys growing up in front of him every Sunday. However until I was 14, my Father had never approached Mr Vincent about my upbringing before.

I think the reason was that my Father's temper and his view that I was becoming uncontrollable were snowballing into something bigger than it actually was. I was usually in fear of my Father and would try to be on my best behaviour most of the time, but this was no good if he was approaching one of his explosions. Whatever I did, he would find fault, eventually culminating in me getting a good hiding!

One Sunday he stayed behind to talk with Mr Vincent and I went off with Nathan as usual. There was nothing unusual about that as he often exchanged pleasantries with him and discussed the wrongs of the world and the youth of that day.

A couple of days afterwards when I arrived home from school, Mr Vincent was in the living room talking with my Father. I greeted him as my manners had taught me to do and I was asked to go to my room whilst they talked some more. I knew then that they were talking about me.

This set me into a panic as I knew my Father was up to something.

After some time there was a knock at my bedroom door and Mr Vincent came in.

He asked me to sit down and as there was only my desk chair, he had to sit on my bed which I recall I wasn't very happy about. It made me feel uncomfortable.

My Father had indeed told him all about how 'sinful' I was and when Mr Vincent mentioned the 'M' word I wanted to curl up and die with embarrassment. He also mentioned about evil forces at work and I wonder now if my Father had referred to the strange goings on in the house at the time.

Boys Brigade was suggested by Mr Vincent

He suggested two things. Firstly that I join the Boys Brigade which was run by himself and a couple of other people in association with the Church. In fact, they were always present at Remembrance Sunday marches and such and I knew a couple of boys within the BB who went to my school.

Secondly, that I come over to his house on Saturday mornings for some personal tuition and Bible study with him. He would set me some reading and perhaps an essay each week and then we would discuss various aspects of the passages included.

At this, my heart just sank as I thought my Father had done this to prevent me from going to Football practice on Saturday mornings. I felt he was just trying to get back at me and stop me from having a life. On top of all that, I had a lot of homework to do most evenings and I couldn't see how on earth I was going to have time to write essays on the Bible as well.

After he had gone I stayed in my room sulking until my Father came in and said that he had agreed with Mr Vincent's ideas all except the Boys Brigade and the only reason for that was that he would have to fork out for a whole new uniform and there was no way he was going to do that!

It was just as well as I was happy in the Scouts and all my mates were there and I didn't want to leave. In fact I had always thought that I would stay on into the Venture Scouts and beyond and maybe even become a leader myself.

I sulked in my room.......

When the next Sunday came round, Mr Vincent asked to to come into the vestry with him and gave me some reading to do and some questions to answer. The following Saturday, I was to go to the Vicarage at 9:30 with my work and we would see how it went from there.

I hated reading the Bible and the passages I was given were uninteresting and dull. However I duly did the work set and turned up on time. It was a huge old house that smelt very musty and was very untidy. Maybe he didn't have a housekeeper? I never knew.

In actual fact, he came over as kindly and understanding. I think my Father must have painted a picture of me being unruly, wilful and disobedient, which I wasn't and when Mr Vincent realise this, he was well disposed towards me. He embarrassed me by talking about onanism and how I felt about it. I think he understood all boys did it, but of course, I was doing it with Nathan as well which was a definite no, no!

What actually happened was that after a few months, the Saturday sessions got further apart as he realised he couldn't do anything for me until they eventually stopped altogether. Nothing was ever said about not coming. He had better things to do with his time and so did I.

I only ever went to one Boys Brigade meeting, in my School uniform, before that idea was dropped on it's head as well. I stayed with the Scouts until I was nearly 17.

A Haunted House?

The house we lived in whilst my Father was in the Army was married accommodation rented from the Forces. This was a two bedroom semi and it was while living here that I first saw 'the ghost' or whatever it was.

I remember I was seven years old and sharing a bedroom with my brother. Our two beds were on either side of the room with mine facing the door about 3 foot from the bottom end of my bed. The door onto the landing was slightly open as was usual. This allowed some light to shine through from the hallway at night. My Father usually turned the landing light off when he retired to bed.

On this particular night I was awakened suddenly and on looking around, I noticed that the door was wide open and framed in the doorway was a dark human shape. My first thought was that it was my Father standing there, but there was something about the shape that told me it wasn't him. It just didn't have his outline. When I realised this I began to feel afraid, thinking it might be a burglar and not being able to take my eyes off it. I just stood there and although I could see no face, I felt it was looking right at me and barely six foot from my head.

I don't know how long this went on for, but it seemed a long time, when slowly, it started to move into the room. I didn't walk, it just sort of moved and I knew at that point it was supernatural.

I was paralysed with fear and wanted to call to my Brother who I could hear breathing in the next bed, but something stopped me from using my voice. As it drew closer, I thought the best thing to do was pray and I started saying the Lord's Prayer over in my head. All at once, I found the strength to move and hid back down under my sheets, still saying the Lord's Prayer and still terrified that it would grab me. Nothing happened!

After about half an hour or so, I peeped out from underneath and could see nothing at all. On looking further, I could see that the door was still open, but the room was empty so I knew I hadn't been dreaming. I leapt out of bed and pushed the door closed as quickly as I could, lest the 'thing' was still on the landing and meant to grab me.

Eventually my fear subsided and I fell asleep.

When I told my Brother about it the next morning, he didn't laugh but said he too had seen the shape before and suspected it had been our Mother, who died less that 18 months before that incident. I wasn't so sure as the shape didn't resemble her either. Why would she come and give me a fright like that if it was her?

After that, strange things began to happen, usually minor, except that my Father would blame us for them.

Objects would go 'missing' in that they were not where they had been left and could not be located when required. I remember a small china cat that stood on the mantle piece undisturbed for years went missing at one point. No one had been near it as far as I knew but it was special because it had belonged to my Mother. One day it was simply not there anymore.

I asked Luke who denied all knowledge of its whereabouts, but I had to be more careful of enquiring to my Father as I knew he would suspect we had broken it. It took him about 3 days to realise it was gone and sure enough we were interrogated by him. I knew then it was not him as he was a very moral person who would have been angry with himself if he had broken it. We got the usual line “If I find out you two are lying to me........” as a warning. The cat was never found.

We moved out of the married accomodation within a couple of years of the strange figure appearing and my Father rented a bungalow with two bedrooms. Luke and I had a bedroom at the back of the house whilst my Father slept at the front. The bathroom was between these two bedrooms. Down the side of the house was a path that led from the front garden to the back. This side of the house was where the two bedrooms were located.

I don't know if ghosts can move house with a person, but the strange things seemed to follow us there.

Often at night I would hear footsteps walking down the paved path that ran along the side of the bungalow. There was no window on that wall in either room but I had two, one of which was just after the corner of the building and anyone coming into the back garden would have to pass this. I never saw anyone coming round the corner although the footsteps would continue until it seemed they reached the lawn. I remember the step was purposeful and heavy enough to be a man in shoes and I would hear them at least once a month if not more.

Another incident I wrote about in my diary occurred one Saturday evening. My Brother, who was about 14 at the time and I were watching the 'Generation Game' on TV. My Father came in and told Luke to go and do the washing up (my Father made sure we each had our chores to do) and Luke asked if he could see the end of the programme. My Father being who he was told him he had go and do it straight away and started to walk out of the living room.

Suddenly a smooth round stone shot across the room and struck my Father on the shoulder from behind with quite a force!

I don't know where it had come from, but it was the corner of the room where the TV stood. I didn't see it start but Luke could certainly not have thrown it as he was sitting on the other side of the room, near the door and it was travelling towards him. I distinctly saw it whizz past me before hitting my Father, who assumed it had been Luke. He flew back into the room and belted him round the head a few times. Even me telling him it couldn't have been Luke earned me a back hander as well! Luke was carted off to the bedroom and thrashed for something he didn't do that night. I know because I saw it!

On walking into the kitchen one day, I discovered the room was filled with a smoke-like substance. My first thought was that there was a fire, but the oven and cooker were not on. We didn't have the kind of electrical appliances that you do now, so no toaster, nor even an electric kettle. I stupidly opened the window to let the smoke out, which could have been very dangerous allowing air to get to the source of heat. I never discovered what had caused the smoke. Nothing was ever found that was burnt.

Most disturbing of all was after my Brother had left home and I slept alone in the back bedroom. I used to hear a 'shuffling' sound outside my door as if someone in slippers were pacing about. The footsteps were slow and heavy like they had difficulty in walking or were elderly. The house had previously belonged to an elderly man who had died. I was too scared to open my door and look out and I never did. This went on for some years and seemed to increase in intensity at certain times of the month. I would hear it two or even three times a week at its peak.

Even worse was a distinct 'mumbling' that began to accompany the footsteps. I could never make out any words as they were too 'distant' even if I listened at the door. It was like someone had the radio on in another room.

Also surprising was that my Father, who was asleep only at the other end of the corridor, never heard, or never mentioned the noises to me. If I was awoken by them, why wasn't he?

I woke up one night, freezing because my sheets and blanket had all been pulled off the bed and were lying on the floor. This was at the foot of the bed and they had been securely tucked under the matress when I went to sleep, so I don't see how my movements could have caused me to kick them off. Afterwards this began to happen on a regular basis, but never on the same nights as the shuffling man noises.

Once whilst lying in in bed at night, I started to feel horny, getting an erection, I began to rub my pyjamas over my cock. I knew it would be difficult to cum but I was enjoying the sensation anyway. As I played, I gradually became aware of a noise that sounded like breathing from somewhere in the room. At first I thought it was the sound of me moving my hand but when I stopped, the sound continued. It was the distinct sound of someone breathing through their nose from somewhere in the room, but I could see nothing.

I lost my erection pretty quickly after that as I was petrified!

On at least 3 occasions over the later years I lived there, I distinctly heard a man's voice call my name. Twice this occurred in the early hours of the morning and woke me up. It could have been a dream but I also heard the same voice whilst I was in the kitchen one afternoon. It was the sort of voice that was summoning me to come to another room, an inquiry for my attention. I was quite alone in the house that day and it definitely was not my Father's voice calling.

Once I discovered a ball of screwed up paper alight in the middle of the bathroom floor! I had just entered the room to use the toilet and there it was, almost as if someone had just put a match to it that second. One side if it was burning and as I watched in astonishment, the flame spread all over it. Fortunately being in the bathroom I was able to tip water on it and douse the flame. My Father was in his bedroom at the time and as far as I know, he had not been to the bathroom for some time before then.

I had been bought a dark brown nylon shirt one Christmas by my Father (he always gave us clothes, socks or pyjamas). I didn't like this particular shirt as it was quite 'see through' and I was very self conscious and used to wear a vest underneath. I was made to wear this shirt for Church quite a lot.

One day, whilst going through my wardrobe, I discovered that this shirt had a hole about the size of a golf ball burnt into the tail. I knew it was burnt and not just torn as the nylon was melted at the edges. How this could possibly have happened I do not know as the tail would have been tucked into my trousers when I last wore it. We didn't have any radiators that I could have burnt it on and No one was living in the house except me and my Father at the time.

I knew he would kill me if he found out. The shirt was only a few months old at the time. As the tail was always in my trousers, he wouldn't know if I was wearing it, but hanging on the line he would have seen it. He also used to go through my clothes and pockets so I had to keep it well hidden from him. I tried sewing it but of course it never looked the same and eventually he found out. He went mad accusing me of smoking and punished me, again for something I didn't do deliberately!

One more thing I have just remembered whilst writing this blog. One day whilst my Brother was still at home, my Father having just been in his bedroom came flying out in a rage and dragged both of us in there. On the ceiling, up in the corner of the chimney breast was some tiny writing. It looked as if it had been written in a red biro and consisted, I later found out, of language my Brother and I would not have used in front on my Father. It was situated in a place where you would have had to move his dressing table and stand on a chair to get to it and was in a childish hand.

He, of course demanded to know which of us had done it and as usual, denying any involvement did us no good. We were both soundly beaten and made to clean it off.

Imagine my horror then when a week or so later, being in my Father's room when he was out, I noticed more writing behind his dressing table mirror on the chimney breast wall. I was sure that it had not been there previously and I was also sure that Luke had not done it. I cleaned it off before my Father came home and fortunately it didn't happen again to my knowledge.

It was almost as if the ghost was trying to get me into trouble by burning things or leaving things that my Father would find and blame me for it. I don't know how much stuff my Father saw when I wasn't around but he would go mad at us if he thought we had done something like moved his keys when they couldn't be found. Then there was the stone throwing incident.

It was deliberately thrown to hit my Father which it did and of course Luke was punished for it, but neither of us threw it at him, or indeed would have dared because of the consequences.

After I left home, I did see and hear strange things whilst I was living at the hotel and also in my various bedsits and other accommodations. As time went on, they became less frequent until they virtually stopped altogether when I was about 30 years old.  I still see people from time to time.

The Perils of Masturbation

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