It was around February 1982, and I called A.A. I’m not sure where I got the number. At this time, my 4-year-old nephew was sick in Whipps Cross Hospital, and I needed to drink to visit a child I love; I knew I was in big trouble with alcohol. The only contact with drink growing up was my mother. She’d have the odd drink at a party with my Dad, but that was it. My uncle, my Mum’s brother, was an alcoholic. He occasionally turned up at Mum’s when Dad wasn’t there. She’d feed him, give him clothes and money. To me, an alcoholic was a tramp in the park, and that wasn’t me. I felt that was my uncle due to my ignorance.
Around this time, my ex-partner moved to Australia, and I felt I’d never see him again; although heartbroken, I was in the process of letting go by drinking every night; all I ever wanted was love and somebody to want me. Then on the 12th February, he phoned and eventually asked me to marry him. I celebrated for three days straight, and four days later, I came around to have that girl in the glass moment. Looking in the mirror, I saw an absolute mess…thinking why he wants to marry me, feeling horrendous towards myself, that’s when I called A.A.
The lady who called me was Betty. She picked me up in her mini. It had no floor on the passenger side. I saw the road under me. She took me to St Clement’s Hospital, I knew, in my words, it was a “nut house”. There, in my mind, I saw what I expected, men with a string around their waist who are older than me. At that meeting, I was told of a Wednesday one in Loughton. I went, gathered the leaflets, the Where to Find and put them in my bedside drawer and thought, I can do this, I don’t need these meetings, life is going to change, he’s coming home, we’re getting married and off we go to Australia.
We got married, and I was drunk on our wedding day, walking down the aisle; it’s all on video. A week later, we went to Australia. Nothing changed. We stayed with a friend until we moved into our flat. I’d buy a Flagon, as it was cheap. You try hiding a Flagon in a one-bedroom flat; it’s tough, but I did it, and it got worse. One evening, my husband had to kick the door down as I was in a blackout; this was 6 months into our marriage.
Coming back to England, I promised to stop, and managed 3-4 weeks. We then went to Spain to live. He had a job at a nightclub; I got one at a hostel making beds. There were linen cupboards on each floor, so obviously I hid a bottle in each. After a short time, we came back to England on a promise, and this was the only time my husband said, “If you drink again…we are done”. I stayed dry for 3 months. Christmas came when I was working as a hairdresser. The boss said to give each customer a glass of Sherry, so I had one with them. By 2 pm, he sent me home drunk. I realised I cannot stop on my own.
I worked with my husband at Walthamstow Market, where he was a market trader. I went off to Sainsbury’s to get a bottle of Vodka, took it into the toilet, and it wouldn’t go down; I couldn’t stop crying. Somehow, I was in a phone box phoning A.A. They couldn’t help, as I didn’t tell them anything about me. A few days later, I called again.
A lady called Dot phoned back, she said she’ll meet me for a chat after hanging out her washing. I thought F**k your washing, I want help now. Dot came that afternoon. My first meeting in four years was Thursday night at Upshire. I kept a bottle in my bag and went to the toilet for a swig, came back in the room, and the guy who drove us came up to me; he knew I drank; he just knew. I said,” I’ve just had a drink”, and for me, that was the first time I hadn’t denied having it. On the way home, the lady in the front turned to me, put her hands on mine and said: “This could be your last drink, Chris, you need not drink again, you’ve got us now”.
My last drink was in the toilet of the Upshire meeting in 1986. I was 34 years old.
Four meetings became my grounding: Whipps Cross on a Friday, Loughton on a Wednesday, and two on Saturdays and Sundays in Walthamstow. At three months sober, my husband and I booked a holiday to Malta. My first time being away without a drink, I was petrified. Friday morning, the Share magazine came through the post; lo and behold, there were listings of Malta meetings, and I couldn’t believe it. I told ‘Scottish’ Tom we just booked a holiday to Malta, and the Share mag arrived with a list of meetings. “Oh,” said Tom, “I can do better than that, I know someone who goes to that meeting”. In Malta, I met the fella, who was a greeter. He asked if I’d do the chair next week; I said, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly do it”. He said, ” Think about it, by the end of the meeting, I’ll try.
My first chair was in Malta. I began going through the agony of writing it down and reading it to my husband. I ended up just talking. I came out of the meeting elated; I’d finally spoken, and as a result, a woman asked me to chair a women’s meeting the next day in Valetta.
My home group taught me about service. It was explained that I’d learn about alcoholism and the 12 steps by sticking with a home group. I began service as a literature secretary, then worked on the wards at Whipps Cross Hospital. We would see if anyone admitted as a result of alcohol, whether a broken leg or a broken heart, wanted to come to a meeting.
Roy and another member would drive from Kent to the Whipps meeting and told me about the A.A. Telephone service at Radcliffe Gardens. He invited me to meet the North East Kent Saturday afternoon group, which I did and loved. There was Neil, the team leader; Roy, a wonderful advocate for the fellowship; Journalist James; and Carmel. Carmel and I were so different. We didn’t click at first, but loved each other instantly. I think Roy brought us together for that reason. Carmel and I are still close. I’m grateful these people came into my life when they did. I was part of that Telephone group for 12 years.
In February 1992, Denis, ‘Scottish’ Tom and Bob set up Monday Night Leytonstone in a new Church on Fairlop Road. Then, with ‘Australian’ Terry, who helped arrange for us to have a room in the cornerstone. After three years, we outgrew the room and moved to Whipps Cross Hospital on a Wednesday evening, which still thrives, until recently, obviously. Around November that year, I went to the hospital due to my back issues. I was away for about 3 months, unable to attend meetings. Pretty much everyone in the group came to see me at the hospital or at home. We weren’t individuals; we were a group, and that’s what I appreciate so much in recovery. I stepped outside my comfort zone to be part of a group with no leaders; oh, it was brilliant. At the moment, I haven’t had a home group for 3 or 4 years. I suffer from arthritis and can’t go out as much, and I miss it. When lockdown happened, the online meetings started on Zoom. This was good for my pride, as I like my hair done and my makeup, and it helped me get over it. I had the same anticipation as when I first came in: I could join a meeting online and see people I have known for years.
Dot was my sponsor and is still in my life; she took me through the program. At three years sober, Stella asked me to sponsor her; it was my first time, and I was nervous. Stella and I would go swimming, talk about life, the steps, anything, then go for coffee and read the steps. Stella moved to Australia when she was 10 years sober, she’s 31 now. Every time I go through the program with another, it opens up; it’s never done; it’s ongoing. I began feeling my faith more, making that decision to turn it over, I’d come to God, to my higher power.
All I wanted when getting sober was to be there for my mum. My Dad died when I was 26 years old. It was hard at first. Mum didn’t need my help; she needed company. For twenty years, I cared for her; she got the best of me and the worst of me. I’d bite back over stuff like putting on a pillowcase; she wanted it done her way. I’d argue back until I surrendered and kept my mouth shut. It made life much easier. The only time I do anything wrong is when I open my mouth. That’s my biggest defect.
In December 2005, Lisa and Fiona set up a meeting at St Anne’s in Chingford. I began going, and again, the right people came into my life, helping save my sanity. For the last four years of Mum’s life, I was with her from 8 am to 3 pm every day. This meeting was my rock. When Mum died, we buried her on Thursday morning; I went to the meeting straight after.
I’m proud I got Mum to 89 with a good quality of life, and we had many happy memories together. Towards the end, we had 14 weeks of hell. One day, Mum didn’t have her teeth in; she didn’t know where they were. I looked and looked and, in the end, said, “Oh, Mum, let’s leave it, we can get you other teeth.” I was kneeling by her; she put her forehead to mine and said, “You’ve changed.” They were the magical words…I’ve changed, I’m not that Bolshy alcoholic who came into the rooms. I could never have learned this without the 12 steps and God for bringing all these people into my life.
God got me here, keeps me here. My God is mine; you can have anything you like. It broadened my mind to a higher, wider power that allows me to be a person among people.
This was done in September 2022 over zoom
East London Archives of Alcoholics Anonymous. 