I was born in 1942 in Sunderland. My father came from there; he passed away in 1948 when I was six. When we moved to London, Custom House, my Mum was left with four children, later remarried, and had two more kids. We lived in a two-up, two-down home. My aunt lived downstairs, so there were four children upstairs and four downstairs. Money was scarce.
At school, I won medals for Football and running. I wasn’t good at Boxing with this fear in me; no idea how this appeared. I remember having my first panic attack in a cinema watching a war film that we bumped into. Mum took me to the doctor, who said I had a spot on the heart. I ended up attending a school in Epping for kids with learning difficulties. I hated it there. I went twice before Mum, and my Stepdad took me out.
My journey started at fifteen with gambling. At sixteen, I took a drink. I was nervous, frightened, didn’t fit in with people, and felt inferior. I went out with the local boys I grew up with, and after a few drinks, what came to mind was “if any of yous want a row, I’ll have a row with youse”. The drink gave me courage and took away my fear. When I had money, I drank; it was natural.
At 18 years old, I worked on the Docks, but never had money because of the drinking and gambling. At 21, I met my wife on Christmas Day. We courted for five years before getting married. I was in and out of work. I had no confidence, no self-worth and didn’t know any other way. I was drinking whiskey on the wedding day. We had our first Child in 1970, and I worked at the Power station, one of the best-paid jobs in London at the time. But we were still skint. After a year, I left with a week’s pay packet. It went downhill, always waiting for a job to come. We were desperate, no work, no money. I regret putting my wife through all that; it still hurts.
The fears wouldn’t go away; not being able to walk over the bridge, drive through tunnels, just absolutely terrified. Fears came one after the other. I tried cutting down but couldn’t, and was terrified of sleep. I went to the Doctor; I wanted a pill to take the fears away, eat something, and then have a drink. I wanted a pill to make me feel normal. The Doctor asked what the pill was for. I told him, he said, “Do you drink?” “Yeah, I do”. He looked at me and said, “You know your problem; the drink is your problem”. At that moment, I felt a weight lift off me; something may finally be done. He told me to see a counsellor around the corner, and half an hour later, after turning up, I saw the counsellor. I told him all about the fears. He said, “You’ll be better off in A.A” and wrote down two names and the address of a Monday meeting in East Ham.
My last drink was on 25th May 1984. I got through that Saturday. Sunday and Monday were terrible with the panic attacks, but I remembered the meeting on the 28th of May, which helped. On that evening, I walked from Canning Town to East Ham and read the names on all the shop doorways, which got me there. Outside the Church, blokes were smoking. I asked if this is AA? Two people took me inside and sat with me during the meeting. I didn’t understand what was happening, and I was going through withdrawals. There was a bloke who was sober for 5 months. I wanted to find out how you go five months without a drink.
On Wednesday, I made my first call within AA to Dennis, who was at the East Ham meeting. He mentioned a new meeting in St. Clement’s, I think. Speaking to Dennis, I told him I couldn’t go to the meeting because I didn’t like what someone had said and took it personally. I told Dennis I’m alone and I’ve got no one. Dennis said, “You’re not alone, you’ve got me”. Dennis got sober in 1966, and he became my sponsor.
Early recovery was hard; I had tinnitus and other stuff. All I did was show up for meetings. There was an afternoon meeting in Barking, but I couldn’t communicate with people; I was angry, and there was loads of self-pity. Dennis would say, “It’s another day tomorrow, don’t run away”. He always said that. I became secretary of the East Ham meeting after 9 months. They got me by asking if I wanted to be involved in the meeting. I said yeah. Pat ‘The Chef’ was finishing as the sec, he pointed to his chair, I said I ain’t doing that; Pat said, you can be my understudy … and next week he wasn’t there…that’s how they got me into service.
I began going to Intergroup at St. Clement’s Hospital, getting on the 12-step list, and taking calls. I always took someone with me to do a 12-step call. After a year, I realised this is the foundation of the program. I began the East Ham dance that year in 1985. My wife got to know the members. My tinnitus was bad and was getting me down. Dennis would send me to different doctors and homoeopathic doctors, and they gave me natural pills. After a while, I gained confidence in it, which helped me get through the day.
This is a program of normal living, showing me how I never knew how to enjoy life. My wife and I started going to bingo, spending time together, going to shows in the West End, taking pictures, and going on holiday. I was frightened of going on a plane, but Dennis’s “Don’t Run Away” was in my head. Life got better as I learnt to drive. Another member, Jackie, and I started doing the New Year’s Eve dance at East Ham. For six years, we put it on for people with children so they could get out. We did the catering all ourselves and kept it cheap. It was all progression, with hard work. It takes a while for the ego to go, as it can break back in.
My mate Joe and I would go to conventions, like the one in Camber Sands. We did that for a few years. It was always Joe and me; we had the same sort of recovery/Spirituality. I started meditating, which became a discipline for me, adding to going to meetings regularly. I served for 21 years at the East Ham meeting, which opened on 16th October 1972. I got a decent job in the city, and after seven years, I could get on a plane with my wife.
There’s been pleasure and pain, and today I give thanks for it, as I have grown spiritually through it. I see spirituality as positive, and I see it throughout the fellowship as people ask others for help with the steps; it’s spiritual. When I was asked to be a sponsor at 18 months sober by a fella making tea at the East Ham meeting, I called Dennis, “I can’t do this, what do I know?” Dennis said, “Help him, just be there”. I hit a wall at 26 years sober and went through the steps again; this was a release. A lot of people helped me over the years, like Joe, ‘Teacher’ Steve, Brian from Elm Park, ‘Off Licence’ Jerry, Frank ‘the singer’, Little’ Phil, ‘Plaistow’ Bill, ‘Sailor’ Dave, Mora, Dennis, my sponsor, some characters back then; such fond memories of these people.
Coming into A.A., I didn’t know anything. At 21 years sober, we moved to Essex. For the past 12 years, I have had a home group. Not much has changed since I came in, yet more younger people are getting into the program with a different take, a different mindset, still the same recovery. People go through pain and do not pick up; it is so good to see. There have been online meetings for years, and I used to say I ain’t doing them. But during lockdown, I attended Zoom meetings and saw faces I hadn’t seen in years; this has been good for our fellowship.
Today, I’m ok. I’m 78 years old, with a loving family around me. Recently, my son and I were sitting in the garden when I said I had only a year to live. He was surprised. He was 14 when I packed the drink up. I never spoke to him about this, and later on, my Grandkids asked why I don’t drink. My Son walked in and said, “Grandad only has a year to live. We have photos back then, and he looks better now than when he was 41”. All I say to them about drinking and using drugs is that there are consequences; it’s their journey. Because of A.A., I have five grandchildren, who love me dearly, and I love them so, so much. I love my wife; I know what love is today. I’m glad I know this is God. I’m grateful to know what God has been doing for me. I’ve been given a life I didn’t expect.
This was done via Zoom in August 2021
East London Archives of Alcoholics Anonymous. 