My sobriety date is January 2nd 1989. I made the phone call to A.A. on that day. Peter answered the phone. We had a chat; I don’t remember much, but he said he would have someone contact me, and someone did that night. He said he would come round, take me to a meeting tomorrow, and give me a ring. How many times have we all made a 12-step call, only to have them get better overnight? Well, I didn’t get better. I made that call because my life was a mess, unmanageable. I still had a job; I was a hospital maintenance supervisor. I was shaking, I was bad, I messed up the Christmas party at the hospital and nearly fell in the fountain. I walked back home that evening with the apprentice. I lived in Aldgate, and my partner at the time was a nurse. She always said I was an alcoholic and she’d trip over me one day on this street; I looked at that pavement and burst out crying. The apprentice said it’s her Rog, up there, he pointed to the flat I lived in. He said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll phone A.A.” I didn’t see him for a while, until a few years later. He said he had phoned A.A., but they were more interested in talking to him.
I was taken to my first meeting at the Seaman’s mission on Tuesday, January 3rd. Johnny Q picked me up. It was a step meeting, and it was confusing. The 12×12 was being handed out to read, and oh, they referred to me as a 12-step. The chair was done by a Scottish guy called Jimmy. He shared on step seven, about prison, meditation and masturbation. The Seaman mission became my home group. A year later, Jimmy was back doing the chair, and I remembered nearly everything he said.
My first chair was at the Seaman’s mission. I cannot remember which day it was; they had a meeting on Tuesday (step), Saturday (Scottish Bill Set up) and Sunday night. Don’t remember anything I said; the only thing I remember is coming out the door feeling on top of the world, and the pub over the road started saying, “Roger, haven’t you done well, come in”. It shook me, I thought, ” Wow, it is amazing how this can get you.
After a meeting, Music John asked me to come for a coffee at the Wimpy Bar. It was my first social activity: talking to someone over coffee. It was fantastic. I never saw him again until 18 years later, when he appeared on a spiritual TV program. He took time to help a suffering alcoholic, who was me. It was a big part of my coming back because he sat with me and talked to me.
I picked up a position on a Friday and made the tea. Johnny Q set up meetings in nearly all the hospitals in the East End; he was the health liaison officer. It did me good that commitment, it made me go, and it saved my life. I went past Tubby Issacs and saw a mate. He wanted me to go to the pub, but because I had a commitment and milk, tea, and sugar with me, I didn’t want to miss the meeting. So, I said no and went to the meeting; I had been given responsibility.
On my first Christmas Day sober, I visited my daughter in the hospital. She didn’t eat dinner, and I went home and had fish fingers and chips. I ended up going to the Manchester Road, Christ Church meeting and shared about my day. The following Christmas, ‘Polio’ Dave, who had a dodgy foot, invited me to Christmas Dinner with his wife and family… people do listen. Brian, who had schizophrenia, took to me because my daughter suffers from the same illness. He latched onto me. I came in on the January and August bank holidays. There was a mini-convention in Kent, and we used to go there; we hired a coach so all of us from the East End could go. I was sitting on my own, and Brian came up to me. I never forgot it. He asked if I would be his friend for the day. I said, of course, Brian, and we were friends from then on, right up to when he died. We went to Blue Bonnets. You could get up and sing two songs. Brian could sing and go up, and they told him he could only sing one song. He sang an Elvis song and went off. He was so good they tried to get him back, but he walked off, saying, “You said I could only sing one song.”
A year later, I packed in smoking and committed the money to a VHS recorder or a sound system. I managed to get a sound system. The thing was, a couple of months later, at a convention, where I won a video recorder in a raffle. Here I am, coming into the room without God. I’m not religious; it’s a process, it was the group at the beginning, and it has changed as everything does. Where I live now, I look at the mountains, nature, and the sea. If someone gets too religious heavy, I tell them I’m a pagan; it’s in my nature to say something. I’m more attuned to nature and can say I have Gods, not just one God, but many. I went to Mexico with my partner. The day we arrived, I found out where the meeting was, but it coincided with mealtime. We were ok, so we didn’t go. On the penultimate day, we were on the beach, and a beach seller came up to me and asked, “How long have you been here?” Then saw my A.A. medallion and said, “You go to A.A?” He said, “How long have you been here?” I said two weeks. He said you haven’t been to a meeting! I got bollocked for not going to a meeting while on holiday in Mexico.
‘‘Australian’ Shaun lived in Booth house, then at Toynbee Hall, and did so much in A.A. One evening at Toynbee Hall, the doors flung open, four ambulance blokes brought in this guy. This bloke accidentally entered a meeting by the London Ambulance Service; they brought him here. I can still picture it now. Well, ‘Australian’ Shaun and I think John helped this fella, got him a place in Booth House, helped get him sober, and that guy ended up getting A.A. into the Mayflower in Canning Town.
Five of us went to Ireland for the first time, for a week. We arranged to meet before the convention in County Mayo. We went to a pub overlooking an island in the sea; it was beautiful. We had a meal and soft drinks, and we all just kept laughing. The publican couldn’t get over it; he asked if we were there for fishing. The shooting? We went to the meeting; John was the chair. He shared step two, our day, and the laughter. There was a new guy there, and he shook our hands and thanked us for the laughter we brought into the meeting that day. He never thought he would laugh again. There was me, a plumber, Bill, a Union convenor, Des, a window Cleaner, John B, a property developer and John, a monk. You would only ever get that in A.A, driving around Ireland. John the Monk was deeply spiritual. I made a spiritual connection with him. You get that electricity in your heart as I did with John. I do miss all that. I live in Wales, and I miss the Cockney humour and names.
Johnny Q is someone I called every day for two years. Going through the steps was different back then. I did it unconventionally; it was thorough, and through an inner-child workshop where everyone was in A.A. I’ve never felt the need to do the steps again, especially when you are taking others through it. It took nine years before someone stuck with me. You learn different ways of doing it with that person. I’m dyslexic, so it’s about adapting to how to help others. I walked past Toynbee, near my flat. It was a historical meeting, and it was the big one when I came in. What was good about it is they had their yearly anniversary meetings and all the faces would come, like Roland, ‘Old’ Jessie a massive part of that meeting, who used to live in the Barbican, ‘Young’ Peter and ‘Little’ Phil, you would always get a laugh with him, also Mick ‘The Quiff’, Ironing Board Arthur, ‘Celtic’ Eddie, you would hear all the stories of people like Mick ‘The Tick’.
Scottish Bill was a huge part of my sobriety. We would go to conventions together. We lived in London for so long, and I, being a cockney, they called us the Jockneys. Really good memories of Bill. He was two years sober when I came in. He was a massive part of my life. He set up the meeting at the Seaman’s Mission on Saturday, and for months, he would sit there alone until one day it took off. It closed down after Bill died. Just before he passed, I took him to Eastbourne for the day. He came down from the room on a Saturday morning and said he wasn’t well, so I drove him back. We stopped at Beachy Head and looked out to sea; neither of us said a thing.
When Bill’s wife died, he got her jewellery made into an A.A. medallion, and when Bill passed, his family gave me his A.A. medallion: Unbelievable. I loved Bill; we did everything together. I did the eulogy at his funeral. At the crematorium, the Vicar couldn’t believe how many people turned up. Bill was well-loved and well-thought-of. Bill had some incredible drinking stories; he told me one that made me laugh so much I knew I’d never top it.
I did my first convention chair at Jersey, and I knew I was gonna knock it out of the park. I didn’t. I wasn’t sharing from the heart, just on a theme, and I was going to be super Rog. When I was 24 years sober, at the Bluebonnets, five of us walked around town, all at my first meeting, Harry, Angie, Jim and Jessie, all sober. The sobriety there was fantastic. In 2022, I was one of the speakers at Leeds’ 75th-anniversary celebration early Saturday. The convention was amazing; I shared for Wales and Borders because that’s where I live now. We were told not to swear, and I managed to keep my mouth shut right to the end. It wasn’t quite swearing. I wanted to see what the BSL signer signed for the word pisshead. The gratitude from that brought the emotions back. I didn’t cry. I shared one story; it went well. I walked to the foyer, and the members from North Wales all said, “Well done.” Then up came Harry, who’d been at my first meeting; he gave me a big cuddle and…then it happened. I cried my eyes out; it was waiting to come out. And it did.
I used to sit in East End pubs dreaming of going to places, and because of A.A., other members and I have travelled all over the world, including America and India, and have been invited to weddings. I live in a beautiful place, and for 10 years, once a month, I walk in the forest at night for meditation; my night vision is now unbelievable. It’s funny how it works. It has been a fantastic life. Thirty-five years ago, I thought my life was over; it hadn’t begun!
This took place 13th January 2024 in a café in Canary Wharf.
East London Archives of Alcoholics Anonymous. 