East London Archives of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Around July 1995, I went to my first A.A. meeting. I gave myself the sobriety date of August 1995, but I think I stopped in April. The truth is, I had drunk substantial quantities of alcohol daily for over 23 years and was struggling with my physical health and was oblivious to the deterioration of my mental health. My longstanding relationship with my girlfriend stopped after she tried to come between me and a drink. My sister-in-law attended various A.A. meetings in Florida for a research project, and it dawned on her that I was similarly afflicted with alcoholism. Reluctantly, my brother tried to 12-step me. I realised he was coming between me and alcohol, so I sidestepped him.

I went to my doctor, and tests showed my liver was either permanently damaged or close to it. This knowledge frightened me sufficiently to stop me from drinking, temporarily. To my horror, I was advised to visit a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist listened to my sad story and told me I had a simple choice – I could carry on drinking alcohol, go mad and die or stop drinking one day at a time and join Alcoholics Anonymous. For me, this was terrible because I couldn’t live without alcohol, the most important thing in my life. If I wasn’t drinking, I was thinking about it. It was not a question of “if” I was going to drink, it was “when and how much”. Mad, sad, bad or glad, I drank. I loved it, and it was destroying me.

I asked myself, “Did I want to live?” I answered in the affirmative. But that raised another problem. I would need to change my life completely and remove alcohol. It seemed impossible. My head tells me things which are not necessarily true. How could I be an alcoholic? I had a good job and paid my rent. There were no public humiliations. I adopted a “Frank Sinatra” approach, didn’t drink, and did nothing else for a few weeks. My head was in turmoil.

One evening on the way back from work on the number 8 bus, I was struggling; all I wanted was a drink, and all the pubs in Bethnal Green were alluring. I had what I would describe as an epiphany. A voice came into my head and said, “You cannot do this on your own, you don’t stand a chance” I inwardly groaned and knew I would have to contact A.A.

The next afternoon, I made the call and told a kind woman called Maria I had a problem with alcohol. I would not accept a visitor and refused to give my personal information. Maria said, ” Maybe I should get another drink. I thought about it for a second, then gave her my address and telephone number. For the first time, I admitted I had a drinking problem. What happened next remains a mystery to me. I collapsed and have no idea how long this lasted and what was going on. When I emerged, I felt something had been removed from my shoulders and felt strangely calm. Since that day, I have never had alcohol or other mind-altering substances. I’m firmly convinced that God, my Higher Power, without so much as by your leave, intervened in my life and removed the obsession.

Did I rush to the fellowship? Certainly not, I was far too proud and fearful. I knew I needed to go, but could not summon the courage. Later, when I did attend, I heard that alcoholism is an illness which tells you that you do not have it. That was the case with me. I always listened to the differences, not the similarities, and became an Associate member of the fellowship. Going to one or two meetings a week, arriving late and leaving early. I looked in horror at the steps and made sure I didn’t speak to anybody. Whilst I identified with a lot of what was said, I told myself the people in the meeting were “nutters”. I am the only sane person.

I adopted a belt and braces approach and went to see the good people at Tower Hamlets Alcohol Advisory Service to find out what they had to say about my situation. After attending several sessions, their advice to me was that they were not sure whether or not I was an alcoholic, but if I abstained for a decade, I should be ok. They were insane. How could I wait 10 years for another drink? The people at A.A. said the battle with alcohol was over, and I lost. No more booze for me, and I rushed back to A.A. with a sane approach to my illness.

A few months into recovery, I was physically much better, had money in the bank, and a girlfriend looming in the distance. I got to thinking about recovery and whether or not I was using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. Did I need A.A. Then I went to a meeting, a Welsh man shared, he was back in the rooms, he said he was in for a while, then decided to drink. He was sure he would be ok. He drank and lost his sanity, family, health, and liberty. He attended detoxes and rehabs, and now he was 100% certain he was an alcoholic. He said nobody in the room needed to research because everybody in the room was there because they had a huge problem with alcohol, and they were not there by chance. I groaned inside. There was no escape clause.

My Higher Power intervened because I wasn’t getting anywhere and, in reality, getting closer to a drink. My Higher Power gave me a sponsor, Mike, whom I met at work. It was getting to lunchtime when Mike said he was going to meet some friends. I said the same thing. As I walked into St Vedast, there was Mike, to my shock and amazement. He agreed to become my temporary sponsor. His advice was short and sweet: I needed to go to more meetings, read Alcoholics Anonymous and 12 by 12 books and “do service” and help others. This was all too much, so I gave Mike a miss. Why on earth should I help others when I am the one in need?

I refused to do the steps, particularly step four. I used to attend a very strong step meeting at St John’s Church on Friday evenings in Victoria Park. I would turn up there and whine about not doing step four, no matter what step they were talking about. This lady gave me a lift home. She said the group is fully aware of your problem with step 4, but put up or shut up…I was very wounded, which prompted me to start step 4. As I remembered one thing, another would follow; all the things I was profoundly ashamed of came to mind.  I told my sponsor all these shameful things out loud in step 5. My sponsor just nodded. These memories, which I had held for a long time, disappeared as I said them. I had lived in a sea of lies, and the blame game had to stop, and I had to own up to what I did.

Strangely, I signed up for the London telephone service based in Redcliffe Gardens. It was in service that my recovery began to take shape. On the phones, I heard myself, the self-loathing, self-pity and self-obsessed fear. I identified and came to understand the nature of the fellowship and recovery. At that time, I was more deeply embedded in fellowship and became the inner East London Intergroup Telephone liaison officer in 1997/1998. The intergroup meeting was held at the Dellow Centre. It was small, and the chair was David P. Around 2003, inner East London moved back to outer East London in the early 2000s. There was a fear that a single intergroup would be too large and unmanageable. I think Avi, the chair, held the new intergroup together. He was superb at organising the intergroup, and things went from strength to strength. I carried on doing telephone service. In 1999, it moved to Cynthia Street, then Lafone Street. I remember doing service with ‘Teacher’ John, Annie, Keren, and so many others. I carried on until 2019. I now attend the East London intergroup and was on the committee of the 2024 Cockney convention. My first convention was in 1996 at Kingsley Hall in Bow, I thought what a bunch of nutters. It was way too much for me at this time.

I was doing city meetings as I worked near Foster Lane. There were people like Mick the Tick, Pippa, Geoff and Michael. Michael (Mick the Punk) would share that he woke up in a morgue in Southampton, saying he had a life like one in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. He wrote a book that was translated into 17 languages, and he wrote poetry and songs for punk bands. There was Guardsman John, who called himself a ‘Real’ Alcoholic, also Welsh/Farmer Dave, who was incredible for us newcomers because he remembered our names and made us feel a part of.

It took about 18 months to accept I was an alcoholic. I could no longer claim to be terminally unique. What I knew was that I had a mental illness and was a sandwich short of a picnic. I was dealt a dodgy hand of cards in life’s game, but there was no point in whining about it. What I needed to do was play my hand as best I could.

In a meeting, I heard “My sick mind cannot heal my sick mind. I have received a gift”. It was at this point that I remembered the number 8 bus epiphany and the event that followed my phone call to A.A. I slowly came to understand I could not and would not recover without a Higher Power. As I was leaving a meeting, a fellow spoke to me, “You need a new God and people in your life”. There was a spiritual solution to my problem. Where was I going to find my Higher Power? I was invited to undertake a spiritual search and discover what was important and true in my life. This would lead me to consider what I would do to find peace of mind and a power that would keep me from self-destruction, and lead me to joy and life in the fullest sense. I decided to go to the church of my childhood, which I discarded. I re-joined the Roman Catholic Church and found a place to give thanks to God.  

In 2005, I met Anne and instantly thought this lady was special. We got married in Sunkissed County Kerry. We moved house and settled into a beautiful relationship. One of the first people she met from the fellowship was ‘Irish’ Ray. Anne was very impressed with this kind and gentle man. I thought I was Teflon. Then life interrupted my recovery. I became more reliant on my higher power, as I lost my mum, and my job (as making money was my God).  Now I go to church and say thanks to my God, and in the meetings I see miracle upon miracle.

In 2020, my wonderful wife, Anne, passed away. My homegroup, Walthamstow Feelings, on a Sunday morning, helped and supported me all the way. They were fantastic; they were there through it all. I was preparing myself for the vigil before Anne’s death, I went to the Wednesday meeting at Whipps Cross, and I treasure the love, strength and support they gave me. Many of the fellowship turned up for Anne’s funeral, ‘Canadian’ Ann was fantastic and was there with me. You cannot avoid grief, like alcoholism. I accept that life will be rough at times, and this is my experience. I couldn’t see God’s hand in my wife’s death and struggled with my faith at first. I couldn’t understand why this happened. Anne was the second greatest gift of sobriety, the first being sobriety itself, but in the end, I came to understand God gives good stuff and bad stuff, and I don’t know what God’s plan is for my life.  Now I accept what God has given me and taken away.

The fundamental thing that hasn’t changed in Alcoholics Anonymous is the unconditional love and support. It is so strong, vibrant and unwavering. God’s love hasn’t changed at all. It is in the rooms that I witness miracles, and people who should have been dead are alive and thriving one day at a time, just as I believe my wife died in a sea of love. I’m convinced Anne is with God or is making her way to God, and we will meet again…Just like sobriety, I accept this one day at a time.

The interview took place on 28^th December 2024.