East London Archives of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Willie is my name, and I’m an alcoholic. I came into Alcoholics Anonymous through the grace of God and the prison system. I didn’t think I was an alcoholic, not in a million years. Even when my drinking spiralled out of control and eventually ended up…again, back in Cork prison for a lengthy sentence, it wasn’t nice, you get nothing in prison when detoxing from alcohol. I was in the recreational ground, sitting in the corner in the throes of despair. I wanted out of life, I didn’t want to live anymore, I was done and dusted. This prison officer came to the door and said, ’Does anyone want to go A.A.? he never used the words Alcoholics Anonymous; all I know is divine intervention for me happened. I got up and went to the door and said, ’ Can I go?‘ he said, ‘Of course, give me a couple of minutes to see if there’s anybody else. ‘ There was a guy called Paddy O’S, the meetings were held in a cell, and that was my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I didn’t know what it was, I hadn’t a clue. 

The following morning, in the prison yard doing the shuffle, when you get your medication, Paddy O’S said, ’How you doin’ Willie?‘ I said, ‘I’m alright, Paddy. ‘ He said ‘Did you enjoy the meeting last night?’ I looked at him and thought something was not right about this guy; he never normally spoke to me. I said What you talkin’ about? He said, ‘We went to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous last night. ‘ I said ‘Really?’. Monday night came along. The Prison officer came up again, asked if anyone wanted to go to an A.A. meeting, and off we trotted. Paddy was a lifer. I remember this meeting, there was a guy called Stevie Mac, who is still sober and John W they gave us their time, they came to the prison every Monday night carrying the message of Alcoholics Anonymous. John W was my first sponsor before I knew what one was. I’m going to one meeting a week, but I knew this wasn’t enough. I took it on myself and became an evangelist, going around the yard asking guys what they were in prison for. I was now a fully-fledged member of Alcoholics Anonymous and wanted to know why they were all in there…. You can imagine some of the responses I was getting. 

The AA guys came in, and John said, I heard you talk about needing more meetings. Why don’t you try to get one with the prisoners yourself? Being me, thought that was a great idea, and so did Paddy. I put my name down to speak with the governor with Paddy. A week or two later, I got called to the governor’s office, and I forgot about asking to meet. The governor said ‘What can I do for you? I said, ‘You called me’, he said, ’You made an appointment to see me, something to do with Alcoholics Anonymous’. I said, ‘Oh, that’s right, guv, any chance of getting a meeting going for us within the prison?’ He said, ’Are you havin’ a laugh, I haven’t the time or space’. That was that, I saw Paddy and said, ‘Where were you? he said, ‘I wasn’t gonna go there.’ I was angry but did forgive him. After a few weeks, the governor called me in, he said, ‘He saw my enthusiasm even though I’m pissing some of the prisoners off’, and gave us a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous on a Thursday between 2 and 4 in the education department. He wanted the probation service officer to be in attendance for security reasons. I said Ok. We got that up and running with the support of John and Steve.   

On a Monday morning, I was told by a guard that I was getting early released on Thursday because my behaviour had been exemplary, and all I could think of was the meeting at Patrick’s Hill. I was released and went straight down the hill to the meeting; I was early and waited outside. At the top of the steps, a guy said, ’Are you waiting for the meeting?’. Noel was his name, he was a character, and he made me a cup of tea as people were coming in. I counted 12 steps going down Patrick’s hill and thought to myself I had done the steps…little was I to know.  

I couldn’t stay in Cork, the members were fantastic, they put me on a great journey, they taught me when anyone anywhere reaches out for help…always be there for them, don’t ever deny anyone the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, no matter who they are or where they come from. I left my marriage, left my kids and left my country and ended up in London. I went to see my brother Paul, he didn’t know I was sober, I walked to the Cowley Arms in Leytonstone and spoke with him, he offered me to stay at his for a few nights, he also said he knows a guy who may be able to help me with meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, one of the brothers based in the church. The first meeting was at Whipps Cross on Friday night. 

My introduction to meetings in East London…I will never forget the meeting at Whipps, which was in the maternity unit. I looked through the open window and saw the literature, and knocked on the window. I said I’m looking for Alcoholics Anonymous….The lady said, ’The door is ‘round that way, I said, where I come from, we come through windows and I jumped straight through the window. The woman in that meeting was Sharon, who is wonderful. Percy the baker was there. I got the same love and kindness I got in Cork. Percy gave me his number; no one ever gave me their number. Percy said he goes to a meeting on Tuesday, Leytonstone step. That was my introduction to step meetings. I grounded myself in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. I got involved quickly. I was told, Willie, get in the middle of the bed and you won’t fall out. I was doing two meetings a day and had eleven commitments, which shows you how insane I was at one stage. I was meeting people like Big Terry, Harry, Angie, Paddy OC, Mick the Tick, Blind Charlie, Plaistow Bill, Dartmoor Bill, Liam and Jessie. What a motley crew, it was like I had come home.

In 1990, East London Intergroup split. John B said ‘Would I like to join?’ I did. We met at Durning Hall with people like East Ham Mick. John B was chair; we had to decide on a name for the Intergroup, which was to be Outer East London. John B knew I had a big ego, he said, ’You know what Willie, you’d make a great Prison Liaison Officer. My head went up, my chest went out, and I said, ’You know what, John, you’re right, I will give it a shot.’ Little did I know that we had no prisons in East London. What helped was a phone call from Dave C…..God rest his soul….. 

Dave C said, I heard you’re looking for a prison, I said I came out of one. Why would I be looking for one…he said, I’m the prison Liaison officer for Southeast London, we’re about to go into Belmarsh prison. This was in 1991. Dave said I would love you to be part of it. We met in Woolwich at the Little Chef café. Dave was sitting there with his big book on the table. We hugged each other, and our journey in prison began, every Monday night, what a miracle. One day, Dave said to me, I’m getting requests for things I cannot do, they are rule 43s, you know the score on all of that, he said ‘Can you do them? I didn’t know what these guys were in for; all I knew was that they were true-blue alcoholics; some stories were horrendous. I was struggling to get people to do service. Peter said 95% of the work is done by 5% of the people, don’t tell the 95% because there will be nothing for you to do. 

I started going to region, then to conference as a delegate for three years. At East London Intergroup, it must have been 1999, Ray came up with an idea…. the millennium meetings. It was down to Ray, who is a wonderful and amazing guy, so helpful. Ray got Durning Hall, then after a couple of years, he said, I’m thinking of doing 48 hours. I started to supply the music; we had some wonderful musicians, like Annie, Big John, Conor, and we had so many that came along on the last night. When I see the number of people who walked through those doors of the millennium meetings, I just think, Wow. People from the streets, nowhere to go, those meetings were packed solid, they came from all over, just to be safe, and I loved it.   

I was going along steadily, being a musician, playing in Spain. I was one of those guys who didn’t have a program, didn’t have a sponsor, didn’t have a God in my life. The reality was I thought I was doing alright…sixteen years sober. I’m earning good money in Spain, staying in an apartment and found myself in the foetal position at three o’clock in the morning, the floodgates opened, the guilt, shame and remorse came back about my kids, my past life. I came back to London as the contract ended. I was full of pride, ego and arrogance. The lady I was living with suggested someone to me; it was mind-blowing that I would call someone. I called Frank. I said to Frank, I am in trouble, desperate trouble. I asked him to take me through this program; I need it badly. He said, ’Can he call me in a few days, He did and said, Will, it will be a pleasure. 

My journey into real recovery started with Frank. For 18 months, I went to the Isle of Dogs, where he lived. It was quite amazing. Kneeling for the step three prayer, I found a bit strange, I was a catholic and went to church, but I got over that. I did step 4 and 5, and this big ego tough guy was terrified, Frank said, ‘Look Willie, this is your past, the reality is you’ve already lived it, you don’t need to re-live it any more, you need to put pen to paper and get it out and get it done and dusted’. He said, ‘The book says, if you skimp over this, you’ll pay the ultimate price’…I did step 4, did 5 with Frank, the first thing he said to me was, Willie, whatever you tell me, I guarantee five minutes after you leave, I will have forgotten. He was one of the few men I used to hug. I had a capital T for Trouble on my forehead, and all it was, was fear, insecurity and being judged. After step 5 I was driving home and stopped the car and called Frank, he said, ‘Will, I told ya, I forgotten it all’, he said, ‘I knew you would phone, he said, get on with your recovery, but I need to tell you two things, I don’t know how many people you have in your phonebook, but that will shorten, as sickness attracts sickness, as soon as people see you getting well, they won’t want to know and he was right. The other thing, when you asked me, I went to a couple of meetings, telling people, I now know that was wrong. Everybody I spoke to said, ’Don’t sponsor that guy, you’ll end up killing yourself, he is off his head, he is a raving lunatic, stay away from him’. I said ‘I was under the impression people liked me’. Frank said, ‘Not everyone dislikes you or likes you, you’re just a hard case to handle sometimes. You love Alcoholics Anonymous, you are there to protect the meetings and newcomers, but they just didn’t take kindly to you telling them they are talking a load of bollocks. I had to tell you, he said. I asked him what changed his mind. He said, he spoke to his wife and told her, I can’t make up my mind about Willie, she said, Frank, Willie asked you, not me. The decision is yours and yours alone. The following morning, he woke and saw this card, which he had never seen in the house before: the card, I’m responsible, when anyone anywhere reaches out for help, I want the hand of A.A. always to be there. 

I have had another sponsor for the past 16 or 17 years. He hasn’t been around half the time I have, but he sounds grown up, and I needed that. He said he will be there for me, and he is, at any time the central reservation looks inviting. Not everyone makes it in this fellowship. People don’t talk to others. I haven’t outgrown my sponsor or meetings; if I think I have, then I am in big trouble. There are two forms of sobriety, and I have experienced both, contented and demented. 

I’m still involved, that’s why I’m still sober. I am living the dream. What a journey, what a journey. The people I have met picked me up when I was falling. Dave C would tell me, if your arse falls off, put it in the bag and get to a meeting. I also do meetings on Zoom and see people I haven’t seen in years. I do a Donegal meeting online, there is a guy called Bernie who is 59 years sober, I think he is the longest one in that area, and I think he met Lois Wilson. An old-timer said to me, be careful what you share about your family in Alcoholics Anonymous, he said they may follow you in. Then, Lo and behold, my two sons are in recovery and are doing great. I’m coming up to 39 years sober a day at a time, my sobriety date is 28th February 1987 and the miracle for me is a life beyond my wildest dreams, it’s even more than that, imagine for one moment you’re riding through Europe with your two sons on Harley Davidsons’, my two sons at one stage didn’t even want to know me, if that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is, those miracles, they go on. The script was written for me long before I came to Alcoholics Anonymous, and I didn’t even know. 

I’m just grateful I’m a part of it all.