I was born in a small town in Northern England, called Huddersfield; most people have never heard of it though it does have some minor claims to fame. It is the self-styled 'biggest town in England', Harold Wilson (former British Prime Minister) and James Mason (actor) originally came from there and Patrick Stewart (most recently of X-Men fame) grew up in a village on the outskirts of the town.
My dad was what would today be called a ‘blue collar worker’. This didn’t mean he was stupid though. An Irish Catholic upbringing (and subsequent excommunication) left him wise in the ups and downs of life, with a practical demeanour that would break the back of any task - eventually. He was also, in many ways, in advance of his time - far more rational, egalitarian and considerate than most of his peers.
My mother worked hard at home to keep us all fed and clothed and was employed in a variety of fairly dull jobs to help boost the family income. She melted a lot of saucepans in her time and the odd kettle or two, but she was always there with a hug, sympathy and a sticking plaster (or disgusting tasting medicine) as required. Thankfully she still is. I think her eccentricity was a never-ending source of joy to my Dad - he once confided in me that he certainly didn’t marry her for her cooking! Sure we didn’t have a lot of money at times, but we were rich in love if not in pocket money.
I was signed me up at an early age for our local mobile library and it was a revelation. I devoured the children’s section and was soon chomping at the bit for more. My parents managed to persuade the librarian to allow me to borrow the books in the adult sections and I devoured those too.
At school too, I read my way through my junior and secondary school libraries and even joined the main Huddersfield library which involved the effort and excitement of taking a bus ride into town, just to be able to read more diversely. I even managed to persuade those librarians to allow me to take double the usually permitted amount of books out on loan. I read everything and anything, though three specific genres always topped my lists: science, mythology and of course, the combination of those two - science fiction.
When I reached secondary school (age 11) I started writing more ‘officially’. School at this time wasn’t very easy for me, largely because it didn’t pay to be smart. The self-fulfilling prophecy of low expectations gave us teachers that cared more about going to the pub to drown their sorrows than they did about trying to inspire, educate or support the unwashed oiks in their tender care. My attempts at literary expression were certainly not appreciated - encouragement wasn’t part of the curriculum.
My early career aspirations included flirtations with astro-physics, the Air Force, the Marines (somewhat unbelievably now) and finally I wandered into one of my secondary interests - software development; though not before being heavily involved in Pro-Am combat (target) pistol shooting, a drag racing team, and becoming a bass player and vocalist (singer would be a far too generous term!) in a heavy rock band. Plus I also managed to fit in some ‘real’ work in manual jobs on production lines and loading trucks in a haulage company.
A few years later, I was nicely settled in the world of local government IT, living with a wonderful and beautiful girl, who was – and still is - loving and tolerant of my many foibles. Life seemed good, at least on the surface. From there, I could have grown old and fat, with a grey beard (Okay Hil - no beard!) and pipe - crumpets by the fire (errr!!), a nice soft cat to rest my feet on… Aahh the middle-management dream of suburban idyll.
It didn’t quite work like that. A pair of shoes nearly killed me.
I had taken Hil shopping for yet another pair of shoes (don’t ask me, it’s a woman thing) and on my way up the escalator I stood awkwardly and ended up ripping my calf muscle apart, leading to an eventual pulmonary embolism. I was rather fittingly stuck on rat-poison and told that my body would (hopefully) break down the clots given time.
As often happens, I left my several weeks in hospital with a very different perspective on life. Two things in particular had changed: Firstly, I realized that I hated England with a passion. I hated the noise, the crowds, the still stratified class-ridden society, the limited opportunities, the expense and did I mention the noise and the crowds? Secondly I realised just how much I wanted to write.
My first published work, a short story called ‘Inser’, was accepted for publication on October 10th 2004. I proposed to Hil that night. Luckily for me she accepted (though not until I’d endured an agonising ten minutes of silence as she gawped at the ring!). The story subsequently appeared in Issue 5 of
Neo-Opsis magazine.