The Nipper: The heartbreaking true story of a little boy and his violent childhood in working-class Dundee

‘Do yi want me to let your fuckin’ son go?’

I later find out that from the age of six or seven months if Mum left the room, I’d start to cry. She’d come back in and say to Dad, ‘What are yi doing to him?’

So at that early age I must have been very attached to Mum – and also aware of what Dad was capable of doing to me.

* * *

About a week after Dad snatched me from Mum in the social security office, he decided to go out with one of his mates, as Mum had lured him into a false sense of security – a trick that she’d picked up from years of living with him.

I was in bed, but not asleep, listening to the sound of the evening traffic, when I heard her jewellery clanging and footsteps approaching the bedroom door. I knew it was her, I knew the sound of her heels on the creaky floorboards.

‘Wake up, Charlie,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll be goin’ to meh hoose. Wir goin’ on an adventure. But we’ll have to hurry up so come on – get your coat on, pal.’

She helped me dress and then packed a few clothes and I picked up Boris, my old one-eyed bear, and we walked out of Arkly Street, ready for a new life, a fresh start. Anywhere would do, as long as she never had to see his evil, scarred face again.

What Mum hadn’t counted on, though, was just how selfish and unsupportive the people around her could be: nobody wanted to get involved in this nightmare in which she was now living. There she was – two kids, no house, and no money for food in the freezing cold winter with a paranoid schizo wanting her dead.

My Aunty Molly (Dad’s sister) took Mum in for a while and a little later she met a man called Blake. He was a quiet, introverted man with a moustache and glasses, but he was actually very tough, an ex-soldier. You wouldn’t want to meet him up a dark alley. But at the same time he was very gentle and protective towards women.

Mum stayed at Blake’s mum’s house for two weeks while waiting on the council to give her a flat. But three weeks after Mum had escaped from Arkly Street Dad snatched us back. Blake was out in town somewhere with his mates and Mum was working that night, waitressing at a café up the road. Dad simply walked through the back door of Blake’s mum’s house and crept upstairs to the bedroom where we were asleep.

We woke up, dazed and confused about what was happening, until we felt Dad’s clawlike nails digging into our arms as he dragged us out of bed. We both of us cried and whimpered as we realised who it was, but he ignored us and hurried down the stairs past Blake’s mum who tried to stop him in the hall, but he grabbed her hair and shoved her out of the way and walked off with us into the dark, cold night.

Over the next two years Tommy and I were stolen back and forward at least five times. Every time Dad or Mum spotted the other one out in town, they tried to steal us back. Sometimes it was when Dad was working, or when we had babysitters looking after us.

On one occasion in town Dad saw Mum with us, pushing the buggy, and grabbed both of us but Tommy managed to wriggle free and ran through town, finding his way back to Mum.

Most of Mum’s time was spent trying to think of ways to get us back without getting her face smashed in by Dad. She had been trying to get her life back on track and now had a flat of her own. She lived with Blake in a council flat in Princess Street on Hilltown. In 1979 she married Blake and had his baby, my half brother Bobby. Years later I discovered that Dad had tried to run Mum over when she was seven months pregnant with Bobby.

At that stage Mum hadn’t been seeing Blake that long and didn’t really know that much about him – only that he was a nice, well-spoken man, really easy-going, totally the opposite of Dad.

Mum never mentioned her troubles to Blake, as she was scared what Dad might do to him if he got involved. What none of us – Mum, Tommy and me – knew until later was that Blake might be nice and polite to women and kids, but with fully grown men it was a different story. He could handle himself.

Blake walks into the bathroom one night, as he can hear Mum crying.

‘What’s up love?’

‘I’m worried aboot mi bairns, that bastard is probably hit-tin thum.’

‘Wha’s hittin yir bairns?’

‘My ex-husband, Jock.’

‘Put yir coat on and wi’ll go an git thum.’

‘Are you aff yir hade?’

‘What are yi on aboot, if yi want them back, lets git thum.’

‘It’s Jock Mitchell, yi maniac, ir you mad?’

‘Jock Shmock – come on, git yir coat on.’

Mum is now petrified. Even saying his name sends shivers down her spine. Blake walks back in with her coat as Mum looks at him in amazement.

‘If we go up there, promise me you winna let him hit me.’

‘He winna go near yi, come on.’

All Mum can think is that Dad will batter Blake, just like he’s battered her. And as no one has ever helped her before, she is now brainwashed into thinking he is more powerful than the devil. Even so, this is too good an opportunity to let pass, so she jumps in the car and heads off on her latest mission to get Tommy and me back. All the way up there in the car she keeps asking Blake, ‘Are yi sure yi kin fight now? What if he hits me? What if he’s got a gun?’

Blake just turns and smiles. ‘He winna lay a finger on yi, trust me.’

They stop outside the house, get out of the car, then open the front door and walk in. Mum is now digging her nails into Blake’s arm and shaking uncontrollably with fear, as Dad walks out of the kitchen and sees them standing there.

‘What the fuck ir you dain’ in meh hoose, and wah the fuck is he?’

‘Never mind wah eh am,’ says Blake. ‘Get yir bairns, Sarah.’

Mum is now trembling with fear at the sight of Dad. ‘I canna, he’s gonna hit me.’

‘You go near they bairns and I will hit yi,’ Dad snaps.

‘Do ya think so?’ Blake snaps back.

Dad has walked back into the kitchen and comes out again holding a knife.

‘What di yi think yir awa ti dae we that?’

‘Fuck all, I’m fixin’ a plug.’

The next minute Dad is sat back in the armchair with a broken jaw; Blake never gives him the chance to use the knife. As Dad has looked down, probably preparing one of his fly moves, Blake has booted him in the chin.

‘If you ever pull a knife on me again, ya prick, I’ll kill ya,’ says Blake.

‘The bairns are in the room. Eh dinna want this gittin’ oot o’ hand,’ says Mum, who’s starting to panic.

Tommy and I are upstairs asleep but the commotion wakes us up and we hear everything that’s going on.

Mum is now confused at the situation, as she has never seen this side of Dad. He is now on the receiving end for a change. But she’s still watching him like a hawk as this could be one of his tricks. And he still has the knife in his hand.

‘Come back the mornin’ and yi’ll git thum back. Dinna wake thum up now.’

‘Smack his puss, Sarah, fir a’ the hidings he gave you. It’s aright, he winna touch yi.’

‘No let’s get oot o’ here in case the police ’ave been phoned.’ She just wants out of there now, as she still doesn’t think Dad’s going to take what has just happened quietly.

They head off in the car and wait till the next morning to go back, but by that time Dad’s long gone. He has taken us to Aunt Helen’s house at the bottom of Lawhill (I play there with her kids, my cousins) and has then driven to hospital to get his jaw wired up. Mum only finds this out when she goes to my Nan’s house looking for us, as she’s greeted with a mouthful for what Blake did to Dad. I find that a bit weird as Nan knows what Dad’s like from past experience. I suppose blood is thicker than water.