The Boy Who Has No Name

By Nic Carey

Imagine, if you can, being born with cerebral palsy and being abandoned by your parents who leave you in a cardboard box outside an unmanned police station, then to live out your life generally ignored and strapped to a medical trolley with little or no proper stimulation. This is the story of an acute mind masked by a crippled frame and hampered by a difficulty with communication. He is a human being who has never socialised with other people and shows signs of abject aggression in reality, hiding his frustrations. John lives in a children's home and is befriended quite by chance by a young visitor of his own age. As their relationship develops, it becomes quite clear that John has a great intellect and has not only taught himself to read, but has an affinity for foreign languages. The book charts his journey from that initial meeting through his improvement with mobility and communication aides, his desperate need to have his own identity and his varying and at times difficult relationship with the staff and residents of the home. For those that look away in embarrassment at disabled or disadvantaged people or worse, go to the opposite extreme and fuss over them, then this is the book you should read. It may make you laugh, it may even make you cry but it will hopefully make you think.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781788784542

Nic Carey

Nic Carey was born in Wokingham, Berkshire, in 1952 but spent his formative years in Paignton, Devon, before going to Manchester University and qualifying as an architect. Having spent 12 years in Canada, he is now retired and lives in Gozo with his wife, Dolores, and their three dogs. He is a member of the Rotary Club of Gozo and active in the community, particularly with the elderly and disabled. Nic has a daughter who is an interior designer and a nephew who is an author in Bogota, Colombia.

Book preview

Epilogue

About The Author

Nic Carey is a retired architect who lives on the island of Gozo with his wife, Dolores, and three dogs. Born near Reading, Berkshire, he grew up in Torbay, Devon, before heading off to a university in Manchester. He has one daughter, Nikou, who is an interior designer, and lives and works in Harrogate, North Yorkshire.

Dedication

To my wife, Dolores, a very accomplished human being and my daughter, Nikou.

Copyright Information ©

Nic Carey (2020)

The right of Nic Carey to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781788489942 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788784542 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

Big thanks to Marita, who proofread this as she is a lot smarter than me.

Prologue

Now, in my 65th year, I look back with some sort of wonder at those early years. Days before political correctness took over and we all had to start watching what we said or did in case we insulted someone or hurt their feelings. Society has a strange way of evolving and maybe sometimes not for the best.

Those were the days when anyone who was unable to control their muscles were known as spastics. Now we use the sensitised form and simply define their conditions with terms such as cerebral palsy in its various forms. Others with birth defects were known as Mongols or mongoloid. I never did work this one out as they look nothing like Mongolians. Anyway, this set of people suffer from Down’s syndrome but in reality, they do not suffer at all as they are the kindest, happiest souls I have ever met.

How many remember, Ian Dury, a self-confessed spastic who was able to overcome his deformity with courage and humour? Might that we could all be so brave and honest.

People often say, ‘if I knew then what I know now…’ This makes me laugh. The real fun is looking back at what you said and did; and those you came across with the wisdom or should we say, the experience, that the age brings, as each stage of life you pass through brings a different slant on those events. And, if you are really lucky, then the funnier and funnier they get.

One of the hardest bits about writing this book is trying to remember the language that we then used compared to what is used today. New words, new expressions, new idioms. In the end, struggling in vain against those distant memories, I thought, what the hell. Just get on with it and tell the story.

Chapter 1

A Strange Introduction

The stars were very pretty and had I been an astronomer, I may have appreciated them more. As it was, the stars were in my brain, revolving around my head at colossal speed. In a flash, I think I saw several constellations; the Big Dipper, Orion, Cassiopeia and many others I could not name.

That was just before the searing pain struck, followed by an overwhelming feeling of nausea.

Sitting in my wheelchair, the pain began to recede.

‘Are you Okay?’ asked a kindly lilting voice.

‘Yes, I think so. What on earth hit me?’

The woman before me, with a mop in hand, started to do a non-too-gentle examination of the ever-growing lump on the back of my head.

‘Did you fall and hit your head on something, boyo?’ she said.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I replied.

‘Well, you must have hit something or something hit you. If you think you are Okay, I’ve got things to do.’

As my head started clearing, I realised that this was what it was like to be knocked into semi-consciousness and I looked around to see what had hit me.

There on the floor was a stainless-steel bowl which was quite obviously the culprit. Where the hell had that come from? There was no shelf for it to fall off and the only thing near me was some poor creature strapped to a medical stretcher next to me.

‘Is that your bowl?’ I asked.

‘No, that belongs to John,’ she responded.

‘Who’s John?’

‘That’s John behind you.’ With that, she picked the bowl up and gave it a wipe with her none-too clean apron.

‘Sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘I’m Doris.’

‘I’m Toby, how do you do?’

‘Are you a new resident?’ asked Doris ignoring the Visitors badge pinned to my sweater.

‘No, I’m just visiting,’ I replied, fingering my badge.

‘What’s the bowl for, Doris?’

‘That belongs to John.’ With that she squeezed past me and pushed it under his chin. Looking at the bowl, I realise again how much things have changed. Not the grey, cardboardy, disposable things we have today but a very solid and weighty stainless-steel object. Put a couple of straps on it, stick it on your head and you would probably have been able to survive World War Two.

‘Doris, I think he hit me with it,’ I said.

‘Don’t be silly, boyo, John couldn’t have done it. Can you John,’ she said looking at him.

‘Well someone threw it and I don’t see anyone else around.’

‘Anyway, if you’re Okay, I must get on with my cleaning. There’s no end to it,’ she said as she scurried away.

I moved my wheelchair around at an angle just in time to see a movement out of the corner of my eye followed by the same bowl flying past my head.

‘That was you. I saw you that time,’ I shouted.

My outburst produced a strange reaction from the creature she had called John, who started emitting strange noises whilst twitching and struggling violently.

‘Hrrrg…Hrrrg…gorra bggr,’ – it sounded like, ‘Hrrrg… Hrrrg Netime.’

I realised that the bowl was to catch the spittle and drool which seemed to come simultaneously out of his mouth and nose in enormous quantities.

‘Now, John,’ said a different voice and I turned to see a true vision in white looking kindly at him. ‘You are going to fall off there again if you carry on like that.’

‘He hit me with that bowl and tried to do it again,’ I said while she was replacing the bowl next to his mouth.

‘Couldn’t have,’ she said ‘John wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m Anthea by the way. I work here. Are you here to visit someone?’

‘Yes, in a way, I came with the Diamond Club and they couldn’t get me on the bus for the outing. Long story I’m to wait for them to come back.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said looking bemused. ‘Are you injured or do you always use a wheelchair? I see that chair is one of ours.’

All thoughts of reply went out of my head as I gazed at this lovely creature. I instantly decided that she was a bit older than me, probably 17 or 18. She had the most wonderful corn blue eyes and natural curly ash-blond hair. As I gazed at her all rational thought went out of my head and I went from infatuation to lust to love in a few nanoseconds.

‘Well? Cat got your tongue,’ she said shaking me out of my daydreams.

‘Sorry, it’s the bang on my head. I injured both my knees. Ligaments torn; cartilages ripped. That sort of thing. I’m out of action for a bit.’

‘Sounds painful – how did you do it?’

‘Playing rugby. I got tackled from the front; my studs held and my legs bent the wrong way.’

‘So how long have you got to be in plaster?’ she enquired.

‘I am not sure, but it’s been two months so far and I think it’s going to be about the same again until they remove them.’

‘Then what?’

‘Well, I think I am going to have to undergo some lengthy physio to build the muscles back up. After that, I’m not sure.’

Our conversation was interrupted by a new wave of gurgling and spluttering from the stretcher and I turned to see two baleful eyes glaring at me from a strange face caught in the throes of violent twitching. I had never seen a face have such a range of movements all at the same time and the effect was somewhat disturbing, particularly as the glare appeared to be aimed at me.

‘It’s Okay, John,’ said Anthea. ‘He’s a friend. What’s your name?’

‘Toby.’

‘John, this is Toby, Toby, this is John. Why don’t you just sit there and have a chat? Do you want any tea or coffee? I’m about to get John something.’

‘If it’s no trouble Anthea, coffee would be great.’

‘No trouble. How do you take it?’

‘Milk, one sugar, thanks.’

‘Back in a minute. Just talk to him and he’ll quieten down.’ With that, she walked away moving with effortless grace, away whilst I stared in adolescent delight at her legs and pert bottom.

My dangerous thoughts were interrupted again by a fresh outbreak of violent movement next to me and I turned once again to see the same pair of baleful eyes.

With Anthea gone, I now started to study the creature called John in more detail. It was hard to say how old he was or what was wrong with him. He just seemed to twitch and drool. His eyes appeared to move independently; his teeth and mouth were crooked and he seemed to have no control over his body at all, which writhed and twitched in spasms for no apparent reason.

What was I meant to say to this creature? Would he understand? I was confused. Mixed-emotions. Here was someone that I had come to visit and to help only to be repelled by him. Too much to take in so I did what any teenager would do – block it out, take the easy option and think of the lovely Anthea.

‘Wow, beautiful,’ I mused going into a daydream state. I must have spoken out loud as I suddenly became aware that behind me movements were getting even more violent as he strained against the straps holding him to the stretcher.

‘Bgggr…hrrrrg…my grl,’ said John while a new stream of drool missed the bowl.

‘Sorry, John but I can’t understand. Here, let me loosen these straps a bit. You are going to do yourself an injury if you carry on like that.’

I loosened his chest strap with difficulty. ‘Stop wriggling for a minute. There.’

I immediately got a backhander across my eye.

‘Ow, that hurt. What’s the matter? Did you do that on purpose?’

‘Hrrrg…Hrrrg…’ said John, this time, the glare gone and large tears rolling down his cheeks.

’Are you laughing? Yes, you are. You’re laughing at me.

‘Not funny John.’

Now, I thought, what do you do in this situation? I can’t very well hit him back. Do I just carry on and ignore it – or what?

New interruptions from behind.

‘Hrrrg…Hrrrg…Hrrrg,’ spluttered John. Now completely out of control. ‘Hrrrg…Hrrrg…Hrrrg.’

‘I’ve got it, you do understand me and you’re laughing your head off,’ I almost shouted, at last beginning to see the funny side of it all.

My next expletive was interrupted by the lovely Anthea returning with our drinks; mine in a mug and his in a strange sort of adult sippy cup with a long plastic tube sticking out of it.

‘I see you’re getting on well,’ she said mistakenly.

Lovely, but maybe not the most perceptive of girls, I thought.

‘I don’t think he likes me much,’ I said.

‘Nonsense,’ said Anthea, suddenly bristling. ‘You just need a bit of patience to get to know him. Try giving him some of his drink and he’ll soon get used to you.’

What’s to know, I thought, here I am trying to force feed some psycho who clearly wants to kill or maim me for some reason.

‘Okay. Anthea, for you I will do my best,’ I wheedled in my most ingratiating tone.

God, I fancy her rotten, I thought as she walked away. Wonder if she has a boyfriend.

I was so busy staring after Anthea, clearly not concentrating on what I was doing, when a new batch of strange gurglings from John drew my attention.

‘Sorry, John,’ I said pulling the tube from out of his left nostril. ‘Missed your mouth,’ I joked. ‘No harm done.’

‘Bgr…sdring…sht…’ said John

‘What did you say, John? Try and speak more clearly. Otherwise we are not going to get on too well. After that, you can try and tell me why you feel the need to hit me.’

‘Yurrhuhrelsht,’ said John after a moment or two.

‘Okay, John, look, I’m going to be here for a while so why don’t we start again.’

‘Frkoft,’ said John.

‘What the hell is that meant to mean, John? You are going to have to try a bit harder. Wait there (as if he could do anything else), I’m off to the toilet. The coffee has got to me.’

Going past the kitchen I saw Doris.

‘Doris, could I have a word with you about John?’

‘What do want to know, boyo?’ she asked.

‘What actually is the matter with him?’

’Medically, I can’t tell you. He was probably born like that. I just clean the place. You will have to ask one of the medical staff. Ask the Director or Matron. They may tell you.

’I can tell you one thing though if you take the time and keep him calm sometimes you can actually make out a word or two.

‘The problem is that no one here has the time to spend. Too busy with their forms and such. I think there is more to John than meets the eye. Mind you, we Welsh have the insight you know. It’s the Druids and all that. One tip – don’t go easy on him. He gets away with too much.’

Wheeling my way down the corridor, I noticed that the Director’s office door was open with no one inside. No answers for me there then.

‘Hi, John, I’m back,’ I said, cheerily stating the