An Ordinary Child

By Maxwell Hayden

Born in 1966, before it was legal to be gay in the United Kingdom. This is the personal and sometimes graphic account of a boy’s journey of sexual enlightenment through five decades. Told in short accounts the reader gets an insight into the life of a gay man. Discovering a crazy gay life only to face prejudice with the discovery of HIV in the 1980s. His travels take him through personal relationships and employment disputes. The historic changing attitudes and lowering of the age of consent in the 1990s. The introduction of civil partnership in the 2000s and eventually gay marriage in the 2010s. If the control of a relationship lies with whoever cares least, we will all go to hell!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528992817

Maxwell Hayden

Maxwell was an artistic child. His mother and grandfather were both artists. He first worked in the property industry and then moved into interior and fashion design. Later, life took him into property development and garden design. After more relationships than Elizabeth Taylor, but without getting to keep the jewels, he now spends a major part of his life travelling, all in the appropriate style!

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About the Author

Maxwell was an artistic child. His mother and grandfather were both artists. He first worked in the property industry and then moved into interior and fashion design. Later, life took him into property development and garden design. After more relationships than Elizabeth Taylor, but without getting to keep the jewels, he now spends a major part of his life travelling, all in the appropriate style!

Copyright Information ©

Maxwell Hayden 2022

The right of Maxwell Hayden to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 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.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of the author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

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

ISBN 9781528992800 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528992817 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Chapter One

Fish and Chips

Deep in a child’s sleep, woken by my older brother. Something was going on downstairs. It could not have been early morning yet as the bedroom was still quite warm. There was an argument going on in the living room. It must be Mum and Dad. We crept to the top of the stairs, as we always did when sleep was a problem. Never daring to actually venture down the busy seventies patterned stairway to the living room door. On this occasion, we did not need to get any closer, we could hear all we needed to from the landing. The house door slammed. I looked at my brother. That was Mum leaving, he said. We slowly slid down the stairs on our bottoms but however slowly we slid, the cheap sixties semi let my father know we were on our way. Suddenly, the living room door opened and a frustrated, angry face appeared.

What are you two doing? Dad said.

Where’s Mum gone? Paul said.

She’s left and she’s not coming back, came my father’s reply. I crumpled into a little ball. A four-year-old’s world had just been smashed. I cried out a baby’s cry and it did not stop. Uncontrollable hysteria followed and although my brother tried to help, I was having none of his words of encouragement.

The key opened the back door and my mother appeared with fish and chips. My life was back and my father was a liar never to be trusted again.

Deep Emotion

My father drove a lorry long distance so my mother was alone in the house with my brother and me much of the time. This had some benefits; it meant that we never spoke baby talk, as Mum communicated as though we were adults, but much of her deeper feelings came through and she was by no means a happy woman. A subtle level of depression was certainly present. She was unhappy with her lot in life and it was several years later that my brother and I learnt the reasons for this level of misery.

A Working Mother

Once I was old enough to go to school, my mother trained to be a teacher and my father began to work nights. This meant that Mum used the car during the day and my father was home, although in bed, when we returned from school. Perhaps life was less painful for Mum. Now she wasn’t left for days on her own and also had an adult life away from her children. I do think my father was jealous of my mother’s freedom and the fact that she was in an environment of other academics.

The Baby Sitter

My parents seldom socialised at the weekends but on the odd occasion they did, an older girl from the end of the street entertained us. She had long, dark hair and I enjoyed the attention whenever she came over. My party trick was to stand on the windowsill with the curtains closed behind me. I would dance on the sill in my striped pyjamas wiggling my hips. Then without warning, I pulled out my willy and swung it around with this motion. Unfortunately, on one particular evening, the fun got a little out of hand. My brother and I were on the sofa with Susan pushing it back and forth. We were laughing and screaming until I fell off the front and bit my tongue as I struck the carpet. The blood and the screaming began. I was led to the kitchen sink and stood with my head over it, blood pulsing forth. My brother telephoned Susan’s father and he arrived a few minutes later. The tap was on and the blood was washing around the bowl and down the plughole. Susan’s father reassured me that it was mostly water washing down the sink and then inspected the damage. I was given a towel to place in my mouth and the bleeding stopped. Pride comes before a fall I suppose.

Tonka Truck

Were winters really bad in the early seventies, or was it just the fact that we didn’t have gas central heating? When the snow came, it really did come. Paul and I woke with frost on our top lips. The window was half-frosted up with a very pretty pattern. The Christmas holidays had arrived and we were all going over to Granddad and Grandma’s. The excitement was mounting and the journey over was always fun. We went down what seemed like a huge hill and back up the other side. My father made a great play of speeding down the hill and up the other side. As with most childish memories, this was removed when junction 30 of the M62 was built.

We arrived at their house and my grandfather had inflated three Santas and the Christmas tree was bright and real. We only had a false one at home and they also had a colour television and electric radiators. Everyone was civil and Paul and I settled into our beds waiting for Santa. The night took forever and eventually, I fell asleep. I woke early and Paul and I dived into our sacks, which were at the bottom of our beds. There were a lot of small things but not any of the big stuff. We moved downstairs and by this time, the house had woken up. I opened a Tonka truck and a digger. Not what I was expecting, but it was great. My brother went into the kitchen to find Grandma preparing dinner. Does your brother like his Tonka truck? she asked.

How did you know Santa brought him that? The game was up and my brother took great pride informing me there was no Santa and Mum and Dad had bought everything.

Torso

Our house had the largest garden in the close. My father under my mother’s instruction had built an environment suitable for children. Most of the children that were in favour with my brother, Paul, and I were allowed to play with us in our playground. We had a large seesaw and swings made from scaffold poles, a stone windmill with four-metre sails which were hand wound and sometimes a tree house if we could be bothered to build one. Our two main friends were Daniel and Gary. Both were one year older than my brother and me. And because my brother was three years older than me, I always wanted Daniel to play with me. Daniel was the older brother who liked me. I knew at a very early age how to create a bond with someone, which often made others jealous. My brother was often the jealous one. He was older, stronger and more experienced. He’d had three years advantage to create friendships, so I found ways to make myself more appealing. This was often to do with the way I used my imagination to describe make-believe adventures for my friends and me to enact. I also introduced gunfight scenes that involved shootings and a need to require first aid and hospital play.

The sun was out at last. This was the worst summer I could remember, which wasn’t saying much; I was only six. We’d spent weeks of the summer holiday sat on the dining room window sill watching the rain run down the glass, I say dining room but the dining table was in the living room, this room was created to give Mum somewhere for her piano, which she rarely played. I think the wall was really built to give my mother somewhere to escape from my father and also a way to stop neighbours from staring straight through the house. Anyway, back to the rainy summer. The rain stopped and the clouds cleared within minutes. Daniel and Gary were around at the door. Are you playing out? came the call.

Yes, sure, came my reply. Four of us played for a while. We ran into the wood behind the house and Gary and I hid. Daniel and Paul were commandos and we were the enemy. They had to find us and we had to hide and shoot them before they discovered us. We were younger and usually lost and if we didn’t, my brother would use his strength to resolve the problem. Now Paul was excluded and I took control of the story lines. Instead of an enemy, we would invent one and then we were all on the same side. This meant we would all remain friends. The diplomat, the manipulator was born.

Daniel and I were left to search for the enemy. I think because I was the younger brother and he was the older, we didn’t have a power problem with each other also the fact that he had dark hair and a muscular ten-year-old’s body worked for me. Crawling through the long grass or climbing high trees, I was happy. We ended our play by retreating to the shed and then continuing the game with Daniel requiring hospital play. Daniel had been shot and I had to remove the bullet. First, I had to cut open his jacket and this was done by cutting along with my fingers to open the join of his jacket. I then pushed his jacket back revealing his white t-shirt. Then with his jacket still on, I cut from his waist lifting his shirt. Hang on, he said, I’ll take it off. This made life easier because now I would be able to work on the whole of his torso. He stood up in the shed and took off his jacket and then removed his t-shirt, lifting the lower part over his head, revealing his stomach and then his chest. He stood and looked at me, so big and strong, smooth skin and so attractive.

Put your jacket back on, I said. He did and lay back down on the shed floor. He lay motionless and I began to operate. The jacket was lying open and I had decided the bullet was in the centre of his chest. Giving a commentary as a worked, I placed one hand on his warm chest and made prodding motions with the other. Now, I just have to get under the bullet. Nearly. Yes, I’ve got it. Slowly, I lift my hand away from his chest and place the bullet on the shed floor. Now I have to close the opening. I thread an imaginary needle and proceed with the operation. Daniel remains motionless and I continue working. When the stitching is finished, I rub my hands over the wound to smooth away the imperfection. The rubbing continues and my hands smoothly slide across his delicate skin. Over his stomach and down under his belt a little. Not too much, just a little. My hands work over his chest, smooth and firm with perfectly placed nipples; a chunky, swimmer build.

An innocent beginning you may think. After that, Daniel used to say, do you want to play with my stomach? And I would always reply yes.

Infant School

I was popular at school. I’d learnt to mix and learnt how to endear myself to people quite well. For the teachers, I was bright and an interested child. For the other classmates, I was fun and good at creating a fantasy game.

I attended a mixed school with a completely separate home life. Friends at school were never brought home. I don’t really know why. Perhaps I was starting the compartmentalisation of my life to give me the option of keeping certain aspects of my life secret from the other parts.

Sweets

Lunchtime arrived and Jacky and I were bored; she was a large girl and sometimes when I was in that mood, we would hang around together. This day, we ended up in the cloakroom. The school had one at each end of a long corridor with the hall and kitchens on one side and most of the classrooms down the other. High Victorian hooks suspended the coats and bags. Systematically, Jacky and I worked our way through all the pockets gathering all the sweets and then preceded to eat them. Our mistake came when we offered them to another child who caught us in the act. The headmaster was informed and Jacky and I were told off. The problem for me was that I was terrified of my mother finding out that I had been stealing. My fear became so strong that my brother was sent for from the junior part of the school and asked to make sure my mother did not get to hear about the incident. He agreed and I was at ease. The teachers knew my mum and also knew that she was a teacher perhaps sometimes a teacher as a mother can help.

A Beautiful Boy

Only a few events remain in most people’s memories from their childhood, I think I remember quite a lot. Probably because from an early age, I knew I was different.

My brother and I would walk to school together in the early years of my childhood but quite soon, I was walking alone and liked it that way. On one evening, I remember walking home and as I reached the top of the street before our close, I saw a boy of my age walking down the pavement opposite. He had the most beautiful face I had ever seen, big bright eyes and smooth, short, dark hair. He caught my gaze. We stared, as we walked a little. The stare was broken and then reengaged a little further down the street. I could not calculate the importance of this exchange of interest. I did know that my reasons for looking were probably more to do with affection and his were probably to do with a possible friendship. I would sometimes run home to wait for him to arrive. I never spoke to him.

Christmas

All my great grandparents on my mother’s side died when I was very young. My only real memories were of my great grandmother, Annie; she would travel over from Manchester for Christmas, and I would spend evenings playing Dominos with her.

She enjoyed the time we spent together and only now when I’m old enough to appreciate her do I really miss her.

My mother’s sister was also married and my cousins were both younger than me. Katie was only a baby and Karl, a nuisance. Well, for a few years. Some Christmases, the four of them would come over for dinner at my grandparents and with the addition of my uncle, David, the family was complete. I say family but what I have to stress is that the word family describes the fact that we were all related. The ‘family’ tolerated each other and I think some of them actually believed they were a family in the loving, secure sense of the word. The truth was that there had been no love in that family since the death of my great grandparents. It was a house full of people with a pecking order and no hugs. A few rebels, but none that ever seemed to take much of a stand. I was seven years old so I hadn’t worked all this out just yet.

Christmas dinner would start with my grandmother rising at some unearthly hour to put the bird in the oven. Well, I say unearthly, I’m sure my mother would argue that fact stating that Christmas lunch was nearer dinner. We had driven over and my aunty and family were due over in an hour. We always arrived first as uncle Jack preferred to spend a short period at the house. The house was large with high ceilings and a huge staircase, which turned twice. At the top of the stairs was a tallboy. They had a separate toilet, which seemed so grand to me, and the rear bedroom was the size of our house. The dining room below was where we all gathered. Even the large dining table wasn’t big enough to accommodate all eleven of us. Unfortunately, that meant that the children were placed on the adjacent kitchen table, which was lower than the main table. The dinner would end with Christmas pudding and custard. Inside the dessert, we would find small coins wrapped in foil. Coffee would be taken in the sitting room in front of the grand tree. It wasn’t a mansion, but I was a northern lad and only seven. The presents would be taken from under the tree and given to each member of the family. A small pile would form at the foot of each adult and we children would gather ours between our legs while sat on the floor. The youngest would start first and open all their presents and then the next. My grandmother would be last as she was a few months older than my grandfather. She would drag out this procedure saving every piece of paper while we children were desperate to play with our presents. If the timing worked out, we would watch the Queen’s speech on their colour television. Afterwards, it would soon be switched off to prevent damage from over use. The words ‘we don’t need this on’ would come from my grandfather’s mouth, as he moved towards the set.

The Farm

Summer holidays were spent in Devon in our small caravan pulled by our Mini. We stayed on a farm, which my grandparents had found one year. No toilets or showers, just our chemical loo which was located in a tall, blue tent. We always seemed to be blessed with beautiful weather and life was wonderful. Every time a summer term ended at school, I never thought the next would ever arrive. The farm was paradise. The farmhouse on the other hand was filthy. To me, there didn’t seem to be an end to the farmyard and a start to the house. There were three children at the farmhouse that we spent the summer playing with. Barry, Brenda and Billy. They were wonderful fun although Billy took great fun in throwing his new puppy into the duck pond again and again. Thankfully, after the fifth soaking, it learnt to swim to the other side and retreat to the house.

We would sometimes rise early with my father to help with the milking. Well, I say help more like watch. The cows were huge and terrified me. On one occasion, we found a new-born calf and we were asked to give it a name, my father was determined to call it after my grandmother; unfortunately, it ended up being a boy.

Some days were spent on the beach; a long drive in front of cream painted huts took us to the usual spot where the family pitched camp. My great grandparents retired here and this had been the annual holiday destination for years. In the summer, my grandparents would holiday with Grandma’s parents first, then her much younger sister and husband and then we would travel down. I don’t remember much of my great grandparents; they died when I was very young and all I really retain is the sense and words of love, which always come from my mother and great aunty whenever their names or the old family holidays in Devon are mentioned.

My father would inflate the boat and a voyage would begin. I hated the sea. I could not swim and my brother and father thought nothing of rowing out from the shore over high waves. I don’t think I was a wimp, just not very happy with trusting two people who didn’t, in my mind, have my safety at heart. Mum was sunbathing with the family belongings and I was on my own. We reached the sand bank, which was only visible for a few hours at low tide. We walked along the bank looking for shells