Take Them or I Will Kill Them

About the Author

Tracey Anne Cox has written under a pseudonym to protect identities for the purposes of this book. She was born in 1966 and lived in Bristol all her life. For the past 28 years, she has worked for the local authority. Tracey Anne runs a local Rainbow Guides unit. Tracey Anne has written for fun in the past and produced plays for the Rainbow unit. This is her first book.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to Dot and Gill for sharing their incredible story and allowing me to put this in word. Also, this is dedicated to the memory of Lil and Barney.

Copyright Information ©

Tracey Anne Cox (2021)

The right of Tracey Anne Cox to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author 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.

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

ISBN 9781528954419 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528955027 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

I would like to acknowledge my dear friend, Marion, who I call my ‘adoptive mum’. Thank you for your encouragement with the book and your belief in me.

I want to thank my friend, Tamsyn. Thank you for your support and for allowing me to chatter endlessly about the book. I’d like to acknowledge all my friends whose enthusiasm and encouragement has helped me achieve my dream. Thank you to Austin Macauley Publishers for their work, advice and help in producing this book.

Prologue

The baby was in her cot, cold, thirsty and unattended. At ten months of age, Diane knew better than to cry, as it never got her anywhere. In fact, where possible, she knew better than to draw unwanted attention to herself. It only resulted in being shouted at, sworn at, or even being given a beating. For her tender age, Diane was very wise, her survival depended on it, and instinct-driven by the wish to live, she ensured her safety.

She didn’t know where her mum, Rita, was, as her mum had left the house earlier. Her older brother, Frank, was entrusted to look after her, but he had gone out to play with his brothers and friends. It was the 1950s and there weren’t as many rules and restrictions around as to who could look after young children and infants. Sometimes, older sisters or brothers were entrusted with their younger siblings’ care.

It was getting dark and she was becoming colder and colder, yet remained still and quiet. She drifted off to sleep.

Later, she was woken by the sound of her dad, Francis. The bedroom door flew open and a shard of light lightened the dingy bedroom. Her dad kicked the bedroom door shut. Diane flinched on hearing the sound of his voice and trembled with fear.

He had someone with him, another woman, not her mum. He pushed the woman on the bed and she giggled. Both were drunk and her dad switched on a bedside lamp. Both, he and the woman, were oblivious to the silent infant, who regarded them from her cot. Feeling curious about this other woman, Diane stood up in her cot, clutching the bars with her small hands. She was wearing just a rag around her for a nappy, which was soggy and smelling, as it had not been changed that day and she wore a grubby vest which was too big and used to belong to her older brother, Frank. Her hair was dishevelled and her body and face were grubby. She had not had a bath; she was rarely bathed. Usually, her bath time routine was a quick wipe to the face and body with a grubby, musty smelling flannel, which acted as the cleaning routine for the whole family. If you looked at her, you could not be blamed for thinking you were looking at a ragamuffin from the 1800s and not Britain in the mid-1950s.

Diane regarded the woman who was lying on her back, her father laid on top of her. The woman had curly brown hair and a heavily painted face. As she caught Diane watching her, she pushed Francis off of her. He groaned in frustration, emitting an unintelligible expletive. The woman sat up and grabbed her handbag. Undoing it, she took out a half packet of ginger biscuits and walked over to the silent infant whose steady gaze was on her. She handed Diane a biscuit, which Diane quickly took before it could be taken away again. Diane was very hungry and began sucking the biscuit. The woman looked at her and said, Shhhh, then put her finger to her lips.

Diane, intent on her biscuit, ate it quickly whilst the woman joined Francis on the bed. When the biscuit was finished, Diane lay back down. She was no longer interested in her dad and this woman; she knew what they were doing was what she’d seen her mum and dad do many times before. Recently, her mum and dad hadn’t been doing ‘that’ as her mum’s stomach was large and she would push her husband off of her when he was becoming amorous.

Later, she was woken by the sound of her dad’s voice, urging the woman to leave. You’d better go now. She’ll be back soon.

The woman stayed asleep, so he nudged her awake. She opened her eyes, which looked bleary, What?

He was sitting up now and shook her. Get going, I said. The wife will be back later.

Wide awake now, the woman got out of the bed and hurriedly dressed. As she left, she addressed Francis who was getting out of bed clumsily due to the amount of beer he had drunk the night before. Bloody charming, that what you are. You don’t know how to treat a woman.

Francis looked at her, Wha…?

She opened the door and turned her head, Forget it, and stormed off her heels, making a loud noise on the lino.

After she left, Francis shuffled over towards the cot. Diane lay as stiff as a board, her eyes wide open, keeping them on her father. Decades later, this behaviour would be described by social workers as ‘frozen watchfulness’.

Fortunately, this time, Francis just looked at her and walked out of the door. It didn’t occur to him to show her any affection or check to see if she needed changing or required feeding. That was a woman’s job. As far as Francis was concerned, the only needs he considered important were his own.

As his footsteps grew quieter and quieter, showing that he was further away, Diane let out a sigh of relief and fell asleep.

This was one of Diane’s first memories and although she was only very young, Diane recalled that incident in adulthood and the smell of ginger biscuits made her feel nauseous, bringing back that vivid memory.

Chapter One

Diane was born in the Forest of Dean. Her father, Francis, married a gypsy girl called Rita, and for her former years, they lived in a house which they rented. Frank was the oldest, followed by Diane, Jo, Matthew, John, Jack and James.

Francis had come from a good family, who worked hard, but when he met Rita, he changed. Rita was a rebel and feckless. Due to marrying out of her gypsy heritage, she was disowned by her family.

Francis had a sister called Bet, who lived in Bristol with her husband, Bertie. These were the closest relatives along with Francis and Bet’s elderly mother, who lived in the basement of their rented house. Francis’s father had died years ago and he agreed his mother could live with them as she had a small pension and this contributed to the rent.

Bet and Bertie were registered blind, even though Bet had sight in one eye. Although they tried to visit as much as they could and bring gifts for the children and had a fairly regular presence in the children’s lives, they lived too far away to realise what was happening in the family home.

As a result, the couple was well and truly on their own. Living without the steady advice of their parents, they struggled to budget their money.

Rita didn’t seem to realise how to keep a home tidy and clean. She was rebellious and would not have accepted any advice, no matter how kindly it was meant. As a result, any money they had was squandered and gone virtually as soon as Francis had been paid. Ever since Rita first fell pregnant and had her first child, Frank, she never worked again.

Even some of the poorest people in their neighbourhood, with careful budgeting and saving, were able to create a semblance of cosiness in their home. Unfortunately, this was not the case in Francis and Rita’s home. Rita didn’t know how to make a meal stretch for several days and consequently, the family often went hungry. As their family grew, their limited resources became less and less.

From what Diane could remember, their home was always cold, there was never enough food and their clothes were often dirty and ill-fitting. From an early age, Diane seemed to know not to be demanding and was often quiet so as not to draw her parent’s attention to herself. It might have been because she often saw her older brother, Frank, getting a beating, sometimes for the slightest things. Frank was rebellious and seemed to incur the wrath of his father quite often. As he grew older, he learnt to stay out of his parents’ way. He would hang around with friends and sometimes bring back food he had stolen. His parents gladly took the food without asking any questions.

Her parents had a volatile relationship and both drank heavily, leaving an unsettling, unpredictable and frightening environment for the children.

It was difficult to judge which was worse, parents being intoxicated or arguing over the fact they had no money to buy alcohol.

Both parents would physically fight one another, especially when intoxicated and didn’t realise or care about the impact this would have on their small children. They were oblivious of their young offspring, sometimes to the extent where a child might be caught in the crossfire. There was no remorse from either parent if a child was accidentally hurt and quite often, Rita would shout at the sobbing child, "Well, you