THE WORRYING KIND (Part 2)

"I am an old man and have had many troubles.

But most of them never happened.

American Art Postcard - mid 1950's

"..had many troubles..but most of them never happened ?"

How can that be ?

Worry/Anxiety can be created by catastrophic events, such as the death of a parent and also by a repetitive , perhaps individually less dramatic, series of events which, by their being reinforced over a longer period of time, can have the same undermining effect upon the psyche of a child ( or adult).

Look at this rather difficult image.

Traced upon this unfortunate man's back are a miriad of tributaries that lightning has burned upon the surface area of his body.

Internally, and, I would suggest, emotionally/psychologically, these tendril-like paths can also be found to have been burned into being.Physically, I would not be at all surprised to learn that this man might have physically shaken for a long time, his nerves having been ' jangled' by the force of the electrical energy coursing through his body , seeking a place to ground out.

In my case, I had already endured a couple of years of my father's* abuses, his anger, his physical abuse, disatisfaction, disdain and all round general threat towards me.

*At this time I was not aware that my'father' was actually my step-father.

This, immediately followed by the death of my only protector, my mother, must have been like a rumbling tembler throughout every part of my being.

But then there was Gladys and her parents, Harold and Maggie Wilson ready with open arms to care for me.
Gladys had cared for my sister, Gail, and I since we were infants, allowing for my mother to run her hairdressing salon, based in my grandfather's front room in Crown Square.

Simple. good Yorkshire folk, these.

Gladys's dad, Harold, worked in nearby quarries while Maggie cooked, washed, cleaned house and proudly scrubbed the classic Yorkshire 'welcome mat', a sandstone step, until it was concave from constantly being scoured clean.

Harold would arrive home, tired out, his hands rough from his daily toil but always, always he would step into his home across the clean stoop, to a hot bath and meal and a place next to the fire.