Checking I had my fags, lighter and wallet (contents a pound) I opened the window.
Our house had almost been designed for this. Being the only boy in the family had predetermined that I’d get the smallest room and my window just happened to be directly above the front porch.
Scrambling out onto the small flat roof I lowered myself until I was hanging by finger tips about 18 inches off the ground and then let go. Disaster struck; I jarred my left knee on landing and realised I hadn’t got a bandage on, not necessary for an evening doing prep.
I was stuck with it, the only alternative being ringing the door bell and sheepishly admitting what I’d just done and was planning to do, not a comfortable thought. Cursing under my breath I limped as quickly as I could up the road.
Being early October it was dark and a getting quite cold, not freezing though. I didn’t have a coat or jacket; outdoor clothes lived in the hall downstairs and the risk of discovery would have been too high. All I was wearing was a t-shirt, jeans and a ratty old pair of plimsolls.
At the top of our road I made my first decision, going left was a long walk to nowhere useful so I turned right towards the green. On the way I made my next decision.
My first thought was to walk 7 miles to Midhurst and 3 miles out the other side to my best friends home. I discarded the idea almost immediately. His parents would take me in, absolutely no doubt about it but they’d be obliged to let my parents know where I was. Going there would put them in an intolerable position.
The only realistic option was the 6 mile walk to Haslemere and out to Hindhead, about another 2 miles. Once there I’d be on the A3 and could choose right for Guildford and London or left for Portsmouth. I was confident that I’d have no trouble hitching, the A3 was busy day and night and a lot of lorries used it.
After about a mile I was starting to feel cold, my knee was hurting and I’d hardly started. Righteous anger and plain awkwardness kept my feet moving.
Just before the last turning towards Haslemere there was a field with a five barred gate. The area of ground in front of the gate was a popular spot for ‘courting’ couples so I wasn’t too worried when I saw a car with no lights.
A few feet on I suddenly spotted the Riley badge and knew exactly what the car was, at that moment the headlights came on full-beam blinding me and stopping me in my tracks. I heard a door open and a man’s voice called out “Come on, Malcolm get into the car please”.
I just stood there in tears, a mixture of despondency, fear and almost overwhelming relief; I was in a lot of pain and very cold. Getting no response from me the policeman walked over, took hold of my arm and gently manoeuvred me to the car.
I vaguely noticed that he was a Sergeant as he got me into the back seat and shut the door; which I surreptitiously tried and discovered only opened from outside.
Once he’d got himself settled in the front he called in to say they’d got me and asked control to ring my parents, referring to them by their first names. I shouldn’t have been surprised, Dad being in the ambulance service would bring him into regular contact with the police.
There was something nagging at me. Obviously my parents had reported me as a runaway, although the speed with which they’d moved was suspicious but out of 4 roads I could have chosen, how did they know I’d come this way? The police had clearly been waiting for me.
I asked the Sergeant and got a chuckle followed by “Oh, we didn’t know so we covered all the roads out of Lurgashall”. Oh shit! Not only was that several patrol cars; it would involve 2 police forces.
Right now I was in the care of Surrey Constabulary but my home was in West Sussex as were most of my alternative routes. Just to complete my horror he told me that both forces had a dog patrol out in case I ran cross-country.
The car still hadn’t moved and I was quite happy with that; every minute we stayed here was a stay of execution. Now it was the Sergeant’s turn for a question. Where had I been headed?
When I just shrugged and said “London I suppose, hitching” Sergeant Nice Man turned into a beast, glared then shouted at me, detailing what he’d do to me if I was his kid; pretty much what Dad was going to be doing to me before long.
After that he snapped “let’s get this silly little boy home!” and the car started up; taking me to my doom.
Love
So this is your actual story? I haven’t had a good chance to look through your blog yet, but thanks at least for linking mine! I’m in France at them moment on very slow internet, so I’ll get a good chance to catch up when I get home
.
x
Hi Sam
I’m very much afraid that it’s all true, certainly not a boring adolescence!
Have a great time in France
love
Malcolm
I had a similiar experience.
My friend Paul and I decided that we would run away. There was no underlying problems which caused us to do so, we just thought it would be fun. We stole 40 pounds in cash ( A huge amount to an 8 year old).
We travelled to the otherside of Dublin and it was almost 2am before we were picked up by the police. We were cold, wet and hungry. (We spent the money on toys)
What else would a pair of 8 year olds spend £40 on? I’m glad there wasn’t an underlying cause though, that’s way too young to be backed into that sort of corner.
Glad it all turned out OK in the end (I assume that it did)
love
Malcolm