Early life of questioning

It all begins with me as a typical five year old asking “why”. He goes on and on and on. You know the sort if ever you have had a young inquisitive child. They never know when to stop. The frustrated mother of mine eventually accuses me of being a doubting Thomas.

My search for the point of life had begun.

 

As I grew older I read stories of the carpenters son ( I was one of them) who asked questions and searched for answers to some thought provoking questions. That was me, my mother always said I had a probing mind. I tried to read myself but we only had a few books. One was the “Golden wonder book” It was a compendium with lots of stories, Greek fables of Theseus and the minotaur, Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe etc they were a good basis to learn from thought my mother.

 

She used try to encourage me to read but I preferred to hear her read the stories. Like all kids they had to be read exactly right no missing out bits. Then if I were to write she would tell me how to do it right handed. She told of how if she used her left hand she was hit with a ruler. This became like a psychological torture. I only discovered the sources of this compulsion later in life. It probably led at the time to me being more timid around education than I should have been. It even caused me to stammer I now believe.

 

One winter after an allergic reaction to penicillin I was out of school for so long that in order to catch up and stand a better chance in taking the 11 plus I was sent to a tutor. She observed I was stuttering, shy, lacking in educational confidence and needing some specialist maths teaching. It was clear from then that everyone could sense I was very intelligent.

 

This was also evidenced in an incident with a bus. The old type of bus, with a conductor and a platform at the back. Well my friends and I would jump on and off the back while the driver and conductor sat together at the font of the bus having a break. This one time the conductor caught hold of me. Unbeknown to me he intended to drop me off at the next stop. However I wriggled free and jumped off the moving bus. I landed on the grass verge and must have banged my head. The next thing I recall was waking up in the armchair in the front room. The conductor (blondie we used to call him) was there concerned for my welfare with my mother telling me off, both at the same time. Not many of his passengers jumped off a moving bus.

 

This plus numerous other scrapes I got into involving falling through roofs, splitting my nose with a cycle lamp, falling out of the bathroom window all involving what we now know as head traumas and led to me being sent to a specialist hospital in Exeter. There I had a cap put over my skull with electrodes which measure my brain activity. This was when they thought I was very advanced for my age and probably very intelligent.

 

This discovery was a mixed blessing. My mother obviously very proud probably let it be known. When the my friends found out they called me a big head. This was my first insight into the world of jealousy and bullying. The problem for the bullies was two fold. The first was I was clever enough to retort at least I had something to be big headed about. That was such a good retort there was no further point after that comeback. The second was I was very strong and determined not to be beaten. The fights I got into were numerous.

 

In order to get to sleep my mother taught me a trick her elder brother taught her. Holding and controlling your breath. This could allow me to fill my chest with air, hold it there for a considerable time relative to my piers and use this together with my long arms to bear hug any opponent. The grip was too much for most and I became someone they wanted to pick fights with by virtue of my superior strength. So again ever the resourceful I developed an ability to twist someone’s arm around their back. This constant fighting led to me being sent to judo lessons to develop a sense of discipline over my actions and that fighting is futile as it only generates more fighting.

 

Still I asked questions about everything to do with religion. We never went to church as mother and father could not believe in a god after a war which both of them lived through. Both of my granddads also lived through their wars but one had severe shellshock the other severe frostbite. Their experiences led me to dislike the idea of armed conflict.

 

I liked to sing at the school assemblies and it still echoes in my mind those classic hymns we sung, Jerusalem always got the whole school together and Praise him was a very thought provoking hymn. This was my first experience of whole groups of people joining together and creating a peaceful atmosphere. This I experienced all through my later life, at Christmas mass and other functions in any church especially.

 

I left school to become an electrician which involved learning about atoms. I questioned why there was nothing between them, a vacuum was the vague answer, which when coupled with “nature abhors a vacuum” made no sense to me then or now. Those thoughts lived with me for a very long time.

 

I also met a religious young lady whom I married despite having problems with the fact I was not christened as she. This began to crystallise my mothers view that the church was full of hypocritical people. So I lost respect for all but the very devoted. As my grandparents also endured the two wars it was a view backed up by the total stupidity of those times.

 

When I discovered that not all Christians were the same I grew a lot of respect for the Jehovah’s witnesses (JW’s). It seemed they did not believe in war yet were not cowards as they volunteered as stretcher bearers and the like. The one confusing thing was their outdated view of science. Given that blood donning was something I did to save my fellow man I was confused by their views. Then it became clear that this was born of misinterpreting the words “thou shalt not take blood” written somewhere in the bible. Well every one can interpret anything any way they like I concluded.