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  Full Circle

  Linden Carroll

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Full Circle

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Copyright © Linden Carroll (2019)

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1A New Life

  Chapter 2London’s War

  Chapter 3Camden Town

  Chapter 4Primrose Hill

  Chapter 5Alex Sets His Routine on Streets

  Chapter 6The First Meeting

  Chapter 7Friends and Lovers

  Chapter 8Confessions

  Chapter 9The Birth

  Chapter 10Life Back in London

  Chapter 11The West Country

  Chapter 12Canada

  Chapter 13Amy Goes Home

  Chapter 14England Beckons

  Chapter 15The Homecoming

  Chapter 16Business and Pleasure

  Chapter 17Peace

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Originating from England and having travelled throughout Canada, the author currently resides in beautiful British Columbia. Spending part of the year in the Cascade Mountains of Northern Washington, USA, she enjoys walking with her northern canine friend and howling to the moon with the coyotes around the camp fire.

  Her life has been dedicated to the rescue of dogs and enjoying the natural environment.

  The author’s first novel, Olive, a historical fiction, was released in August 2017. Her second book, Full Circle, is also a historical fiction.

  About the Book

  This is a story of the indomitable spirit of a youth into manhood, his earliest years spent growing up in the war-ridden city of London, England.

  Twelve years old and orphaned following WW2, he follows a clandestine lifestyle on the London streets while England rebuilds after the war. His rescue of another teen from the streets and their liaison cause him to experience the pain and intensity of first love and parenthood, subsequently separating them.

  Becoming a seafaring adventurer, he spends many years travelling across England and Canada, finally returning to his homeland to reclaim his lost love and their daughter.

  This novel follows the path of an orphaned boy and all-consuming, undying love, spanning more than 50 years, ebbing past the physical, flowing into every hidden corner of the mind and flooding the very soul to eternity.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to a wanderer who found love along life’s path, and peace and solace in a canine friend.

  Copyright © Linden Carroll (2019)

  The right of Linden Carroll to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her 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 9781788781442 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781788783187 (Hardback)

  ISBN 9781528955898 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Author’s Note

  While a fictional piece of work, this historical novel is based in part on facts and extracts from a friend’s life shared, albeit with some degree of trepidation.

  Prologue

  This is a story of the indomitable spirit of a youth into manhood; his earliest years spent growing up in the war-ridden city of London, England.

  12 years old and orphaned following WW2, he follows a clandestine lifestyle on the London streets while England rebuilds after the war. His rescue of another teen from the streets and their liaison cause him to experience the pain and intensity of first love and parenthood subsequently separating them.

  Becoming a seafaring adventurer, he spends many years travelling across England and Canada finally returning to his homeland to reclaim his lost love and their daughter.

  This novel follows the path of an orphaned boy and all consuming, undying love, spanning more than 50 years ebbing past the physical, flowing into every hidden corner of the mind and flooding the very soul to eternity.

  Chapter 1

  A New Life

  Coldness engulfed him, the like of which he had never experienced before, as he stood quietly over her lifeless body. Her face glowed with a calmness unfamiliar to him. Her arms were clasped tightly to her as if she were in prayer; those arms which would never hold him and comfort him again. She was dead, he knew that but for a moment, refused to acknowledge the stark nakedness of truth staring up at him. Reality took him suddenly in its deadly embrace and he knew that he would never ever again be loved in the way she had loved him. Her poor body worn out with overwork, lack of nourishment and day-to-day struggles had fought a valiant war but her weak heart finally ceased to fight any longer. Shuddering, he knelt beside her and prayed, his young voice harsh with emotion.

  “Dear God, although you don’t seem very dear to me at this moment, you look after this fine lady. She did her best for me and everybody else. She was too good for this rotten world you put her in and left her alone to look after herself. You may have thought you were doing the right thing when you took my dad to be with you but you were wrong, so you make things up to her and do the right thing by her. Give her all the pretty things she always dreamed of, silk dresses and flowers, lots and lots of flowers. I’m looking to you to make it happen.”

  He stayed for a while, the memory of her image boring into his brain until his head ached, enervating his being, overwhelming him with grief. A sudden rush of adrenalin propelled him to his feet and up the stairs to his little bedroom where he threw his few belongings in a bag. Reaching up to the top shelf in the cupboard, he found the little tin box that held all his documents and an emergency supply of cash. They had both agreed the money was to be used only in the direst of emergencies; this was certainly one and to his relief, there was a sizeable sum. She’d always tried to keep him safe. Seizing upon it gratefully, he rushed downstairs pausing for one last look on his way out. I’d better get going, he thought, they’ll be coming for me as soon as this gets out, so he hit the street running and didn’t look back.

  Twelve years old, almost thirteen but going on 30, he’d just lost his mother, his only parent and was about to embark on his new life with no home and nobody in this world to care or give a damn or so he thought.

  ****

  Born in 1938 at a time of enormous unrest with the pending war, his mother had named him Alexander after Alexander the Great. She always relayed the story of Alexander the famous warrior.

  “Alexander was a great king you know, a genius in all military aspects. He ruled Greece and much further across to Egypt and even India way before Jesus was even born. Everywhere he went he brought all the trades and business together and everybody ended up speaking Greek which became the common language for doing business. Can you believe that? He was the most powerful of kings when he was only in his twenties and ruled for more than ten years but he didn’t die in one of his battles, it was a stupid cold that did him in. So you have to make sure you always wrap up warm in the cold weather and take your cod liver oil each morning, that’s the best thing to keep the colds away.”

  Alex would always think of
those words as he was choking on the huge yellow cod liver oil capsule each morning. It was only the thought of how strong and invincible he was going to be that kept him from throwing it right back up.

  Smiling down at him, she always finished off with, “And that’s why you’re named after him. He was a king and you are my little king.”

  Unfortunately, as people always do, his name was shortened and he became known as Alex.

  “Yes Alex, you’re my king just like your dad was. He was strong and brave, and loved us very much. He went to war to fight the enemy just like Alexander and won the battle so that we could have a better life. He died on the battlefield but he’s up in heaven now watching over us.”

  Alex noted that his mother’s eyes always filled with tears at this point and she would hang onto him so tight that it hurt but he never said a word, he just wanted to make her feel better.

  “Well I’m the man of the house now and I’m going to look after you just like Dad would have wanted.”

  She would laugh; he always loved her tinkling laugh, like a lovely clear stream running over the pebbles in some magic place. Bending down, she would kiss him all over his face, goofy girl’s stuff he thought, tasting the salt in her tears but still he said nothing, just let her hold him close until she started chattering girlie talk again, like go and tidy up his room and put all his toys away, waste of time really because they would just be coming out of their box again.

  He had been too young to know what was happening in the early years but as he grew and the war advanced, he got the picture with amazing clarity in spite of his youth. After his dad was killed, he would hear his mother crying herself to sleep at night, mourning over the loss. Sometimes he would tap on her door and pretend he’d just had another nightmare and ask if he could stay with her for a while. Comforting him always made her forget her immediate sadness.

  His most vivid memories of the war years were of the struggling to hang onto her as they practically fell down steps to the cellar when they heard the approaching enemy planes. Pre-war houses were built with extra big cellars and this was no exception. His mother always kept basic provisions in the cellar in case they had to remain there for long periods of time and on many occasions neighbours, who got caught in the volley of bombs, joined them if they were too far from their own shelters. Alex’s mother never failed to lay herself over him to protect him from the fearful attacks. He remembered always the warmth of her body and the fierce grip of her arms around him. She would always start singing to blot out the noise of war and her beautiful voice rang out through the basement, almost obliterating the sounds of the terrible explosions, not quite but almost until everybody else joined in making such a din they drowned out the noise. Once they even had to shelter in the underground tube station to get away from the bombs but they only did it the once because the gas mains were getting bombed and spreading gas everywhere. They could easily have been choked in the underground tunnels. He shivered at the thought, although they may have had a chance with the gas masks that the government had given everybody to carry around with them in little cardboard boxes. Everybody looked like aliens who had come down to earth from another planet when they were wearing the masks.

  Suddenly it was all over, the atrocities of the time expended and the battle won. Everybody seemed happy to Alex and they were singing and dancing in the streets and celebratory parties were rampant everywhere. Flags and banners were hoisted, with rosettes and buttonholes proudly displayed in shop windows, all showing the red, white and blue colours of the British flag.

  Even though the fighting had stopped and war was over, everybody still had to be very careful with food, never wasting a thing as it was always in short supply. Alex learned never to ask for seconds because he knew it made his mother sad and she would try to take it off her own plate to give him more.

  The food rationing program, which was introduced at the onset of war, was designed to make sure that basic varieties of food groups were available, although the people were still struggling. Different coloured food books had been issued for specific groups of people. Alex remembered the little blue ration books which were especially for children. His mother always told him that the government was making sure little children like him would get enough to eat and she would occasionally give him a carrot on a stick to chew; he always thought that was great fun.

  ****

  One day his mother sat listening to the wireless. Leaping up suddenly, she grabbed her bag and his hand. Stuffing his hat and coat on him, when they reached the hallway she was breathless with excitement.

  “Come on Alex. There is a huge victory parade leaving from Regents Park soon. Let’s go, come on hurry up.”

  Both of them were trying to tie his shoe laces at the same time and this was a job that couldn’t be hurried; it always took him a painstakingly long time to accomplish.

  The pair rushed to see the military parade of the Navy, Airforce, Civilian Services and the Army which had just begun. It was going to end up back at the park but they didn’t want to miss any of it. What a sight it was with over 500 vehicles spreading more than four miles down the road. Alex always remembered that day and the excitement of hundreds of spectators.

  ****

  The details of their move back to the city centre escaped the little lad but as time passed, he knew his mother was sick. He tried to help in every way he could but she was getting weaker and forced to place him in care at regular intervals. Those were the worst memories for him. He was quick to catch on that his foster parents were only in it for the money that the government paid them to take in needy kids. Alex had run away many times and was repeatedly hauled back by the authorities. Following the last incident, he had told his mother what happened to him in the foster homes. She clasped her son tightly to her and although aware of how sick she was, vowed he would be staying with her to the bitter end but by God that boy would learn how to survive and be resilient; she would teach him everything she knew.

  “Alex you’re a big boy now and you know that your mum is not in the best of health. We have to work together and help each other in every way we can and I know I can count on you and don’t you worry, you are not being sent away again.”

  She became very serious then and continued…

  “Alex if anything ever happens to me and you are alone; you are to go to Uncle Frank, he’ll always help you.”

  Finally on that fateful day, he had found her on the kitchen floor.

  ****

  Keeping to the alleys and back streets, he made his way through the city which he knew so well without too much incident except for a policemen, helmet askew and billy club flying, hurtling down the street in pursuit of some thief or maybe even a killer. Who knew and who really cared, he was thinking, melding his body into an alcove and hunkering down behind a group of dustbins and garbage. He was well versed in disappearing having been always on the run from the abuse dished out to him when he was in foster ‘care’ and knew the score in spite of his tender age.

  ****

  He thought about the early years when his mother would come to his room to say goodnight and invariably ended up telling him about how wonderful his father had been before the war had come and ruined everything. His dad was taken from him before he ever really had a chance to get to know him and now his mum as well. It wasn’t fair. “It’s not bloody fair,” he ranted, knowing swearing was forbidden but right at that moment, he couldn’t give a fig; all he knew was that he was well and truly on his own.

  His mind refused to let go of those horrendous years before his dad had died. He could almost smell the fear which swept over his mother every time the postman brought some mail, leaving her trembling and reaching for a chair until she had opened whatever was delivered. Only then did she smile at him saying that there was nothing to worry about. He was lucky though, at least he got to spend some time with his mother. She would not have him evacuated to the country as his friends had been, she was so afraid of him being alone
with strangers, particularly if anything should happen to her, what would become of her son? His mum was determined to keep him with her until the bitter end. Alex did wonder from time to time what had become of his friends after their mothers had sent them away.

  So mother and son stayed together for the duration and even though he was just a child, the sounds of war were imbedded in his brain. The howling and wailing of the air raid sirens, followed by the drone of hundreds of planes, and that deadly whine and boom of the dreaded doodle bugs, the flying bombs which he associated with death and destruction. He had never seen so many people crying as they tramped through the wreckage searching for missing family members. Broken glass was everywhere when the windows had been blown out with the force of the explosions. He had trouble lifting his legs there was oh so much glass. Then there were the huge silver whales floating up in the sky, barrage balloons his mother had told him, filled with gas and sent up to scare off the enemy; he’d been in awe the first time he saw those.

  ****

  He must have fallen into a deep sleep because suddenly he was awakened by shrieks of one of thousands of feral cats which had just caught something; maybe a mouse or better still a rat. It was fairly close because he could hear its maniacal gurgles of joy as it devoured its meal. Oh well, everything has to survive I suppose, he thought, I might even get to that before I’m through.