A Father's Betrayal Read online

  We visited Dad as often as Uncle Jim could take us. It wasn’t a pleasant journey going to see him behind bars, but Dad would always collect his chocolate bars and give them to us on our visits. He would also make little things out of match sticks just for us as presents and we saw that as our treat from him!

  Dad would always talk about him coming home and us going back to live with him, but he never talked about Mum or where she was.

  As the years went by our love and respect for our foster parents grew. It took us a while to settle down but we soon found ourselves looking up to Uncle Jim as our own father, and our foster home as our home. We told social services we didn’t want to go back to live with Dad when he was due for release and they knew we were settled where we were.

  Shortly before Dad’s release we got a visit from Ahmed and Kasim, the two men who had been implicated in the trail with dad. They claimed Dad had given them permission to come and take us away from our foster home and to go to stay with them.

  Uncle Jim was furious and beside himself with worry, he realised then that Dad was up to something bad and was determined to find out what it was. He got into a big argument with them and refused to allow them near us.

  Not long after, we got a visit from social services saying that the two men had got a solicitor to call their office and complain that when they visited us they saw bruises on our thighs and buttocks. Our foster parents had to allow us to be examined while they answered questions. Uncle Jim was furious. He couldn’t understand why social services were not investigating how these men had claimed to have seen our thighs and buttocks in the first place, and why these men had come to our home to take us out of his care.

  We were checked and no bruises were found on us, so social services left. There was no further investigation done by social services into Ahmed or Kasim. However, Uncle Jim didn’t like what was going on so he started his own investigation.

  He found out that Dad had got himself into a lot of debt and owed money to both these men and other men from his country, money he had borrowed while the trial for Mum’s murder was going on, and money he had used in an appeal against his sentence. Knowing this, and many other things that had taken place over the previous years, Uncle Jim became really concerned for our safety.

  Dad was released in February 1975; he had served fewer than four years out of his six year sentence. We didn’t believe that Dad killed our Mum and although we didn’t want to live with him at this time because we were settled in our foster home, we were happy to have him around again. We were still living with our foster parents because Dad didn’t have a house at first; he was living in a one bedroom flat.

  Dad would come and take us out all the time and he would spoil us rotten, buying us whatever we wanted and taking us to visit his Arabic friends and their children.

  Uncle Jim would always be sat on egg shells waiting for us to return home. He was always worried that Dad would take us and never bring us back.

  Dad had applied for a council house so that he could resume care of us, and social services told the housing department they supported Dad’s application for a house big enough for us to move back in with him.

  It wasn’t long after Dad came out of prison that we first met our Uncle Nasser, Dad’s brother. Dad was still living in his flat at the time and our uncle had come from the Yemen to visit Dad, but Uncle Jim didn’t like him at all.

  Uncle Jim was convinced that Uncle Nasser and Dad were up to no good. Uncle Jim was always checking around trying to find out what it was, but Uncle Nasser didn’t stay long so we didn’t really get to know him.

  It was after Uncle Nasser went back to Yemen when we were at Dad’s flat and we found some letters to Dad from his family in Yemen.

  One of these letters said something about the importance of Yas and I going to the Yemen and being ‘bound by a kinship’ which distinguished us from our half-sisters. We gave Uncle Jim the letter and he took it to social services because he was convinced that Dad was up to no good, although he never told us what his real fears were. But once again he was met with disappointment, as social services failed to see any wrongdoing from Dad.

  Uncle Jim tried so hard to keep us in his care, but in 1976 we were handed back into Dad’s care after he got a council house big enough for us to live in.

  We didn’t know the details of the arguments going on between Uncle Jim and social services, only that he didn’t want us living with Dad. We had started calling Uncle Jim Dad by then because he cared for us and loved us like a real father should.

  Uncle Jim made it clear that his door would always be open for us, he also told us to be wary of the Arabic men Dad hung around with. We were too young to understand why Uncle Jim was so wary of them, but it wouldn’t be long before we would find out.

  We moved into Sycamore Avenue in Newport in November 1976. At first things with Dad were OK, he spoilt us and we could do whatever we wanted, but he quickly changed.

  He started working away again as a builder, and would leave us alone for days at a time. He would leave us a budget for our food and just leave. We struggled to cope, I was barely 12 and my sisters not that much older, and we soon started missing school and hanging around doing nothing.

  Uncle Jim would come and visit us all the time, if we were not in school he would come searching for us; he tried his best to keep us on the straight path. He would give us money so that we could go to school and time after time he went back to social services with information that we were being neglected, but they never came around to visit.

  When Dad was home his temper was worse than I’d ever remembered. He even turned up one day with a redhead prostitute called Jill; he said he picked her up from the docks in Newport so she could take care of us when he was away. She lived with us for a while; we hated her because she would be out all night and sleeping or lazing around the house all day! She left in the end because we couldn’t stand her, and her and Dad fought all the time.

  There was one time at Sycamore Avenue when we all caught lice. Dad was fuming with us and he had us leant over the kitchen sink while he pulled and combed our hair, slapping us and banging our heads on the sink while screaming and shouting at us.

  We went to Uncle Jim many times asking if we could go back and live with him but he told us he needed social services’ permission to take us, which they refused to do. One of my worst memories of that house was being locked in a small cupboard for hours.

  Dad had been away for days and was due back this day, but we were all worried because we had spent our food money on everything other than food!

  We knew Dad would be furious with us so my sisters decided to run away and go to Uncle Jim’s. They refused to take me with them because I was such a pain, telling me to wait at home until Uncle Jim came for me. They didn’t think Dad would hurt me, but when he came home and found me alone he went crazy, asking me where my sisters had gone!

  I’d promised my sisters I wouldn’t tell Dad they had gone to Uncle Jim’s for help so I refused to tell him anything, saying that I didn’t know where they had gone. I can’t remember much, only that Dad dragged me into a cupboard and locked me in.

  While I was locked in the cupboard Uncle Jim came back with my sisters; he tried to get Dad to allow him into the house to see me but Dad refused, saying I was asleep. Yas later found me crying in the cupboard.

  Uncle Jim tried time after time to get social services to listen to his concerns about what Dad had been up to, but they refused to take any notice of him.

  Dad always took us to see his Yemeni friends and we would play with their children; these visits became more frequent after he was released from prison. Dad’s friends would always have lots of food to eat and we would always get money from them and presents. We would listen to them babble on in Arabic while they would tell us that we needed to learn the language, but we didn’t want to learn Arabic, as far as we were concerned we would never need it, we were English girls and only needed to speak and learn English
!

  Dad had Yemeni friends up and down the country. One of these men was called Nejmie, and we were told to call him Uncle. Uncle Nejmie was an Ambassador in London at the Yemen Embassy and one of the men who helped Dad during his trail; we would spend days at a time in London visiting Dad’s friends, especially Uncle Nejmie.

  Uncle Jim would always quietly question us when we came back about where we went and who we spoke to. Although we told him everything, we never knew why he asked us so many questions and why he didn’t trust our Dad.

  It was May 1977 when Dad promised us an exciting holiday abroad to the Yemen. We took no notice of Uncle Jim’s concerns because we couldn’t wait to go on holiday, we had never travelled before and the idea of going abroad thrilled us.

  Dad took us shopping and allowed us to pick out all our own holiday clothes. Dad and his friends had always told us how the Yemen was such a beautiful and hot country. They told us that exotic fruits would just fall from the trees and were available to everyone, that we would be able to just open our window and pick this fruit, that’s how beautiful it was over there.

  Uncle Jim tried one last attempt with social services, begging them to step in before it was too late, but they were not interested in helping us.

  I remember very clearly the last time we saw my sister Ablah and Uncle Jim. We were at the train station on our way to London to catch our flight. Ablah sobbed as she held on to Issy.

  “Please don’t go, I have this feeling I’m never going to see you again!”

  But we couldn’t understand why they were so worried. We told them not to be silly, we would be back in a few weeks! We sat on the train and waved goodbye to Ablah and Uncle Jim as the train pulled off, out of the station, out of sight, and out of our lives.

  On the way to the airport Dad gave us some devastating news.

  “I’m sorry girls, something’s come up and I can’t travel with you today,” he said unexpectedly.

  We moaned and kicked up a fuss about travelling alone, but Dad reassured us that he would be following us in a few days; he told us that Uncle Nasser would be at the other end ready to pick us up.

  He gave us a little spending money and told us to enjoy our holiday until he arrived. I myself wasn’t bothered; I had my older sisters looking after me as always and anyhow, nothing was going to spoil my day.

  Today was very special for me; it was May 28th 1977, my 13th birthday! This was going to be a holiday I would never forget!

  Dad saw us through the airport and we were off, and although we weren’t happy about travelling alone, we soon started to make plans to enjoy a few days alone without Dad.

  We laughed and giggled on the flight and chatted about what we would do on holiday, all the beautiful beaches we would visit, places we would go, and of course, holiday romances!

  Chapter Two

  Given Away

  When the plane flew over Aden, North Yemen, we were all excitingly trying to peer through the window to see what we could spot from high up, but it didn’t look very exciting from what we could see. We had never been abroad before so didn’t think anything of it, and couldn’t wait to touch down and get out of the aeroplane.

  Although we were a little apprehensive about Dad not being with us, we were young girls looking to get up to mischief and Dad not being there just meant we could do whatever we wanted!

  In our tiny skirts and crop tops, together with our platform shoes Dad had allowed us to buy for our holiday, we headed to the aeroplane door, but when I stepped out into the open it was as if I’d put my head inside an oven!

  It was so hot I had to take an extra breath! It was humid, and there was no breeze at all. I instantly started to sweat.

  “Oh my god, I’ve never been this hot in my life,” I moaned as we walked down the steps onto the runway.

  There was no shuttle bus to take us off the runway so we followed the crowd inside the airport and through immigration to collect our bags. The airport was tiny and crowded and even hotter than outside. It had ceiling fans swinging around making lots of noise, but doing nothing to ease the heat.

  As we looked around, we could see men with machine guns walking around the airport. They looked like soldiers because they had uniforms on and what looked like army hats, but whatever they were, they scared me.

  We were being stared at by everyone as we made our way through the airport, and not realising it was because of the way we were dressed, it made us feel even more uncomfortable than we already were.

  Issy held my hand as we went through immigration and kept telling me not to worry, while Yas just laughed at me and called me a sissy for worrying.

  As we come out of immigration we could see Uncle Nasser stood behind a group of people who were waiting, and as soon as he saw us he ran over and greeted us, cheerfully hugging and kissing us on both cheeks.

  “Come, come,” he said, waving us behind him as he picked up some of our bags and walked towards the entrance. Once outside he turned to us.

  “I need passports,” he uttered, putting his hands out to us.

  “Why do you need our passports?” Issy asked, looking worried.

  We had passed immigration, so she wanted to know why he wanted them.

  “Police need see them,” he relayed in broken English, waving his hand impatiently. Issy had our passports with her in her handbag so she reluctantly handed them over.

  We had seen loads of men with guns in the airport and we didn’t know what the laws of this country were, so we thought it best to let Uncle Nasser take care of it.

  Once he had our passports he whistled over to a little dirty white bus that was waiting on the other side of the road and the driver drove over to us. As Uncle Nasser loaded our bags we looked around, shocked at how the people were dressed!

  We had never seen anything like it before, the men were wearing what looked like long dresses that went all the way down to their ankles with flip flops or sandals, and they had scarves wrapped around their heads made into some sort of a hat. As for the women, we looked around and couldn’t see one female, but we could see figures dressed from head to toe in black, even their faces were covered in black veils! I wondered how they could see to walk with their faces covered like that. It was a frightening sight!

  We climbed into the bus, wiping the dust from the seats so as not to ruin our brand new clothes, and as it started up to pull away it made a banging sound as if it was going to break down there and then! It looked as if it would too; the seats were ripped and it was dusty and dirty inside, the windows were stuck and wouldn’t move up or down!

  We looked at each other and pointed to the state of the bus, quietly making comments so that Uncle Nasser, who was sat up front, couldn’t hear us.

  On our way to our destination we looked around and became terrified with what we saw.

  “Look at the state of this place, it looks like it’s been hit by a bomb!” Issy whispered, pointing to what looked like houses as we drove along.

  The buildings were old and crumbling, and the streets were dirty, with litter scattered everywhere.

  Everywhere we looked we kept seeing those figures in black. “I wonder who they are… I really hope things get better once we get to Aden,” I sulked, worried that I really wouldn’t want to stay here, wherever here was.

  Twenty minutes later we drove into Aden and pulled up outside a high block of flats and to our horror, Uncle Nasser turned to us and with a cheerful smile announced, “We home! Come, come!”

  Our hearts sank! We were in the middle of Aden, and this was meant to be the best area. We got out the bus and looked up at the flats. They looked uninhabitable, and the smell was even worse!

  We looked at each other and we could each see the fear in each other’s eyes. As Uncle Nasser was taking our bags out of the bus, Issy turned to him. “Are we supposed to be staying here?” she asked.

  “Yes! Come,” he happily replied, ushering us towards the entrance.

  The entrance to the flats was do
wn a side alley, the short path to it filled with litter and dirt.

  Once we managed to trample through the litter with our platform shoes, we got to the stairs and Uncle Nasser carried on walking up.

  “Oh, please tell me there’s a lift?” I begged, but he ignored me and carried on walking. Issy could see I was struggling with the heat because by that time the sweat was dripping off me.

  “Come on, I’m sure it’s just a few more steps,” she said, trying to encourage me to keep going.

  Yas offered to take my bag but she was already struggling with her own, so I said I was OK, as we continued up the stairs. As it was we were staying on the top floor, six floors up, but felt more like sixty, and by the time we got there the only thing on my mind was a shower and food.

  Uncle Nasser knocked on the door and a lady opened it, covered from head to toe in a long dress and her hair was covered with a scarf. Although she looked shocked at what we were wearing, she had a smile on her face as she welcomed us in, kissing us on both cheeks before introducing us in Arabic to a group of other women who also continued to kiss us in the same way.

  The other women were all wearing long black coats and scarves, some of them had their faces covered, and it was then that it registered that those figures we had seen before were the women.

  My sisters told me to be quiet as I tugged at them, pointing out that the women in black were the people we saw in the street, telling me they had already figured that out for themselves!

  By the time they had all finished fussing around us we were confused and tired, we had no clue as to what was happening. This was meant to be our holiday, but it wasn’t feeling much like one now!

  We didn’t understand why the women were dressed the way they were, and didn’t like the way people were staring at us because of the way we were dressed.