The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 3)

The highlight of my week was Saturday when a local farmer used to pay me to do odd jobs round his farm. I loved the countryside and I loved earning a bit of cash, even though all of it had to be ceremoniously handed over to my step-mother each week. In return she would give me a few pence back and I'd spend it on the luxuries of life, like sweets and books. One Saturday I'd worked especially hard and the farmer gave me a bit of extra money which I kept for myself. I remember hiding it away in my shed, taking it out every now and again to look at it. But my secret didn't stay hidden away for long. My step-mother unearthed my little treasure, assumed that I'd stolen it, and told everyone that I was a thief.

"Right," I said to myself, fighting back the tears, "if she says I'm a thief, then a thief I'll be." And I started stealing things from school. I was never discovered and I soon became a dab-hand at relieving both teacher and pupils of whatever I fancied.

My dishonest actions were temporarily halted when I had an accident in the schoolyard and broke my leg. I remember the headmaster sending for my step-mother and then driving us both home. He assumed that she would make sure my leg received medical attention. It got some attention all right, but not the sort it needed. She was so angry at this disruption of her daily routine that she beat me across the leg. To this day I can remember the pain of that thrashing.

Whenever I complained that my leg hurt and that I couldn't walk on it, she would hit me again. I don't know what my father was thinking or doing during this time, but he certainly didn't do anything to help me. I remember trying to walk to school. My leg was swollen up like a balloon and I used to drag it painfully behind me.

One day a lady came out of her home to ask me what was wrong. I just said that I'd sprained my ankle. She was quite horrified. She took me into her home and called the doctor who came and treated me. While we were waiting for him to arrive, she told me that she lived with her sister and that both of them were nurses. "We hold a Bible class in our home every week. If you'd care to come along you'd be very welcome," she told me. How could I refuse her offer when she'd shown me such kindness?

My step-mother didn't mind my going to the class, after all, if I was in someone else's home then hers couldn't be messed up. So I became a regular attender and I was soon enthralled by the Bible stories I heard there. Joshua particularly appealed to me; and the fact that twelve tribes of Israel left twelve stones to mark their crossing over the river Jordan impressed me no end.

"Miss," I called out enthusiastically, "if those stones are still there I'm going to see them one day." And see them I did: thirty years later I stood at the place where those stones were laid.

I later met my Bible teacher and we had a good laugh when I told her that my childlike words of prophecy had been fulfilled!

Things at home weren't getting any better and I was still deeply unhappy. Even the joys of the Bible class couldn't compensate for the following six days. So I decided to run away, never, ever to return.

And run away I did. I slept a couple of nights in barns and then made my way to another town not many miles from where I lived. Once there I headed for the railway station, determined to hop on the first train which pulled in. A curious porter, however, had other ideas. I suppose I must have looked a bit suspicious. After all, pint sized eleven-year-olds don't usually hang around station platforms in the middle of the night.

He called in the police. The officer who questioned me seemed to tower over me from a very great height. I was cold, tired, hungry and the copper seemed to feel a bit sorry for me. I remember him taking me to the police station and giving me a cup of piping hot cocoa. They didn't quite know what to do with me, but the policeman who had "arrested" me said that as he was going off duty he would take me to his home then contact my parents the following day.

So off we went. His home was lovely; I remember thinking how cosy it was, and lived-in. His wife didn't bat an eye-lid when she saw me; it seemed the most natural thing in the world that her husband should bring a young visitor back in the middle of the night. She made me some supper, and as they talked to me I discovered they were both Christians. They asked me questions about myself and about my home life, and they read something out of the Bible and prayed with me. Then they took me up to bed, and as I drifted off to sleep I longed to stay in that warm house for ever and ever.

Morning dawned, and with it the awful knowledge that I'd be going back to that big old house to face my step-mother. Someone must have been praying, though, because she didn't give me the hiding I was expecting.