I was the youngest of seven children with a docile, simple mother with no emotion who was obedient to my violent and sadistic father.

Suffice to say I was subjected to continual abuse.

I could not pronounce words which led to years of speech therapy.

The therapist seemed to get great delight in every meeting, forcing me to say " Six sizzling sausages frying in a pan" , which resulted in saliva running down my chin and extreme embarrassment.

She always laughed at this.

At age ten, I found myself confused and petrified as she rummaged inside my underwear with her eager hand.

I never went back.

I never told anyone.

I buried myself in books and wrote poetry.

Years later I collated some poems together and sent them to the British Poetry Society ( probably not the correct name).

To my delight I received a hand written letter from their president, giving advice and encouragement.

His name was Spike.

Spike Milligan.

Thank you sir.