What a Hullabaloo!

About me

I was born in 1965 during my father's second posting to Hong Kong, and moved back to England in the mid 70's.
I currently reside in the seaside town of Scarborough in North Yorkshire and am training to be a Relational Centred Counsellor at the Scarborough Psychotherapy Training Institute.
I was inspired during this training to write about my childhood experiences in a way that would hopefully allow others to remember the experiences of their own.
With many of the characters, emotions and storylines being based on real experiences I hope to add a touch of realism that adults will relate to and children will enjoy.
The child may find that some of the stories within this book are already somehow familiar and the adult reader may be inspired to recall the stories of their own. Both cases invite interactions and offer opportunities to share those unique moments and make the reading experience a richer experience.
The stories are set in the mid 70's and in a time before the influx of technology arrived to change the way children play.
With these stories I also hope to give an insight to the young of today of just how enjoyable those days were and how playing changed with seasons and was created, not bought.


The photo below is of the original gang just after our return from Hong Kong and shows me (the one on the left with the broken arm!), Michael Masters in the centre and Jonathan Masters, who sadly passed away on the 7th April 2002.

On our return from Hong Kong, John and Mike moved to Cheltenham whilst I settled in Uttoxeter in the Midlands. Many of the stories from the book are based around events that occured in the Midlands but much of the energy and feeling of togetherness stems from my early days with John and Mike in Hong Kong.

Due to me being partially dyslexic, my early memories of schooling are not always good ones to recall. Dyslexia during the 1970's was a condition that was not often recognised and my struggles with handwriting and spelling were simply put down to a lack of concentration on my part.
The content of my work was very rarely noticed and it didn't take me long to realise that I got less hassle for not doing the work than I did for doing the best I could do.
So this was how schooling went for me, I did enough to get by and nothing more, and in doing so became fearful of my own creativity.

I loved writing stories and poetry and can remember doing so from a very early age but my experiences at school and home had taught me well not to share them.
This way of being became a way for me to defend myself from shame, negativity and criticism and it's a defence that has stayed with me for over 35 years

The amazing support that I have received from my therapist, partner, trainers and colleagues from SCPTI has empowered me to be aware that this hiding away is not helpful for me now, and that the adult in me is strong enough to accept feedback, be it good or bad.
Previously my poetry was very deep and sad but over the last year the changes in my self-awareness has enabled me to focus on the parts of my life that are seldom visited.
These parts are where I accessed the inspirations for the stories within what a Hullabaloo, and where I have gained so much pleasure from writing them.

I would like to share with you the piece of work that I believe formed the foundations of 'What a Hullabaloo!' and I hope you enjoy it.
Although the stories in 'What a Hullabaloo!' are far longer and go into much more detail, the energy, emotion and warmth feel to be in equal measures.

The creatures that nursery rhymes fed me

A scattering of crows in military rows
Adorned the old railway mans houses
Along red brick lanes, where we ruled and played
In conker and blackberry stained trousers

Beneath the old horse bridge no troll could be found
But our machine gun sticks were there ready
With apple grenades I braced hard to face
Those creatures that nursery rhymes fed me

Then with warmth on our backs we would follow the tracks
Of such beasts 'til we chanced upon evening
Knowing that their time for hunting was this time
Our weapons were dropped as we screaming were leaving

The railway mans houses then had witches in windows
That would watch us and throw at us spells
That turned crows to bats, and tree leaves to fingers
That surely would catch us if ever we fell

Eventually we'd master this journey of disaster
And weary through front doors would clatter
The dark could not reach through, the thick smell of Nan's stew
And what couldn't reach us didn't matter

Then bed time would come, and with another day done
I would lie beneath eider down warming
The bats crows and trolls can stay out in the cold
Until hunting begins in the morning

Phillip Whittington 2009