Cry Silent Tears: The heartbreaking survival story of a small mute boy who overcame unbearable suffering and found his voice again. Joe Peters
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Cry Silent Tears
The heartbreaking survival story
of a small mute boy who overcame unbearable suffering and found his voice again
JOE PETERS
with Andrew Crofts
This book is based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, some names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.
HarperElement
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF
HarperElement is a trademark of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
First published by HarperElement 2008
© Joe Peters 2008
Joe Peters asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007274048
Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007283828 Version: 2018-08-14
Contents
Chapter Two: A Bitter Battleground
Chapter Seven: Mum’s New Boyfriend
Chapter Eight: Rescued From The Cellar
Chapter Eleven: The Movie Business
Chapter Twelve: Learning To Speak Again
Chapter Thirteen: A Bid For Freedom
Chapter Fourteen: Betrayal And Capture
Chapter Fifteen: In And Out Of Care
Chapter Sixteen: Thieving For Mum
To Michelle, my soulmate, and my five beautiful and special children, Darren, Liam, Kirsty-Lea, Shannon and Paige.
Thanks guys, for all your love and support. Love Dad.
I never doubted for a moment that my dad loved me more than anything or anyone else in the world, and I returned that adoration wholeheartedly from the first moment that I was able to. He was a tall, handsome man with sparkly eyes, who was popular wherever he went, and he made me feel like king of the world every second we were together. I was his first child, his pride and joy, and he put me on as high a pedestal as I put him. ‘My little Joe,’ he’d say fondly, sitting me on his knee and ruffling my curly brown hair.
In almost all of my early memories, I am clinging to his big long legs, viewing the world from between them, or sitting in his car or on a grass verge nearby watching him while he worked. He was employed as a mechanic for an Irish guy called Graeme who owned a garage in Norwich, and had been with him since he was an apprentice, straight out of school. Graeme’s whole family had taken to him as though he was one of their own children and he had repaid their faith in him a hundredfold. He had gradually been given more and more responsibility and trust until he was virtually running the place if Graeme wasn’t there and they all thought the world of him. Dad seemed to have that effect on everyone, and I was able to bask in his reflected glory whenever I was with him. I felt safe and happy when he was around.
My mum, on the other hand, was a terrifying woman. She was almost as tall as Dad, with jet-black hair and a scowling face. It seemed to me she was always angry and, in particular, she seemed to be constantly furious with Dad and me. My three older brothers (from her first marriage) got off lightly, but whenever I was near she would lash out, hitting me round the head, kicking me or pushing me over. She called me all kinds of names I didn’t understand and screamed at me till I cowered, petrified, in a corner.
Well aware of her violent nature and her hatred for me, Dad kept a watchful eye on me from dawn till dusk. Everywhere he went, I went.