Читать книгу Innocents - Jonathan Rose - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCharlotte Slawich had been born on 21 June 1923, on a farm in Slovenia, close to the Austrian border. She was the second daughter of Leopold and Hedwig Slawich. By 1945 the communists were taking vengeance on any German-speaking families, whom they regarded as collaborators with the vanquished Nazi occupiers. Charlotte’s older sister, Alfreda, arrived home from work at the local council offices one day to find the family home deserted. A neighbour told her that a ‘big lorry’ had taken her family away. Alfreda had to follow and she caught a train to Austria where she searched for her family. By some miracle of fate, Alfreda found Charlotte sitting on a bench in Ogersteiermag. Charlotte had already decided to emigrate to England, where there were no communists and she could find stability and work. She was unable to persuade her sister to join her so, when Charlotte arrived in England in 1948, she was 24, a refugee, and alone.
Charlotte headed for the north-west cotton-town belt where she knew she would find work in the mill. She went first to Oldham, where she trained for six months as a spinner before she was sent to a mill in neighbouring Rochdale. There, she lodged with other immigrants in Drake Street, worked as a spinner during the day and learned English at night. In 1950, sister Alfreda joined Charlotte, learning spinning, English and lip-reading, an essential skill amongst the racket of the looms.
Charlotte met migrant worker Ivan Kiszko, a burly Ukrainian road repairer and began a courtship which culminated in marriage, on 10 February 1951 in Rochdale. They moved into their first home at 31 Crawford Street. Far from the horror of Nazis and communists and the poverty of her homeland, Charlotte had found work, then a husband. She now had the peace and stability she had longed for. Now she wanted a child. Her son, Stefan Ivan, was born on 24 March 1952 at Birch Hill Hospital, Wardle, Rochdale. Twelve days after his birth, the young Stefan Ivan Kiszko was taken to the house at Crawford Street, which was to be his home for the next twenty-four years.
Stefan was a healthy baby until he was six months old, when he developed breathing problems, diagnosed as asthma, a common ailment for those who lived in streets which were constantly blanketed with cotton dust. The child’s condition worsened during the first five years of his life, and there were fears that he might die, which prompted specialists to advise the Kiszkos to move house or go abroad. It was a terrible dilemma for Ivan and Charlotte. They had found happiness, peace and a living in the north of England, an area chosen for the cotton process because its inherent dampness helped to prevent yarn from becoming brittle. Now the choice was to remain within the bliss they had found, with possible tragic consequences for their son, or abandon their home and their livelihood and move back to Eastern Europe for the sake of the life of their only child. At this time Stefan developed eczema, a common ailment accompanying asthma. The Kiszkos were prompted towards a short-term solution. Charlotte would take Stefan to her mother’s home in Radbersburg in Austria for six months of clear air and medical treatment. Stefan was 5, and had not even started school because of the severity of his affliction. He and his mother spent the next six months in Austria where the boy received treatment under an asthma specialist, Dr Sollag. Charlotte too was developing chest problems which manifested later in her life as byssinosis, a potentially fatal consequence of her constant inhalation of cotton dust. The clean air of Austria provided welcome relief for both mother and son.
Whilst in Austria, however, Stefan suffered further health problems. He had his tonsils out and, because of an ensuing blood disorder, had to remain in hospital for eleven days, during which time he developed an abscess on his buttocks. When Stefan was 6, Dr Sollag forecast that the boy’s asthma would alleviate as he grew older and stronger, and with the doctor’s prognosis in mind, Charlotte decided it was time to return to England.
With the family reunited in Rochdale, Stefan finally started school, one year behind his contemporaries. He attended Newbold Junior School in Vavasour Street. His maternal grandmother, Hedwig, travelled to England in 1956, living in the Kiszko home while Charlotte went back to work in the mill. Hedwig stayed with the family for ten months of every year, until 1967 when Charlotte and Ivan were granted British nationality. Stefan became very close to his grandmother, a portent of things to come. He rarely played with children his own age, which served merely to emphasise Stefan’s position as the strangest boy in the area. It was an image for which Charlotte had to take much of the blame, having sent him to school on his first day dressed, doubtless with touching pride, in traditional German dress. During the long summer holiday Stefan became even more alienated from the other children when, rather than enjoying the long school holiday running in the streets, playing football and getting into childish mischief, he went with his parents each year to spend six weeks in Austria, as an aid to his poor health.
Stefan’s poor health was in marked contrast to that of his father: a massive man who utilised his great physical strength by helping to lay the M62, the great trans-Pennine cross-country motorway, which ran from Liverpool in the west to Hull in the east, passing close to the Kiszko home of Rochdale, and across the broad expanses of Manchester on its way. This was the great road which had to split for a distance of three miles, because a landowner refused to sell his farmhouse which lay directly in its path, obliging the road planners to direct the new motorway on either side of the house. This was the motorway which would carry speeding cars past Saddleworth Moor, drivers’ eyes pulled inexorably towards the dark foreboding hillsides.
But as his father was strong, so was Stefan weak. Moving to St Peter’s Junior School at the age of 8, Stefan received a total exemption from all physical activity because of his weak constitution, an exemption which can have done nothing to assist in his integration into the school community. But the sickly child combated his alienation by taking pride in his classwork. He passed his 11-plus exam and went on to Kingsway High School where he was remembered by the headmaster, Ronald De Courcey, as a boy who had few personal friends, but who got along well with everyone. He was a loner, probably because he had few of the qualities of his contemporaries, and was not attracted by their usual activities. He did not take part in sports, for he had no interest in them and was, in any event, limited by his medical condition, which had not resolved. He was not a ‘boy’s boy’, but was generally friendly, well behaved and generous, although he dressed a little eccentrically, being a little old for his age. He tried hard to be reliable and trustworthy, and was on an academic par with his contemporaries. Still exempt from sports and physical activities, Stefan was encouraged by Ivan to learn to play the accordion, something no other child in Rochdale ever contemplated doing. Stefan learned to play the difficult instrument diligently, entertaining his family whenever they gathered in celebration, with his father beaming with pride. As each day passed, Stefan became more dependent on, and closer to, his parents, grandmother and aunt. Inevitably, he was taunted at school by his schoolmates, who accused him of skiving from sports. It was decided that, to escape the teasing, Stefan should transfer to Rochdale Technical College, where sporting games were not on the curriculum.
Stefan was 15. His last school report read: ‘An average pupil who does not excel in any subject. On the physical side he is very weak. He has no aptitude for games. He was an oddity and a butt for bullies. Dressed differently from other children. Old-fashioned. Very kind and thoughtful and bore his physical disabilities well.’
The comments were made by head teacher, Mr De Courcey, whose wife would, coincidentally, work with the adult Stefan Kiszko at the tax office, and who described him as ‘very conscientious and the only lad who ever carried heavy bags for ladies in the office’.
On leaving school in 1968 Kiszko completed a one-year full-time commercial course at Rochdale College followed by a two-year part-time course, receiving a certificate in office studies. He also attended evening classes in English and German. Following college, he obtained employment as a clerical assistant with the Inland Revenue, Newgate House, Rochdale, where he started on 29 September 1969. Edward Higham, the Inspector of Taxes in charge of his department regarded Kiszko as a satisfactory worker. Overnight, the family walked taller. It meant a greater social standing when a migrant family’s child obtained a professional post, and the pride of the mill worker and the road layer was immeasurable. Ivan Kiszko wore a collar and tie only on Sunday, but his son Stefan wore one every day, including Saturday. His Aunt Alfreda was later to recall: ‘He had studied hard and now he was dressing posh.’ He remained a loner, but he did associate with staff at work – although not outside work hours. No complaints were ever received about him or his conduct, and female colleagues found him willing to assist by carrying heavy boxes and files which other male staff were often unwilling to do. His attendance record was good until February 1974 when he began to have long periods of absence due to ill health. Big Ivan believed his son was capable of higher office, and wanted him to study for more qualifications after a year’s work with the Inland Revenue. But Ivan never got his wish, and Stefan never went back to college.
When Stefan Kiszko was 18, life dealt him a devastating blow with the death of the man he referred to as ‘my dear dad’. It was to be a permanent setback for Stefan and, with the removal of the only effective male influence in his life, the female domination of the young man became total, and he was tied still closer by his mother’s apron strings. Ivan Kiszko was only 56 when he collapsed in the street, suffering a heart attack as he and Stefan walked home from a visit to Alfreda’s house. Unable to help his father, Stefan lumbered home to seek assistance. Ivan Kiszko was a giant of a man of massive build with a huge head and shovel-sized hands, and he had seemed to his son to be indestructible. Now he was gone, and the family unit, reduced to two, meant that Stefan became more dependent on his mother and she on him. She smothered Stefan with even more affection, to try to help to fill the void left by his father’s death. Stefan Kiszko had been a boy of weak personality who had idolised his father and whose weakness sought compensation in his father’s strength. With his father gone, Kiszko was obliged to seek that strength elsewhere, and he was fortunate to find it in the fortitude of his mother. Ivan’s death meant that Stefan moved from the shadow of his father to the shadow of his mother.
The grieving son resigned himself to never going to college again. His mother now needed his wages, and he immersed himself in work at the tax office, intending that his labours should take his mind off his terrible loss. His grandmother Hedwig had died only ten months earlier, and he had in no way recovered from that bereavement before death had struck again.
Stefan’s father had always promised him a car when he had passed his driving test. His death left the vow unfulfilled. But four days after Stefan passed his test, on 1 November 1971, Charlotte discharged her late husband’s obligation, buying Stefan a bronze Hillman Avenger which he kept in the covered backyard of Crawford Street.
The devoted son and nephew was able to abandon the bus, for work each weekday and for pleasure at weekends. Now he was able to drive his mother and aunt to the garden centres which lay on the edges of town. Now he could take the car shopping – even to the local corner shop. Kiszko need never walk anywhere again, and rare it was that he did do. For a man already very overweight, the new car was both a blessing and a curse, for what little exercise he had previously obtained by a stroll to the shops, or even to the bus stop, was now replaced by the splendour of his car. Every weekday at 10 p.m. he drove to the mill and met his mother at the end of her 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. shift, to take her home in comfort.
Another blow was dealt when Stefan was 22. His mother’s chest complaint worsened, confirmed as byssinosis. Typically, despite the fact that her work had almost certainly caused her illness, and continued to exacerbate it, Charlotte refused to heed the advice to retire. It ran against the grain, and anyway, she could not afford to. One concession she made was to obtain a job with Courtaulds at Castleton, where they worked only with man-made fibres.
One night in April 1974 Stefan failed to arrive for the 10 p.m. rendezvous with his mother who, after making a short search outside the mill, caught the bus home. Charlotte was anxious, knowing that her son would not willingly let her down. She fretted throughout the tedious bus journey, fearful that some terrible thing had caused her son to be unavoidably detained. Arriving home she found a note in Stefan’s meticulous handwriting: ‘Dear Mother,’ it read, ‘I have had a fall and think I may have broken my ankle. I have gone to Rochdale Infirmary …’ Charlotte did not remove her coat, but headed back to the bus stop where she caught a bus to the hospital. She could not then have been aware how significant the injury would become in later years, and even had she known it would not have detracted from her primary concern, which was to ensure that the boy was all right.
In the casualty department she found Stefan with his leg heavily bandaged. His first words to her, typically, were an apology for failing to meet her at the mill. Charlotte pacified him, telling him that she had been fine, and that he would be fine once she had him in the comfort of their home. She would take a few days off until he was able to work. The bandage hid the true severity of the injury. X-rays soon revealed that Kiszko had sustained a complex break known as a Potts fracture which required surgery. Stefan was released after four days but, to Charlotte’s chagrin, was transferred for convalescence to the local Springfield Hospital. He remained there for five weeks, gamely trying to master his crutches, which proved difficult for one who was normally so inept on his feet.
He returned home to hobble around the house, but was, of course, unable to drive his beloved Hillman car. He immediately secured a rebate on his motor tax and insurance payments, reasoning that the money saved would pay for transport on the now-hated bus. The injury proved more debilitating than Stefan had at first thought, and more plaster casts were fitted during the next six months. After seven months in the hospital and at home Kiszko was able to drive again and then to return to work, but the effects of the injury remained with him. When mother and son moved to a new house in Kings Road in 1975 Stefan tackled the wallpapering, but he was frequently in agony from leg pain, which consigned him again to the office sick list.
In August 1975 Kiszko had visited his GP, Dr George D’Vaz, complaining of tiredness. The doctor had immediately realised that there was something seriously wrong, for his patient had a grey pallor and, even whilst sitting down, was panting. He had the appearance of acute anaemia, but refused to be admitted to hospital despite the doctor’s insistence. In the face of this refusal Dr D’Vaz gave Kiszko a prescription, and arranged for him to be seen at his home the following day, Tuesday, 5 August, by Dr Gerard Duffy, Consultant Physician.
Dr Duffy found Kiszko to be severely anaemic, and arranged for his immediate admission to Birch Hill Hospital in Rochdale. There, Dr Duffy also found Kiszko to be hypogonadal, in that he had no testicles in his scrotum and an immature penis.1 The treatment administered for the anaemia was not successful, and Dr Duffy arranged for his patient to be transferred to Manchester Royal Infirmary, on 18 August, where he remained until 15 September.
At the Manchester hospital it was determined that Kiszko was the subject of long-standing hypogonadism and testosterone deficiency, and that the appropriate treatment for Kiszko would be replacement of the hormone testosterone. This was to be achieved by intramuscular testosterone injections administered once every three weeks.
Daily, Charlotte dutifully caught the bus for the fifteen-mile journey to the Manchester hospital. The consultant readily quashed her fears that the problem was leukaemia, but explained to Charlotte that her son could not have sexual contact with girls. For a woman of her background, who continued to regard her son as little more than a child, such information was bound to cause only confusion and embarrassment. Hence Charlotte did not ask the consultant to explain, and was equally unable to bring herself to discuss this matter with her son. She shut the matter from her mind: Stefan had never needed girlfriends anyway and, most importantly, he was going to recover and be allowed home.
On 15 September 1975 Stefan was discharged from hospital and returned to the cloying bosom of his tiny family. Almost three weeks later he had to return for an injection, but he was home by tea-time. He told his mother only that it was a routine injection and that she need not worry. Charlotte had not forgotten the consultant’s reference to a sexual problem, but had pushed it to the back of her mind. It surfaced again, but again she chose not to pry. Her son was home, and nothing else mattered. She did not know what the injection was and she did not ask. She did not know what her son’s sexual problem was and she did not ask. She would never hear the details from Stefan but, in due course, would learn his intimate secrets along with millions of other people who would read of Stefan Kiszko in the papers.
Where the absence of exercise, controlled diet and self-control had failed to put a ceiling on Kiszko’s ballooning weight, illness succeeded. He had lost two stones in weight whilst in hospital and his leg injury still required that he walk with a stick, but the person inside remained the same and Stefan was happy to be at home with his mother, helping wherever he could. Although he remained unable to return to work Stefan found that, as his recovery progressed, he was able to assist his mother more and more and, when the house move came about on 6 November Kiszko was to be found at the wheel of his Hillman Avenger, ferrying household items on a roof rack and in the boot. The ability to serve his mother contributed to Kiszko’s recovery: he was doing what he liked best. They were together again, as close as ever. He recalled that, during his time of illness at Crawford Street Charlotte had moved a bed settee into his bedroom so that she could be near him at night, to keep an eye on him and to be close at hand should he need her. The bond, broken only by physical separation, was now restored.
At 23, he lived with his mother in a tight community, which regarded Stefan as being abnormally close to his mother. As he grew up into his teens he had become aware of the jibes about being tied to his mother’s apron strings, but he had shrugged them off with more than a measure of bewilderment. People’s curiosity about the relationship followed him from school to college to his first job at the tax office in Rochdale. ‘It’s a mother fixation,’ he had overheard one clerk telling another. He had never fully understood his supposed fixation with his mother or whether the comments were designed to be hurtful, salacious or were possibly some sort of compliment.
Certainly he felt no shame for his love of and attachment to his mother, and the whispering campaign did not hurt him, for Stefan was never happier than in the company of his mother. He loved her, in the purest sense of that word. He respected her and admired her and paid heed to her advice, but she was also his friend. His best friend. Just about his only friend. He looked up to her, metaphorically at least, for at six feet two inches and weighing approximately seventeen stones, Stefan Kiszko towered in lumbering form over the bird-like lady who was his mother, Charlotte. Children had always found Stefan a figure of fun, an amiable giant with slightly popping eyes and turned-out feet. He waddled down the street like a bloated Charlie Chaplin. Even his name of Stefan marked him out as somebody ‘offbeat’. At the tax office he was the only man of his age who did not shave. He had quite a high-pitched voice and, almost inevitably, he did not have a girlfriend. His teeth were brownish because of his near-addiction to sweets, which he always carried in his baggy trouser pockets and which made him a soft target for the neighbourhood children.
He was an object of amusement. His imposing physical shape contrasted starkly with his apparent meekness, high voice and closeness to his mother. The fear which his height and girth might otherwise have caused was completely dissipated by the knowledge that he was too shy to speak to girls, too interested in his mother to bother anyone else and, in particular, by reason of it being well-known that Stefan Kiszko had never in his life done harm to another living thing.
