Our Factory, Our Father: A Short True Story From Home

A True Story From Home.

Our Factory, Our Father: A Short True Story From Home. I came home from the pub one night, not the worst night, surrounded by band members- but the whispers in the background could be heard: angry locals. 

“Peter Morrell’s son, he is just like his father.” 

“That’s Morrell’s eldest boy. His dad sacked my mum today.” 

And so it went on. Avoidance, reluctance, despair and quite frankly, I was sick and tired of it. 

Carrying the cowardice of my own fears, my own bullies, my own lack of bravery and now at an age when I could go for a pint? Well, now I carry the burden of the town’s Mr Big. 

“Your dad is a c**t , Simon Morrell, just like you.” 

It took soul-searching, it took lonely nights, and it took a lot of what I didn’t, up until this point, think I had: courage. 

From Bullied to Black Belt

I built up slowly, rehearsing my speech, my goodbyes, practising in my bedroom, my lonely space in the factory, walking my dog Jake through the town’s streets, but I made my decision. 

Making my way down the stairs to where Mum and Dad sat after his night out on pints and whiskey, I asked them to listen to me. My dad, Peter, put down his glass. 

“I’m leaving home. I’m leaving this town.” My mother was quiet, my father angry. 

“What? What are you talking about?”  

And so I told him, 

“Do you know what it is like carrying your weight in this town? Do you know the good folk of it hate me because of you?” 

He grimaced. 

“Do you know what I was called tonight, in front of the only true mates I’ve ever had?” 

‘C**’ was that word, but it was a word I would never have said in front of my mother. 

Peter sat back and sipped his whiskey. “Maybe it is you. Maybe you are the problem.” 

Here he went again, blame the black sheep, shape-shift the shame. 

“I don’t get any bother. Everybody seems to love me,” he continued. 

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes in frustration, but I did finally tell him his truth. 

“Because you drink in your castle. Your social club. You drink with your apostles. You drink with people who never say no to you. When was the last time you drank in a pub in this town?” 

The silence filled the room. 

“You don’t have to answer for that factory,” I said, my bravery, my courage, at an all time high. “I do and I’ve decided I’m leaving for a new town,

and I’m asking Julie to come with me.” 

My mum, silent until this point looked up. “Night Simon,” she said. 

An Everyday Warrior

 The very next night I asked Julie to move in with me. She never hesitated. This girl, my girl, my life, simply nodded and asked, “Where to?” 

Some time later, an aunty visited from abroad. She was mad as a box of frogs, but she was kind and she had my dad’s measure. 

Whilst she was there, Julie and I made a rare visit to my mum and dad for Sunday dinner. 

My aunty led me into the kitchen, and when it was just her and me, she said, “That took courage, leaving here, leaving him.” She nodded to the front room where my dad and his whiskey held court. “It’s the bravest thing you’ll ever do.” 

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