in the right direction, but as far as my life was going, I had no idea. I went back to work at Adams to find Oggy had made Daniella pregnant and they hurriedly made wedding plans. Worse still, that Sos and Bill had both decided to move to Sleaford and work at the Ruskington branch. 
The only love in my life at that time was Sos, although he never knew it. It felt like the bottom had fallen out of my world. It was ridiculous looking back because Sos was never going to be anything more than a friend to me but I was young, stupid and besotted by this funny little guy who had taken me under his wing, given me a social life, and helped improve my confidence a hundredfold. I couldn't imagine going to work and never seeing him again, plus I was being bullied by the factory manager to leave. He had never liked me from the start, when he was still just a supervisor. Because he was a poorly educated country boy, he didn't like the fact that I was more intelligent than him so as a putdown he used to call me ' The Grammar School Puff' even though he had no idea that I actually was one. It was time to leave. I saw an advert for a job at Hargreaves Turkey factory in Spalding and went along for an interview. I got the job, and although I was sorry to leave Adams, Hargreaves promised to at least provide me with a better wage, so it softened the blow somewhat. If ever there were a case of jumping out of the fat and in to the fire, I had just done it. I was telephoned the week before I started to tell me that I was actually needed to work at Hargreaves pork processing plant at Whaplode, which I had never heard of. When I found the place it was way out in the country, and was actually just a set of converted farm buildings. The Manager had shares in the company, and so was abrupt to the point of being rude, and the work was horrendous. The set-up was a long conveyor belt from one end of the shed to the other. On either side of that at about three feet intervals were single workbenches. A lad moved huge boxes of pigs heads on a forklift into position behind each one, and the job was to stand and bone them out all day, at the rate of twenty per hour, throwing all the meat, rind and fat onto the conveyor where it was sorted at the end. 
Pigs heads are notoriously tough to bone out at speed. Your knife is continually running up against bone, and catching the teeth just once dulls your knife so much that you are continually having to stop to sharpen it. The shed was freezing cold and was open to the air at one end where the loading dock was, so it felt like working outdoors. The manager patrolled the place like a bull mastiff, barking orders at everyone to speed up, and if you so much as left your workbench to go to the toilet, he followed you to make sure that you hadn't just sloped off for a cigarette. The ten minute tea break and half hour lunch break were timed from when you left the bench to when you got back to it, so provided little respite from the relentless robotic work. Because of the noise of the conveyor and the spacing of the benches, it was impossible to talk to anyone all day either. I was so miserable, and knew I wouldn't stand it there for long. I had to find another job, and quick! Fate took a hand in that on the third day, I was driving the 19 miles to the hellhole when the car engine blew its pistons. The guy I was giving a lift to and I managed to get to work, but it meant that I now had no transport. It was the final straw, and so the next morning, instead of trying to get to work, I walked 
up to the Jobcentre. There in the window was an ad for a shop butcher at Dewhursts in the Market Place. I went along to the shop, and tried to blag my way into a job. It worked, and the shop manager, Brian Jones, provisionally hired me on the spot. After verification with his Area Manager, I was telephoned and told to start the following Monday. I was so relieved and elated that I didn't have to go back to Hargreaves awful job.
Pigs heads are notoriously tough to bone out at speed. Your knife is continually running up against bone, and catching the teeth just once dulls your knife so much that you are continually having to stop to sharpen it. The shed was freezing cold and was open to the air at one end where the loading dock was, so it felt like working outdoors. The manager patrolled the place like a bull mastiff, barking orders at everyone to speed up, and if you so much as left your workbench to go to the toilet, he followed you to make sure that you hadn't just sloped off for a cigarette. The ten minute tea break and half hour lunch break were timed from when you left the bench to when you got back to it, so provided little respite from the relentless robotic work. Because of the noise of the conveyor and the spacing of the benches, it was impossible to talk to anyone all day either. I was so miserable, and knew I wouldn't stand it there for long. I had to find another job, and quick! Fate took a hand in that on the third day, I was driving the 19 miles to the hellhole when the car engine blew its pistons. The guy I was giving a lift to and I managed to get to work, but it meant that I now had no transport. It was the final straw, and so the next morning, instead of trying to get to work, I walked 
up to the Jobcentre. There in the window was an ad for a shop butcher at Dewhursts in the Market Place. I went along to the shop, and tried to blag my way into a job. It worked, and the shop manager, Brian Jones, provisionally hired me on the spot. After verification with his Area Manager, I was telephoned and told to start the following Monday. I was so relieved and elated that I didn't have to go back to Hargreaves awful job.I was still miserable inside, because I knew I wouldn't see much of Sos any more and had to get used to it. I was still trying to go against nature and was unnaccepting of my sexuality. I was still under the impression that maybe it was a phase I was going through and that if I could only find the right girl, I would feel complete, and would fit right in to everyone's idea of a socially acceptable young man. It has to be understood that in the late Seventies, racism and homophobia were widespread. Gangs of lads at night used to round off their drinking sprees by either going 'paki-bashing' or 'queer-bashing'. I remember a lad I had known vaguely at school who was a little more obviously gay. He was walking through the town centre one night 
when he was viciously attacked by a gang of lads, who punched and kicked him to the ground until he was motionless, and for good measure picked him up between them and threw him through a shop window. My Dad was actually called out to fetch his beaten body into hospital. He was quite seriously injured and suffered broken ribs which meant he had to stay in hospital to recover. Being 19 and realising that if I so much as told anyone that I may have homosexual feelings, the outcome was unthinkable. At best I expected to feel outcast and maybe thrown out of the family home, and at worst I thought that I could be seriously injured or worse. It was such a different time back then. There were no positive gay role models, and hailing from a small town, I knew no others like me, and inwardly felt like 
a freak. On the television, the only time you ever saw gay characters were as objects of derision or fun. I knew that I was not effeminate, I didn't flounce about and talk in a high voice like Mr Humphries from 'Are You Being Served' or stand-up comic Larry Grayson. Not only was I not like them, I didn't find anything remotely attractive about effeminate men. It made it very difficult for me to see where and how I fitted in. I did once try 
phoning a number in a two-line classified ad that appeared regularly in the local newspaper. It read "Homosexual men and women in Lincolnshire, phone CHE on (number) or write to PO Box 4". CHE was an abbreviation for Campaign for Homosexual Equality, and although I knew that much, I didn't know what else to expect, but knew I had to at least give it a try. Even then, I was so worried that someone may trace the call back to me that I walked up town to call from a public phone box. The voice that answered was so camp and squeaky, and in my naive mind was everything that society had told me to avoid. I put the phone down, shed a few tears of hopelessness, and vowed to have another go at 'doing the right thing' and finding myself a nice girlfriend.
when he was viciously attacked by a gang of lads, who punched and kicked him to the ground until he was motionless, and for good measure picked him up between them and threw him through a shop window. My Dad was actually called out to fetch his beaten body into hospital. He was quite seriously injured and suffered broken ribs which meant he had to stay in hospital to recover. Being 19 and realising that if I so much as told anyone that I may have homosexual feelings, the outcome was unthinkable. At best I expected to feel outcast and maybe thrown out of the family home, and at worst I thought that I could be seriously injured or worse. It was such a different time back then. There were no positive gay role models, and hailing from a small town, I knew no others like me, and inwardly felt like 
a freak. On the television, the only time you ever saw gay characters were as objects of derision or fun. I knew that I was not effeminate, I didn't flounce about and talk in a high voice like Mr Humphries from 'Are You Being Served' or stand-up comic Larry Grayson. Not only was I not like them, I didn't find anything remotely attractive about effeminate men. It made it very difficult for me to see where and how I fitted in. I did once try 
phoning a number in a two-line classified ad that appeared regularly in the local newspaper. It read "Homosexual men and women in Lincolnshire, phone CHE on (number) or write to PO Box 4". CHE was an abbreviation for Campaign for Homosexual Equality, and although I knew that much, I didn't know what else to expect, but knew I had to at least give it a try. Even then, I was so worried that someone may trace the call back to me that I walked up town to call from a public phone box. The voice that answered was so camp and squeaky, and in my naive mind was everything that society had told me to avoid. I put the phone down, shed a few tears of hopelessness, and vowed to have another go at 'doing the right thing' and finding myself a nice girlfriend.I didn't have to wait long. Oggy and Daniella were married a year earlier than they had initially planned and being one of his best friends I sat at the head table with members of his family.
There were a lot of them. I don't know why, but I only knew one other Oglesbee family in the town and they too had about 10 kids. In Dave's case, he was the second youngest of about eight offspring, his oldest sister being 45, and his youngest sister, Roz was 19. Roz and I hit it off straight away at his wedding reception. She was very much like Dave in temperament, and was quick to laugh, which made her fun to be around. We started dating. Over the next few months, I took her to all my old haunts, and we really seemed to get along well. I still had the nagging feeling that she didn't turn me on sexually, but thought maybe it would change once we got physical. Roz had been holding out on sex because she was still a virgin and wanted to save herself for the man she married. Of course this made it easier for me, because I didn't have to 'perform'. We did a lot of heavy petting in the car and back at her Mum and Dad's house when they had gone to bed, but it wasn't until we had been dating some time that Roz wanted to take it up a level. I asked her if she was sure, and she said she had never been more sure of anything in her life. The moment arrived one night when all her family were out. She took the lead initially, but then left it to me. She was nervous because it was her first time, and I was nervous because I knew that this was supposed to be special. We were both awkward and she wasn't relaxed, which made it difficult so it was possibly the worse 'lovemaking' I had ever done. I thought she would be so disappointed and disillusioned after that night, but the next morning she rang me to tell me how much she loved me, and that I had finally made her feel like a woman. I felt like a heel. There had been no passion involved in it for me, and I had just gone through the motions robotically because it was expected of me, I guess. We continued dating, and occasionally having sex for another few weeks, but when she started talking of wedding plans, looking in jewellers shop windows, and saying how many babies she wanted to have, I started to panic. Not only could I not go ahead with the lie anymore, I also knew that if we did get hitched, I would be ruining her life as well as my own.
There were a lot of them. I don't know why, but I only knew one other Oglesbee family in the town and they too had about 10 kids. In Dave's case, he was the second youngest of about eight offspring, his oldest sister being 45, and his youngest sister, Roz was 19. Roz and I hit it off straight away at his wedding reception. She was very much like Dave in temperament, and was quick to laugh, which made her fun to be around. We started dating. Over the next few months, I took her to all my old haunts, and we really seemed to get along well. I still had the nagging feeling that she didn't turn me on sexually, but thought maybe it would change once we got physical. Roz had been holding out on sex because she was still a virgin and wanted to save herself for the man she married. Of course this made it easier for me, because I didn't have to 'perform'. We did a lot of heavy petting in the car and back at her Mum and Dad's house when they had gone to bed, but it wasn't until we had been dating some time that Roz wanted to take it up a level. I asked her if she was sure, and she said she had never been more sure of anything in her life. The moment arrived one night when all her family were out. She took the lead initially, but then left it to me. She was nervous because it was her first time, and I was nervous because I knew that this was supposed to be special. We were both awkward and she wasn't relaxed, which made it difficult so it was possibly the worse 'lovemaking' I had ever done. I thought she would be so disappointed and disillusioned after that night, but the next morning she rang me to tell me how much she loved me, and that I had finally made her feel like a woman. I felt like a heel. There had been no passion involved in it for me, and I had just gone through the motions robotically because it was expected of me, I guess. We continued dating, and occasionally having sex for another few weeks, but when she started talking of wedding plans, looking in jewellers shop windows, and saying how many babies she wanted to have, I started to panic. Not only could I not go ahead with the lie anymore, I also knew that if we did get hitched, I would be ruining her life as well as my own. The break-up happened unexpectedly. We had 
been to the Castle Club at Coningsby, but she hadn't wanted to dance. It was all I wanted to do, so I got up and strutted my stuff all evening. On the way home, Roz didn't speak to me. I kept trying to apologise and get her to talk, but she was determined not to. Back at the house, her Mum made us both coffee and then dutifully retired to bed. Roz and I sat on opposite sofas, me looking at her and her looking at the floor. We argued over silly things, and I suddenly found myself telling her, "I don't think this is working out. I think we should give it a rest. I'll call you". She cried, saying that she always knew that she wasn't good enough for me etcetera, and we parted on the doorstep. I drove hell for leather out into the countryside, crying my eyes out. I stopped the 
car and bashed my had against the steering wheel several times. I was so full of remorse and regret, but at the same time knew that i had no choice but to leave things as they were. I hated myself, I hated what I'd done to her, and I couldn't see how I could ever be happy.
been to the Castle Club at Coningsby, but she hadn't wanted to dance. It was all I wanted to do, so I got up and strutted my stuff all evening. On the way home, Roz didn't speak to me. I kept trying to apologise and get her to talk, but she was determined not to. Back at the house, her Mum made us both coffee and then dutifully retired to bed. Roz and I sat on opposite sofas, me looking at her and her looking at the floor. We argued over silly things, and I suddenly found myself telling her, "I don't think this is working out. I think we should give it a rest. I'll call you". She cried, saying that she always knew that she wasn't good enough for me etcetera, and we parted on the doorstep. I drove hell for leather out into the countryside, crying my eyes out. I stopped the 
car and bashed my had against the steering wheel several times. I was so full of remorse and regret, but at the same time knew that i had no choice but to leave things as they were. I hated myself, I hated what I'd done to her, and I couldn't see how I could ever be happy.The job at Dewhurts was going okay. I learned how to do the different cuts of meat quite easily, and enjoyed making window displays and serving customers. The guys I worked with, although not the type I socialised with outside of work, were pleasant enough and we had a few laughs. Brian the manager used to throw occasional tantrums when things weren't going his way, but he usually calmed down once the displays were in place, and his panic subsided. I was only 5-10 minutes from home, so even managed to go home at lunchtimes. My 
social life slowed down somewhat, but I wasn't too 
bothered. In February 1977 Sos was married, and Bill was his Best Man. I turned up and sat through the proceedings, smiling and congratulating in all the right places, but feeling all my pangs of love and lust being dashed once again. It was not a particularly happy day for me, but I couldn't tell anyone how I was feeling, of course. Why couldn't I find someone just like him who felt the same way I did?
social life slowed down somewhat, but I wasn't too 
bothered. In February 1977 Sos was married, and Bill was his Best Man. I turned up and sat through the proceedings, smiling and congratulating in all the right places, but feeling all my pangs of love and lust being dashed once again. It was not a particularly happy day for me, but I couldn't tell anyone how I was feeling, of course. Why couldn't I find someone just like him who felt the same way I did? I continued to go to pubs and clubs locally with John's son Tony, and on one occasion went to a nurse's dance at Westland Hall. After a few drinks, I found myself dancing with a cute looking girl called Trudy. 
By the end of the night, I had arranged a date. She was good-looking enough, and we dated a few times. It was nice to feel part of the crowd again I guess, and be able to have this poor girl hanging off my arm whenever I went out. I was really only coasting along, and didn't take her seriously at all. What made it worse was that I found out that her brother was a lad called Terry that I had fancied from a distance for years! Being at her house and seeing him walking through the room in just a towel after a shower in the evenings only added to my frustration. Trudy finally called it a day when she had to go into hospital for a few days with a dodgy ankle, and I didn't visit her once. She had told the girl in the next bed all about me, and wanted to show me off to her once I turned up to visit. The fact that I didn't, added to the fact that she found out I had been drinking in the Falcon with mates was enough. She wrote me a very polite letter, explaining all this, and that was that. I was single again.
By the end of the night, I had arranged a date. She was good-looking enough, and we dated a few times. It was nice to feel part of the crowd again I guess, and be able to have this poor girl hanging off my arm whenever I went out. I was really only coasting along, and didn't take her seriously at all. What made it worse was that I found out that her brother was a lad called Terry that I had fancied from a distance for years! Being at her house and seeing him walking through the room in just a towel after a shower in the evenings only added to my frustration. Trudy finally called it a day when she had to go into hospital for a few days with a dodgy ankle, and I didn't visit her once. She had told the girl in the next bed all about me, and wanted to show me off to her once I turned up to visit. The fact that I didn't, added to the fact that she found out I had been drinking in the Falcon with mates was enough. She wrote me a very polite letter, explaining all this, and that was that. I was single again.
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