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DojiStarr - The Early Years. Where The Story Began


It was a cold November morning, I stood peering through the mist over the water, my nostrils full with the smell of early morning dew, my toes already frozen and my nose dripping. It was just light, the river Severn looked huge and menacing moving slowly past my feet reminding me of slow moving larva from a volcano, taking a step back the hairs on my neck rose. This was my first time pike fishing and I’d been looking forward to it for days.


I was 8, of slight build, a cowlick that I hated and shy. My first 8 years of life hadn’t been easy. Mum and Dad had separated, and aged just 6 my brother and I were sent to live with Dad in Cornwall. I had very few happy memories, the ones I had were of exploring the farm we lived on, spending hours lay on my back on the steep field trying to make animals from cloud shapes. I’d also be told to sit on the tractor seat and steer the tractor whilst Dad unloaded silage from the rear bale spike, my feet nowhere near the floor " just sit and steer towards that gate” Dad would say. This was always a highlight of my day.

Refuges, social services, overhearing arguments, a constant change of nannies and a school bully filled the rest. Young people often file these events in life as photographs, like an album in their mind, being able to file them correctly in later years is often where the problems start.

March, spring is in the air, Dad is working long hours calving cows. This morning is different, Dad is different. Getting out of the car outside the school, he picked me up and placed me on top of the stone wall, the top of which was very uneven. Holding my hand he walked me along its length, he looked at me for longer than normal and smiled, those 10 seconds are etched in my mind. Walking up the path to the large wooden doors I kept thinking I’d never seen him like that.

Fast forward to 3:15, I’m standing with my younger brother waiting for dad to pick us up, 3:20, 3:25, 3:30. Mrs. Wood the school Head had tried calling the farm with no success. We only lived 10 minutes from the school so my teacher and the school Head decided to drive us the short distance home.



It’s very mild in Cornwall, the long drive to our house was lined with hundreds of daffodils, turning into the yard I noticed immediately that the cows weren’t in the holding yard after the afternoon milking. Dad had always drummed it into us that the farm was a dangerous place and he always made sure doors were closed, wires and fences in good condition and gates closed. As we exited the car, my brother ran up the yard towards the house, I noticed that the large sliding door to the workshop was slightly open, Dad must be in there I thought, he would never leave the door open. I ran towards the door, Mrs. Wood walking behind me, as I got nearer I could hear an engine. Through the opening I could see dad’s new red sports car, the same car he’d taken us to school in. Mrs. Wood shouted me to come back as I turned to fit through the gap. I could hear music, Mrs. Wood was trying to grab me but I was just far enough in and out of reach. I asked why there was a pipe on the back of the car? “maybe he’s cleaning the car”, was the reply, the tone in her voice had changed.

I stood there knocking on the window, dad sat in the driver’s seat just inches from my face. I kept knocking harder and harder, annoyed he wouldn’t answer. I’ve tried for many years to remember that song, I’m sure one day my mind will release the song.





Excitedly I threaded the line through the eyes of the fishing rod, buzzing inside that I may land a pike. I had been reading Mr. Crabtree’s fishing books and already had a picture in my mind of me playing a big fish.

Turning around I asked my mums partner (I won’t name for now) for a lure from his box. I wasn’t able to reason at the time why he did what he did next, but over the years I’ve been able to put the pieces together.

The river had a tributary flowing into it maybe 50 yards away, the grass was still wet with dew and the mist was still hanging. I'd tied a stone onto my line and cast it into the water, making out I was fishing. I sat behind a forked tree, my trousers soaked and freezing cold not wanting to move a muscle. I was just able to see him through the V in the tree trunk, keeping him in sight, my insides turning, feeling absolutely helpless and so sorry for myself.

So as one chapter of my life had closed the next chapter of my life opened, just like a book.


I’m the lucky one, so many children do not make it out of abusive homes, the level of violence used is on another level. I have the unique ability to turn on and off emotions like a switch including my thoughts. I show little if any emotion to anyone except my wife and children, in my own way. I have found that writing is my release, it allows me to safely visit places and times in my memory that I would otherwise struggle to do, taking them out one at a time, working through them and replacing them back in the file. I hope that through my writing I can help others, showing the tools I have used and developed to get by in my early life and continue to use today.

Many of the events, situations and thoughts written in this book, "THE INOSCULATION” and the next five books being written are very real and based on my life, both in my early and later years, minus the grafting of people to trees?

I really hope you enjoy the series and can distinguish between the fact and the reality, the power of the pen as a tool for helping the mind is strong, give it a go, it can’t hurt you,

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