AN INCREDIBLE LIFE!

Chapter One Game On

I was conceived in New Zealand around New Years 1953, an unwanted pregnancy derived probably from wild drunken sex after some New Years party. Anyway Annette Forster quit her dietien job at Wellington Hospital and sailed to England probably through the Suez Canal, as I recall seeing a picture of her pregnant on a camel. I was born Michael George Forster (and that is still my legal name) on September 21, 1953 in Plymouth. In 1954 we sailed from Southampton to Montreal. My Canada Immigration card (#193 issued Nov. 4, 1954) as provided in pages ahead, is interesting in that it provides lots of facts otherwise unknown; as well it shows some officials’ complete incompetence. Several dates are scratched out and altered and even the location changed. Here first, the word father is mentioned; as payor of the fare. I however seriously doubt that Stan Milne was my father, but I may be wrong. He never acted fatherly and never even gave me his name. There is a picture on a following page of a 1952? Photo of Annette with a tall handsome curly brown-haired man. The photo may have been my real dad or maybe Stan Howard; a close family friend until grandmas (Phyllis nee Fache) death. His last name may be from a branch of the family that intersects with the McBride’s in Akaroa (or not); as in 1971 I was kind of hanging out with his daughter Jane and was never aware of any family ties.

 I recall as a youngster seeing a marriage certificate of Stan and Annette dated sometime in the fall of 1954, they just never bothered to change my name. One of my earliest memories is being in a church without my mom; I believe that was their wedding. I definitely recall living in the Beaches of east Toronto and years later found the house we left when I was only three. I recall our German shepherd “Kiwi” retrieving sticks thrown in Lake Ontario and in 1986 had changed little. What bothers me is how I could remember this and other minor details from such a young age! I recall being alone in the local grocer (long gone) and my mom confirms that I would go off there unattended. She claims I climbed out of my crib and out a window, but this seems unbelievable. I have been told I had a broken arm at that time and received a broken bone in my nose, perhaps this was when the abuse started.

So we moved to the white house, ahh yes the white house it was so lovely. There are films of those days they were some of best days of my life. It was called the white house simply because it was a large ranch style alone in the shoulder of Bayview Ave. and the 401 When news reached my mom in Jan 1960 of some storm hitting Toronto “like a bomb” that I translated to my New Zealand kindergarten teacher which as I recall her shock of hearing” we lived in ‘The White House’ and it was bombed!” I remember that I did believe it was a bomb and not a storm. I am still searching for a copy of my fantasial escape through “Grimm’s Fairy Tales”, a green hard cover book that had these amazing colour plates with onion skin cover pages over them. You could see right through the onion skins but it only made you want to peel back the cover to reveal the illustration of whatever tale was being told. Beautiful fantasies created in bold paintings! I recall Peter Pan with his hands on his hips saying “I won’t grow up!” and at that tender age deciding “I’m with you Peter Pan. I won’t grow up” and I never have. Today my 14 year old daughter asked why babies always look at me and after some joking I told her it was because I am still only 4 years old. On that subject yes it appears babies and old people are attracted to me generally speaking. Personally I believe it has to do with my internal nature (? spirit?) which unexplainably seems quite different than most. I digress. I had a cowboy outfit that Wild Bill himself would have lusted after. Double leather holsters, leg tie straps for quick draws, two pearl handled cap revolvers with loadable silver (simulated) bullets. Real cowhide and cow hair matching chaps and vest. I even had a belt with a pop-out buckle of a single shot cap pistol. At that time I also believed I could fly like Superman; so with towel around my neck I flew off furniture. Even while performing thus I really believed I was actually flying and would proclaim that I had flown from the bedroom hallway to the kitchen. To this day if I look back and see what that kid saw, I have to agree that I WAS flying. I put this down however to an extremely fertile imagination.

To tell this story best I must confess throughout the telling too many other “GREAT EVENTS” that have occurred and continue to occur in my life. It was at Bayview where I got to pick my pet dog Mary from a station wagon full of puppies. I also recall belts my grandma sent Chris and I from NZ with moving scenes of cowboys etc I also had a mechanical horse that I loved and brushed his hemp rope mane. Jeff and Reid Aitken lived down the street and we played hero where I would battle for their sisters’ hand. Mom used to sing songs like baby baby have a sniff on me cause green is the colour of the cocaine bean…when I die paint my tombstone green cause green is the colour of the cocaine bean, I met an Indian maiden who stood about 6 foot high, her nose was painted sky blue pink and she only had one eye. She made signs that she loved me, that she’d be mine for life; but I wonder what my mama would say if I married an Indian wife, for it was kinkajou joe  I grow joe the mongrel  jippy jippy jok and a jippy jippy jok and a funny little tokum box drat drat take it out of that funny little tokum box, and a froggie went a wooing go ahoo ahoo a froggie went a wooing go ahoo ahoo he went on down to the old oak tree ahoo ahoo he sat miss mouse upon his knee ahoo ahoo and he said miss mouse will you marry me ahoo ahoo. And when will the wedding breakfast be ahoo ahoo  september 4^th at half past three And what will the wedding breakfast be ahoo ahoo

a slice of cake and a cup of tea ahoo ahoo And where will the wedding breakfast be ahoo ahoo oh down in the hollow of the old oak tree ahoo ahoo the first to come was  Mrs. Moth ahoo ahoo she came to lay the table cloth ahoo ahoo the next to come was Major Dick ahoo ahoo he ate so much that he got sick ahoo ahoo the next to come was Doctor Fly ahoo ahoo in case poor Major Dick should die ahoo ahoo they all went sailing down the lake and got gobbled up by a big fat drake ahoo ahoo  I remember crying one night probably Dec 1959 mom asked why cause we are going to NZ and we will miss Santa. We indeed went to NZ, my mom brother and sister sans Stan. We flew on the first cross Canada jet and I remember we received commemorative wine glasses in boxes placed on our seats when we boarded. I recall visiting Disneyland and sailing on a ship to New Z seeing ‘flocks’ of flying fish. I have tried to remember the name of the ship but can’t the SS Anne or something. I went to school in two schools one in Akaroa a true paradise and Roseneath in Wellington. At Akaroa at 6 I learnt to ride a bike in the front yard of “the Glen” which they referred to as the ‘tennis court’ though I was sure no one had ever played tennis on it. Then I began to ride to school at least a mile away. Descending on this one steep gravel road hill every day I would pull on the hand brake and immediately fly off over the handlebars. This happened day after day. I never knew until I was an adult that I was locking up the front wheel each time. My knees were a mess with scabs on top of scabs. At lunch time I would go into town and buy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper which I felt made them taste better. We had a school Olympics and I received a team singlet which I was so proud of as well as my grey leather lederhosen shorts with carved ivory elephant on chest flap. At Akaroa I had a bee collection which I kept in a cage. I got stung a lot, also I used to catch crabs under rocks on the beach by the house (there were millions of them) and I recall a tiger skin on the living room floor. I believe it may have been the one mentioned as coming from Burmah (Myanmar) from GC/s brother. One morning when getting up late Paddy McBride carried me down to the bay and threw me in pjs and all. This may have begun my dislike of rising early.

Next it was on to Wellington where I attended Roseneath Primary. I recall a helicopter landing in the school yard. No-one has yet positively confirmed this nor have I discovered its purpose. Years later my grandma (a saint of a woman) recalled a time when I brought home a boy to show my grandma how he could squeak like a mouse. Years later when I returned to NZ I worked part time at Woolworths  warehouse and was befriended by Chris Walker (actually he admits that he spied on where I lived and then talked to me as we were soon both to be in 6^th form at Wellington College. Anyway as 17 year olds one of our trips brought us close to Roseneath and somehow I recognized it and told him I attended there briefly 11 years before. So did I he said. We deduced that we were in the same class then and when discussing it with Grandma she felt he kind of resembled the squeaking mouse boy! If true it seems like an almost unbelievable coincidence! My grandma bought me a leather back satchel, into which she put a container of lemonade every day. We still had that satchel in our attic in Wildwood (Ontario) years later and I would take it out to smell the still present odours of that sweet elixir lemonade. I recall a long train trip I took with Arch, no idea what we were doing but I recall he loved to hear my Americanesque drawl of ‘grandpa’, and that I was into barking like a dog he diplomatically telling me that dogs were not allowed on the train. He and the conductor had a good laugh over that one. Perhaps this was the start of my enjoyment of making people laugh. Our ship that brought us back to America was docked just below my grandmas house and when boarding I asked about the sword Arch promised I could have. We will mail it to you and sure enough about 6 years later it arrived. Ownership became an issue later on but hopefully I will tell of that at its proper time.

 So we sailed from NZ. I recall many stops at island paradises. I should investigate the route for actual itinerary, I recall seeing flying fish  Neptune’s visit as we crossed the equator swimming in redpop and lots of candy There was kid activities set up daily and I made some stitching which my mom kept. I want that back as much as any priceless treasure.Next thing I recall is living cramped up in a cottage type motel beside Appleby College in Oakville Ontario as mom apparently had reunited with her husband Stan. We moved into another ranch style house on Birch Hill Lane, #79. Tommy Bath lived through the woods and across the creek 3 minutes run away. He was my best friend. We often played down by Lake Ontario even in winter when big chunks of ice the size of houses pushed their way onto the shore. We once found a $20 bill. We bought smokes, wieners, marshmallows and candies; went down to the lake, had afire and as great a party as anyone ever has had. By grade 2 I had decided to win Heather Cook as my girlfriend so I took guitar lessons. I wanted to be like Hank Snow but the teacher said my fingers were too little and I must play slide guitar. I was never content on slide though the sound occasionally made me feel alright. I was invited for lunch at the home of my sweetheart one day and to really impress her I found a dead mouse on the way to school and threw it on her. Of course she screamed, but when we got to school she told the teacher and soon I was in the principal’s office. If this was my only visit to that principal then we must have had eggs for lunch as after a stern talk he told me to go wash my face as there was egg on it.  During these days I delivered the Hamilton Spectator. Appleby College was a customer and the ladies in the kitchen always fed me pie, cake and cookies. I loved those ladies. I really don’t know how I remembered my route or made change as I was only eight, but I did! During this time is when I began to be a collector of things. My grandma would send me stamps and I was awed by their individual beauty and I enjoyed cataloging and displaying them. I had many books of them but they were all confiscated by my mom. The collection would have a great value by now. I have since  had collections that have spun out of control; from business cards, match packs, stickers, crests, pens, fridge magnets, lighters, coins, hockey pucks and sweaters, motorcycles, hats, postcards, holograms and women. I still keep just a few 45 records as well as lps, beta vhs and audio tapes though I do not use them. I also kept all the art of my daughter Mirielle as well as all the court records of the battle for her custody.

In Oakville I recall spending endless hours playing a Burl Ives album over and over. He was one of my first heroes. I sang with the record and still know every note and nuance of that album, from oogie woogie bee to it takes a worried man. Coincidentally, I found out much later that he was a personal friend of my grandparents and had even slept in their spare room. I have a picture of them together in a rowboat in NZ. After grade 3 our family moved to ten acres out in the wilds of Georgetown called Wildwood Manor. The problem was the family left me behind. Some neighbour (the Snoffels?) called around and some 8 hours later the family came and picked me up. Once out of Oakville I never returned or saw my friends again which has  been a constant problem with my life on the move; however in 1997, early for a meeting in Oakville, I went around my old neighbourhood. I left a note at the house I believed was Heathers house and 3 days later I got a call from her! "Are you the boy who threw the mouse on me?", yes I confessed, delighted and yet stunned she remembered, but how did I remember her full name and address for some 37 years since I was 8? A Christmas card arrived in 1997 from Heather with a mouse Santa on the front, unbelievable! I attended Stewarttown Public school, a four room country school. Our classroom was for grade 4 and 5 and they accidentally put me in grade 5. I went and set the record straight with Mrs. McKelvey my teacher and was given the right books for grade 4; I should have kept my mouth shut. I was the class clown and as such spent a lot of time out in the hall. How are kids supposed to get ahead spending hours standing in the hall? I calculate that from grade 4-8 I spent at least 200 or more hours standing in the hall. I got the strap often. Once I was caught doing art for a mother’s day card and I recall that the tears had washed out some of the art which I gave my mom anyway. In grade 6 our class made a year book “30? Nuts In A Shell” and someone’s art featured me balancing on the back legs of my chair which I did a lot to keep myself occupied. This trick often ended with me crashing to the ground. During these years I ran several paper routes for the Globe and Mail. Delivering in Glen Williams in winter was hell. I had to get up at 5am and often had to walk crying from frozen feet and hands. When I would finish I was often late for the school bus and then would have to walk the 3-4 miles to school. I believe I used to hitch hike as I walked. Sometimes I rode my pony on delivery and even at least once I rode my pony to school. In 1967 our grade 8 class boarded a bus for Montreal and Expo 67 which was awesome. Our graduation dance was a horror from hell for me. I had no social skills nor did I have the first idea about a public dance.

High school was hard for me. I felt lost in the big school. My mom was having sex with many of the neighbours husbands, and in fact I quit being religious the morning after I caught Mr. Gimpel and her screwing on our sofa, I had to serve her the sacraments in our church where I was crucifer, alter boy and choir member. ALSO I WAS BEING ABUSED PHYSICALLY and emotionally on a daily basis by my mom. She would come close to me and shout with all her might that I was worthless etc etc. After several years of this I learnt to tune her out. I could see her lips moving. spit flying but could not hear her. This became a problem later in life as I would often ask people to repeat what they said as I tuned them out accidentally. Oh the beatings, they were hard to tune out She drew blood often, hitting me with anything at hand she went through lots of kitchen utensils on me kids golf clubs, anything within reach. One time swinging a hammer at me she got me in the back of the head which took 4 stitches to close. Besides the paper routes  and school I was running her little hobby farm feeding and cleaning 20 pigs, feeding horses, milking our cow and the watering, oh the watering. Every year the barn water froze and I carried bucket after bucket from the kitchen sink to the barn, maybe 250 yards away. It could not be avoided that water splashed as I walked down into my gumboots. I would work until about 930pm like this and ended up by 17 with rheumatism in my feet. By 930 the kids were usually in bed I had dinner then began washing dishes. As these were finishing was usually when my mom in drunken fits would assault me. I never knew who called Children’s Aid but they came by one day and asked me a bunch of questions. There was no doubt what the answers were as further beatings were sure to get worse if I was to spill the beans. They never came back but the beatings always did. Children’s Aid were a lousy bunch; at the very least incompetent at their job. In the21st century I believe they have elevated this to an art and it is completely overrun by sadists who deliberately foster child abuse. A recent political cartoon shows a new CAS going up between a morgue and a hospital the caption has the worker saying location location location,

I ran away from home first when I was thirteen unable to tolerate another beating. I hung out in the woods until 11pm or then snuck back home and into the barn but my mom caught me. If such a thing is possible I think she was possessed by the devil. At 13 I began working picking fruit strawberries tomatoes and apples and as such filled in a form for my social insurance number. I filled in my name as Mike Milne not knowing I was actually Mike Forster but I none the less received a SIN for the ficticous name. I even later received driver’s license and passport in that name. It was not until 1991 that the British Embassy informed me I was actually Mike Forster. It was easiest at that time to sign a form to say that I wished to continue using this sydonome rather than reapply. I continue to use this name to save the bother. In high school I had a best friend Bruce Gregg we hung out a lot especially skipping class to play pool. In 1969 I was offered a seat on a bus to Woodstock, but realizing I had farm chores to do I declined. If I was a year older I would have said screw the chores and gone for the ride of my life.

this biography can be purchased in its entirity by emailing spacermike007@yahoo.ca