My mum, Alison Taylor, was born in Middlesex on 28th April 1940. It never occurred to me that her first years of life would have been lived during World War 2. I don't know much about my mother's early life but she would have been living at 25 Ryecroft Avenue in Twickenham, England. She attended Nelson Primary school and then went on to Twickenham county School. She was not an exceptional pupil, although her grades were fair and she excelled at music. She was brought up in a middle-classed family and as such was a well spoken individual. She passed her English, English Economic History and French O Levels during her exams in 1956 and left school at the age of 16 as far as I know. I presume she would have got a job at that point. On her marriage certificate her occupation was a clerk for a paper firm.

At some time around 1958 or 1959 mum met my father, Ernest McConville. After leaving the R.A.F. in 1953, my father had been living and working around the Hounslow area which, I think, is not far from Twickenham. According to one family member, she was friendly with another woman who was seeing my father's brother, Mark, so that could be how they met. Her mother and father did not approve of the relationship either because of my father's background or because he was 12 years older than her. It might just be that they wouldn't have approved of anyone as with a lot of parents especially concerning daughters and being suspicious of the motives of boys. It could also be that there was some concern about my mother's mental state even as early as this. Later on it was stated that my mother was showing signs of mental illness as early as 17 years old.

In June 1960, mum, who was 20 years old, informed her parents that she was going away on holiday with a girlfriend. They found out that she was in fact going to Gretna Green in Scotland to marry Ernest McConville and her father travelled there and brought her back home. As mum was only 20, she would need her parents' permission to marry. In those days you could only get married without your parents' consent if you were 21, so many young people went to Gretna Green as the rules did not apply there. Mum found a way to go back to Gretna and so married Ernest on 25th June 1960. From old documents and letters I have, Ernest had been living at 71 Westwick Gardens in Shepherd's Bush, London at the time of his marriage. They then lived not far from there, at 4 Sinclair Road, for a short time. In November 1961 Alison had their first child, a daughter. During her pregnancy, mum started to show strong signs of mental illness. I'm not sure whether the hormonal changes may have been too much for an already fragile mind and I suppose I will never know if her mental state would have been more stable had she not had children. It was then that she was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

After the birth of my sister, mum spent time in a psychiatric ward before coming home and on medication that she would have to take always. I don't think she was ever the same after the illness took over. She was discharged on 2nd January 1962

In March 1963, a second child was born, a boy this time. Mum seemed to be ok during and after her pregnancy and I don't think she relapsed, or I don't remember hearing about it, between then and my birth in March 1966. I think this time mum was admitted to a psychiatric hospital while she was pregnant and that I may have been born on a maternity ward in this hospital and was looked after by the nurses as I apparently didn't react very well to my mother feeding me. that was possibly the start of an awkward relationship between my mother and I. I don't think I ever bonded with her and always felt closer to my father. Of course I didn't really understand why or what was wrong with my mum and quite resented her over the years for the embarrassment I felt when she was ill. It's always something I will regret but it's not something I can do anything about now.

My father was under considerable pressure in trying to look after my sister and brother, as well as visiting my mum and being expected to get a job. I think back in the 1960s and beyond, even in later times, mental illness and the sufferers of it tended to be kept away from the public glare and it was not understood the pressure that a family could be under while struggling to cope and keep up with the bills. To be quite honest, there was no way my father could have held down a job and coped with what was going on with my mother and us children but the officials would keep on plugging away. In the early 1970s my mother was working in a post office but she got ill again and had to leave. She did try to get a job back there but they politely declined her application. She was to have many relapses over the years and I actually seem to remember her being in hospital as much as she was out of it. I vaguely remember my father working and me being looked after by an elderly lady and not liking it one bit. My father said later that I used to cling to him and scream as I didn't want to be left there.

At some point in the mid 1960s, mum and dad moved to 53 Frithville Gardens in Shepherds Bush. It wasn't a flat, more a room rented in a large house. The landlord was a Mr Alexander Bondariwski. From documents I have, there were times when paying the rent was quite difficult and the landlord went to court to evict us (I was born in 1966 during their time at this address). I cannot begin to imagine the pressure my father was under during these times as he stuggled to work while my mother was ill on and off. She also smoked very heavily, about 60 or more cigarettes a day sometimes. There is even a story that a woman looked after my brother and sister and used to lock my brother (who would have been about 3) in a cupboard and my sister would call in to him to try and comfort him and tell him everything would be alright. I know that in December 1964 mum was living in 26 Avalon Road, Ealing. I think her and dad had split up for a while.

My father must have managed to get onto the council housing list as in 1967 we moved to 51a Lakeside Road in Shepherd's Bush. A two bedroom, first floor flat. Mum continued to have relapses and would regularly be seen walking down the road in a half-dressed state. She was admitted to Springfield hospital on 7th January 1967 and remained there for two or more months. Dad would have to try and coax her to go the the doctors or hospital with him, sometimes pretending that he needed to get treatment just so she would go willingly. She would end up being sectioned under the Mental Health Act and would spend weeks, sometimes months, in a psychiatric ward. Some hospitals were nicer than others. St. Mary Abbotts and Springfield were two of the nicer ones but still I never liked to go there to visit as the people scared me. I remember her being on Snowdrop ward and on Primrose ward in Springfield. Banstead was one of the not so nice places. I remember having to travel what seemed a very long way on multiple buses to see mum. Seeing her in hospital was not a nice memory as she would be foaming at the mouth and her eyes would be rolling in her head, probably due to all the medication she was on. They were also using EST (Electric Shock Treatment) during those years and she was one who received this treatment. She would complain that some of the staff were manhandling her and hitting her and that her cigarettes were going missing. We never knew if these allegations were true or even if we did believe her, we wouldn't have known what to do about it. There were times that she would have bruising and one time I remember her having had stitches in her chin and her saying that one of the staff had caused it. Mum would regularly run away from hospital and on a couple of occasions she turned up at my school during school assembly wearing one of those horrid striped 70s hospital gowns. This just added to the awkward relationship I had with her. I saw this as a total embarrassment.... like, "how could she do this to me?". It must have been just as embarrassing for her when she was well to feel that she was failing as a mother. I remember being totally against her and sometimes wishing I had a new family. I probably said that to her too if the truth be known and have always regretted how I was towards her. I think I just wanted a 'normal' family, whatever that is.

In June 1969 mum and dad had split up again. Mum had left and gone to stay at her parents' and taken me with her. We were still there in December 1969. By 1970 mum had come back and ended up back in hospital. Again in March 1972 mum was in hospital and according to a letter from the Savings Bank mum was working at in April or May the same year mum had taken an overdose and ended up in Banstead hospital. In November 1973 mum was admitted to St. Mary Abbots hospital with her mental health. In March 1975 mum was in hospital again and dad had to stay home from work to look after us children.

In April and May 1978 mum was again in Banstead. This time she became friendly with one of the other male patients called Michael Rossiter. He was quite old, about in his 60s. I'm not sure if his mental illness was the same as hers but I know he once threw himself under a train and as a result his shoulder was crushed. Mum continued to visit Michael in Banstead after she was discharged and there wasn't much dad could do as he struggled to work and look after us children. Michael even came to stay with my brother and I at one point. I think it was Christmas 1978, dad and my sister went on holiday to Ireland to see dad's family and my brother and I stayed at home with mum. Michael turned up and spent the whole Christmas with us... that was just weird. I think they were both a bit ill at the time as I remember them rigging up this little camp type structure in the kitchen where they would sit and light candles and pray all day. Mum wasn't a religious person but it happens a lot that people who are mentally ill go all religious.

In April 1979 mum left dad and went to live with Michael in a flat. They were living with a man called Peter who was a very scarey looking character. I didn't like the look of him at all and was quite worried about what he might do to mum but there wasn't much I could do, mum was determined. Her and Michael got a flat in Hackney (Frampton Park Estate) and dad helped them out as much as he could. He took us children to see her. Dad was good like that. Mum got a divorce from dad in 1982. Mum had taken another overdose around Christmas 1983 and was back in a psychiatric ward as Michael wrote to my dad asking if he would ask us to visit her in Homerton Hospital. I think it was in 1984 that Michael died... mum came home and found him. I think he'd had a heart attack or something but she got ill again and was not getting any support from any of the medical people. She ended up coming to live with us in our house in Fulham (we'd also moved in 1979) after squatters had moved into her flat in Hackney. It was also too difficult for dad to keep going all that way to sort things (bills etc) out.

Mum was in and out of Charing Cross hospital over the period between 1984 and 1992. I remember dad had a heart attack in 1992 and mum got ill around that time. Dad asked me to take her to the hospital as she was becoming a danger. She had tried to set fire to a pile of newspapers in my dad's bedroom. I took her to A&E and had to bring my two children along too. Can you believe there are no facilities to deal with the mentally ill? Only to sit in accident and emergency with everyone else while running around trying to keep your ill family member under control. It was 6 hours before she was seen by a psychiatrist and then he was going to send her home. I had to practically beg him to arrange for her to stay in as dad was ill and she was in danger of harming him or herself or both. She spent a while in hospital and then came home again. I don't think they ever got her completely well before discharging her and that was one of the reasons she would end up back in again so soon.

After my father died in 1998, mum and my sister (who also had mental illness) were living in the family home. My brother and I both had our own family/children. My sister rang and told me mum wasn't very well and that she'd been saying she felt like strangling her, so I spoke to a social worker at the hospital. I told him that my mum had told my sister she felt like strangling her. In his wisdom, the social worker told me that if things got any worse I should ring back. I pointed out the stupidity of his advice in that what would he consider as being worse? Did he mean that I should ring back if my mum actually strangled my sister? Finally he arranged for mum to be admitted to hospital. I was quite assurred that this time mum might actually be stable before they discharged her this time, especially as this time they didn't have my dad to fall back on to look after her. They decided that the medication that my mum had been on since around the 1980s might not be as suitable as it once was and that a new drug could be the answer to getting her well and for her to remain well. What they actually did was start her on the medication and send her home without monitoring the effects. My brother, who was staying at the house for a few days, found her staggering around upstairs in a stupified state and it was only luck that stopped her from having a nasty fall down the stairs. Mum wanted to go back on the old medication after that.

Mum was probably not typical of many mental patients as she was very difficult to deal with. That combined with the lack of follow-up help was her downfall. Since my father had died, mum had got quite withdrawn. My brother thinks that she found it difficult to face us or our children as she felt so embarrassed and he's probably right. By 2002 mum was in a bit of a state, not looking after herself and her personal hygiene, and it was recommended that she should go into a rehabilitation home in Surrey. The place was called Horton Haven. I must admit I didn't go there often as I couldn't bear to see her in the state she was in and always came away from visits feeling quite depressed myself. My sister used to go often and they seemed to have more of a bond. Mum would talk to her more openly, probably because they both suffered from mental illness and due to my awkward relationship with her she never opened up to me.

In March 2004 (Mother's Day) my brother and I took our children to see her at Horton Haven. She barely spoke for the whole visit and it was quite a sad visit. It was as if she wasn't there any more, just a shell of her former self. Soon after that she had a relapse and was taken back to the phsychiatric unit at Charing Cross. I have a feeling the relapse might have been triggered by our visit and perhaps it upset her a lot to see us all and feelings of embarrassment. When they felt she was well enough they sent her back to Horton Haven. This was around August.

On 9th September 2004 I received a phone call from one of the workers at Horton Haven to say mum had had an accident and had been taken to hospital. Apparently mum had been outside smoking and had managed to catch her skirt alight. She was taken to Epsom Hospital. I saw her that night and the doctors told me she was in a bad way. They were waiting for a bed in a special burns unit and she was due to be moved the following day. Mum was taken to the Burns Centre at Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead, West sussex on 10th September. Mum was hard to work with as she wouldn't eat at all and wouldn't drink much. She'd had operations to slit her fingers, arms and legs to release the pressure from the burns she received. She would need a lot of skin grafting they told me. As it turned out, septicemia set in and mum's organs started to pack up. My brother and I visited mum over the next few days and on 14th September. They told us that she probably didn't have much longer but they couldn't say exactly how long. I had to come home to see to my young son and half an hour after I got home the hospital rang me to tell me mum had passed away. I remember the different thoughts that went through my mind.... the relief that her suffering was over, the sadness that was her life, the loneliness she must have felt and the guilt that I should have done things differently.

Such a tragic life ended in such a tragic way.

This started out as a story of my mother's life but I couldn't help but get carried away with the emotion of it all as I realise that I do finally understand my mum.