The Book
To many September the 11th will be synonymous with the collapse of the twin towers in America back in 2001, but for one little boy in 1967 it was a day just as horrific. For Shaun September 11th became a date indelible etched upon his memory, not just for the accident but it was the date from which his life was going to change forever, like many who survived the devastation of the twin towers.
So 42 years later and inspired by the events in America, Shaun decided that it was time to tell his story of how his September the 11th completely changed his world for the rest of his life.
In writing the book Shaun hoped in some way that he could communicate what it was like to grow up, while being different from everyone else and at the same time trying to come to terms with the fact, “why is everyone treating me different” when Shaun felt no different!
It is hard in reality to understand what Shaun must have gone through, during all those years of recovery and then trying to fit into society, but remarkably Shaun did. In some way this book can be an inspiration to anyone who has had to deal with the same issues.
The story plots his life from when he was 3 1/2 to to a young boy fitting in at school mad on football and his beloved Crystal Palace and then dealing with the prejudices of work to the many obstacles on his path of rediscovery.
The 11th September 1967 was a warm, sunny, delightful late summer’s day. My father went off to work as usual. My mother remained at home looking after me and her 2 other children: a not inconsiderable task for a 21 year old - 3 of us under 3 ½ years. We lived in a 2 bedroom council maisonette on a medium sized estate in London.
Probably because my brother, Noel, and I are only 11 months apart (to the day), people used to think of us as twins: we were inseparable and loved playing together. My sister, Maria, was still a baby so she was not involved in our mischievous games. That morning my brother and I played on the living room floor as usual, while my mother balanced her time between looking after us and doing all the everyday tasks associated with looking after a family of 5. Her chores were more labour intensive than they would be nowadays as she had no washing machine and there were no disposable nappies (in 1967 these were only for the rich).
So 11th September was a day very much like any other. Mother made lunch for us all and after that we played in the house while she prepared a shepherd’s pie for our Monday evening’s dinner. In the family I was known as an exceptionally garrulous, lively and energetic little boy, who talked non stop - to anyone and everyone. Therefore, it seems remarkable that having listened to my endless chatter all day, my mother can still plainly remember that when the shepherd’s pie was cooking I took a sniff and said, “Um smells nice, Mum!”
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