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 I was born in London in 1969. My Father was in the R.A.F. so we spent the first three years of my life on the move, Germany being one place that I lived. After my Dad left the R.A.F. we moved to Luton in Bedfordshire. My parents ran a petrol station for a while in the early Seventies before my dad gained a masters degree and then started lecturing adults in management. We lived in a three-storey town house in St Josephs Close Luton. It was actually a great place to grow up as a young child, there were lots of other children around my age living in the close, so I tended to spend most evenings outside with lots of other kids. It certainly wasn't like today, we didn't have computers and computer games, and there certainly weren't the variety of programmes on the television either. I had lots of toys in my bedroom but I really spent most of my spare time playing outside.
In 1974 at the age of five my parents decided that I should go to a private school. If I remember rightly, the school was called Broadmead. Sounds rather like a Borstal and I certainly did not like it there. Every morning a really old green bus used to come and pick me up. This bus was probably dated from the 50s or 60s I would think. Anyway, the school was a very old building with very thick uneven walls on the inside. To this day I can still remember sitting at my desk as a five-year-old imagining myself digging a hole through the wall and running home, that's how much I disliked this school. Another memory which has stayed with me is seeing this very strange apparition dancing in the air alongside the canteen. I remember being fascinated by this and of course it was just hot air coming out of a fan. It's amazing what a silly little things fascinate young children. I do recall being in class a few days before Christmas. I had brought into school one of those little plastic whistles that you used to get in crackers. For the life of me I can't remember his name, but one of my classmates swallowed it and had to go to hospital to have it removed. He didn't even give it back to me. I wonder if that's why you don't find them in crackers anymore? The next memory I have is being in headmistresses office with my mother. I always remember looking at the old-fashioned fireplace that had a grill over the front of it and thinking that this is where naughty children were put. In those days, even small children were given the cane. Ahh, cane, cage, this is my confusion. Everybody thought that the headmistress had a cage that young children were put in. Anyway, back to why we were there. My mother was being told that they were wasting their money schooling me because I wasn't going anywhere. Five years old when I was being expelled already. The headmistress even gave me a colouring book when I left, wasn't that nice of her? Not that I can remember but I'm sure I was very pleased that I didn't have to go back to that horrible place again. I then started going to the local primary school which was about a mile up the road. Norton Road primary School it was called, and boy was it better than Borstal, sorry Broadmoor sorry, Broadmead. I think I must have enjoyed it because I do have many more memories. One memory was taking my brand new Batman car in that I just got for my birthday, I'd love to know which little bastard nicked it that day. I never got it back and it was a Corgi, probably a collectors item nowadays. Mr Woods was the headmaster. To a youngster I suppose he seemed ancient, however looking back, I Imagine he was probably in his 50s. He always used to take assembly and boy did he have a great stammer, Ronnie Barker would have been impressed. I always remember sitting on the floor in assembly looking up at this man talking. My God did he did have a lot of fillings. He always used to wear those elasticated things that hold your shirt sleeves up. Funny what sort of things you remember.  Holidays were normally spent in Devon. My Grandparents had lived in Paignton for many years . They owned a hotel, then a guesthouse and then retired to various properties around the town. My dad's sister lived here in Brixham which is only 5 miles from Paignton. She also had two children, Matt and Nick. Nick is the same age as me, and Matt a couple of years younger. This photograph taken in 72/73 is of me (in white) and my cousin Nick. Here we are on Goodrington Beach having a really good laugh by the look of it. Can't remember what I found so amusing. By the look of those holes, maybe I had just force-fed my cousin a big lugworm
I remember when skateboards first became popular over here. Ian Straughan was the first person in the vicinity to have a skateboard. Actually it was the wheels off a pair of old rollerskates bolted onto a piece of wood. It didn't matter, this young lad was good, I can always remember him doing a handstand going down the path. I eventually got my skateboard on Christmas day. It was called The Land Surfer of California and it was red. Couldn't use it for the first few days because there was ice everywhere. I wasn't really much good on it after then anyway. In fact, I fell off it one day and broke my thumb. Bloody thing hurt for years after then. I joined the Luton and Vauxhall swimming club in 1980 and would get up three days a week at half past five in the morning and cycle on my own about 3 miles to the swimming pool. Can't quite see parents letting their children do that these days. In 1980, I left Norton Road primary School and went to Denbigh high. Apparently by all accounts it's spot the white man there now these days. Anyway, this was another school I couldn't stand. There was a horrible sports teacher who didn't seem to be nice to anyone. He was a short little man with bright ginger hair and a ginger beard. In fact, he looked a little bit like Mark O'Shea off O'Shea's of big adventures which is broadcast on sky television. So, in 1981, we moved down to Paignton in South Devon so we could be closer to our family. Whilst my Mum ran our corner shop in the St Michaels area of the town, my Dad commuted back and fourth to Luton where he continued to work as a lecturer at a college. I started going to the local secondary school Paignton community college. There isn't really much to say, not a lot happened in the four years I attended this school. Actually, this is where I met my best mate Gary. We were actually prancing around as skinheads scaring the hell out of little old ladies no doubt. We did get up to some mischief and unfortunately for you, I am not going to spill the beans on any of it. In 1985 I finally left Paignton Community College. Four years at one school seems so long when you are young. I had decided that I wanted to get into the fishing industry so had enrolled at Falmouth fisheries College.  The few months I spent in Falmouth will remain with me for the rest of my life. I was only 16 at the time and had always lived at home with my parents, I hadn't really spent any time away from home apart from a couple of holidays. Moving down to Falmouth to live so far away from my parents was both exhilarating, and rather scary at the same time. I remember going down on a very hot day in June 1985. It was absolutely boiling, up in the 30s. We spent a really nice day having a look around Falmouth until it was time for me to be dropped off at my digs. I would be staying with a middle-aged couple who took in students every year. I was sharing a room with a lad called Mark who was the same age as me, he was also going to be studying at the same college. After my parents left I was free! No more nagging, no more arguing, it was brilliant. Mark and I were off into Falmouth to do a bit of exploring. I think the first port of call was the pub to buy a packet of fags. Yes I know smoking is a stupid game. We all started off doing it because we thought it looked cool and them before we knew where we were, we were hooked and couldn't give up.
Falmouth is located on the south coast of Cornwall, approximately 100 miles from Brixham. It is a delightful little town with lots of really good pubs. Should I really be saying this since I was only 16? Of course, I only used to drink orange juice, YEAH RIGHT! the college we would be attending was one of those very old Victorian schools that was made of really thick granite. Lessons consisted of seamanship, learning how to mend and make nets, splicing rope and wire and loads more I'm sure. It wasn't quite like being at school, it was much more relaxed, I absolutely loved it, I was never really that keen on school, all those teachers shouting at you, who do they think they are? Our main teacher was an old sea dog called Mr Pender. A real true Cornishman with a very strong Cornish accent. I suppose he was in his late 50s, he seemed so much older at the time but then again we were only 16, anybody above 25 was old. He was once a skipper on a Cornish trawler so was an extremely good teacher. Since I was pretty keen on fishing, I took my fishing tackle down with me. I decided that I was going to try and catch one of these huge legendary conger eels that were supposed to frequent Falmouth docks. The fact that nobody was allowed inside the docks didn't cross my mind. So I decided on a suitable evening and went out and bought half a dozen herring that I was going to use for bait. I brought them back and left them In the outside toilet in a bag. When I went back to get them I suspected that something was not quite as it should be and I certainly wasn't wrong. Somebody, or something had been showing an interest in my herring. In fact, my half a dozen herring had suddenly become two herring. Let's just say that the house cat had a great big grin on his face and extremely fishy breath. Anyway, with my two herring I set off on a very dark evening and arrived at the wall overlooking the docks. Over I hopped and proceeded to walk down this great big hill. The fact that I didn't know where I was was rather ironic. In the end, I found myself at the docks, God knows how I got there in the dark. I set up for my fishing tackle and crept onto the dockside and cast a line. Well, I sat there, and I sat there for a little longer and absolutely nothing happened. Maybe these huge conger decided that herring wasn't on the menu that evening. After a while, nerves got the better of me, I saw a little bit of movement across the way and didn't really want to spend the night in a cell so I decided it was probably a good idea to cut my losses and make a hasty exit. For some reason, I found myself walking back a different route that took me through an area that was obviously a bit of a dumping ground. It was very dark, and extremely spooky and I was completely on my own. I then encountered all these little huts that were obviously used for storage. Most of them didn't have a door on the front but you couldn't really see into them because it was so dark. I then shone a torch into one of the huts and my God I nearly had a heart attack. In the middle of the hut was an old rocking chair, and to my horror, sitting in the rocking chair....................was a huge sack. Well that did it for me, I was out of there pretty smartish, I honestly thought I'd seen the ghost of an old man. I ran and I ran and I ran. I have never been so scared in my life, my heart was almost jumping out of my chest. It goes without saying I never went back again. I spent around three months in Falmouth before moving back to Brixham where I was now working on the "Sally Lou", a 30 foot crabber. While I was at college, my family had sold the house in Paignton and moved away. luckily, I knew where they had moved to, it was Brixham actually which was very convenient since I was now working there. I have to say that crab fishing is probably the most boring job in the world. Picking up heavy crab pots when you can't feel your fingers is bloody awful. This is why by the time December came along, I was sick of it and I found myself a job on a scallop trawler. This was definitely my vocation, I absolutely loved it. Okay, it wasn't any warmer, it was just more exciting, more varied, not as boring as catching just crabs every day. Most people would think that spending two weeks at sea cramped together with five smelly blokes not particularly an appealing idea, well I just took to it, it was a really good laugh, even if it was bloody freezing and wet outside a lot of the time. Clive Wills, the skipper of Linquenda decided that a refit was in order. This would take quite a few weeks so we could either not work, or try and find another job for the time being. I woke up on Sunday the 18th of May and decided that I would go looking for another job. Before I did that, I would take my two dogs for a walk at Berry head. That is something I now regret and I will do for the rest of my life. On the way home from Berry head I bumped into a few friends and they accompanied me on my walk home. We found ourselves standing next Shoalstone Swimming Pool chatting and having a laugh. I don't know who it was but one of us made a suggestion that we go for a dip since there was water in the swimming pool. John Boyce jumped in and I immediately dove over his head. The next thing I remember was floating face down in the water not being able to move a muscle in my body apart from my head. I hadn't a clue what has happens, all I knew was, if something wasn't done quickly, I was going to be a goner. I started shaking my head vigorously trying to attract attention. It seemed like a long time, it probably wasn't much more than a minute. In that minute, a few thoughts went through my head. The one memory that I will never forget until my dying day is "God, how have I got myself in this position Penn, prepare yourself for death. I never thought this would happen to me, not now, not so soon" . And that is the last thing I remember before waking up in hospital. I certainly had drowned and my friends eventually got me out of the pool. Call it what you want, a miracle, or just plain old coincidence, but two trained life savers were walking past at that exact moment. I owe my life to Pearl and Barry Savage I was taken to the intensive care unit of Torbay Hospital where I suppose they did all sorts of tests and x-rays on me. They diagnosed a spinal cord injury. I had suffered serious trauma to the C5/6, although I didn't know it at the time. My first recollection of being in the intensive care unit was when my cousin Nick came to visit me. I can't remember too much about it because I was so drugged up. I was on a ventilator to help with my breathing. I do remember asking Nick to have a look to see if I have any clothes on. To my horror, he told me I was completely naked. That is one thing I remember so well. Little did I know that that was something that I would experience a lot more of. When I first arrived at the spinal unit, I was drugged up on morphine. I don't think I can remember the first three days. I do recall being woken up every now and then to have a drink but being saved out of it, all I wanted to do was to get back to sleep again. When I did finally come around and was aware of my surroundings I started to wonder just what I had got myself into. It was a very frightening experience, I didn't really know what had happened to me, I couldn't understand why I wasn't able to move. As far as I was concerned, I would be in there for a few days, and then I'd be walking out as if nothing had happened. Little did I know what was ahead of me. I spent the next six weeks in bed with ten pounds of weight attached to my head. I had a clamp screwed into either side of my head. The weights were to pull the vertebrae apart and help the break mend. I wasn't able to do much whilst in bed, I had a television behind me with a mirror above my head so I could see it. it was very weird watching the television again after I had got up. I had got used to watching television programmes through a mirror, once I was up, everything looked very strange the correct way around. The food in the hospital wasn't too bad, although eating it was a tricky task to begin with. To get an idea of what it was like, lay flat on your back and get someone to feed you. You will know exactly what I am talking about. I am quite surprised I didn't choke to death in those weeks of lying flat on my back. Also, trying to drink pea soup through a straw is certainly a challenge. I had plenty of people coming to see me which was really nice, although quite tiring at times. I think I must have fallen asleep on quite a few occasions whilst having people sitting at my bedside. After the six weeks was up, it was time to start getting up. It was horrible at first, I felt sick, dizzy and totally helpless. Even sitting up for half an hour would mean a good two or three hours sleep once back in bed. It took quite a while before I was able to sit up all day, and when they finally took the collar of, boy did my neck ache for a while. Daily life in a spinal unit was almost like being back at school, only the lessons were different. Instead of learning my five times table, I was having to master the art of picking a cup up again. All those things that I used to take for granted, were now mountains to climb over. Because I spent so long in hospital, I looked upon it as a sort of home. I felt safe there, I really didn't want to leave. Obviously, the time came for me to return home. Ironically, there was a Cheshire Home here in Brixham. There was a room available, so I moved in. It didn't take very long for me to get settled in and get to know everybody. The atmosphere in the Cheshire Home was brilliant, we all got on and had a really good laugh. I was only a mile from home so my family were able to visit with no problem at all. We each had our own room and could come and go as we please. One of the good things that I remember is the staff participation with the residents. They weren't there just as carers, they were also friends and occasionally a little more (I'd better not go down that road). The Cheshire home also had a policy of employing young people from abroad. It was more a case of volunteer work really, nevertheless there was never a short supply of young gorgeous girls from Denmark (remember I was only 18 then!) On Christmas Eve 1987 I finally moved out of the Cheshire home and moved back in with my parents. We had had extensive building work done and I now had my own little pad at the back of the house. It didn't take me long for me to settle in to yet another home. I would still visit the Cheshire home every day so at least I wasn't stuck indoors all the time. In 1990 I bought myself a CB radio. It was a very good way of making friends, if I wanted someone to know I was disabled, I would tell them. Once you got to know someone, the disability wasn't an issue when you eventually met him or her. I made lots of friends using this means of communication. I would often lay in bed talking on the radio until three o'clock in the morning. Not only did I make friends here in the United Kingdom, I also made friends abroad. I am still very good friends with Remeck who lives in Poland. We started talking back in 1990 and we still talk now, but on the computer. A lot of people have now passed away which is very sad because the early to mid 90s were so much fun on the radio. I absolutely loved it, I spent nearly all my spare time ratchet jawing. The back of our house looked like transmitting station, there were so many aerials everywhere. In 1992 I won my legal action against the local council. We successfully proved that the swimming pool had been left in a dangerous state. Now I had my compensation I was able to plan further ahead. The first thing I did was to order a new vehicle that I could drive myself. I decided on a Chrysler Plymouth Voyager which was going to be ordered through a company here in the United Kingdom and imported from the United States. The second thing that I bought was and new house. I wasn't yet ready to move so the house would stand empty for three years. I received my vehicle but due to complications it would be a number of years before I go that myself. In 1994 I approached driving once more and had it adapted so I could drive it this time. I passed my test in the May of 1995. In this year, I also took and passed my amateur radio exam. Also in 1995, I moved into my bungalow to start living independently for the first time in my life. I haven't regretted it one bit. My parents still think they can run my life and tell me what to do, but aren't all parents like that? Since it is now late 2006, I thought I'd better do some kind of update on this page since the last instalment only went up to 1995. Okay, I moved into my bungalow in 1995. It was quite weird spending the first few nights all on my own without anybody else in the house. It didn't take very long for me to settle in and start enjoying my independence. I still saw my parents quite a lot which was nice. It was just nice to be on my own during the day without anybody else being in the house and being able to make a cup of tea on my own without having to ask anybody. I had put together a really nice team of carers who looked after me really well. In 1999 the relationship between me and one of my carers became a lot closer than it had done before. Chrissy who was slightly older than me had been coming in since 1995. We started seeing each other and then in 2000, her and her young son moved in with me. I decided that an extension was called for so after a lot of work and inconvenience, I now had an upstairs. This meant that everybody had their own space and we weren't living in each other's pockets. Chrissy carried on with her caring work as well as doing some of my care as well. Ernest her son excelled at school and rightly earned his place at the local grammar school. For most of 2004 I felt pretty ill. I really wasn't sure what was wrong. On numerous occasions I would spend two or three days in bed unable to get up. The Thursday after Christmas 2004, a few days after the tsunami my carer discovered a rather large hole in my backside. I had absolutely no idea this had been going on. There was a really bad infection inside me which accounted for all the illness throughout the year. After some strong antibiotics I managed to get rid of the infection and started to feel normal again. Unfortunately I was now bedridden unable to get up at all. The days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and I was stuck in bed. Summertime came along as did the good weather which made staying in bed so much harder. Although I was healing, it was very slow. August 2005 came along and I just could not stand being in bed any longer. Although I hadn't healed up properly, I decided that enough was enough I was going to start getting up.. It was a very long before I was sitting up all day and things seem to be healing. Regrettably, in 2005 Chrissy and I split up and she moved out. So, now I am back to square one, living on my own once again. So there is my story, complete up until nearly the end of 2006. 11 years has flown by quicker than I could ever imagine. I was 26 years old when I moved into this house and I am now 37. Life really does pass us by. Please come back for the next instalment in 2017 :-) There's one final point I'd like to add. If you feel you have to dive into water, whether it be a swimming pool, the sea or a river, always but always check how deep the water is before you dive in.
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