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CHAPTER ONE

I shall begin by telling you that when you finish reading I

will have left you with only one mystery, my true identity.

The name I shall give you is Mark. It is my middle name

and to a certain extent my preferred one. My true name is

a source of some mockery and although I have grown to

like its uniqueness it has brought me a great deal of

pain.

I chose the surname Armstrong after one of my longest

heroes and an inspiration to so many, Neil Armstrong.

The first man on the moon always had me wanting to go

to space. I know its big dream but to be a test pilot is

something that has always satisfied that urge to go to the

dangerous places few have dared venture.

The reason I named this book The Devils Son is

because thats what I am. I lived for a decade with a man

who subjected me to pain and misery that I wouldnt wish

upon my worst enemy. As you will see my family are not

good people. With the exception of my half-brother and

uncle they have each worked to destroy both what I have

worked for and have hurt me in ways I can only describe

in writing.

Knowing that I have written and recorded my side of the

story and that people can take lessons from this book

makes me feel accomplished. With every copy of this

book sold I know that I am both a step nearer to making

this a better world and improving my personal future.

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There is no specific start date to my story, but merely a

recollection of my earliest memories, followed by a

catalogue of hell that I can only unleash on these pages

for fear of the destruction they might create if they were

to be uttered freely to the world. This book for me is the

nearest I will ever come to closure. This is my opportunity

to tell the world what happened and more importantly how

I survived.

My first and earliest memory was of my hands obscurely

enough. I remember walking out of the front door of our

house in France. I must have only been three years old

but I remember looking at my hands as I held them up to

the blue sky and used them to cover the sun. When I took

them down from the sky I remember counting them for

some reason. I think that must have been the first time I

realised I had five fingers on each hand. It only lasts a few

seconds in my mind but I do remember every detail. The

sun was high in the sky and to my left. It must have been

late in the morning or early in the afternoon. I looked from

above my hands and down the derelict yard to a stone

wall that must have been four feet high and stretched

across a hundred feet to the dirt track lane that ran

through the farm. Beyond the fence were trees that

stretched far into the distance.

The next memory I can recall is a bit of a mashup of a

variety of visits to a family friends home. To this day I

cannot remember what his name was or what he did for

a living. But he was just like us, English and living in

France. He must have had at least one daughter, and I

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think two more. The one I do remembered was in her late

teens. She was very kind to me and always cared. I

remember sitting on a sofa watching some show about

doctors. All I can remember was this doctor removing a

tomato from a gentlemans stomach during an operation.

Something I still dont understand to this day. I can also

remember he lived in a large house and had clearly done

well for himself. For some reason I always felt very safe

there.

My early childhood is littered with fun, excitement and

enjoyment. I know that there were a multitude of events

that happened to me during those happy occasions, but

they are to some extent a mystery to me. The ones I do

remember will haunt me for the rest of my life. But those

which I have forgotten I know are still there, suppressed

for my own sanity. What I will tell you in this book are

things that I have experienced and never been given the

chance to speak of or gain closure too. I am writing this

for the pure reason that it is the only way it will be heard.

I need to know someone knows and will acknowledge it

was not fair to me.

In all honesty I really cant find the earliest memory of

violence. I have so many I can only give a description of

the ones which I remember fully. The order is probably

wrong but it all comes together. I can however remember

vividly one time when my parents were having an

argument. I had already walked out of my bedroom and

to the top of the stairs where I perched to look through the

wooden banister that ran down into the kitchen and dining

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room which made a single room. My father had this metal

rasp he used as a farrier, it was at least a foot long with a

solid blue plastic grip handle. He gripped it in rage, poised

to use it for destruction and chaos. It was hanging above

my mothers head as he screamed threats to kill her. I

remember vividly him screaming you stupid bitch. I have

no idea if he ever hit her with it, though I do have my

doubts. I can imagine that if he had hit her he would have

killed her instantly. Its not much but at that point it all cuts

out and the memory ends.

I should point out that my father was a farrier. He worked

across the UK and had forced our movement from

England to France when I must have been a few months

old. It was this drive to move around that would end up

bringing what I would call a lower middleclass family down

from the near millionaire status to the debt stricken

poverty of suburban Britain. His apparent career was

more of a money loosing profession that resulted in my

residency in three European countries and transition from

a bi-lingual English child living in France to a council

house tenant in suburban hell and eventually into the

person I am today.

My mother on the other hand was a horse and riding

trainer. She taught a number of people to ride and care

for horses. We had a field next to the house which must

have been a few acres in size. It was separated from the

house by the long drive that split off into the front yard and

down the hill into the main lands of the farm. In the field I

remember we had a few horses, I think sixteen at one

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point. She had made the family fortune from a young age

buying, training and then selling horses for both

professional and recreational use. She had built up a

livery yard and bought a house that she would eventually

sell on to move shortly before my first birthday.

I also had a younger sister, who I must stress was never

harmed like I was. Something I feel an urgency to stress

but that as you will read in this book something that brings

a deep seated confusion and resentment towards her and

has led me to believe a great number of things that I hope

you will understand as you read.

My older half-brother moved back to Britain when I was

only seven so that he could live with his father while we

moved to Romania. At the time of writing this I am unsure

of his full feelings towards this decision but I do know he

is angry at his abandonment. Though to be quite frankly

honest he should be glad he got the hell out when he did.

If hed stayed he really wouldnt have enjoyed it. Living

with his father really was the best outcome he could get

and to some extent it does anger me that he feels he got

the worse deal. Though I suspect he was never told the

full story.

While we lived in France we did have a good life. From

what I do remember I think I might have lived a near

normal life. I had friends who I would play with in school,

I had a degree of freedom to live happily and despite a

number of occasions that I have left suppressed in my

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mind I know that I lived a very good life compared to most

people.

I guess the real story to my life began when I was seven

and still in France. We were in one evening and I

remember it was announced to me that we were going to

be moving that summer holiday. At first it wants

something that bothered me much, even if it did confuse

me slightly. I remember being shown this map of Europe

and my father pointing at this landlocked country in the

colour yellow. I think my first thought was what the hell

does this have to do with anything. As it turned out it was

where we going to move, Romania. Its not often spoken

about and I had no clue what this whole thing was about.

I do remember the one thing I was most upset about was

that unlike in France I would have to go to school on a

Wednesday, though my objections to the concept of a five

day school week died down quickly with the silver lining

being that school finished at lunchtime and the summer

holidays would be three months long.

The sale of the house was rather uneventful and rather

quick. It must have been less than a month between the

decision being thrust upon us and signing the deeds over.

What I do know now is that the price he had sold our

house for was less than half the valuation. Im certain he

had an urgency to leave the place other than to continue

his farrier work. The move had little effect on me. I did

miss the people and the location but its something that

my mind has forcefully locked away.

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Moving day arrived a couple of weeks after the signing of

the deed. We packed up very quickly. It all went into a big

yellow Citroen van and a massive Land Rover. I

remember it all just disappearing as it was all forced into

the two vehicles. The night before we started packing was

when it really set in that we were leaving. Wed still stay

in the country a couple more weeks but wed be gone

pretty quickly afterwards.

After wed packed up I remember we drove to a family

friends. They had a big caravan in one of the fields near

their house. Not the lap of luxury but it was bearable for

two weeks. For some ludicrous reason I remember being

in a field cutting bracken down. We were cutting in lines

from the path outwards and down the side of the

woodland hedge. Its a rather odd memory given that I

havent got a clue what preceded it. I felt somewhat

empty. I can just see myself whacking and whacking for

hours on end.

A couple days later I remember playing in the field with a

couple a plastic trucks wed been given as gifts by our

hosts teenage sons. Theyd been very nice to us before

we left. On one occasion we went out camping in one of

the field. I think it might have been the happiest I had felt

while living in France. I dont think I knew it was going to

all change from then on.