Caroline Roberts - The One That Got Away--My Life Living with Fred and Rose West

ON 15 OCTOBER 1928, Elizabeth Mills, my mum, was born. She was the youngest of five illegitimate children, all by different men; she never knew who her father was. Mums mother, Lily Ann Mills, placed all but her first-born daughter Kathleen into various childrens homes near Stratford- upon-Avon . Kath escaped the homes by virtue of being raised by Nanny Mills. Although my mum knew who her three older brothers were, she didnt have anything much to do with them, and when they reached the age of fifteen, they left the homes and joined the army.

After Mum left the home, she went into service for a while, then became pregnant and gave birth to a little boy, Christopher. Embarrassed by her little sisters carrying on, Kath, who was respectably married and had started a family of her own, turned her back on Mum for a few years.

Sadly, Christopher was a blue baby he had a hole in the heart and only lived for a year. Mum was unable to care for him properly as she needed to work to support herself and her baby, so she reluctantly gave him up to foster parents, whom we came to know as Ron and Nanny Munroe. They were a strict but kindly couple who fostered many children during their lifetime. Mum was allowed to visit Christopher whenever she liked and looked upon Ron and Nanny as her family.

In those days, Betty, as my mum was called, moved to Gloucester to work as a barmaid at the Black Dog pub. Whilst working in the pub, she met, and eventually married, Albert Raine whose name we took on, although he was not our father (we being myself and my brother Phillip, who was eighteen months older than me).

Albert was a sailor and allegedly a homosexual, so Mum informed us many years later. Our biological father, according to Mum, was an Irish roadman called Michael Mahoney whom she had started an affair with during her marriage to Albert.

Until I came along, Albert had believed Phillip, who was conceived during Mums marriage to Albert, to be his son. I, though, looked so much like my father Michael that I couldnt be passed off as Alberts child, so he divorced my mum.

Mum told me she had never really loved Albert but she desperately wanted a child and to be in a position to raise it herself, and with Alberts support she could do it. The sexual side of their relationship was practically non-existent but she still managed to conceive and in April 1953 she gave birth to Phillip.

Phillip was fair skinned with ginger hair and freckles and he had the same pale blue eyes of Mum. He was a good baby and never any trouble to Mum or Albert. Albert would babysit while Mum worked a couple of evenings and Sunday lunchtimes at Black Dog pub.

Outwardly they were the perfect family, but in reality, the marriage was a sham.

Albert spent all the time with his old mates from the RoyalNavy, while Mum looked forward to, and enjoyed the banter and sense of humour of the Paddies, a gang of Irish roadmen who drank at the pub till all hours. They were a scruffy bunch in their work clothes during the week, but on the weekends they would put on their suits, shirts and ties and the smell of tar was replaced by the smell of Brylcreem and Imperial Leather. Albert was content to play happy families believing Phillip was his son, that is, until I came along.

I was born on a wet windy Wednesday morning at Gloucester Royal Hospital in October 1955.

Mum would tell anyone who would listen, Caroline was such a beautiful baby with her mop of jet black hair and her big rosy cheeks. She had the most beautiful green eyes, framed by long black curly eyelashes. She was just so beautiful. When I took her back to the maternity ward that morning all the other mums and nurses couldnt believe she was a newborn. She looked three months old she was so bonny.

I used to cringe when mum bragged about me, her beautiful daughter. She made me sound like Snow White.

I didnt look anything like Mum or Albert but I did bear an uncanny resemblance to one of the Irish roadmen, Michael Mahoney.

Albert already suspected Mum was having an affair and seeing me just confirmed it for him. That in turn put doubt in his mind about Phillip being his son. The farce of a marriage was over and Mum took eighteen month old Phillip and me, a babe in arms, and left Albert.

We moved in to Quedgely Court, a big mansion-type house on the south side of Gloucester that had been converted into bedsits, and lived there for a couple of years. I remember it well, even though I was just a toddler at the time. We lived there until Mum got behind with the rent and then we had to leave.

When I was three years old, Mum took a job as a housekeeper to a farmer and his two sons on a farm in Painswick. Sadly the farmer had lost his wife and needed Mum to help out with the day-to-day housekeeping chores.

I loved living on the farm, chasing the ducks, milking the goats, plucking chickens and riding my pedal car down the long, steep drive. I missed my dad coming round to tuck me in to bed as he did at Quedgely Court, but he still took us out on the weekends for a ride around the country lanes Mum and Dad on the motorbike, Phillip and me in the sidecar. Ever since then, I have always had a fascination for motorbikes and the men that ride them. Maybe through them, in a strange way, I feel Im with my dad again.

I dont know why, but we left the farm and ended up staying with Michael, my dad, in his flat in Matson on the outskirts of Gloucester. He usually shared the flat with his workmates, but at the time they had just returned to Ireland for a couple of months, so there was room for us.

I liked being with my dad; he was a kind and religious man, a devout Catholic. He had crucifixes hanging on the wall and a beautiful painting of Mary and the baby Jesus. I always felt that Marys eyes were staring at me, watching me, especially after Dad told me he would know if I had been a naughty girl because Mary would tell him!