Pastor Mick Fleming - Blown Away: From Drug Dealer to Life Bringer: Foreword by HRH the Duke of Cambridge

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge wanted to visit Pastor Mick to offer support and understand more about the work that takes place in Church on the Street.

Ed Thomas, BBC News

Mick Flemings story is at the same time both unbelievable and real. It reveals a man who was dreadfully wronged and guilty of many wrongs yet miraculously found forgiveness and the ability to forgive. Liberated from bitterness and guilt, Micks response has been to do more good in one life time than a whole roomful of politicians. A gritty, gripping and moving book.

Tim Farron, MP, leader of the Liberal Democrats, 201517

Bishop-elect Pastor Mick Fleming has a degree in theology from the University of Manchester and was ordained into The International Christian Church Network in March 2019. He is Pastor of Church on the Street in Burnley, a Christian community dedicated to helping others, particularly those who find themselves homeless, struggle with addictions, or are on the bread line.

For Kathleen and Gordon

13Kathleen and Gordon, who took Mick in, with dummy copies of the book! Summer 2022

14Mick with Dad and his two eldest sons, c.2015

15Graduating with a 2.1 in Theology from the University of Manchester, with daughter Elle, 2017

16Mick, holding his ordination certificate, with Bishop Steven Lyn Evans, 2019

17Burnley cobbles, 2020

21Night mission, 2020

22Prayer on the street, 2020

23With Father Alex Frost, holding the Sandford St Martin Trust trophy, awarded for the BBCs coverage of the Burnley Crisis, 2021

24The Royal visit to Church on the Street, January 2022

25The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with Deacon and his great-grandma

26The Duchess and volunteers

27The Duke greeting Sarah, Micks wife

28Mick praying with the Duke and Duchess

Photographs 116: The familys collection

Photographs 1728: Phill Edwards BBC

Its impossible to visit Church on the Street and not be deeply moved by the work the organisation does for those in need. It is an extraordinary place that has been an important refuge and place of safety for so many. Often, it is only by sharing our problems and being honest with ourselves that we are able to heal and overcome lifes challenges. And by doing so, we find just how deep the bonds we all share are.

HRH The Duke of Cambridge

July 2022

BUZZERS RINGING. DOORS OPENING. A dark feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach. Policeman on the left, policeman on the right.

As the voices echo down the corridors that smell of disinfectant, I feel invisible. They speak to one another, but Im not there. Then the final door. And in. The smell, the view, and the nurse with the pearly white teeth and the ruby red lips, who smiles and says, Ill take it from here, officers. Come with me, Michael, youve got your own room. But the door will be left open all the time, and dont worry, therell be someone sat on the chair outside.

Im led into a room that... the bedding matches the curtains, the cupboard, the bedside cabinet. An institution.

My mind swirls like a kaleidoscope, but the colours just fall into grey as I wonder how. How has it come to this? Wheres my rebellious streak? Wheres the fight, the resolve that I had deep down inside me? How could I let the policemen just walk me in? Only weeks ago, theyd have had no chance!

No more power, just a sense of despair. Sinking into the bed and feeling physically pinned there as fear consumes me. My throat begins to get sore and dry inside as I remember what happened.

Why? How? And what? The memories start to flood back, and I long to escape the truth.

But here we are. Big powerful man with his head bowed.

Lying on a bed in a psychiatric unit.

* * *

A bright, clear winters morning. I come running down the stairs, late again for school, of course, and my sister presses a shiny, bright fifty pence piece into my hand. I love her; shes like a mother to me really. And a squeezy tight, Dont lose it! I run out the house. No chance of me getting the bus! Keep the money, that was always my way.

Im meandering and running and jumping, counting the squares on the pavement as I dance to school. A little boy with glasses and sandy curly hair, joy in his heart.

And a shortcut. Jump over the little river instead of crossing the bridge, off through the park. A big smile, lifes good. I feel alive! I can smell, I can taste, I can hear.

Suddenly the sound switches off. Suddenly theres an arm around my neck and the taste of a woollen jumper in my mouth and all my eyes can see is graffiti on the wall and peeling paint on a seat and... Im engulfed in confusion, afraid to cry, my heart thudding and thudding fit to burst. A strange smell, a dark aroma of sweat and sweetness, mixed together and blended. A pouting voice, and pain, like none Id ever known...

In the corner I can see a bottle. For years and years afterwards, I imagined picking it up and smashing him around the head! But I never did. I was too afraid.

Thrown to the floor. My glasses broken, my knees bleeding. Id become a victim.

Id been raped.

His hand squeezed my throat. You speak a word of this, and Ill come and kill your parents! Do you understand?

As I pulled my trousers up, I couldnt speak. But I looked at the face. I looked right into those eyes. Id always remember that face. Id carry it with me for a long time. No smile. Eyes of black. A tinge of alcohol on his breath. Id never forget.

As I stumbled off, there were no colours any more. I couldnt see the sun. I couldnt smell or taste the air. It felt like my head had been plunged into a bucket of water. I sat in school, with everything going on around me and nothing going in.

Bleeding. Too afraid to even open my mouth.

Fleming! Stop daydreaming!

As the teacher shouted and the children laughed, Id no smile to give. No conversation to offer. Everything had changed. A darkness fell over me. And it wasnt my choice.

I cant remember walking home from school. But one thing I know is, I didnt go that way. I took the other road.

As I looked down, I saw there was blood and a grazing to the palm of my hand in the shape of the fifty pence my sister had given me that morning I must have squeezed it so tight. Id remember later that Jesus character had holes in his hand. Well, so did I that day. But I also had one in my heart. And it wouldnt mend in three days.

Getting home, finding my bedroom, lying on the bed. Looking up at the ceiling and the patterns on the wallpaper. Trying to distract myself from what I was feeling. The corner of the cupboard sent a little shadow across the wall that looked like a tree. I was longing to see things that were normal and real.

But my world was upside down.

I tried to cry, but no tears came. There was a sensation in the pit of my stomach that hadnt been there before. Something that might be fear, but I wasnt sure. I really felt I should have fought harder. That Id let myself down.

Night-time fell. The streetlamp outside was bright and shone through my curtains. I usually loved the way it danced on the wall. But tonight it looked different. Tonight his face was in the light as it moved around. Tonight I could hear noises in the trees as the breeze blew outside, and I was scared. Ill kill em, if you tell anybody! echoed in my mind. I bit the pillow as hard as I could as the tears finally came, and for hours and hours I sobbed. But nobody heard my cries. Nobody was there to comfort me. I was alone.

A new day. I opened the curtains and looked out. The world was grey. Not blue. Not bright. A Saturday morning, the TV downstairs, the smell of bacon cooking, and me at the top of the stairs.