The Godfather

There has been some discussion about prostitution in the press. The great sun in our hearts, our moral compass, Hattie Smith, the Home Secretary, said she is concerned about vulnerable women. She has proposed a number of measures to prevent the exploitation, trafficking and abuse of women and children. Good luck to her. I hope they work.

I do know that some prostitutes need a life with choices other than drugs, alcohol, etc. They need access to the wherewithal for economic independence, the opportunity to provide for their children and the chance to realise their full potential as human beings. Until then we will never know if they are prostitutes out of choice or necessity.

My first encounter with prostitution was when I was 10 years old or possibly less.
My mother, a fully paid up Taliban in the diocese of Salford and the parish of St Joeys, introduced me! Because of her Catholic faith she carried out works of Corporal Murphy that would make your eyes water. Newly released prisoners from Strangeways were provided with a meal and warm clothing. Neighbours were supported through illness and bereavement. Bums and noses were wiped and the path of righteousness pointed out to Messers All and Sundry. If that failed there was always tea, lashings of tea. I am convinced her good works were not just as a result of her religious faith. Her early life in the Gorbals, Belfast and the classic slum of Salford was very hard and she realised the value of community and mutual support.

I remember, after a period of tense negotiations between neighbours, the Parish Priest, and my mother, I was told I was off to church during the week at an unusual time. On our way we collected a woman and her baby. At the church some very tight smiles were exchanged and the babe duly baptised, christened and made a lifelong supporter of ManU. My mother was designated Godmother. Being the only male present apart from the priest, I was identified as the Godfather.
Even at that age and at that time I knew the woman was a prostitute. My mother believed the babe would stand a better chance in life if it was splashed and sponsored even if it was only by herself and her bemused son.

Some months later, after occasionally praying for my spiritual charge and not doing much else, I inquired how the child was.

Dead - the answer!