Another memory of desperation and wetting was at the annual fireworks display. Every November 5th, to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night, a local park or church grounds would be used to hold a community fireworks display. The highlight of the display was for an effigy of Guy Fawkes to be hung over piles of wood and set alight. The fire would burn until the end of the display in the evening. At that time of year, the weather was always cold, and I had to drink a cup of hot tea before I left home. Luckily, as I was 14, I was allowed out on my own.
It was the worst mistake of the night. I hadn’t bothered to use the toilet before I left, so that meant I had a slight need to pee. When I got to the park, my bladder was beginning to groan for relief. As I saw the effigy burn, my attention then turned to how to find a place to relieve myself.
It wasn’t easy, with all the people gathered around the park, and there wasn’t any discreet places to go and let go of my held-in pee. After about half an hour, the pain on my bladder was becoming unbearable. I suddenly grabbed my penis and squeezed it in a desperate attempt to hold it in. I needed somewhere to go… and fast.
I looked around to see a tree with a large bark at one end of the park, but it bordered the perimeter fence looking onto the main road, and I could be seen by onlookers in that situation, but by then I was desperate to wee, so I rushed towards the tree. I finally looked around to see if any person was looking. I then tried to struggle with the zip of my trousers, which got stuck between the material of my long shirt.
“BOOO!”
I got shook up by that shout. I looked up… it was my elder brother. I then looked down to see that I started to wet myself. I saw the pee soaking my trousers in slow rivulets and creating a small puddle on the grass. I started to sob a little. My brother began to laugh. I was embarrassed to have wet myself, even in my teens.
When I got home, my mother punished me for wetting myself. “You’re old enough to hold your bladder- why can’t you?” she shouted, and beat me several times with the belt. The next day, the news of my wetting reached the whole secondary school, and as usual, I felt ridiculed. If I had gone to the toilet before leaving home that night, the situation might have been different.