In all that time I have had just one regret, one that I have never publicly addressed before. I have always hated the fact that the woman who brought so much to my life, who became the most important person in it, was put at the centre of a dispute I had with my family, and most controversially by my brother Jack.
Jack told the world – and confirmed it in his autobiography – that he believed it was Norma who drove a wedge between my mother Cissie and me; he said that my wife had airs and graces, indeed that she was ‘hoity-toity’, and it was because of her that I became estranged from the person who had given me so much from the moment I was born. For the record, I reject that now in public as I have always done in private.
Somehow, Norma was portrayed as the person who, rather than enriching my life and supporting me in every possible way in everything I tried to achieve, stood between me and my ability to keep close links with all that I held dear as a boy growing up in the North East. My mother is dead and I would never breathe a word that would dishonour her, or take away the love a son has for his mother, but I have to say that it is a travesty of the truth. Of course it is a great sadness that, as my married life progressed, as Suzanne and Andrea grew up, the links with Ashington became frayed and strained, but I have talked with people across a broad spectrum of life, and I am always amazed by the fact that so many have had similar experiences.
The truth is that when Norma first accompanied me to the North East, I know she went with every intention of getting on with my mother and all the family. In the latter ambition, in most cases, she succeeded easily, receiving a warm reception from so many of my relatives. However, things were never comfortable with my mother, and I can only speculate how many sons have had the same problem when they have gone home and introduced their girlfriends and future wives.
Why there should be friction was never a mystery to either Norma or me. My mother, perhaps because of her background, was always a strong character; always felt that she had to set the agenda for her family. Norma has rarely spoken of the decline of her relationship with my mother, and certainly not publicly, but I think I can speak for her in one very basic way. When my mother suggested something, and on occasions that is perhaps a mild way of putting it, Norma did not necessarily readily submit; she had her own way of doing things, her own perspective on the world, and I suppose that was one of the reasons why I had been so drawn to her.
Yet Norma’s independence was never wrapped in any conscious effort to be defiant. She was more than ready to meet my mother at least halfway in order to facilitate compromise. Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t always open to such overtures, from Norma or from others. This needs to be said in defence of my wife because of the impression that has been created publicly that she was the only member of my family to ever be at odds with my mother.
I had no fears about Norma’s approach to the business of meeting and getting to know my family when we first travelled back to my roots. However, it quickly became apparent that my mother, such a strong woman who had become famous for her passionate interest in my football career and that of my brother Jack, would never freely embrace the girl with whom I intended to spend the rest of my life.
When I look back now, it seems unbelievable to me that it can happen that a son does not get on with his mother. Friends have told me, ‘Oh, Bobby, it happens in so many families.’ Perhaps so, but it does not make it any less painful, and this is especially so when you read about your own problems in the newspapers. The press interest made a major difference in the trials of the Charlton family; our situation inevitably became more high profile when Jack and I began to play for the England team, and our mother, for the reason that she was indeed a great character, seemed at times to become as famous as her sons.
When I trace back the difficulties that came to the surface down the years, and received publicity which I have always found very distressing, I see that perhaps part of the pattern was shaped by the fact that I mostly had to do things on my own. It’s true my father often used to take me to the mine when he collected his wages, but quite a bit of my boyhood was spent away from home and maybe it helped to make me a little independent from my mother. I never doubted that she wanted the best for me, but sometimes her way of doing things, her style, was so different from mine. I had a tendency to hold back, almost to seek the shadows. That was not my mother’s way. Once, when I was a kid, someone asked me for my autograph and I shrank back, but my mother insisted I sign. I suppose I’ll never forget the embarrassment that overcame me at that moment.
I’m not suggesting that this was the reason why my mother and Norma did not get on, or why, for such a long time, I became much less close to my family, but maybe it was a contribution to the breakdown in understanding – maybe it was the grit in the corner of your eye that can make you weep.
I have always been hesitant to deal with this subject because I don’t think anyone of feeling wants to
