There was no television and no toys, so the fire engine and ambulance sirens along with all the traffic kept Alfred busy looking out of the glass all day. It was not a window, just a pane of glass that didn’t open; a good thing because it was situated so low that had it opened, it would certainly have been extremely dangerous. It just meant that to get fresh air we had to open the door. Spowart, Nan (18 August 2015). "Ambitious play about Confessions of a Justified Sinner is a love letter to theatre". The National . Retrieved 11 September 2015. Rather than a simple version of the book, it appears to be an adaptation of an adaptation – an ambitious production about a previous play about the novel. The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner: Written by Himself: With a detail of curious traditionary facts and other evidence by the editor is a novel by the Scottish author James Hogg, published anonymously in 1824. The Private Memoirs and Confessions was published as if it were the presentation of a found document from the previous century offered to the public with a long introduction by its unnamed editor. The structure thus is of a single, self-contained publication offering a historically contextualised story, but the effect is unsettling. When taken together, the different elements create an impression of ambivalence and inconsistency, as if they were intended to present the reader with a conundrum. Because Hogg's novel appears to test concepts of internal validity, historical truth or a single rational world-view, contemporary critics sometimes regard it as an early anticipation of ideas associated with postmodernism. It was, yet again, a sorrowful night, but we survived, and it was a greater depth and beauty to see a new day. As hard as I weep, I hope even more that a new journey begins. In almost unbearable pain, it felt like a privilege to simply be alive. We are all battling for life and I was spared for another day; to create a new path and start another chapter. It was a new mercy; a new faith… a new hope. It may sound radical, but I never take a new day for granted.

In that emotional moment, as I unfolded my story and introduced him to my son first, Alfred’s health complications meant that he could not even walk due to a floppy muscle condition. He had no pushchair. I had to carry him most of the time, but he carried my strength and faith all the time. He could not speak, and at that time, his condition was yet undiagnosed. The days were gruelling, but I had to stay strong for my son. Nobody with an ounce of love hurts the person they love. No parents should fight this way about their child. No child should witness this absolute evil and yes, more than a decade later I am shattered in tears, because writing this nightmare breaks my heart. As with every relationship, you learn to nurture and embrace some differences, but how could I, when my husband’s spirit was rooted in hate and mine rooted in immense love for our child. That difference became too huge for us to even room together. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. Wendy Heywood, a great neighbour and an outstandingly generous gem, said… Living on their street, I have had the pleasure of knowing Sandra and Alfred personally. This is an astounding true story of phenomenal humans with life lessons for us all. Several times, the authorities let her down terribly, but her strength and determination are so inspiring, she continued to keep her head up high and do the best for her son. She has fought many battles and conquered each one with a positive attitude. I wish I knew her in her dark days, I would have wiped the tears from her eyes. Above all, I wish them both a very bright future. Chapter 1: I Don’t Call This Thing a ChildWhat was left of me was all I had, but at least I had that. I was without a penny and clueless about what life had in store for me, in a country wherein I had only resided for less than a year. I didn’t know what to plan or where to go from that point. No possessions, I owned nothing. Apart from what I am, and what I can give, I had nothing but our passports, endorsed with a rubber stamp; engraved with prohibition of employment and benefits. Life does not always afford us the luxury of infinite choices. When does struggle end… when does freedom start? I experienced the horrors of being in an abusive marriage. With infinite sadness, my turbulent pregnancy comes to mind because even then, he was careless and cruel. When you consider that babies can hear their mother’s voice, heartbeat… and cries, the trauma that this little boy survived in utero is truly horrifying… before encountering this life of more horrors. If anyone deserves peace and serenity, it’s Alfred and I was desperate to give it at all costs. My neighbour could not fathom what she heard. She knew I had an immigration issue, but the full details immensely broke her heart.

He wounded me that night. My husband already had his first son with another woman, with no disabilities, so he used him as evidence; that it was impossible his genes could be at fault. In the short film Voices, starring Sean Biggerstaff, the central character uses audio extracts of himself reading Hogg's novel to create his final apology. The stairs in the building were so steep that one day, upon realising that I was carrying Alfred up and down them all the time, a man in another room said to me, Buzz my flat each time you are down there, and I will come and carry him up for you.Finally, our own castle! This was an enormous first step to stability. Chapter 2: A Tribute to a Member of Parliament Please remember too, that this autobiography is my own story, written by my hand and it chronicles my life, coloured by my perspective. Confessions are truths. There is a price to pay for exposing truths. There will be those who will contest the contents of this book and seek to challenge my right to publish them even. But I rise and grow stronger at every attempt to intimidate me. No two people will see the same things in the same way. Perspective is subjective and that is enormously valuable; such is the rich tapestry of the world. This is my stitch in that great work. * * *

The novel concludes with a return to the 'Editor's Narrative' which explains how the sinner's memoir was discovered in his grave. Hogg appears as himself in this section, expressing scorn of the project to open the grave.

James Hogg, The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. Ed., John Wain. Penguin, 1983. pp.215–6. Very accessible and genuine, he had his ears on incline and was revolted at what he heard. Overwhelmed by the unbearable weight of sadness, tears down my face, my heart wept. Looking at Alfred, he knew instantly that we needed help. If the NHS is the vine, Alfred is the branch. He wouldn’t have made it without it. Cutting the branch from its vine is detrimental. He could not fathom how a father would be so brutal and demand our deportation, to withdraw all medical support of a fragile baby with complex health needs at his most desperate hour, solely because he considered his child ‘ugly and disabled’. James Hogg, The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. Ed., John Wain. Penguin, 1983. Introduction, p.7.