You know, the only thing that he was ever afraid of was heights.

It used to take him a while to realise that he was high up, but when he did, he used to shake like my uncle when he had the old D.T.s.

He'd kind of crane is neck over the edge of the precipice and stare down for what seemed like forever, hypnotized by the distance. Imagining what it would feel like to fall fly plummet soar downwards until he cracks the icy waters below freeze
                                                                                                                                                                                       and then he'd jerk his back, start shaking again and swallow heavily.

It was always pretty clear to us why he was so afraid though. We all knew about what had happened when he was a child, when his father arrived home have had a few too many whiskys. Usually his father would just beat his mother, but when our man grew bigger and stronger he thought he could take on his father. Big mistake. When it started kicking off again as usual, he stepped in and told him to back the fuck off. No such luck. 

'I ain avin youns tellin me wha I can do in me gaff ye littl shithead'
'If youns tooch her agin I'll lay ye out'
'Leaf it soon, this be twix ye Father n I'
'Yir, leaf it boy ere I turf ye outa me home'

And when his father punched his mother that one more time, in open defiance of his defence, our man layed a mighty blow on his father's temple, which proved to be another big mistake. His father's drunken rage was redirected onto him, and he was knocked out by his aging parent.

When he awoke he could see rocks and sea above him. Most bizarre normally sky above sea ground below why's my head hurt red blotches in front of eyes what's happening. And then he realised that he was suspended from the cliff near their home, tied by his feet, most likely to the tree near the edge. All he could see was the sea lapping rocks below.

He hung for who-knows-how-long, feeling the blood fall further into his head, and then felt himself rising up. He was saved! Someone was pulling him upwards, thank God! Soon he would be saved. For a while he thought he would be left to die there.

‘This’l learn ye boy to cross ye Father!’

His father! He had pulled him almost to the top of the cliff, and then let go. Our man fell down, down, then felt his legs dislocate when the rope reached its end. This happened about five times, before his Father grew bored, and lowered him slowly to the shore line and cut the ropes.

There he lay for however long it took for the tide to come in and take him away with it, his legs and wrists bound tightly by the unforgiving rope. But at least he was no longer upside down. The briny water washed over him, stinging the cuts his father had dealt him, and blinding his eyes. But as the tide came in he found himself floating, and when it went out he went with it. And he drifted like that until we found him in our boat. God only knows how he didn’t drown, what with his hands and legs tied together like they were. We pulled him in and sorted him out good, and he stayed with us and got a job in the village where we lived. And you know, the only thing he was ever afraid of was heights. He really wasn’t scared of anything else at all. And who could blame him?