Walter Charles Guilfoyle - My Father (Not Like Dad)

This photo was taken in 1983. 42 years may seem like a long time to some, but in the big scheme of things, it really isn't. I'm the only one still alive of this photo. I'm the newborn. The little boy is my big brother Ian. He was five years old here. He died at only 39, a passenger in a car accident in 2017. The man holding us is our father, Walter (Wally). He died at the age of 45, hit by a car in 1997.

I've been working (sporadically) on writing the stories of both Wally and Ian, through my eyes, which is difficult because I was only 16 months old when I last saw my dad, and Ian and I didn't get back in touch until I was 17. I was 21 when Ian and I finally met again, neither of us having any memory of this photo, or of each other.

I chose the title Not Like Dad because it was something Ian and I were always asking each other and ourselves. Our father was not in our lives due to the crippling addiction he had to heroin, which he was already in the grips of by the time I was born. Every time Ian or I needed medication (even my anti-epileptic, or Ian's diabetic drugs), we weighed up the risks, researched the drugs, checked whether or not they could become addictive. We were constantly terrified of the addictive personalities we had inherited. It wasn't until after Ian passed that I came to realise addiction was not a trait we had just inherited from our father, but a trait we'd inherited as a result of being born human.

Our father allowed us to be taken away from him because he knew he wouldn't be able to give up the drugs and he wanted better for us. He'd hoped that by being apart from him, his addiction wouldn't ruin our lives too. I do know that both our lives have been profoundly different to what they would have been had Wally stayed in our lives, but whether the outcome was better or worse because of it.. I can't say. For me, I think my life was much better than it would've been if my mum had stayed, but Ian wasn't so lucky. But nothing good comes from pondering on the 'if only's'.

Here are some powerful poems about Heroin addiction, written by our father Walter Charles Guilfoyle. May he and Ian both rest in peace.

Take Me Into Your Arms

So now little man, you've grown tired of grass,

L.S.D, Acid, Cocaine and Hash.

And someone pretending to be a friend,

Said I will introduce you to Miss Heroin.

Well honey before you start fooling with me,

Just let me inform you of how it will be,

For I will seduce you and make you my slave,

I've sent men much stronger than you to their grave.

You think you could never become a disgrace,

And end up addicted to poppy seed waste.

So you'll start inhaling me one afternoon,

And then you'll take me in your arm very soon.

Then once I have entered deep down in your brain,

The craving will nearly drive you insane.

Then you'll need lots of money, as you have been told,

For darling I'm much more expensive as gold.

You'll swindle your mother and just for a buck,

You'll turn into something vile and corrupt.

You'll mug and you'll steal for my narcotic charm,

And then feel contentment when I'm in your arm.

The vomit, the cramps, your guts tied in a knot,

Your jangling nerves screaming for just one more shot,

The day when you realise the monster you've grown,

You'll solemnly promise to leave me alone.

You'll give up your morals, your conscience, your heart.

And you will be mine. Til death do us part.

The White Horse

Behold my friend! I am Heroin,

Known by all as destroyer of men.

From whence I came, no one knows,

A far off land where the poppy grows?

I came to this country without getting caught,

And since that day I've been hunted and sought.

Whole nations have gathered to plot my destruction,

They call me the breeder of crime and corruption.

More potent than whisky, more deadly than wine,

Yes I am the scourge of all of mankind.

My little white grains are nothing but waste,

I'm soft and fluffy, but bitter to taste.

I'm white, I'm brown, but deadly to use,

For once you're addicted, I really abuse.

I'm known in China, Iraq and Iran,

I'm known in Turkey and have been to Japan.

In cellophane bags I make my way,

To men in office and children at play.

From heads of state to lowest bum,

From richest estate to lowest slum.

I take a rich man and make him poor,

Take a maiden and make her a whore.

Make a beautiful woman forget her looks,

Make a student forget his books.

I can make you steal, borrow, or beg,

Then search for a vein in your arm or leg.

I'm known to the selfish, and those filled with greed,

All faceless regardless of religion or creed.

My gift is illusion, my blessing is fake,

Death and destruction follow in my wake.

I'm the kiss of death to all who I touch,

I start as a gift and remain as a crutch.

My friends are many, but I'm loyal to none,

I come to destroy and my work must be done.

Some think of me as merely a toy,

But wise men know, I maim and destroy.

Run from me if you wish, I will never give chase,

For sooner or later, you'll return for your taste.

Once in your bloodstream, you'll think me not mean,

You'll praise me as Master, then nod in a dream.

You've heard my warning, but will take no heed,

Put your foot in the stirrup, mount this great steed.

Get right in the saddle and hold on real well,

For the white horse "Heroin" will take you to hell.

In loving memory of Walter Charles Guilfoyle

Posted 22 August 2025

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