THE amazing life story of Joe Hatton, a blind and deaf genius who learned to 'hear' with his thumb-tip, has taken another astonishing twist.

For, 67 years after being plunged into a world of silent darkness, he's struggling to puzzle out the wall of sound that has now hit him after a revolutionary microchip operation.

Throughout childhood and adult life this courageous son of St Helens had perfected a unique way of communication, achieved by gently placing his thumb on the lips of people he joins in conversation and interpreting their words via the tiny vibrations produced.

Now 71, and living in Peterborough, Joe also mastered ballroom dancing, picking up the rhythm of the band from vibrations travelling through the dance floor.

But now, his 63-year-old brother, Albert Hatton of Central Street, St Helens, reveals that, following an experimental micro-chip implant operation, Joe can hear sound for the first time since being struck down by meningitis at the age of four.

"The big problem, " says Albert, "is that the sound he hears makes no sense to him and can cause severe headaches. He is unable to make out words or the noises given off by aircraft, birds and barking dogs."

It's just one perplexing wall of sound that Joe is confronted by. But, being the determined character he is, Joe is persevering with the hearing device he has been provided with.

That's the sort of indomitable spirit that has made Joe a top-flight chess player (he still takes on opponents from America and other parts of the world by Braille correspondence) and helped him to live as near a normal life as his afflictions permitted - enjoying a pint or two, wrestling with his brothers and earning a living as a basketwork and cane weaver.

When reports of his extraordinary victory over the odds first came to the notice of the media in the 1950s, Joe earned national splash headlines and TV appearances. Jeanne Heald, then a top presenter, featured in a televised demonstration of Joe's communication by thumb tip.

Albert speaks with obvious pride about his elder brother who, despite being short and slightly built, was gifted with phenomenal strength during his younger days. This made him a formidable arm-wrestler, as four youths, who sought him out for a friendly contest, were quick to discover. They turned up at the Hatton family home in Graham Street - all big lads and wearing teddy-boy suit - and Joe was happy to oblige.

"Joe beat the lot of 'em in quick time, "Albert proudly recalls. He also remembers Joe's unquenchable sense of fun. "As kids, we were always wrestling with one another in the bedroom. Things got so frantic one day that the bed legs crashed through the ceiling. Our mother went mad, but Joe did nothing but laugh."

Joe's appetite for fun sometimes went a touch too far. He once arrived at the family home with a bull-mastiff in tow. It was a huge thing that stretched out the length of the hearthrug. Joe's parents weren't at all amused and the outsized new pet just had to go.

Albert remembers that his brother was always fiercely independent. A well-meaning visitor once gave his mother some money to pass on to Joe. "When he found out, he was so furious that he chucked it in the fire," says Albert. "He wanted help and pity from no-one."

Once a group of professors arrived in St Helens to marvel at Joe's intelligence which was rated as being of university admission standard. But despite having a first-class brain trapped in a silent, black world, Joe was never known to complain about his lot.

Says Albert: "He was blessed with a terrific sense of humour and a spirit of independence that have carried him through life.

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