Many times, I wished I had been born a boy. I never liked to play with dolls, perhaps because none of my dolls had their heads attached to their bodies, thanks to Doug my brother, 18 months younger than me, who could not resist taking things apart. Most things he was able to put together again, but strangely enough, that skill did not translate to my dolls’ heads. Then being the eldest, I had my duties, which meant training to be a home-maker. Refereeing my brothers play, so they did not wake either parent, depending who was on night duty, was impossible. The tension was dreadful, and I could never relax. My brothers were not helpful in the slightest either and were typical boys. Mum didn’t get that much time off, but when she did, she kept the whole house amazingly tidy and clean, with me trailing around behind her, trying to help, but doing my usual, ‘bull in a china shop’ act. I just seemed so unco-ordinated. I learned to crochet and knit, making up my own patterns, and also to sew and invisibly repair anything. Mother was so good at all these things, although she had never even washed a plate when she was younger.
I tried so hard to do my best with the housework, but somehow mother’s skill totally eluded me. I often made far more of a mess by accidentally tipping things over, including the cleaning fluid I was trying to clean with. This meant I had even more to clean up than when I started. In retrospect though, I did have many interruptions. It was my responsibility to change the baby’s nappies, which were made from cotton, needed boiling, rinsing and drying before being used again. There were very big safety pins to keep the nappy on the baby and then a plastic pant to go over the top, which often split. Changing nappies was a skill all of its own and not half as easy as using the disposable ones of today. The children had to be fed, a meal for father too, and then I would take them to bed and rock the smallest one to sleep, by tapping them gently. As soon as they woke in the morning, I would have to bring them down, change their nappy and get breakfast. This seemed incessant work, and I had no time for my favourite interest, reading.
The work at home was endless, there was a list for me which I never seemed to get it all done, not only that, cleaning never became easier. Spare time was rare even for school-work. When I brought my report card home to my parents, it was always a fearful time. On one occasion I managed to change the result of my shorthand exam. It said that I placed at ’18’ so I erased the number ‘1’ in front of it. I was amazed to still be ridiculed for placing ‘eighth.’ My father explained that placing anywhere other than first, was to come in nowhere. Luckily, in my other subjects, I was around the top percentage, except for maths.
After leaving school, I worked in an office, and a few evenings a week, studied in college, for GCE certificates. I would have loved the company of my school friends or go to dances in the evening, but, there was just no time for a social life. Besides, my father frowned upon me having any friends, and his behaviour made it all but impossible. Life grew even worse when he was around the house. He would call me in from the kitchen to pick up his tobacco, even with his tin two inches away from him on the table, he would demand I retrieve it for him. This was still his behaviour, even when I was in the middle of dealing with one of the babies. Father never put himself out in the slightest, but instead had one of us children fetch everything for him. Since he had grown up with servants who did his complete bidding, I tried not to think too badly of him for this continuing behaviour, but I intensely disliked it.
Sometimes, mother would catch him wasting our time in this fashion when she would say, “Sir Vyvyan., get off your high horse!”(Vyvyan, was his first name). Often I heard her say that ‘breeding’ counted for nothing any more, unless there was a great deal of money to back it up, as much as they used to have. Money was power and brought with it respect, she used to say. I realized the drastic changes in their lives made everything very difficult for them. But, mother was dealing with it far better than he was and she had all the work to do, not him. She even knitted jumpers, scarves and gloves for all of us, in the colours we liked best. Not to mention, using her sewing machine to make us some great clothes.
I had some hilarious moments whilst at work. I was employed in shops, offices and even a factory that made cigarettes! There was always disruption wherever I went mainly due to laughter, as I seemed to be a natural comedian. Trouble usually occurred because of my having disregard for rules, unless I agreed with them. Trouble was second nature to me and I kind of enjoyed it, as it broke the boredom. Somehow, my rebellious and reckless behaviour caused me to have many friends. I still kept up college, as I desperately wanted as many certificates of education, as possible.
I seemed to annoy my father more each day, and he often said I was defiant, which infuriated him. If I was a bit slow in doing his bidding, and he was already annoyed for some reason, or I had tried to prevent him from punishing my brothers, he hit me until I writhed about in pain on the floor, well past the crying stage. It was almost impossible to catch my breath and all the time, I became so angry with myself for appearing weak, when I cried. All I could do was screw my face up in agony, and wriggle as fast as possible to stop the stinging feelings. I remember being so frustrated when unable to defend myself. I hated feeling so helpless just because a man had more physical strength than I did, and this was the beginning of my dislike and total dis-respect for all bullying, arrogant, men, (and people in general).
At the end of some beatings, my father picked me up from the floor, even as I moved away from him. He then hugged me tightly, saying he beat me for two reasons. One was because he loved me and to turn me into a dignified, decent lady. The other reason was my not responding to a request quickly enough. Oh, and he always told me that I was plain looking and not a patch on my mother, (that was true) and that my sisters were much better looking and sang so much better too. I was still being made to play ukelele and sing when he accompanied me on piano. My sisters would be too shy to sing, but when they warbled a bit, they were praised. Actually, they both sounded good to me. (When we all met up as adults many years later we three sang like chipmunks together.)
It did not matter that I was about to put the babies to sleep, or in the middle of one of his other requests. When he beckoned, I was to ‘drop everything,’ (his actual words) and rush to his side. If I was slow to respond, he would hit me hard at the side of my head. The migraine headaches started around the time of the smacking around my head, about my tenth birthday.
Father hated the rock group, the Beatles, because of the reaction they elicited from sobbing, young females who had huge crushes on them. Whenever a news flash came on television of the hysterical girls sobbing for the Beatles, he shouted I was never to behave like them. It did not occur to him I was far too quiet and withdrawn to ever behave in that fashion. Besides, I was never in any position to see a band I liked anyway, so there was no chance of me behaving that badly, so it should not have mattered. He did not want me to turn out like the uncontrolled girls, regardless of the fact that I felt embarrassed at the way those stupid females behaved. I loved the raw music though and sneakily liked John Lennon. Father said how low-classed they were, and that I had brain cells missing if these type of men could appeal to me. After a beating, he would sneer down at me and say, “Now don’t you forget why you got that beating!”
Often, after these totally unprovoked beatings, I would be terrified that he might ask, ‘Do you remember why I beat you?’ There was no logical reason I could provide him at these times, which would have made things far worse. If I could not make up a valid excuse for his cruelty, he grew even angrier. Then sometimes he would hit me again, to ‘remind’ me. Unfortunately, he never actually said what I was supposed to have done, but mostly called me defiant.
Frequently, I tried to tell Mum about these beatings, especially when she noticed my bruises. My father would say they were bruises caused by boxing with my brothers, falling down the stairs, or that I simply wanted to cause trouble between him and Mum. Poor thing, she did not know who to believe and when I asked her to leave him, she had no idea how to cope on her own without a husband, and in taking all her children with her.
I went through many jobs, mostly office work and totally unable to take any kind of disrespect from my bosses, especially if they raised their voices to me. This tone reminded me of the way my father often spoke to me and there was no way I would take it from anyone else. Consequently, I was often sacked for insubordination. When I returned home and admitted that I had lost another job, my father beat or chastised me. Gradually, the punches and back-handers from father grew more frequent. He was not happy often and I knew he was jealous of the attention mother gave to her children, as he often said as much. Trouble came to me it seemed, for just being near him. When he turned violent it became my will against his. Most of the time, he hit me for the look I had in my eyes when he expected me to make him one of his many cups of tea. Although I was working, I still was not allowed out with friends, only to shop quickly and come straight back home.
Soon, however, mother needed me to stay home full-time to look after the children, so she could step up her hospital duty hours. Of course I agreed, although I knew that my college studies would be limited to when I was able to attend. College was important to me and it was my only social life, and luckily, I had a good memory even when I missed many lessons. My teachers were astounded that I passed exams without much of their instruction and with such good results.
I developed a large abscess in one of by breasts later. Surgery was scheduled, but before it was to be performed, the abscess burst and another, even larger one, grew. The abscess had to be removed in an emergency operation, as poison had started to seep into my body. A drain was left in for a few days after the operation. The pain was incredible, and much worse than what I had experienced from my previous childhood operations. I had already gone through the removal of my tonsils, adenoids and appendix, along with a ganglion on the back of my wrist. The pain of the abscess was much worse.
For many years as a child, I had prayed that my father’s would no longer be with us. Each morning when taking in his cup of tea to wake him for breakfast, I felt disappointed he was still there. I used to think evil people were killed by God back then. It was not only due to the beatings, there was something else despicable he did to me when I was younger and took baths. His voice has haunted me all my life, when he used to snarl, “Keep still!” Afterwards, he said it was my fault because I shouldn’t look sexy and, since he had helped to make me, I should not hide myself from him. There is no reason for me to go any deeper into this, and I have no wish to. He caused my further problems with me allowing some men take advantage of me, when he instilled in me that I should always care about the feelings of others, and not my own. This meant I did not realise that a person has a right to their own personal, private space. Something I believe children are not taught today, which is a human right.
Two days before my seventeenth birthday, I had angered my father enough for him to give me another beating, I have no idea what it was over now. Mother had planned for a treat for us all, to go to the Zoo for my birthday, but I knew I could stay no longer. After seven years of bad treatment I could take no more. I had been secretly talking to a friend of one of my school friends, who agreed I should not put up with this treatment any longer. I let my two sisters and three brothers down, as I was not there for the trip to the zoo. Instead, I had run away from home, penniless, and with this ‘friend’ a man of around twenty years of age, who I barely knew. I did not even know he was taking drugs . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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