The other day a family member had asked me why I didn’t write anything about my Grandfather Poppa Freddy. I explained to her that there wasn’t anything to write about him. I thought about her question and then realized perhaps there was something that I could write about him, the truth.
He was a very abusive man, both emotionally and physically. He would wake up every morning and would tell me every single day of my young life how much he hated me. He would say to me that he hated every bone in my body. He would actually say to me, while cuddling and praising my cousins, that he detested and despised me. He would often call me vile, but as a child, I always though that he meant wild, as in a wild animal or wild flower. I had no idea that he meant vile as in nasty. In all the time he was alive I had never known him to be nice to me.
He had very poor eyesight and probably had severe cataracts. He couldn’t see me very well so rather then swipe at me, which he did when he could catch me, he would instead throw heavy objects at me. I can dreadfully remember one such experience. I was outside in our front garden playing with a neighborhood girl named Gillian Peters. My grandfather became so angry and decided to threw a big giant bookcase at me. I put my arm up to protect my face and the bookcase hit my arm and to this day I still have the scar running down my arm. My grandfather was horrible and did not want me to have outside interaction so he would tell my friends parents not to let their children play with me.
The worst day I ever had was when I watched him smash my bed up. This was so unbearable to me that I hid and cried and cried and cried myself to sleep.
He wasn’t just abusive to me. He was also abusive to my grandmother and other relatives. My uncle still has the marks and scars to this day from my grandfathers beatings. One of my aunties told me the story how when she was a child she was beaten until she literally passed out. Apparently, It was because my grandfather wanted to prove to my grandmother that he didn’t have any favoritism amongst his daughters.
The thought of going to the police never entered our minds as you never reported domestic violence or child abuse in those days. I remember my grandmother crying one day while he was out about how he would beat her while her children would watch and scream and to make matters worse if he wasn’t beating her he would be beating the children as she watched and screamed.
My grandfather made my life hell for 15 years and it had effects on my learning and everything about me. I had no confidence and I could never understand his hatred towards me. It always seemed like everyone was on his side and I felt so alone and unhappy. I am still struggling to this day because of his abuse but I have come a long way and every day I am healing, but I will always have physical and emotional scars from him.
The one most grateful aspect of my childhood was that through it all I did have my grandmother to love me.
When my grandmother died I was petrified as I lost my only protector. I remember when the priest came out to our house in Deadwood to tell us the news. I remember my grandfather putting his head in his hands and repeating over and over “Oh my god Dolly has died and left Dotty with me.” I felt numb and din’t think much of it has he was always nasty to me anyway.
The following morning at 9 am Graham Harding the Salvation Army officer working on St. helena at the time called in to say that my wonderful grandmother had asked him to take me to live with him. I grabed my suit case and jumped into Captain Harding green motorized thousand car to start my new life in Jamestown.
I was just 15 years old with no family and no home. I will always appreciate captain Graham Harding and his wife for their love and kindness. They were my beacon of hope in such a stormy and sad time in my life.