Some of us are lucky enough to have choices in our lives. Today my choice is sever pain or choking. Today, I chose wisely, I would rather be in pain. The medicine that the doctor prescribed for me can cause swelling in my throat which can make swallowing and speaking difficult.
I asked my doctor if childhood trauma could be the cause of a pinched nerve. He explained to me that it could not be ruled out. As a child, I had suffered sexual abuse, physical abuse and emotional abuse. I told the psychologist that in my opinion that rape was the worst form of abuse for anyone. My abusers had lived good lives, they have gotten married, had children and probably forgotten about me.
But, I never forgot what they did to me. No child should have gone through what I went through. I told the psychologist that I try to move on. I do try to move on but I see my abusers in my dreams. The docotors ask me what I would want to have happen, I replied that I wasn’t looking for revenge but more of an apology would be ok. Those rapists took my childhood away. They raped me for five years, from when I was 10 years old to fifteen years old. Even when I moved away when my grandmother died, because it was such a small island on Saint Helena, they still continued their abuse.
Surely, my screaming would have told them that I was absolutely petrified of what they were doing to me. I certainly wasn’t the only child that they were abusing.
It was the violence that they had done to me as well that had long lasting effects. They would throw me down on the ground and drag me into the bushes to commit there horrible acts upon me. I feel that not only has it had a long lasting effect on me, but it also had an effect on my children. I would have been a much better mother if it never happened to me.
I am so pleased that the children of Saint Helena are better looked after now then when I lived there. Last year I met a young woman from Saint Helena. She now lived in Portsmouth and she had grown up in the same area as I had grown up. I grew up in the town of Deadwood. In fact, I played with her mother as a child. She told me that her uncle Nicholas repeatedly raped her and her two sisters. One of the sisters had a miscarriage at just 12 years old. The hospital on Saint Helena would certainly have records of this.
After I met this lovely young woman, I immediatly sent several emails to the police. I explained to them that she was very distraught over what her uncle Nicholas Stevens did to her and her two younger sisters. I hope that he is punished for these dreadful crimes. No child in Deadwood or Saint Helena is safe if this serial pedophile is not brought to justice.
This young woman told me that she thought that her mother knew what her brother was doin to her children. I told her that her mother probably may have been frightened of her brother and turned a blind eye. I would even bet, that he was probably abusing his sister to.
I am so angry that this evil man had raped his sisters, and his sisters three little girls. I am horrified that he has gotten away with it. I sincerely hope that the police on Saint Helena look into this matter even though it is third party information. This vile man needs to be punished for his vile crimes against children.
I am so happy that Saint Helena is now moving forward to protect young people and women. This young woman did try to communicate via email and even explained that rape was rife on Saint Helena. She was however to afraid and traumitized to speak to the police.
When I was a child on the island I remember seeing women no front teeth missing as well as black eyes and as many as 12 children. The women were always strong women who loved their children through the most difficult times. For example, my mumma never had her front teeth. Poppa has knocked them out such a long time ago, long before I was born.
My mumma was repeatedly beaten by her cruel husband. She would sit under the tree outside our house and cry until she recovered or until the next time poppa decided to beat her. There was no support back then from police. There were no support groups or people to see. Battered women like my mumma were told by the police to put up with the beatings.
I am happy to read that the new governor Lisa Phillips has multiple divisions of child protection in place. She has instilled a refuge for battered women. No child should ever have to suffer like I did.
I have now been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. I constantly have triggers when I see small children around one years old. I think to myself, was I that small when my teenage mother left me? I was left with her parents and she never returned.
When I see five year olds walking to school holding their mothers hands, I realize that I never once had that from my mother. She left to move to England. I absolutely love my grandmother but she never walked me to school.
But, my grandmother did care about my education, but in my day parents didn’t go near school. My school report was so negative that I would read it and then proceed to tear it up on the way home from school. I always thought to myself that my grandmother had enough problems at home with her violent husband. I really didn’t want her to see my bad school report.
I never did really well at school. I could read and write and even say the Lords prayer. I could recite the creed before I started school at five years old. I was always caned by the head teachers at Longwood Junior School. Mainly, because I would be late to school. It was such a long walk from my house in Deadwood to my school. Besides, I would be awake most of the night listening to poppa screaming at momma and smashing furniture.
I always look back and think to myself how cruel the headteacher was caning me. She knew full well that my mother had left Saint Helena and left me alone.
I told the psychologist that I never once told my mumma that the head teacher was beating me on a daily basis. I knew that mumma wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it, or help me for that matter. I decided that it was pointless to tell her. At sixteen years old I could bearly tell the time. I have read mutiple studies that it wasn’t unusual for abuses children to have no sense of time.
The psychologist asked me if I had a social worker. I explained that I did have a social worker who came to our house. He started coming before I had started school at the age of five. He never spoke to me on my own and in my day children were seen but never heard.
What is sad, is that I suffered the most extreme abuse right under the social workers nose. This abuse consisted of physical and mental abuse. All of the abuse, occured before I was 12 years old. The psychologist asked me the length of time that the abuse lasted.
Five years, it lasted. Five extremely horrible and long years. When my grandmother died I was finally moved to Jamestown and that was the happiest day of my life. I was finally taken away from my hell.
Poppa would always do all the talking when the social worker came to our house. I would just sit and hold mumma’s hand. Mumma would be sitting there rocking back and forth wimpering. My poor mumma had lost her 13 year old daughter because of mysterious circumstances and didn’t want to lose another child.
The rumours were rife on Saint Helena that her daughter was killed because of one of poppas beatings. Based on what he did to me, it could very well be true.
Poppa would sit there and tell the social worker what a very bad child I was. I hated poppa saying that I was bad, especially when he would openly praise my cousins in front of me.
When the psychologist asked me why I thought poppa was mean to me, I explained that I think it could be because my mother was unmarried and very young. She didn’t really know who my father was so poppa would always call me a bastard child.
The only way that I seemed to cope with it all, was, essentilly, leaving my body behind me. I just climbed out of my body and helplessly watched what they were doing to me. People say, I need to leave the past behind me, they say you must forget it, but I dream about the abuse constantly and everything seems so real. I have this reoccuring dream where I am walking along a footpath in Deadwood and a crocodile jumps up and grabs me in its mighty jaws and drags me into the bushes.
I always scream so loud that I wake everyone up. It is such a distressing deam. There were no crocodiles on Saint Helena, just young men who thought that they had a right to drag little girls into the flex bushes and repeatedly rape them. One of those young girls was me.
Nineteen years of abuse and torture had taken its toll on me. My physical and mental well being has been slipping. I thought that I coped but I think that I just get by. I have awful triggers, nightmares and flashbacks on a daily basis.
When the psychologist asked to describe my childhood I had an explanation that most people would find horrendous.
I told her that I was brought up by my grandparents. My grandfather would physically and mentally abuse me. He had such poor eyesight that he would throw heavy objects at me. He hardly ever missed and I had a huge scar on my arms where poppa threw a giant log at me. He would always call me horrible names. He would throw away any food that I touched and refused to eat it. He would tell everyone how much he hated me, and even told all of the neighbours to never let their children play with me.
My grandmother on the other hand would always tell me how much she loved me. She would spend hours putting my hair in ringlets and pretty bows. She would always tell me how beatiful I was and she was always praising me. I would feel so proud. My grandmother would take me to have my photograph taken so what we could send it to my mother in England.
I had a very confused childhood. I had one parent telling me how much they hated me while the other one would praise me and tell me how much they love me. I am still a very confused person. My momma was only 61 when she died. The priest had come out to our house to tell us she passed. I can clearly remember poppa putting his head in his hands and repeaedly saying “Oh my God Dolly has left this bastard child with me!” This made me feel awful, but I was so used to poppa saying horrible things to me. I was just praying that he wouldn’t get angry with me and try to kill me.
I don’t really remember much else until the following morning when the salvation army captain Graham Harding came to take me to live with his family.
The utter confusion between love and hate was a difficult quandry to understand. One minute I would have physical abuse and hatred, and then loving care and attention. My momma was a lovely person.
This blog is a tribute to my mumma love, it also works as therapy for me. It takes the abuse and pain out of my head. If I don’t write then I can’t think straight. My mumma was the best mumma in the world. She would wipe away my tears. She would kiss and cuddle me. She would tell me I was beautiful. She would read me bible stories. But my favorite story was Uncle Tom’s Cabin and baby Moses.
I love you so much my sweet, kind and loving mumma.
I love you always.
Dorothy Maude