Isolated World

by Susan Eastwood

  SUSAN EASTWOOD

  ISOLATED WORLD

  Growing up deaf in an uncomprehending society

  Copyright © 2014 by Susan Eastwoood

  Published by Mereo

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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  Cover design - Ray Lipscombe

  ISBN: 9781861513489

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 From ‘The World’s Your Oyster’ to ‘Isolated World’

  Chapter 2 A new school

  Chapter 3 Married life

  Chapter 4 Single mother

  Chapter 5 Defeating depression

  Chapter 6 Into the employment jungle

  Chapter 7 ‘Never seen a deaf person before’

  Chapter 8 Adventures away from home

  Chapter 9 Looking back

  In conclusion

  Appendix Famous deaf people, and champions of the deaf

  Prologue

  You’re in a supermarket and you see a man in a wheelchair trying to reach a packet of nuts on a shelf. Would you reach out for it and hand it to him?

  You’re standing at the bus stop waiting for the No. 12 bus, and next to you is a blind man asking you for the No. 63 bus. Would you read out the number and help him on?

  A lady in a grocery store is struggling to put apples in a bag because she only has one arm. Would you offer her your help?

  You’re in a busy car park and you’re annoyed because you’re unable to find a parking space. Then you see an empty disability parking space. Would you park your car there?

  Perhaps you would not hesitate – or would you? You can see for yourself what these people are trying to do - it’s not invisible to you.

  What are hidden disabilities? Let me name a few… autism, epilepsy, emphysema, mental illness, multiple sclerosis, arthritis, brain injury - or did you already know that?

  Did I have to think long and hard about writing this book? The answer is, no. Perhaps it’s best for me to leave you to learn for yourself.

  Here are some questions about awareness.

  How would you know? How would you recognise if someone is deaf?

  Do you know the terms used to describe deaf people? What’s the difference between ‘partially hearing’ and ‘profoundly deaf?’

  How many deaf people are there in the UK? The answer is 10 million – that’s one in six of the population. Six million of them could benefit from a hearing aid, but only two million already have them. By 2031 there will be more than 14.5 million deaf people.

  British Sign Language is:

  - The first or preferred language for deaf people.

  - Officially recognized by the government in 2003.

  - A different language to English.

  BSL is a visual-gestural language with its own vocabulary and grammar, and it’s the preferred language for 70,000 deaf people in Britain.

  Do you think we are being accepted in today's world, in the 21st century with the advances in theology and so-called awareness that is supposedly giving people a greater understanding? Then I’m afraid you are greatly mistaken!

  Have I had it tough all my life? Judge for yourself.

  In this changing world, life should be about principles, equality, respect, rights and dignity. My disabilities are hidden – does this mean I am not included within this world? Has society’s attitude toward disabled people really improved over time? If only I could tell people about myself, would they understand when I really need help? Or maybe I should just explain why I am different?

  If only it were that simple. For my part I don’t feel as if I am within this ‘equal’ world, and I’ve felt trapped, frustrated, angry and all alone in this world for most of my life. How much has actually changed since I was born? It is hard to believe people that like me were once put in mental institutions for being ‘retarded’ or ‘mentally ill’. Sometimes we were misdiagnosed by doctors - yes, it is true. Unfortunately, because I’m different, I have been called names like ‘retarded’ and ‘monkey’, and I even have been laughed at.

  CHAPTER ONE

  From ‘The World Is Your Oyster’ to ‘Isolated World’

  My mother borrowed a wedding dress and her sister-in-law’s veil and married my father on June 30th 1956. Four months later, my father went into the Army and was based at Stratford- Upon-Avon. My mother went to live there for a while and when my father came out of the Army, they stayed at my grandmother’s in Middlesbrough.

  I was born in 1959 and we all stayed there for eleven months while my father saved up a deposit and bought our first home. We did not have much furniture, but we had the basic things, and that was enough for us.

  My brother Stephen arrived in 1961, followed by David in 1962.We lived very close to the welfare clinic, which was about a five-minute walk from our house, and my mother used it frequently. I cannot remember our first home, but I have been told it was very large and stood opposite a primary school on a main road. Apparently I was always looking out of the windows and being very mischievous. At this point, my mother was expecting her fourth child.

  One day when I was two years and ten months old, I went into the front room at the front of the house and climbed on to a chair, then up onto the table, to look out of the window. My mother then heard me screaming, and she ran in to find me on the wooden floor with blood streaming from my nose. I had two black eyes and a broken nose.

  I was taken to hospital, where my parents were told there was nothing wrong with me. I had tape over my nose for a long time, as well as the black eyes. As far as my parents knew, no further damage had been done.

  Some time after my accident, my mother took us to the welfare clinic. She explained to the doctor that my speech didn’t seem to be improving, although I could count, dress myself and say nursery rhythms and I was toilet trained, could talk in sentences and could make myself understood. The doctor explained that he thought that my speech was not improving because I was jealous of my brother! My parents were then told that there was nothing to worry about.

  But my mother knew something was not right with me - call it mother’s intuition. If she called my name I would not take any notice. She took me to the welfare clinic again and the doctor quickly repeated that nothing was wrong. As time went on, my mother persisted at the clinic and she was told the same thing every time.

  Then one day, she refused to move from the chair until I was given a proper examination. The doctor’s idea of a proper examination was shaking a bunch of keys behind my head. He then declared I had hearing loss. When my parents were told I was deaf, my mother cried for a month and both my
parents were devastated. The prospect of my being incurably deaf, to parents who didn’t know what the future might bring for me, was soul destroying. They grasped every opportunity for help that was available. They soon discovered that there was practically none.

  My mother took me to see a consultant, and I was given an ear mould. I had to wear a hearing aid, which was uncomfortable as there were two plastic pouches and two ear-moulds. It used one AA battery. I had to wear it over the chest with shoulder straps. Sometimes I would have it under my dress or in front of my top as I never liked it, but I was made to wear it all the time.

  My parents asked the consultant a lot of questions, but the answers were not what they expected for the future of their child. The only help my parents got was from a social worker who came to the house and told my parents to make sure that I was facing them and to look at me every time they spoke to me, and they should speak to me slowly. She said I would have to learn to lip read. That social worker stayed for less than ten minutes to give that advice. When I think about that now, I wonder if she was even qualified for the job. I believe she had no idea that there was a language that deaf people used, or that there was a school for the deaf which used a different method of communication. Not a lot of help for my parents really. Has it changed for the better today? Please keep on reading - more about social workers later.

  At the age of three my brother Stephen was told about my deafness. He was taught to learn to face me and speak slowly and tap me on my shoulders if he wanted my attention. I had to learn that and get used to it, as my parents did not know any other ways of communicating.

  My parents knew nothing about the school for the deaf either, until I was three years and ten months old, when I was taken to a school in Orchard Road which looked like a big old Victorian house. When we arrived at that school, my parents witnessed something shocking. Why were the children and parents moving their arms about? My parents had never seen anything like it in their lives. They were using British Sign Language. Was I the only deaf child who communicated using speech? My parents didn’t like it very much and they challenged the teachers about this ‘language’ they had never seen before.

  It wasn’t long before I picked up sign language and stopped speaking at home. I did not have to lip read at school! What could my parents do about it? Nothing, but they still had to take me to school because they did not have a choice at that time. I had to learn to use British Sign Language at school and lip read at home. I don’t think I found it difficult because for me, I don’t think I knew any different. I got used to it lip reading at home and using BSL at school.

  I was there for a while, until I was about seven, and then I moved to a new school, Beverley School, which was newly built with huge fields and lots of classrooms and a big kitchen. This was very different from the one at Orchard Road. After a while I settled at Beverley School and the teacher had a word with my mother to say that I was doing very well and was above average compared to other deaf children in my class.

  But my parents soon learned that my education was not at the highest standard, and felt that I was receiving a very poor education. They considered sending me to a better school, but how would they be able to do this? Not a lot of help was around at the time and Beverley School was not a Catholic school, although we were a Catholic family. My father was not Catholic, but he supported my mother’s decision to give all of us a Catholic education. My father believed we all would get the best out of it, and wished for me to go to a better Catholic school.

  I never wore school uniform while I was at Beverley. My mother made all my clothes and I always looked smart. My mother never went to work while we were children; she was a full-time mother. My father worked for British Steel and also did some handyman work on the side, so my parents could afford to take us all away on holidays.

  When I was five years old, we moved to a lovely semi- detached house just round the corner from my grandmother’s, with a nice garden and garage. I got the back bedroom and my brothers got the front bedroom with bunk beds. Some of our neighbours were friendly and we didn’t live far from the park and the church.

  From a very early age my mother spent a lot of time with me to help with my speech and education. She borrowed a machine from the school for a while, with headphones and a microphone. I would take off my hearing aids and put the headphones on and my mother would then speak into the microphone. I could not hear what was being said, but I could pick up the vibrations and tone of the sentence. I would then repeat the sentence she had just said. We would do this every night after tea and just before bed.

  Mother also helped me to write and spell. Sometimes in the summer we did it in the garden and when we were finished, I would play with my brothers. I also went to dancing class for a while, which I enjoyed, and another partially-hearing girl from school came with me. I danced only to the vibrations I could feel through the floor.

  In 1966 my sister Jill was born. I was seven years old and I remember coming home from school and there was my mother with a baby girl! I hadn’t even known that my mother was pregnant. All I wanted to do was look after her. My brothers also used to help and teach me things - for example, I remember they used to ask me why it was important that we eat fish, and I would say because it had iron in it and things like that. We would sit around the table and have conversations and sometimes I was forgotten. When we were all at the table and I wanted pepper or salt, I would have to ask for it properly. I was not allowed to point with my fingers. I would have to say ‘please pass the salt’ - I was taught good manners. My parents wanted me to be treated just like everyone else in the family. There was no ‘we feel sorry for her’.

  I have always loved Christmas. I felt privileged because I used to get what I wanted - or so it seemed. It was the same for my brothers and sister. We got the same amount of presents from our parents, aunties, uncle and grandmothers, which made a lot of presents. I remember I loved my ‘Tiny Tears’ doll. My father used to film us opening the presents on Christmas morning. He even filmed the wallpaper in the living room, which had a horrible pattern of green leaves. One time I was given a typewriter, which I loved. I suppose it’s one of the reasons why I wanted to work on a typewriter in an office. If my father had to work on Christmas Day, we would wait for him to arrive home at 2pm and then we had Christmas dinner together. I was allowed a tiny drop of beer mixed with lemonade.

  I continued to go to school and signed with my friends, while when I was at home I would lip read. For me, that was normal. My parents were still not happy with the school, but the teachers continued to tell my parents that I was doing really well there.

  When I was eight or nine years old my father suggested that I should walk to the bus stop and get the bus on my own to school. My mother was horrified and thought it was not a good idea, but I did go to school on my own. It was only about 10 minutes away. I remember walking to get the bus to school one morning when out of nowhere, a dog ran up to me and bit the back of my leg, for no reason. Whenever I see a West Highland white terrier now, I hope it doesn’t want to bite me! I have never liked dogs ever since.

  At Beverley School, we had a new headmaster and he had high hopes for us. I absolutely hated that school. I did not really like the other children and felt I was not learning anything. I never really made any friends at that school, though my family was still confident that I could do better in another school.

  My father learned to drive and bought a car. Over the next few years my parents obtained brochures for St John’s School at Boston Spa. The education, facilities and exam results there appeared to be excellent.

  We attended mass every Sunday, and I would go to the Sister’s house to learn religious lessons to prepare us for making our first holy communion. I went a few times with other girls, and had my first communion when I was nine years old, wearing a white dress my mother made me and a veil and white gloves. It was a lovely sunny day and we all marched along the route and then went into the church to make our first com
munion. Afterwards I had my photo taken in the back of the church garden. When I was at mass I would follow the service by reading the small book and my mother would point her finger underlining the words so that I could follow. I soon learned how to say ‘Hail Mary’ and ‘Our Father’ on the rosary beads off by heart. Sometimes, my brothers were altar boys at that church.

  My mother saw Sister Vincent and spoke to her outside the church about my schooling. The nun knew of a very good school and advised them of a good Catholic school in York, which was the same school my parents had brochures for, Boston Spa. This meant I would be away from home, and my mother was not too sure about that.

  My parents wanted to have a look around the school before making the decision about me going there. When we all visited the school for the first time we arrived at the front entrance of the building to see that it was a huge and very old building. From the front of the school, as you arrived, you had steps up to the front door. Inside was a huge hall with two parlours on both sides, and there was a church within the building.

  The school was divided into two. One section of the school, on the ground floor, housed classrooms for hard-of-hearing children. The head nun, Sister Barbara, decided I would be on that side, as they said it was the best for my education. The other section of the school was for profoundly deaf children, and upstairs were the bedrooms, bathrooms, wash basins and toilets. We each had our own small wardrobe and curtain rails around the bed and we would have to close them at night (which reminded me of hospitals!) Those who were older had their own bedrooms, each with wash basins. I remember thinking it was nice to be able to have my own bedroom as I had always shared with my sister.

  The area surrounding the school was beautiful and there was a nearby village and river. You could see fields for miles from the bedroom upstairs. It was lovely, especially when the sun was setting.