by Cassie Harte
He said he would change my current prescription to some new, stronger tablets that would take away the period pains and the headaches and make me feel a lot better. At that stage I would have taken anything to feel better. Clutching the prescription, I made my way to the nearest chemist, disappointed that I hadn’t found the courage to tell my GP about my problems but relieved that he thought my physical complaints could be solved by taking a few pills.
We trusted our doctors back then, were in awe of them. If they said these pills were the right ones to take for our problems, then take them we did. Benzodiazepines were still seen as safe wonder drugs, although a few research studies had raised warnings about their addictive nature. Millions of people, mostly women, were prescribed them on repeat prescription for years and years on end. And I was one of these women.
As time went on, I began to feel better. The headaches almost stopped and my periods, although still very heavy, were not as painful. Apparently, any kind of stress will make menstruation more painful, so when the pills helped me to cope better with the dysfunctional family I was part of, the period pains got less.
As regards my career, I didn’t have the heart to argue any more after Mum’s bombshell. She contacted the college to enquire about me recommencing the nursing course. I didn’t want to do this, but as far as she was concerned it wasn’t up to me. However, the principal of the college had heard from the matron of the hospital where I had been working and between them they had decided that it wasn’t a good idea for me to continue my nursing career at that point. The practical part, which was where I became unstuck, was a major part of the course in the second year, so they thought that maybe I should come back to nursing when I was older.
My mother was furious and was about to give the principal an earful, but the principal said that there was another opportunity I might like to try for, one that she thought would suit me better. The government had set up a pilot scheme for training medical receptionists. Only six students were going to be selected and she wondered if I would like a place on this course? Mum could see some prestige in this, a government-sponsored pilot scheme, so she said yes, I would like to accept a place.
She didn’t consult me, of course. There was no question of me switching to the journalism course I had longed to do.
As it happens, I had been so happy at college that I was relieved to be going back to any course that didn’t involve nursing. I went back in September 1962, still only seventeen, and embarked on the first medical receptionist training course in the country. I still saw all my good friends from the prenursing course and still felt very much part of the student family. This helped me to begin to come to terms with the tumultuous events of the summer months.
I didn’t see Steve, my half-brother, again for a long time. He didn’t come over to our house and I didn’t go to see him. Although the pain was still there, college life and my youth helped me deal with it.
I continued to feel a strong sense of betrayal, though. I was used to Mum letting me down and hurting me, but this surpassed everything she had ever done in the past. And what must my dear, gentle, kind dad be feeling? We never once discussed it. He kept out of my way. I presume he meant this to protect me and not cause me any more anguish, but I could have used someone to talk to at home and there was no one there.
Uncle Bill kept away for the rest of that year. I suppose things must have been difficult for him at home. No doubt Gwen was furious with him. I thought about her and her family, and Steve in particular. You can’t just turn off a love as strong as I had felt for him and I cried myself to sleep many, many times.
‘Gwen and the family hate you now,’ Mum told me, and I believed her. So I stayed away.
How could I have gone to see them? It was all my fault, wasn’t it? If I hadn’t been born, their lives would have continued just fine. No one would be hurting now.
It was my guilt, my shame, and I would have to carry it for most of the rest of my life.‘
Chapter Fourteen
In contrast to my home life, I really enjoyed my time at college. I joined a theatre group, sang with a glee club and continued to be a member of the church choir, as well as singing in the band on Friday nights. Gradually I began to live the life of a normal student. I had my quiet moments, when the dark thoughts crept up on me, but I had become an expert at hiding all the horrible bits of my life and pretending that things were good.
Mum continued to be harsh and cruel. My older siblings had all left—Ellen and Rosie were married and Tom was overseas with the Marines, but Anne remained at home, where she got to take over the role of Mum’s favourite, in contrast to me, the person who had ruined her life. I was too busy to spend much time at home, because on top of my social life I had to work hard to keep up with the course work, but that was all for the best.
The great thing was that I hadn’t seen Bill for over a year. He had gone, and as time went by I let myself believe that was it, that I would never see him again, never have to do those despicable things with him again. I was trying very hard to put all the pain of my past where it belonged—in the past. I was trying to make another norm, one that was happy and free from fear.
When I was eighteen years old I met an actor called Alistair, who was the original tall, dark and handsome man. He was full of charisma and an amazing actor as well. All the girls adored him so I was completely bowled over when he asked me to go on a date. Me!
I was shocked and astonished but I said yes straight away (and almost added ‘Yes, please!’).
We started dating, but during the early months of our relationship, once again, Uncle Bill came back on the scene. I arrived home one day after college and there he was, sitting in our living room with a mug of tea in his hand. I was shocked and went straight to my room but Mum called me down to speak to him. What was she thinking? Did she think that I would start treating him as my father? Did she really think that I could have this relationship with him? I had told her about how he hurt me, so what was she thinking? I went down and said hello and made the bare minimum of polite conversation, then escaped up to my room again. Nothing was said about the revelation that he was my father, or about the end of my relationship with his son. He never brought it up, and I didn’t either.
For a while after that I managed to avoid being alone with him, but he seemed almost to be stalking me until he could get me alone and try to lure me away with him.
‘Bill wants to take you into town, so get your coat,’ Mum said one Saturday when he had dropped in. ‘It’s a long time since you spent time together. I’m going out with Auntie Mary. See you both later!’
She left, and Bill looked at me with his awful, awful grin. ‘Come on, Cassie, we can have fun. We could buy you some new shoes or something.’
‘I’m not coming out with you!’ I said firmly.
‘Your mum said you’ve got to come. Do you want to take it up with her? She’ll be very cross with you.’
‘I’m not coming with you any more,’ I insisted. ‘You can’t make me. If you try to force me, I’ll tell Alistair.’ I just said this because it was the first thing that came into my head. I hadn’t really thought it through.
Uncle Bill laughed. ‘What would he think of you if you told him? He’ll say, if you didn’t like what was going on, why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you tell someone before?’
I could see how it might look to an outsider. I had told someone, but I hadn’t been believed. What if Alistair thought I had wanted to have sex with the man I now knew to be my own father? Surely he would run a mile?
Bill threatened that if I didn’t agree to have sex with him he would tell Alistair about our relationship, tell him that I had instigated it, that I was the one who made things sexual. I was horrified! Horrified that he could do this and horrified at the thought that he might be believed.
Would he really tell? I didn’t understand the law at that age. I thought that it would be seen as my fault because I hadn’t done anything to stop it. I
was scared of losing Alistair, with whom I was completely infatuated. I was too naïve to realise that I had any choice in the matter, even at the age of eighteen. When I was younger and I had told Mum about Bill abusing me, she hadn’t believed me. I had tried to put it behind me during the time Bill wasn’t on the scene, but now he was back all the fears and doubts overwhelmed me again. I couldn’t tell now, could I? What would I say? He had continually raped and abused me for years and years. Wouldn’t people think it was strange that I hadn’t told anyone before? Would they believe him? As far as I could see, I had to keep quiet—and I couldn’t let him tell either. I was confused, and scared of Uncle Bill, and so I gave in and let him have his way again.
We went to the houseboat that afternoon. And the abuse continued.
During that summer of 1964, Mum hired a friend of hers, a man called Phil, to paint our kitchen. I think he was out of work and she was helping him out. Anne and my parents were going away for the day and Mum suggested that he make a start while they were out, adding that I would be at home to bring him cups of tea when he wanted them.
I didn’t particularly like Phil but had no reason to fear him. After everyone left, I began to clear the breakfast dishes and put them in the sink. Suddenly he came up behind me and grabbed me around the waist.
I went rigid, I was so shocked, then I managed to spin round and push him away.
He laughed and made a joke about it, then carried on with his painting.
I tried to dismiss the incident but my past experiences came into my head and I began to feel nervous. After clearing the dishes, I walked into the hallway to go up to my room and keep out of his way. But I never got that far.
Again Phil grabbed me, lunging and trying to kiss my face. I screamed at him to stop.
‘Come on, it’s fun. You know it is,’ he laughed, thrusting his hand up my skirt and tugging at my panties.
Not again. Why was this happening to me? Why me?
‘Get away from me! Stop it!’ I yelled, and I struggled with all of my strength. He pushed his hot, now sweaty body against me and I began to cry, feeling his penis hardening against my stomach.
His face was distorted as he rubbed his body up and down against me, arousing himself. And then came the words that made the whole ugly episode even more despicable. ‘I’m allowed to do anything to you. He said I could. You know you like it, so stop playing games and let’s get on with it. He said you would pretend to dislike this but I know different and I can do what I want.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. Could it be true? Had Bill really given permission for this man to abuse his own biological daughter? How sick was that?
‘Get away!’ I screamed. ‘Get away from me! I hate you! Stop this!’ I pushed and pushed at him, praying with all my heart that he would stop. Then my prayers were answered. Someone knocked on the front door. Phil jumped, I pushed past him and ran to the door and flung it open then stepped out onto the doorstep.
It was the milkman, come for his money. I was never so happy to see anyone in my whole life. The milkman realised that something wasn’t quite right.
‘Are you OK, love?’ he asked, looking at my ruffled clothes and flushed face.
I started to say, ‘No, I’m not.’ At that point, Phil walked out past us and said everything was fine, he was just leaving. He hurried off down the street.
After the milkman had gone I shut the door and locked it, still shaking, still shocked. Nothing had happened really. Certainly nothing as nasty as all the other abuse I had suffered. But even though Phil hadn’t actually been able to rape me, I still felt terrified. Was I not safe from other men? Was this what all men wanted from me?
I had finished with boyfriends in the past because sex was the only thing on their minds. Alistair had said he respected me and wanted to wait, and that was one of the reasons I trusted him and liked being with him. Suddenly I felt a strong need to see him. I washed myself thoroughly, dressed and locked up the house and went over to his place.
As soon as Alistair looked at me, he knew there was something very wrong. I didn’t mean to tell him but I couldn’t help it. I was still shaking with a mixture of fear and indignation. I told him about how Phil had tried to assault me. I told him everything. Except that I didn’t tell him Bill had said it would be OK. How could I tell him that? How could I tell him that my father had given Phil permission to sexually abuse me, abuse me in the way he himself had been doing for virtually all of my life?
Before I could argue, Alistair put me in a taxi and the two of us headed back to my house, where he wanted me to tell Mum everything. To say I was terrified was an understatement. I’d told her once before about Bill, and look how that had turned out!
But Mum approved of Alistair. He was from a very wealthy family, a family that was respected in the community. An upperclass family. So he was OK in my mother’s book. This time I seemed to have got it right. Alistair was also charming and good-looking and he knew how to handle Mum.
When the family came home, we asked to talk to my parents in private. Mum insisted that Dad take my younger sister out to buy sweets at the shop down the road and we went into the best room.
It wasn’t easy telling her, because Phil was a friend of hers, but tell her I did. With the exception of the missing bits.
Alistair was so angry, he said he wanted to kill this man.
My mother realised she should probably be playing the concerned parent at this point so she stood up and came over to me. ‘No one,’ she said sternly, ‘no one will hurt my daughter and not pay for it.’
I was stunned. This was a new one! Where did that come from?
‘I just want to forget all about it and pretend it never happened,’ I said, scared of what else might come out. ‘As long as he doesn’t come to the house or come near me again, I’ll be fine.’
But no. This woman who suddenly cared for her daughter picked up the phone to call the police. I was absolutely stunned!
Was this the same woman who had called me names when I’d confided in her about the darkest, most horrific secret of my young life?
The same woman I had witnessed kissing my abuser and telling him that she hadn’t believed a word I’d said?
What I didn’t know at the time was that Mum had been having an affair with Phil but straight after leaving our house earlier that day he had phoned her to call a halt to it. So she was already angry with him. I had given her the opportunity to hurt him in a very serious way. How dare he spurn her? He would pay dearly for that.
Despite my attempts to prevent it going any further, the police arrived. They were very kind. A policewoman with bright red hair asked to speak to me in another room. She started by telling me that if a man did anything to a girl or a young woman that they didn’t want, then it was an offence. She went on to say that if I had been younger then it would have been an even more serious offence. I began to cry. She comforted me and said that I was to take my time, I could tell her anything and she would endeavour to put the offender behind bars.
She thought my tears were about the afternoon’s events. Little did she know.
My tears were for the girl who hadn’t known any of that, who hadn’t dared to tell anyone what a man was doing to her.
I explained what had happened with Phil and she wrote everything down. I was then examined in the best room of the house. All the time the policewoman comforted and reassured me that she would make sure justice was done. She said she would also talk to the milkman who had saved me that day so he could be a witness.
She was so kind that I wanted to spill everything out. Wanted to tell her that actually this was nothing compared to the abuse I’d been suffering over the last eighteen years. He hadn’t actually touched me intimately. He hadn’t raped me. I wanted to tell. But I couldn’t do it. And then my chance was gone.
The next few weeks felt like a dream, as if I was living someone else’s life. The house was the same. The family were the same. The dog was the same. But Mum wasn’t
. She wasn’t the same. Gone were the jibes. Gone were the unkind remarks and the ridicule. She was actually kind to me. She talked to me as if she cared about me. She spoke quietly to me, which was unheard of in our house.
I tried to like it. I tried to believe in it and enjoy it. Wasn’t this what I had always wanted? I tried to believe this was how it would be from now on. But I couldn’t. I was a master at pretending so I could always spot it in other people. I knew this wouldn’t last. I knew it wasn’t real.
I didn’t have long to wait. Phil was taken to court the following week. It was a horrible experience for me. I was cross-examined by his defence barrister, who insinuated that I had asked for it. He made it sound as though I had flirted with this man and enjoyed the attention and the kissing. I was horrified. I tried to defend myself but was stopped. I didn’t understand the way courts work. Why should I have? This was my first encounter.
The court heard from the milkman, my mother and my boyfriend. When Alistair spoke, the court fell silent. After all, he was good with an audience and had practised what he was going to say, as if it was a script in a play. It was all true, but he put it across very well.
After two days, the judge found Phil guilty of attempted sexual assault and actual assault. It was then disclosed that he had been cautioned for several sexual assaults before, mostly with young girls.
As we left the courts I will never forget the look on his wife’s face. She obviously didn’t believe my story and thought her husband was innocent. I felt awful, particularly when I noticed she was pregnant. The court only gave Phil a two-year suspended sentence in view of his wife’s pregnancy. I heard on the grapevine a few years later that his teenage daughter had given birth to twins and that he was the father. He really was a thoroughly nasty individual.
It took a long time for me to recover from the court case and the feelings of guilt about Phil’s wife and family. Uncle Bill stayed away throughout this time, possibly afraid that he would be implicated. After all, he had given his permission for the assault to take place, hadn’t he? He had told Phil that it was OK to sexually abuse me, his own daughter. So he had to stay away, didn’t he?