by Tracy Black
It only took me about five minutes to get my things.
I walked out of my room for the last time and said I was ready to leave. I closed the door behind me in silence and walked out of the house which had been my prison.
There were no fanfares or fireworks. There was no shouting or crying.
I just walked.
I just walked out.
I felt the most tremendous gratitude to the man who had made all of this possible. CO Stewart was so sympathetic and understanding. I never felt he doubted me or put any blame on me. He fixed everything and knew I needed to be taken away. He had time for me and just seemed to work it all out instantly. I don’t know how he managed to make things work the way they did that day, but I will never forget him. I don’t know what really happened, but sometimes I’ve wondered if, in exchange for allowing me to go, my father was told no charges would be pressed and he took the escape route being offered.
I went back to headquarters with two bags, which contained everything I owned. The next day I would start my new life.
It had been a long time coming.
CHAPTER 20
MY NEW HOME
Boarding school was a totally different world for me. I know that in recent years lots of people have said the whole boarding school experience is a world away from the Harry Potter stories, and that it’s a hard life with children left to fend for themselves in quite a harsh environment – there were certainly no witches or wizards at mine, but it was still a wonderful place for me to be. It was safe and that alone was priceless. I could even say that was magical in itself.
For a start, there was a uniform. I still had memories of those years when I was in charge of my own laundry and everything I owned stank of damp and neglect. Years of being called ‘stinky’ – and worse – were forgotten when I put on my smart new blazer and skirt. The blazers came in a choice of burgundy or black, and I went for the former as it was more colourful, more of an indication that this was a new start for me. The school tie was burgundy and white to match, and we wore grey or burgundy jumpers with grey or black skirts. It was all new. Nothing was passed down or second-hand and I pressed every single item to my nose time after time, just to wallow in the smell of cleanliness.
I didn’t have the pleasure or excitement of shopping for my uniform. In fact, up until the last minute, I didn’t even know for sure I was going to have one at all. The day after I arrived, Matron sent a message to the dorm that she wanted to see me. As I walked down the steps to her office, I was shaking with nerves – what if she told me it was all a terrible mistake? What if Dad had refused permission for me to attend, or the commanding officer had decided I was a liar? What if I had to go back? I started making tentative escape plans because I knew there was absolutely no way I could bear returning to that house, to him. I had no money, no friends or family to go to, but I couldn’t even contemplate voluntarily returning to my abuser and the promise of more attacks on me.
I was still suspicious of people, still wary of anything that looked like it might be an escape route – especially now I feared it was all going to be snatched away. As a result, when I walked in and Matron warmly welcomed me with a smile as she said, ‘Hello, Tracy, how nice to see you,’ I was still waiting for the worst.
‘Do sit down,’ she said, indicating a soft chair in the corner. I did as I was told, and she walked towards me carrying a pile of clothes. She looked rather embarrassed. ‘Here is your uniform, dear – I’m very sorry but . . . your father was rather busy and couldn’t wait to hand it over personally or see you.’
There was no need for her to apologise. I was delighted. Three wonderful things had happened in the space of a few seconds – I was now sure I was being allowed to stay; I was being provided with a brand-new uniform; and, best of all, I didn’t have to see my dad. There was no doubt in my mind that Matron was being diplomatic and that Dad hadn’t wanted to see me in front of an audience, but, given that I didn’t want to see him either, this wasn’t a source of disappointment.
‘I’m sorry, Tracy,’ Matron commiserated. I felt a little guilty I couldn’t put her mind at ease and tell her she had nothing to be sorry for, but I couldn’t do that without opening up a whole can of worms.
I thanked her and rushed back to the dorm, smelling the new clothes and grinning uncontrollably. Two of every item nestled in my arms, and everything was of the best quality. I wondered then, as I do now, who really paid for it all – it seems extremely unlikely my father would fork out, so I considered the likelihood that perhaps, once again, the Army had come to my rescue.
The school consisted of seven different houses, each holding about one hundred girls. All of them, as well as the teaching and administration offices, were held within very long buildings. Some were red-brick, some were whitewash, and each was three or four floors high, with one in front of the other. Five minutes away was the boys’ boarding school, and their version had exactly the same layout. The gate entrance was usually manned, but that didn’t stop fraternisation between the schools – there is nothing as determined as a teenager who is told not to do something! When I eventually did meet some of the boy pupils, I had to go along with the notion they perpetuated that the schools were awful places. They called them Stalag Compound X or whatever – I called mine Heaven.
It was like being back in the Army base in some ways as each school was similar to a little village. There were playing fields and a netball court, there was a dining room and assembly hall, there was a swimming pool, a sick bay and lots of classrooms. Every place holds its own memories for me – but all of them are good. The discipline and restrictions of boarding school life held no horrors for me, for I had a freedom within those rules I had never had before, a freedom from being nothing more than a plaything for my sick father. What did it matter to me that I had homework and exams? I soon found out that I had a brain. What did it matter that I wasn’t allowed out except under strict directions and promises? I was safe in school and on school grounds, so didn’t particularly want to go anywhere else.
Each of the houses had a matron of their own, and the girls used to say they were worse than mothers. This, again, was alien to me – my mum hadn’t exactly been the traditional type, and what I really wanted was what these matrons wanted to provide, namely safety and security. There were times when I ‘talked the talk’ with the other girls who liked to moan about the restrictions placed on them, but, to be honest, I loved the way in which I was looked after. I had no inclination to run about with boys or have sex on the sly, I just wanted to keep away from my dad.
My matron was called Frau Schneider, a small, rather plump woman, with the voice of a docker! When she shouted, everybody listened, but she also had a true kindness to her. She used to breed and show Hungarian Puli dogs, the fancy types whose fur grows like dreadlocks. Everyone loved her and her dogs. Frau Schneider had ten of them, and she would regale us with tales of their adventures and characters as well as keeping two at the school. One of them, Kaiser, was enormous, a black Puli with huge hanging dreadlocks all over his legs and tail. I don’t remember why, but one day, some girls, including me, decided we’d try and brush those dreads out. That was a disaster – Frau Schneider had spent a fortune on Kaiser, and was very proud of his looks, with the ‘dreads’ being a very distinct look for the breed. She went ballistic when she found we had turned him to frizz, but never found out who was responsible. The tuck shop visit that day was suspended for all girls in my house – if you ever read this, Frau Schneider, my apologies . . . but Kaiser did seem to enjoy the attention!
Dorms usually held four to six girls – there were four in mine, including myself – and they were pretty spacious. Ours had two metal-framed bunk beds and a wardrobe sectioned into four spaces. Each girl had her own chest of drawers. There was a desk to share and a lockable cupboard each. The cupboard was for the things we thought were most important to us – and that usually meant food, so they tended to be full of coffee, sugar, biscuits and swee
ts. I kept my cigarettes there too. The windows were framed by heavy curtains and there was an overall feeling of everything necessary being provided, with no luxuries. It was better than anything I’d ever had.
If dorms were messy or beds unmade, the house matron would strip the beds and empty the drawers into the middle of the floor. Each house also had a housemistress and a house prefect; the housemistress was usually a teacher and the prefect was a sixth-former. As well as these, each floor had its own monitor, so there were plenty of people to keep us in check. Every new boarder was matched up with a senior girl for a week or two until they got used to the place. They showed you where to go – gym, dinner hall, classrooms, assembly – and made sure you knew all the rules and regulations. I guess, in some ways, it was like a children’s version of the Army and, because of that, I fitted in quite well.
Just as it had been at all of the Army schools, we were taught in English not German – German language was an option though and, even now, I’m quite fluent. Every morning we would have a roll call. All of us lined up outside our dorm and names were called out. This was to ensure none of us had run away during the night – that never happened that I knew of, although there were plenty of late-night excursions the staff were unaware of. They did try to keep tabs on us and sometimes there would be roll call in the wee small hours if they suspected something. However, while there were plenty of girls who knew just how to sneak out to the boys’ school, they always seemed to know when a middle-of-the-night roll call was being mooted, so avoided those times. They were communication and spying experts the Army would have been proud of – maybe it was in their genes!
After roll call, mail was handed out. Needless to say, I never received any but always hoped Mum would write one day. She never did. Our pocket money, usually ten Deutschmarks, would come from the matron but sometimes a girl might get extra from her parents when opening her mail.
The other three girls in my dorm were very different from each other, and they were all there for very different reasons to me as well. I remember them so well, as they were the first close group I had ever belonged to. I recall the way they dressed, the things they liked, the passions they had, clearer than my own, because they were just normal girls going through their teenage years with no baggage.
Jodie was the daughter of an RSM (a Regimental Sergeant Major). The official reason for her being there was that there was no school where she lived. I always suspected her parents didn’t know quite what to do with her and were delighted to get a rest. Jodie was the outrageous one. She was sporty and loud, she joked a lot and was always up for a laugh. She was constantly getting caught smoking and the teachers frequently disciplined her for swearing, which would put most of her father’s Army colleagues to shame. Jodie was very boyish, she had short hair and preferred trousers, mostly opting for ‘skinners’. She would often wear Doc Marten boots and was the least interested in looking girlish. One of the other girls in the dorm used to say she brought shame on our room because of the way she dressed, and she was only half-joking. Her words, however, seemed to make Jodie even more determined to keep to her own fashion style.
Kate was at boarding school because her parents were on a posting to Singapore. She was the tallest of our group. She had long black hair and freckles all over her face (which she hated). Kate was also very sporty and participated in all the after-school sports, being especially good at hockey and netball. She was a sensible dresser who had a penchant for long flared skirts and a twinset, clothes which were very grown-up really but suited her mature character. She was the mother figure in our group as she constantly worried about the other girls, especially if there was any bullying. She was concerned about every other girl, not just those of us in our dorm. On one occasion, a new pupil was being bullied by someone from another house completely. It was Kate who warned the older girl that she would have to deal with all of us if the bullying continued. She seemed to have a radar for it. Although I never saw her being bullied herself, she often alluded to being the victim of it when she was much younger, and I guess that’s what made her such a fighter for other younger, weaker pupils who were at the mercy of the established thugs who ruin any school. Kate had brought a small record player with her, which was a delight for all of us. It was the mid 1970s, and music seemed as important to teenagers as breathing – perhaps fewer things have changed than we realise.
Amy was a pretty girl of slight build with dark-brown hair cut into pageboy style. She was the eldest in our room and very popular throughout the school. Amy was an only child, quite a flirtatious girl, fun-loving and daring, yet also sensible, never overstepping the mark. Her father was high-ranking in the Army and the family was always on the move. At the odd school disco she would keep the boys interested, dancing and flirting with them during the evening, but she never left with anyone in all the time I knew her. Amy had very particular clothes preferences. She’d never be seen in jeans other than Levi’s, and she loved pretty flowery blouses.
The atmosphere in the dorm was a happy, relaxed one – even when Frau Schneider was on the warpath, we all pulled together and had a laugh. We would spend hours talking about music, playing draughts and Twister. The latter was our favourite board game of all, even if it did usually result in a ticking off from Matron because of the hilarity it caused as we mangled ourselves into ever more contorted shapes.
These were new and welcome experiences for me. I had friends who knew nothing of my history – at that point. I had food and clean clothes and safety. The only thing I found uncomfortable to begin with was the constant chattering about boys. How could I, at that age and with my background, fall into the easy gossiping of my new friends? For them, falling in love was something which hinted promise and excitement. Sex would come eventually and it would be part of the natural order, at the right time and in the right context. I managed to join in with the breathless wondering about which boys were good-looking and what they would be like as boyfriends, but there was always a part of me which wondered what Kate, Jodie and Amy would think if I told them the truth. It played on my mind a lot during those early days – what would they call me if they knew I’d already had sex? What would they really feel about me if they knew I had let my dad do all those things to me? Would they still be my friends, or would they turn into enemies, calling me names and making me feel so much less than them?
I kept it all to myself, but that would change.
For the time being, this was my new life and I revelled in it.
CHAPTER 21
A SENSE OF NORMALITY
This four-year period was an island of peace and security in my young life. After a while, I would wake up in the morning without my stomach in knots; I was finally allowing myself to believe I was going to be allowed to stay and I could look to the future. My parents didn’t keep in touch and never visited. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t hurt because there was always a small, unrealistic, part of me which hoped they would change – that, one day, Dad would turn up in floods of tears to apologise for everything he’d done to me over the years and come up with some miraculous excuse for the abuse. This excuse was one which, no matter how hard I tried, I could never think of, which isn’t surprising – how could you ever excuse what he did? In my daydreams, it would all be sorted. I would forget the pain and the horror, and he would turn into the dad I’d always wanted. In this Disney version of my life, my mum was also part of the turnaround. She’d roll up to school, draw me into her arms and hug me as we both marvelled at our love for each other.
Fat chance.
They never even wrote.
The upside was that, without Dad poisoning my life and Mum withholding all love, I had the chance to make a new world for myself. Amy, Jodie and Kate were the members of my new family. It was my chance to be young – at last. On one occasion, we were lying back on pillows from our beds in the dorm. Flicking through magazines Kate had been sent, I saw a picture which made me drool with jealously. In it, the model had extraor
dinarily huge Afro hair, the style which was becoming so fashionable, no matter the race or genetic make-up of the wearer. In fact, during that time, there was an explosion of the hairdo, which paid no heed at all to the appropriateness of who was sporting it – strange times!
As we sat there looking at the glossy pictures, I couldn’t help but say, ‘I wish my hair was like that.’ The words were hardly out of my mouth before Jodie shot back, ‘Get the perming stuff, Tracy, and I’ll do it for you.’ The plans were made immediately. Jodie, of course, had absolutely no hair-dressing experience, but we all got carried away, and that little detail seemed unimportant. The next time we went into town, I collected everything from the local chemist. Weeks of planning were now going to come to fruition and all I could think of was the wonderful new hair I would be sporting.
We all rushed back to the dorm with the paper bag full of hairdressing requirements. Amy and Kate sat down to watch, while Jodie waltzed around like Vidal Sassoon. I sat there with a towel around my shoulders while she fumbled around with the perming lotion – which I thought would strip the nose lining from all of us before the afternoon was over – and squirted it all over my head. The curlers were wound tightly around my hair and the lotion was dripping from them. I could feel it burning and my eyes wouldn’t stop streaming. However, youthful optimism was stronger than the evidence, and we all looked forward to my marvellous new Afro.