by Ford, Donna
I didn’t like Blind Jimmy. He wasn’t friendly. He was smelly and dirty and miserable, and his house was stinking and filthy too. After being in his house last time, I had scratched and itched for days. I hated being around him and I hated running Helen’s errands, as I knew every time she sent me to ‘help’ someone, it made her look like a good person – and I didn’t want any part of that. But, as usual, I couldn’t disobey my stepmother’s orders and I didn’t really have any choice in the matter. The only glimmer of light was the thought of another threepenny bit if I was good. Well, I could do that, I could be good.
I made my way round to East Thomas Street. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could get this over with – and get some treats to eat. I knocked on the door and the old man answered it straight away. He was disgusting, dressed in shabby grey long johns which were full of holes. He had an old shirt on top of them, and I could smell him as soon as he opened the door. ‘It’s me, Jimmy,’ I said. ‘Wee Donna Ford? Helen says I’ve to make you some dinner? Mince and tatties?’ Everything I said was phrased as a question to him, in the hope of getting a response. His swivelling, rheumy, unseeing eyes wandered about, then he turned, coughing, spluttering, and stumbled back into the flat without a word, climbing into his manky bed. I followed him in – it clearly wasn’t going to be a chatty lunchtime, but that was fine by me. Maybe I could get done, get my money and get out even more quickly than I had first hoped. I looked over towards where the old man lay. The sheets looked as if they had never seen a bit of soap, and he was the same colour. Everything was grey, everything smelled. Maybe Helen did have a bit of good in her if she was willing to help some dirty old misery guts like this – even if it was actually me doing all the hard work.
I set myself to peeling and cooking potatoes, and heating up some mince that was already in a pot on the stove. There weren’t any clean dishes – there wasn’t anything clean in that place – so I washed a plate and a spoon and handed the meal over to Blind Jimmy, who still hadn’t said a word to me. He ate the meal with all his usual spits and splutters – I concentrated on cleaning some more dishes to avoid listening to the sounds coming from him. Finally he had finished, and I had cleared up. I had only one thing on my mind – my threepence! Give me my threepence!
‘Lassie! Come over here!’ he finally called to me. I was so relieved. He hadn’t forgotten why I was there. I went over to his bed, but instead of reaching for his grey hankie with the money in it, Blind Jimmy grabbed my hand. I screamed, both with the shock and also in disgust at him actually touching me. ‘Let me go!’ I shouted. His eyes were wavering all over the place, and his mouth was twisted into a toothless grin. He was small and he was old, but he had a grip of my right wrist and no intention of letting it go. I tried to pull away from him – pulling, pulling – but he pulled me harder. I fell onto the side of the bed, and as he pulled at me more, I found myself lying across his wizened, stinking old body.
I can still remember looking at the greyness – the sheets, his long johns, everything grey, everything hopeless. This pathetic old man, so often the butt of other people’s jokes and cruelties, had found someone even weaker, even more pathetic. He pulled up my dress and whacked me across my backside. I tried to get up but he was holding me down, and, despite his frailty, his strength was greater than mine.
He was talking to me now. I could hear the words come closer to me. They sounded as if they were starting very far away, but the whispering got louder, the hissing got nearer – ‘Shut up keep quiet shut up keep quiet shut up keep quiet.’ I knew the drill. I was always to shut up. I was always to keep quiet. I couldn’t help but cry – this was too much even for me. The smell, the disgusting old man touching me in places he shouldn’t. ‘Shut up. Keep quiet.’ Self-preservation kicked in. He may have been old. He may have been blind. But he could still hurt me. I was so scared of what I knew he was going to do – and even more scared of what he might do if I kept making a fuss.
‘Are you going to keep making that bloody racket?’ he asked. He told me to stand up, even though he was still holding my hand. ‘I can’t. You’re holding my hand too tight,’ I protested. ‘You bloody can and you bloody will,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to keep holding your hand and you’re going to bloody well stand up, you little whore.’ I stumbled to my feet awkwardly, with him still holding me as he moved my hand towards his penis. Fumbling around, he put his other hand inside my knickers. Standing there, totally humiliated, totally powerless, I watched myself being doubly abused by this pathetic old man. He masturbated himself with my hand as he fiddled around with me. Finally, he was finished. Finally, he let me go. My legs were trembling and I was sobbing. I was hurting. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t think straight. I pulled my clothes together, wiped his filth off me, and headed for the door.
‘Wee Donna Ford,’ he shouted out after me. ‘You’ll keep quiet about this. You’ll not breathe a word to a soul. You’ll go home and you won’t talk about it because no one would believe you, and the only person who would sent you here anyway.’
I ran out of his horrible, dark, smelly hovel and through the streets. I stopped only once – to vomit in a privet hedge on Elgin Terrace. As I threw up, I could hear children laughing and squealing in the playground next to the bowling green. I wasn’t allowed out to play – but I was allowed out for this.
It had happened again. Just like all of those men who used me at Helen’s parties. Just like all of the times Helen got me out of bed to ‘do’ something for one of her friends. Just like with the Barber. Just like it was with anyone who chose to use and abuse me. It had to stop. What Blind Jimmy had done to me had to be the last time.
I should have known better.
It happened three more times in that soiled hell hole with a pervert who had finally found someone weaker than himself. Each time I went because Helen told me to and because I was more scared of her than of anything else in the world. And I wasn’t the only person who knew this – she did too, and that was much, much worse.
Chapter Thirteen
HELEN’S DEPARTURE
1970
THE VISITS TO BLIND JIMMY and the Barber stopped but there were always other men to take their place. The parties continued. My fear of the doorbell, my days of starvation and my whole miserable life went on as it had done since I was a little girl.
Until one day.
The day Helen left.
I knew that she and my Dad had been arguing even more than usual. Every little thing set her off, especially if it reminded her of my mother, the perpetual enemy. Once when my Dad was singing ‘Danny Boy’, Helen launched into a screaming session. ‘There you go again!’ she yelled. ‘With your bloody Irish songs, always bringing her into it, always dragging her into things!’ There had been continual shouting and screaming for some time. I had heard snatches of it but the noise and the atmosphere was such a constant in my life that I didn’t pay too much attention. Helen always put my Dad down, always complained that he was at work and that they had no money. He couldn’t win. As a child, I didn’t understand it – surely if he didn’t work as much, we would have even less money? On top of that, if he wasn’t at work during the day, how could she continue with her parties? Perhaps she was calling his bluff – or perhaps, as I always hoped, he suspected she was up to something and that was the root cause of their fighting.
Whatever the reason, the outcome was all I had been wishing for since I was years younger. In the New Year of 1969/1970, Helen packed her bags and walked out of my life.
She left a legacy.
Not the bruises I still had all over my body. Not my broken dreams and waking nightmares. Not even the yearning I still had for a real Mummy.
She left Karen.
She was 18 months old when her mother deserted her – as Breda had deserted me – and I loved her with all my heart. When we had all lived together, I did have some interaction with Karen. As a baby, she bothered Helen, so I was often ‘allowed’ to walk her pram up and down th
e lobby, with the strict instructions that I was responsible for keeping her quiet and out of Helen’s way. If I failed in my task, I knew what was coming to me. The natural cries or whimpers of a baby would result in another battering for me. So Karen and I walked many miles up and down that hallway, and I was already fond of her, even though we had minimal contact. I loved watching her chubby little face in her pram, and I always hoped I might be allowed to bathe her again after holding her once as she was splashing and giggling and Helen got on with something else. In the back of my mind was a worry that she might turn out like Gordon or Andrew, who had gone from innocent babies to nasty little sods given the teaching of their mother, but Helen seemed uninterested in her daughter, which gave me some hope.
How her mother could have left her is beyond me. When Helen left, I had to face up to so many emotions, a lot of them linked to Karen. Of course, I was ecstatic that my tormentor had gone, but her departure brought back feelings about my own mother leaving. Karen and I were in the same boat, really.
The morning after Helen walked out of the door, my life changed yet again. I walked through to the kitchen where my Dad sat. He had been up all night, and was clearly upset. I felt a difference already. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t have a knot in my stomach. I could even ask a question without feeling the rings on her hand belting my face.
‘Where is she, Dad?’ I asked. ‘Where’s Helen?’
He looked up from the kitchen table where he had been staring, wordlessly. He looked so tired, so drained.
I heard the words I wanted to hear so badly.
‘She’s gone. And she won’t be coming back.’
‘Really? Truly?’
‘Aye. I can promise you that you won’t be seeing her again.’
I didn’t know whether to believe him. However, the only promises I had been given in the past had actually come true, so maybe I could cling on to this one. Helen had been fond of saying I’d get a beating I’d remember – that she could promise me. I’d get walloped so hard I wouldn’t be able to feel my legs – that she could promise me. If I said a word, I’d pay for it – that she could promise me. And she always kept her promises. Every time.
So maybe I could believe my Dad. Maybe she was gone. For ever.
I looked round. ‘Who’s still here, Dad? Who did she take with her?’
My Dad looked confused. And old.
‘What?’ he said, obviously not understanding what I was asking.
‘Gordon? Andrew? Karen? Did she take them all? Where are they?’
‘They’re here. They’re in bed. They’re all here.’
She’d gone – but she’d left all of her children. Even precious Gordon. Part of me was terrified that she would be back, if only to collect him, but I should have realised that, as always, she was only interested in herself. I should also have known that mums can leave – they can leave three of their children quite easily and never be seen again. After all, Breda had done the same thing.
‘What are we going to do now then, Dad?’ I asked. I needed some guidance, some adult input – I wanted my Dad to show that, finally, he was going to do what was needed and be the sort of parent to keep this family together in the way it should be. He looked at me as if I’d just asked him to explain the theory of relativity. Then, his face changed – suddenly, he’d worked something out.
‘What’re we going to do?’ he laughed. ‘That’s obvious, Donna. It’s up to you. It’s all up to you. You’re the woman of the house now – you’re in charge.’
I was 11 years old.
I had spent the past six years being beaten, starved and abused.
Now, all of a sudden, I was in charge. That was it. I was elated by Helen’s absence but quickly realised there was still no time to be a child. Still no chance to be carefree and safe. I had gone from being nothing to being everything.
‘And that bairn,’ he said, referring to Karen. ‘She’s without a mother now, Donna – you’ll have to be that for her. Best start now – best go through and see what she needs.’
I followed his instructions and went through to the cot where Karen slept. My heart was bursting and my brain was pounding. Helen was gone. I was in charge. Karen was standing up with her terry towelling nappy sagging around her knees. God knows how long it had been since she was last changed. It wouldn’t have killed my Dad to see to her – he must have changed nappies when he first looked after the three of us when Breda left – but he obviously hadn’t given it a second’s thought last night. The poor little thing was drenched and stinking, but she still managed a great big smile for me. I struggled to lift her out of the cot, and finally hauled her over the side where I set about changing and dressing her. She was mine now, and I would do my best for her. Still, I was terrified. Helen could come back any minute – she’d catch me out of my room, catch me doing things she hadn’t authorised, and I’d be beaten to within an inch of my life. I felt like that for a long time, even when it became obvious she wasn’t in a hurry to return.
Over the next few days, my father made it clear that he meant what he’d said. I felt pleased. There was a nicer atmosphere than there had been in a long time, and I was chatting to my Dad on an equal basis. He had to rely on me and confide in me, and that felt good. I felt useful and needed. Helen wasn’t coming back and it was all to rest on my skinny little shoulders. I was responsible for cooking, cleaning and keeping all the other kids in line. I had to beg money off my father for food, do the shopping and get the meals ready. I had to wait for him outside pubs, plead with him for a few pennies inside pubs. I had to make sure we had clothes and shoes and were washed and dried. Of course, it couldn’t all be done, but I did my best. I was a little housewife, a little mother, within days.
It was hard work. Although Simon was older than me, he didn’t have the same responsibilities as the girl, as the little woman. It was expected that I would carry everything, that I would be the one to keep the family together, no matter what. Karen took up so much of my time that, if I hadn’t been so fond of her, it would have been unbearable. As it was, even little things like washing the nappies could take me all day. I was so little myself, so skinny and weak from years of neglect and malnutrition, that hard physical graft really took its toll. We didn’t have a washing machine, so the soiled nappies had to be scraped, washed, steeped in a bucket, bleached, then washed again before being hung up to dry. In between times, I’d spend hours rushing in and out saving them from the rain, hanging them up again for a few minutes of sunshine, all day long. My arms ached. My back ached. It was work that would challenge a grown woman, never mind a scrap of a child. Karen was a happy baby though, and was seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her.
It was such a strange time for me as I had gone from being a prisoner, locked up most of the time, to a child with complete freedom in some ways. I could go where I wanted when I wanted – as long as I took Karen with me, had the meals ready for the rest of the family, and looked after the house. Some freedom for a child not yet in her teens, but a wonderful change for me. Some of the freedoms of the new role I had taken on, or been forced into, came at a price, however.
I became ill quite soon after Helen left. One morning I woke up in absolute agony.
‘Dad!’ I screamed. ‘Dad! Help me!’
He rushed through to my tiny room to find me doubled up in pain.
‘What’s wrong, Donna? What have you done?’
I hadn’t done anything! I was aching, but I still managed to notice that he put the blame on me before anything else. The pain was excruciating and it didn’t go away, but it was made clear that I just had to get on with things. This continued for some days, with me screaming for him every morning and him eventually dismissing my cries.
Finally, it became too much to ignore and I was taken to the Royal Hospital for Sick Children. At the Sick Kids, I was given an immediate diagnosis. Appendicitis. My time in hospital was quite pleasant – I knew I was safe, and I had some respite from the constant cleaning
and caretaking I had done since Helen left. My appendix was taken out and I soon returned home. However, the pains continued and I was being sick all the time. What was wrong with me? The doctors had done all they could and yet I was as ill as ever. Finally, I worked it out. I worked out what the doctors and my father had been blind to – presumably because they didn’t see the full picture, they didn’t ask the right questions or hear what they really needed to hear.
I was making myself ill with food.
When Helen left, my immediate thought was of food. I had been hungry for so long that I had almost forgotten any other state. When she walked out, things went from one extreme to the other. For the first few months after she went, I ate anything, anything at all. I had gone from constant starvation to stuffing my face with whatever I could get hold of. And my body couldn’t cope.
I spent that whole summer looking after Karen constantly, without even school to break my days. And I loved every minute of it. That child continued to be a joy and a revelation to me. She was so happy, so perfect – and she loved me unconditionally. She seemed to have no memory of her mother as she certainly never cried for her or asked for her. I was the centre of her world and it felt wonderful. I remember taking her to a playgroup which was being held at a local school for the summer weeks while kids were on holiday. Both of us got a first chance to do things there which were completely alien to our lives before Helen left – arts and crafts, drama, rounders, even day trips to Edinburgh Zoo – all things other children may take for granted, but which I knew were daily miracles after the life I had been leading. I also loved the fact that I was the one responsible for giving Karen these experiences, this normality. She couldn’t help being Helen’s child, and she carried no badness in her from what I could see – I would make it my job to keep her free from any taint of evil which her mother might have bequeathed her.
