When you wish upon a star

A real and unexaggerated true account of historic child sex abuse...

As we sat squashed together on that chilly window seal in a stinky dark gloomy bedroom, we gazed up at a navy blue sky full of stars and dreamed of rescue. It was a ritual that my sister and I did often as it helped us to believe that real miracles, wishes and dreams just might come true. Real life was so unbearable and horrendous that we needed something to believe in. But as the room circulated the smell of urine from my youngest sister and the screaming voices penetrated our thoughts, it was hard to believe in anything other than misery. At that time I would have changed places with Pinocchio, I would have become a wooden puppet so that no one could hurt me again.

Sex education came early to the girls in my family, as one by one he picked us off and would enter the bedroom for sexual gratification that he only found possible from his young infant daughters. As the eldest, I would listen out for his footsteps on the wooden uncarpeted stairs and shake under the thin candy striped sheet hoping he would think I was asleep. The beds were full of bed bugs and we squirmed all night but had no choice and this did not deter my father from coming in, stripping me naked and taking out his perversions on me on a nightly basis.

Christmas is supposed to be a time of great joy and love for family; a burning fire and good food but these preconceptions were only for others, not for us. My father was the only Santa that visited on Christmas Eve and he didn’t leave anything but fear and terror. Forced to join in with the pretence of a happy family gathering, I was forced to dance with my father, with my feet on his feet, but soon the dance would turn ugly. As the others stood frozen with fear, he would just toss me across the room and turn his psychotic vicious and bizarre behaviour on the others, forcing them to dance until they dropped and using my mother as a punch bag.

From the age of three I was abused physically, mentally and sexually until I was nearly twelve. Even commencing my periods at eleven offered no protection and the humiliation, disgust and lack of worth has stayed with me for a lifetime.

In the fifties and sixties, violence in the home would produce endless visits from the police who were unable to act. Things were so very different then and social workers, NSPCC and others did little to remove vulnerable children from a dangerous home. It was considered valuable to keep family units together. Hopefully, we know better today; but this is why there are so many historic abuse cases in our society today. Abuse does not end when the perpetrator is finished with you and seeks no more gratification or sexual pleasure from you, because he/she will  systematically move on to the next vulnerable victim.

Starvation and pain were regular feelings when I was a young girl. To fear your own parents, the ones who are supposed to protect you, is very frightening. Each day is a repeat of the previous day and life becomes a regular struggle just to get by and survive. Of course there is the shame; the shame that people think you are dirty and unclean and other children that call you names and shun you at every opportunity. But worse still is the people that knew or even suspected and did nothing.

Silence is the biggest problem that we face, for silence is an abusers best friend. How can a child explain the horrendous acts of an adult?  How can a small child walk into social services or the police and tell them what is happening to them. My experiences of trying to break the silence of my abuser as a child resulted in dis-belief and being accused of telling fairy stories and exaggerating and I was branded a bad child who caused trouble.

The NSPCC back in the sixties thought it paramount to keep families together but to try and curb my “attacking” personality they decided to send a coach load of kids to a British holiday camp. Here we were encouraged to enjoy ourselves, perform in all sorts of competitions and eat all we were given. Little did they know that when the sun went down the abusers would come out in the form of other children that were with us? One night I was forced to hear and watch as an elder brother raped his sister; that moment will stay with me forever. To this day I feel ashamed that I did nothing to save her for I was too terrified he might move onto me.

Many abusers will use coercion and grooming to gain that ultimate power over a young child or even a teenager or adult. These people are experienced and use tried and tested methods to gain the power and control that they use to manipulate and gain that all important silence. For me the method used was one of sheer fear and blackmail. If I didn’t perform, my siblings were threatened and used in my place, or I was tortured and hurt in order for me to comply. The weight of this kind of responsibility was sometimes too much to bear and I would crumble in front of my abusers and beg them not to hurt me or my siblings any more. Scared and terrified, I had no choice.

My life was just a nightmare as I was passed around my father’s family and associates and forced to perform in films and photographs. I felt dirty used and worthless. What is staggering is that people knew, they knew and did nothing.  This was a generation of male domination over women. The woman was forced to cook and clean and shell out babies like peas. If the woman got ‘out of turn’ she would get a good slap to keep her in her place. There were no burning bras, no women’s liberation and children were made to move with silence and never ever be heard.

The memories of those days have stayed with me throughout my life and I will never forget. For some the experiences were just too much. My baby brother died along with thousands of others that could not cope with the legacy of abuse. Young women felt worthless and became dependant on alcohol and drugs; some even prescription drugs in the hope that they would dull the ache that never goes away. Young men were confused over their sexuality, leaving them unsure about love and companionship; ashamed and confused. Am I lucky? I’m not sure about that phrase, but I have survived and I believe that one day justice will be served to all of those that lost their childhood and their lives through these disgusting perpetrators of abuse.

I can’t forget, but I have survived and work to make things right; to make society see what the legacy of child sexual and other forms of abuse is really like and to champion the cause until the last breath in my body.

When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you.

If your heart is in your dream
No request is too extreme
When you wish upon a star
As dreamers do.

Fate is kind
She brings to those who love
The sweet fulfillment of
Their secret longing.

Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
When you wish upon a star
Your dreams come true.

When a star is born

They possess a gift or two
One of them is this
They have the power to make a wish come true.

I was not wooden like Pinocchio; I was a real little girl, human with feelings. So we need to use our feelings, emotions, thoughts and understanding for all abused children in order for us to make a difference.

Written & published with permission by

Jenny Tomlin
13.11.14