Lorraine’s Story

From as early as a small toddler I can remember my mother being extremely violent and abusive towards all of us. At eight years old she left my natural father and we were all separated and put in care homes, the abuse there was no better she didn't come to visit and eventually one sister and I went to stay with my grandmother. We were so happy to be there but due to her age she could not manage two youngsters and she sent us to our mother. When we arrived told us she did not want us and closed the door, we sat on the doorstep crying as our father had gone and left us there. She eventually let us in.

She was living with a West Indian and that's when the sexual abuse started. She went into hospital for an operation to have her sterilisation reversed so she could have his children. He was six years younger than her, spoke little English and could not read or write. He was a gambler and held card game parties in the basement on a weekly basis.

The day she went into hospital my abuse started. He told me to make lunches for the others and send them to the park; off they went. He then said I had to do what I was told or get a beating; he beat us every day anyway. He made me go to their bedroom where he abused me; I cried and cried. I wasn't sure what he was doing at the time but knew it was wrong. This happened every day while she was in hospital. When she came out it changed from their room to mine; he would come in every night. Within in a couple of weeks my mother started coming in with him and stood watching him. One night I cried too loudly and they both beat me, this went on for months and months. One day he said I had been good for not telling anyone else and placed money in my hand. I didn't want it I just wanted to be left alone. So I left the money on the bed, my sister found it and gave it to my mother. My mother went mad and beat me till I passed out. She pulled all my hair out and then when I came round dragged me to the police station which was only a short distance from where we lived.

The police were just as nasty. On arrival she told them I had accused my stepfather of touching me and I needed to be taught a lesson so I would never say it again, so in full view of everyone they made me get on a table and proceeded to give me what I now know to be an internal examination. I was so scared, I was twelve years old; the officers laughed at me and said that will teach me to say such things and that I would grow up to be a black man’s whore just like my mother. My mother left and the police told me to follow her but she said I couldn't go with her. By now I was bleeding from below so I sat on the police station steps. One officer kept coming out and telling me to go home but I was scared. Eventually I went home and she said I could come in but on her terms. I agreed and the rest of my life living with them was as a slave; I cooked, cleaned and looked after the others. She bought an industrial ironing press so I could work inside the house and I did that 12 hours each day. I would get a beating each night to keep me in check, she did some terrible things to us and no one helped.

My stepfather then went on to abuse all four of my sisters and a young girl next door; one sister had two children by him. My youngest sister who was twelve had one and another younger sister who was fourteen also had a child by him. Social services knew of all this and it is even in my social care files. The social worker was scared of my mother because she had beaten her up before when she disagreed with my mother.

Eventually because of my sister having a child at twelve he was prosecuted for her and spent a year in prison but they refused to look into the rest of what had been happening. He came out of prison and continued to abuse my sister sexually and physically.

Now after all these years once again I am trying to get justice, but the police are being very unhelpful, not supportive and have lied.

Posted as a guest post with permission of Lorraine via email
10.12.14

Edited and Posted by Team Inspire