Childhood Memories

Seven sisters Primary School. 

This school was only a short walk from where we lived in turner avenue off seven sisters road.  It was a non-uniform school but my mother made us a uniform for me and my sister. We wore plaited skirts knee high socks and matching waist coats.  We always had Ribbon in our hair.  I don’t remember too much about this school. 

Highbury quadrant primary school

This school was only short walk from my mother andpartner flat where we were staying.  All I remember is how lonely the playground felt when you don’t have any friends. I quickly learnt how to copy work from the person sitting next to me. I also have a detailed memory of the child I witnessed get run over by a car. 

Church field primary school

This school was located in Edmonton Green and as always with another new place to live came a new school.  This time we moved to house on a short road with corner shop at the end.  We lived at number five and the sweet shop was number one.  I liked to idea that the shop was four doors away.  Across the road from the house was a primary school I was glad I didn’t attend a school so close.  

I started travelling to school alone and I remember the journey to and fro.  I liked this school and I got to play many sports.  I had a few friends but I was torn between to different groups of girls.  One group of girls where very popular and the other very friendly.  I spent most of my time in-between the two groups that it became stressful.  All I know about this period us that my life was surrounded by a black cloud at school. My sister stealing had spiralled out of control. The school called the police and everyone was talking about it. I had a lot of things on my mind. I was worried about my sister and what would happen next.  My home life was particular difficult. School confirm my belief that I was a misfit. 

Because of my sisters problem school was tence. I didn’t like the feeling that someone was always watching my and that they was a spot light on my family. Loytatawas my best friend she was a big girl and like me didn’t fit in with others. I enjoyed her company.

Church

Church was constant part of my life.  We attended every Sunday and I attended Sunday school.  The church was located in the hall in the school across the road from our house which was convenient.  I enjoyed going to church and learning about because it meant that I had something or someone to believe in that knew all my problems without me having to speak a word.  Church was a safe place much like school but better more welcoming without the pressure of trying to fit in with my peer group and complete work.  I enjoyed the singing the prayers and people.  The people at church often appeared happier than the outside world but so did my mother.  Sunday morning was a special day, where we would put on our best clothes and shoes to attend church.  Sunday was the day of rest as church bought out the calmer respectable side to my mother.  I loved the paster (paster riyan) an older lady who always made me feel important like a real person, not just a silly child.  I found confidence in going to church and although a fairly shy and withdrawn child I was encouraged to take part in plays and special events.  I don’t remember being punished before or during service.  Sometimes mother would stare intensely at me or my sister or whisper in our ear “wait till you get home” and those word or that stare would send a cold chill down the back of your spine and leave your belly in painful knots.  For however many hours we would be fretting and worrying about what punishment would follow. Those were the times when I would disappear within my own world unable comprehend what was happening around me.  I hated those hours and the crippling tummy ache.  The good thing about Sunday’s after church was that if we were to be punished we had to change out of our church clothes first.  My mother always speared us the a few second grace whist we changed out of our pretty dresses.  My sister would look at me and without saying a word I knew what she was thinking.  We should pad ourselves up and try not to leave any bare skin exposed as this would cause more pains marks. I wondered if her belly hurt as much as mine from the moment we were given a warning of whats to come but we never spoke about those things.  I had long since realized that we were very different I was quite obedient scared terrified she appeared angry.  

Now I think about it in my adult life we are not that different, we coped with pressures of our traumatic childhood in different ways.  Her years of physical punishment made her volatile extremely violent but she was confident.  I admired the way she would openly stand up to mother but I didn’t see if doing her any good because she would be punished more.  I told myself that she would be the first to killed out of us too because refused to be still and expect her beating.  The running the screaming trying to escape she was even bold enough to call the police.  The front and the back door were locked to prevent her from escaping. It was a game of cat and mouse and the older she got the worse it became.         

South Haringey primary school 

I remember sleeping on a mattress on the floor and the mice running around. It was a long wait before I got into this school.  

I started having piano lesson which I loved.  I was pretty quite in class but would fight in the playground. 

We played conca battles and I was obsessed with a band called E17 and I use to collect their stickers in a book.  They was a girl called Angela who always had a own special teacher next to her and I use to call her spastic and stupid . Horribly hurtful words and I didn’t even know why.  School wasn’t important it was a prison aways prison. I never felt welcome or cared for just another number along a long line. I had no desire to do well at anything because I had already been told I was stupid by my mother.  I wasn’t interested in the outside world because my dreamworlds was much my inspiring.    

The thing I remembered most about school is the lunch. The freedom to choose what you want. Not like at home where you have to eat whatever you are given. Even if it made you physical sick.  I liked the freedom I had a lunch time and I enjoyed the desserts chocolate cake and chocolate custard were my favourite. 

I became pretty good at iron my uniform.

I learnt to swim at this school as it had it own swimming pool. 

It was in the last year of school that I tried to commit sueside and failed. I know from experience that normal this would have been viewed as a cry for help but at that time I truly did want life to end. 

Year 5 & 6

My summer project of 94′ gave me something to do in the long 6 week holiday. I hated the summers because it meant no need to worry about unexplained cut marks and bruises.  My mother was free to treat us however she wanted.  6 week felt like a life time and a never ending nightmare. Bored stiff and walking on egg shells trying to be good.  

I was happy to have homework, I gave me a good reason to leave the house. I spent my summer in the Libaray researching black History and individual who had made a contribution. I loved reading their stories of courage and determination.  I was inspired by individual I had researched. I wrote a page on each person and draw a picture of them. I complied a A4 folder with a content page of names from A to Z.  I was particular interested in Martin Luther king and malcom x and how they both used different method to fight their battles. As I read the words the stored resinated deep with my heart. I wondered what I would have been like in the slavesdays a weather I would have had to courage need to stand up for what I believe in.  I had hoped I would.  I met many grate individuals through the text I sought and their memories lived on in my dreams. 

Sleeping 

Some of the worse moment of my childhood are the times when I was beaten whilst sleeping. Lying in bed sleeping peacefully to be awaken by the bed covers been snatched off me whilst the wire snaps against my skin for a rude awakening.   

I would never want to believe this my reality as thinking about this brings a tires to my eyes. 

How I cried and scream with my bare legs exposed by my thin nightdress. Caught completely off guard my brain unable to catch up and comprehend the intense pain and the wire curls around my legs and back. An immediate intense panic as I am powerless to move. I beg and plead and apologise several times “sorry mummy I won’t do it again” I repeat this phase several time. Unsure what crime I have committed my head is spinning around and around. 

These are the worse moment of my life because in the confinement of my own bed with a knee and a hand holding me down I am powerless to move. I know if I make her very angry she will strangle me or sit on me as she does my sister. 

My brain is frozen I focus all my energy on  squeezingmy muscle to not wet my bed. I know she will kill me if I wet my bed. Every part of my body hurts my legs are pulsating along the path of the lashes have marked out. Why do I never learn? God knows I try hard to be good. The message is beaten into me word by word, ” how dare you, how dare you speak to ??? Last night”. All I can say is sorry a hundred times and promise not to do it again. 

As quick as she arrives she releases her grip holding me in place and turns and walks away. I stop apologising and watch as my legs shake uncontrollable with tremors. I wipe my eye several time and I notice me arms and hands are shaking too. 

When she get me when I’m sleeping it hurts even more. Now im angry with myself for sleeping and speaking out of turn. I say I quick prayer “please god just let me die” I want to wake up from this nightmare but my body still shakes and I look at the wire marks along my lower body which have swallowen up I know I’m awake. 

I have to get up quickly and prepare for my bath. My Cotten night dress is difficult to remove as the sweat has stuck it to my skin. I’m angry with it for not protecting my legs and riding up to my waist to leave me exposed. I feel an eruption of tires ready to escape but I swallow hard and bite my inner lip. I taste the salty blood in my mouth and a sallow it before moving.  I suck my inner bottom lip which provides me with  comfort. 

I still do this today when I’m distressed I suck my inner bottom lip and I find it comforting.  It prevents me from crying and helps steady myself emotionally. To me it feels like Iv been given a hug and I tell myself everything will be ok. 

I often hold onto my bed sheet tightly and react instantly when they are pulled when I’m sleeping. I tense my muscle and I prepare to be lashed. That when I tell myself I’m ok and no one is going to hurt me. Sometimes when I’m sleeping I hear that distinctive sound the wire made as it cuts trough the air  whistlingon the way.  Sometime I wake up by jumping on my feet into the middle of the room, as if Iv been ejected from my bed with a wake up button.  This never falls to give me a instant headache but I have to remind myself I am safe.)

My missing tooth.

Me and my sister were messing around in our room. We had been told to go to bed. My sister said something funny and I started laughing. As the door swung open with excess force I held my breath regretted my actions. I was sitting at the end of my  bed She stepped towards me with two big heavy stamps. I heard the thump sound as her hand whacked me lower face. As the bloody instantly fillied my mouth I swallowed not realising it was my tooth that got knocked down. She screamed and shouted at am me to go to sleep now and I obeyed. As I lye down I was preparing for another hit in the face but she turned a left.  I continued to swallow my blood in my mouth and I went to sleep as tires slowly ran down my face. I was worried that my blood mat drip out of my mouth when I was sleeping and get me in more trouble. I didn’t say a word to my sister didn’t even look in her direction because it was unfair and she was to blame. 

Well that’s what I though at the time. 

The amount of time I got slapped in the face and had my lip busted open were many.  My mother would say do you want to drink your blood as warning when she was getting angry. But whenever she did slap us across the face there was no real warning. Just the taste of blood as you ran your tonge down your cut. My lip would always swell up on the half that got hit.  As my sister was lighter you could see hand prints and ring marks along her face.  A slap across the face didn’t hurt as much as our normally punishment but it was normally done in public and was a quick sharp slap that was the beginning of a attack. The rest you would recieve when you got home away from the public eye.

If I wasnt standing strong that one slap would send me falling or cause me to bang into a wall. But what hurt most was the way it dented your pride and was public ally humiliating.  It was so embarrassing I would make my way to the toliet and cry and check my face there if I was allowed. Some times I would spit out the blood in my mouth but mostly swallow it.