Bound by the Scars We Share Read online

  Grace did not realise how lucky she was living in Lyme Regis which was not subject to the same dangers as London and the home counties where bombs were dropped and the tube stations used as air-raid shelters. Lyme Regis did, however, endure the deafening planes flying overhead like gigantic swarms of bees. The German bombers used the Cobb Harbour as a marker. When they reached it as they traversed the channel, the planes turned towards whichever destination they were going to. While it was frightening for families to hear these planes, it was not as serious as it might have been. Yet it was the unknown which was the primal fear.

  One night, when the encircling planes were flying overhead, there were also dark clouds of thunder rampaging across the sombre sky. Grace peeked through the curtains in her bedroom to see that her moon was hidden. Grace was told her blackout curtains should always be shut tight, but she was unable to resist watching the moon when she could; it was her friend and brought her comfort. Suddenly, a flash of lightening stabbed savagely through the heavy haze of darkness. Grace jumped! She was shocked at the force and power of the storm. The world seemed to shudder and shake; the wind and rain caressed her window as nature quivered in sorrow while the giant fiends flew menacingly overhead. Margaret checked in on her charge, whose face was white, and her body frozen in shock. “It’s alright, pet. Don’t worry. It’s just Mother Nature’s way.” Grace felt comforted and when her aunt put her into bed, she prayed that she could stay with her aunt and uncle forever. As her eyes closed, she told herself that she would see her moon tomorrow and contentedly fell asleep as Margaret tiptoed softly out of the room and gently closed the door. The planes moved on and the storm abated.

  Peter and Margaret continued to care for Grace. Peter, like Edward, had not been accepted into the army due to a serious case of tuberculosis as a child, which left him with a permanent weakness in his chest. Grace’s aunt and uncle continued to provide the love and comfort which she had been missing. She would dance for them and relished the applause she received at the end of her performances.

  “Well done! Bravo! You dance like an angel,” declared Uncle Peter, with much enthusiasm as he gazed at his niece with admiration. Grace would smile happily, her face blushing as red as a beetroot. She felt closer to her aunt and uncle than she did her own parents. Growing up, she had never known the warmth and comfort of physical affection and she loved the hugs that Uncle Peter gave her, which were strong and comforting.

  Grace loved to play in the barn and her uncle would secretly watch her as she stared through the skylight fantasising about performing as a ballerina on a huge stage. Everyday Grace would climb the ladder in the barn just beyond the farmhouse. Lying down on the straw, she would feel its crispness next to her skin. She loved the natural texture of the straw, almost like a young animal lying in its nest. Some days she would stare at the clouds drifting past, dreaming lazily of faraway lands.

  On one of these daydreaming excursions in her thirteenth year, she was aware of the sound of footsteps slowly being pressed on the rungs of the ladder. Who was it? Peter had tried to climb the ladder silently to watch his beautiful young niece lying there innocently with her blonde, unkempt curls aligning themselves to the shape of the straw, while her aquamarine eyes stared above her. Grace noticed that Uncle Peter was standing over her looking down at her from a great height. She smiled and felt safe in his presence.

  “Hello, Uncle. What are you doing here?” Grace asked inquisitively. “This is my special place. How did you find me?”

  Peter knelt down beside her and quietly and slowly began to caress her. “Shush, sweetie,” he replied in a breath laden voice. Grace wasn’t worried about her Uncle Peter showing her affection as it made her feel secure. He put the weight of his body upon her. He was a big man. Grace began to wonder now what he was trying to do.

  “Uncle Peter, you are heavy. Please don’t.” She could smell his breath close to her and she felt nauseous. His breathing became more intense as he writhed about on top of her slight body. She tried to push him off her but was helpless to do so. He tried to kiss her on the mouth. He started to touch her. “No, Uncle Peter, I don’t want to,” she cried helplessly. “Please stop!” So far, she had been static in her response but now she knew this was wrong. Grace began to wriggle and scream. He covered her mouth with his hand and she screamed against it as if her whole life depended on it. Miraculously, this worked and Peter lifted himself off her and silently slipped away down the ladder, leaving Grace shocked and shaken. She felt completely ashamed, believing she had done something wrong and vowed not to tell anyone. How could Uncle Peter behave in this way? She loved him so much and he had betrayed her. Crying uncontrollably, she buried her head deep into the straw and gripped it with her fingers, clutching and bellowing like a wounded animal.

  After a while Grace stopped crying. She wondered whether she had dreamt the whole episode. Having no understanding or experience of life, this came as an absolute shock. Why? Why would he do this? The rivers of anguish flowed down her hot flushed face. She felt she could not tell anyone and the best thing would be for her to run away where no one would be able to find her. Clambering down the step ladder, Grace stealthily slipped away from the barn and began to run as if her life depended on it. Uncle Peter’s eyes were in front of her eyes and she could still feel his breath on her face. As she passed some cows in the field, she thought they looked at her as if they knew exactly what had happened. After what felt like an eternity of running, Grace arrived at a neighbouring farm, one mile away, where she rested. There was no hunger or thirst, as her tormented mind took control of her being. Hiding in the long grass, she could see what a perfect place this seemed to be. School boys were picking potatoes so innocently and one boy placed a couple into his pocket. She could hear the cows being milked inside the barn. A horse and cart drove by ready to collect the crates of milk. The sounds of dogs barking and chickens clucking noisily drowned her inner torment, when suddenly a black and white sheep dog ran up to her with warmth in its eyes. Looking at it’s collar, Grace found his name; Cracker. She hugged him and immediately began to feel at ease. I want to stay here, Grace thought to herself. She stroked and embraced the dog as if by doing so she was bringing herself back to life. She lay down and promptly fell asleep.

  Aunt Margaret had become very concerned about Grace’s disappearance. She was used to her wandering off, but this had been far too long. Praying that nothing had happened to her niece, she relayed her fears to her husband. He was unusually quiet but said nonchalantly, “I’m sure she will be back soon. Don’t worry.” Margaret took notice of her husband, but she could not dispel her anxiety. As the hours passed, she insisted that they should go and search for Grace. They went in different directions; Margaret went inland and Peter searched seaward. After one hour, they both returned home without success. “We will have to telephone Edward and tell him what has happened, Peter,” she sobbed. Sitting down to pick up the phone, Margaret heard a knock at the front door. She put the phone down and hesitantly opened the large wooden door, fearing it was the police.

  “Our dog, Cracker, found her you see,” said a gentle voice from the next farm – Mr Oakwood. “She was asleep in the grass.” Grace stood there with her head hanging down. She was covered with dry grass and looked very unkempt. She did not dare to look up.

  “Thank you very much for bringing her to us. We are so grateful. Thank you,” uttered Margaret, wondering why Peter had walked back into the kitchen. “My poor lamb. We were just about to phone your father to tell him you were missing. No need to now, pet. You must be starving. Go upstairs and clean yourself up and I will bring you up something to eat. We will say no more about it. You are safe at home and that is all that matters.” Grace could not look at her aunt and went to her room. After scrubbing herself clean, she sat motionless on the edge of her bed. She felt like a zombie. Emptiness. Nothing else. There was a knock on the door and Grace rapidly jumped up like a frightened hare onto her
feet. “I have your supper ready. Can I bring it in?” her aunt requested softly. No reply. Margaret gently opened the door. “Eat this, and go to sleep. You can tell me all about it tomorrow after you have slept,” she added in a mild tone. Closing the door behind her, Grace’s aunt crept down the stairs. Feeling hungry, she demolished the meal. Having nourishment helped restore her. She told herself that she would never tell anyone about her horrific experience. Never.

  Just after Grace’s private battle had happened, World War II ended in 1945, and Grace prepared to return to her parents in Hertfordshire. She did not want to be back with her dominating father, but she knew that it was certainly the lesser of two evils. She was dreading going back to his criticism and cruelty. Grace had known what it was like to live in a house where there was serenity, peace and love but even this was a lie. Maturing into adulthood, she felt that she had been betrayed and taken advantage of by Uncle Peter. No, she must not dwell on that, she told herself. She would go home and pretend once more that everything was alright and withstand her father’s lectures through gritted teeth.

  To her surprise and delight Edward and Jean had bought Grace a puppy – a Yorkshire Terrier which was ready and waiting for her when she arrived home. She was thrilled to have something of her own to love. “I’m going to call her Honey because she is so sweet,” Grace chuckled with delight and promptly took her upstairs to her bedroom. She stroked Honey for some time, as she sat on her tweed carpet. However, the clouds began to gather around her as vivid images of her uncle appeared once more. The delight and innocence of her childhood had been stripped mercilessly from her, leaving only sadness and devastation.

  Anticipation and excitement reigned in Britain as people celebrated the end of the war. There was singing, dancing, fireworks and bonfires. The heroic soldiers returned from war to crowds of cheers and applause. Edward and his family went to pay their respects as the soldiers appeared triumphantly before them. Edward saw himself as a complete outsider and intense envy and feelings of self-loathing overtook him. The injured arm which had prevented him from joining the army weighed heavily on him as he watched the victorious and conquering soldiers’ jubilance. Edward felt that his masculinity had been threatened.

  Following this excursion, Edward’s dominance over his daughter was exacerbated. He ensured that Grace would adhere to his every wish. When she asked if she could go to the cinema with her friends, this was utterly forbidden. “No daughter of mine will behave in such a way. I do not want a child of mine corrupted,” Edward ascertained. Grace was only permitted to listen to certain music that befitted a young lady and would only be allowed to attend the theatre or opera performances with her parents.

  Crying inconsolably into her pillows every night, she felt friendless, forgotten and forsaken. Her despair was partly because of Edward’s dominance but she was also distraught about her experience with Uncle Peter. Sometimes she felt physically sick thinking about it. Her weeping was something Grace was powerless to prevent. Eventually it was Jean who noticed how sad her daughter appeared, with her swollen red eyes permanently filled with water. She asked her daughter why she was so constantly troubled. Her unusual empathetic tone gave Grace some courage. Could she tell? Should she tell? It would be such a relief to confide in her mother who would surely understand. “You see, it was Uncle Peter… he tried to touch me… Oh his breath… he was heavy!”

  Sobbing hysterically, Grace confided every aspect of her ordeal expecting sympathy and comfort. But her mother responded in disbelief. “No Grace, this is not true!” as she slapped her violently across her cheek. “This could not possibly have happened! Either you have made this up or YOU have behaved abnormally in some way! I am speaking to your father at once!” Jean raised her voice to a crescendo which Grace had never heard before and it terrified her. Dumfounded, she could not comprehend how her own mother would think that she was lying about something like this. She sat motionless and horrified in disbelief. Honey nibbled her foot wanting attention, but Grace did not notice her affection.

  When Edward received the news from his wife, the anger which enveloped his whole being resurrected his own childhood memories, when he had been left motherless. His anger and his resentment surfaced and was projected on to his lying, conspiring slut of a daughter. Despite his best efforts, she was just like his mother, Beatrice. Confronting Grace with her evil lie, Edward stared coldly at her when she proceeded to tell him about her ordeal. As she spoke, she could sense the disbelief in his face. Although his features appeared motionless, he was completely immune to her tears and stated icily, “Have you finished?” Grace looked at the floor which was like a well of water around her. Edward said nothing more. He went upstairs where Honey was playing with a ball of wool and picked her up. With the puppy in his arms he coldly told his daughter, “We are returning her to the original owner. You do not deserve any pleasure after the way you have behaved, Jezebel!”

  “Oh no, please, please don’t take her,” she pleaded. “I need her so much,” and she fell prostrate on to the cold damp floor. Edward and Joan ignored their begging child and closed the front door after them. Grace went up to her bedroom and hid under her covers. She was safe in her own world. No one could harm her in the warmth of her cocoon.

  The next few days passed, and quiet emptiness filled the house. Grace was unable to speak. It was as if the howl inside her could not escape. The silence was so loud, it was preventing her from action. On the third morning after the revelation, while Grace was eating breakfast with her family, there was a knock at the door. “It will be them,” Edward said to his wife. “George, go up to your room,” his father commanded. “Don’t come down until you are called.” George silently obeyed.

  Grace began to shiver as four people entered the room. She looked up meekly and noticed two men and two women. They were a group of Edward’s very close friends. After having approached them, they agreed to help for support. He had not told them the true details of his daughter’s imagined story, fearing the shame it would bring to his family’s name. Instead, he said it was a private family matter but that she had been lying about something completely unforgivable and that he needed their help to persuade her to admit her deceit.

  “Grace, stand up,” ordered Mr Thomas, who appeared to be in control.

  “Do as you are told, girl,” Edward added in a frustrated tone. Grace forced herself to her feet. Her knees were shaking. She wanted to go to the toilet. “Please can I be excused,” she asked quietly.

  “Stay where you are. Don’t move,” her father sternly responded. Grace put her trembling knees together at the sound of his agitated voice.

  “Now, Grace,” Mr Thomas said with a gentler tone, “it is forbidden to tell lies, is it not?”

  “Yes, sir,” Grace replied, barely audible.

  “Then why are you lying to your family?” Miss Hardbattle challenged menacingly.

  “Grace, you must admit that you are lying,” said Mr Drake with force in his words.

  “Young lady, confess that the story you told to your parents is untrue, at once,” added Miss Montgomery as they all veered towards their charge who had strayed.

  “Tell us it was all lies, Grace,” they uttered loudly in unison. “Confess you have been lying and show some remorse and atone for your imaginings.” Grace looked penitent. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, sobbing and said nothing.

  Mr Thomas told Edward that Grace’s face appeared to show repentance and that their job was finished. All she needed to do was vocalise it, which she was more likely to do privately rather than in front of strangers. Edward showed them out while Jean told her daughter to go upstairs and wash herself clean. When Grace left the room, Jean mopped up the puddle which had been left on the floor.

  Well aware of Grace’s silence her father decided to put up the shutters on the whole incident. He did not want anyone discovering what had been said and the dreadful behaviour which his child
had displayed on her return from Lyme Regis. Edward did not confront Grace about the subject. She was told that the matter would not be referred to again, ever.

  Grace felt desolate and alone. She knew that she would have to put this ordeal behind her if she was to survive. George would never believe her, and Aunt Margaret would think she had imagined it too. So, for now she vowed to try and live her life and suppress the memory of this dreadful experience. The elders upset her utterly and she could not believe that her father would have organised something so heartless. It was not her fault; it was Uncle Peter’s fault. She had not imagined it or fabricated lies. She realised it was time to find some strength from within – she had to. Having already built a safety net of resilience and isolation around her, Grace vowed to be stronger, hoping that she would become as powerful as a man, so that her father would not be so disappointed in her as a young woman. She desperately wanted to make her parents believe that she could be a better person; a person they could love.

  Zoshia 5

  The devastating effects of the war had left the Freedman family totally damaged. Having endured an agonising, traumatic lifestyle and constantly fearing for their lives, they found it impossible to forget their past, and struggled to adjust to a normal life. The initial excitement and the street celebrations allowed them to forget for a while. The crowded streets, full of people shouting and screaming uncontrollably with joy, were a contrast to the agonising yells of Jews being physically persecuted and hounded like dogs by the German soldiers. Drums were beating loudly; music and singing accompanied the jostling. The jumping and the tremendous delirium of delight continued for days. “Isn’t it wonderful, Mama, Papa, that the war is over? The Germans have gone! We are free to go outside! I can’t believe it. We have survived!” Zoshia yelled, as loudly as she could.