Deliver Me From Evil (17 page)

Eunice turned to me and said, ‘That’s how you’ll end up. You’ll end up in prison, just like her.’

It did traumatize me as I felt she was telling me I’d be raped and hurt because I deserved it. I didn’t know women did that kind of thing to each other. And I didn’t like the idea of ending up in prison either, but Eunice obviously thought I was so evil that that was going to be my future career path. In fact, Eunice had often used that kind of threat before, saying we’d all be taken away by social services if we didn’t do what she wanted. Coercion and threats were the name of her daily game. Ironically, it would have been a blessing for us if we had been taken away by the authorities.

Occasionally, Eunice would make us do something which, compared to everything else she put us through, probably seems relatively benign, yet it still makes my stomach churn to think about it. She would make us massage her, as though we were her pampering slaves. She would lie on the floor or on a sofa and read a women’s magazine and we would have to massage her feet and her back. It was revolting to have to touch and give pleasure to this woman who hurt us so much. Also, I found her physically disgusting and as I was being told to pick the dead skin off her flat feet, or massage her bony shoulders, I would look with fascination at her saggy boobs hanging around her armpits, or her dry wrinkly skin. Afterwards we would laugh about it together and mimic her, albeit very quietly. These were among the few rare moments when we were able to be united against her in revulsion. It was also one of the few times I can remember when Charlotte didn’t grass on the rest of us.

Other than this, we were still supposed to be doing our daily schoolwork, on top of running the farm while Eunice renovated it, but we often got behind in what she set us to do. I never felt like doing any schoolwork, but I’d be beaten if I didn’t. I would also be set to make the other children do their work, and if they didn’t, we’d all be beaten and forced to stay up all night and do it. I remember having to do a hundred pages of ‘I must do my schoolwork lines and not being allowed to go to bed before I’d done them. It took most of the night to do it. I was utterly exhausted in the morning.

Thomas also got lines for not doing his schoolwork, and I remember helping him as he was a slow writer. I used to let him go to sleep while I did it for him, copying his handwriting, and then I’d wake him up if Eunice was coming so he could pretend he’d been doing them. I sometimes felt protective towards him, although I did get angry with him; but it was easier for me to do it than for him to spend hours and hours trying to finish it.

This kind of thing was a regular occurrence, which was madness as we were already tired and hungry all the time. I was doing all the cooking by then, even making roast dinners or curries and rice, keeping the house tidy, cleaning up, looking after the chickens, Jet and the two black pot-bellied pigs Bunty and Bessie.

Eunice just let the place go, I’m not sure why. Was she lazy, or disorganized? Perhaps she was naturally untidy, or perhaps it was because she was an obsessive hoarder. I remember that George Dowty was full of old dingy toys going back to her own girls’ childhoods, as she never threw a single thing away. If a teacup broke, she wouldn’t mend it, but would keep the pieces for ages. I was supposed to tidy up, but it was almost impossible, because of the mess we were constantly living in. Yet, if I didn’t do a good job, Eunice would confiscate something of mine, like a favourite toy, so I was in a double bind all the time, and actually being sabotaged by Eunice herself.

Although she was a slob, Eunice would come into the kitchen and do a sudden ‘spot check, running her fingers over the surfaces for inspection, like a military matron.

Eunice was also fanatical about not putting food in the bin. It was not allowed. So if any food was left over, it had to go back into the fridge, where it would go mouldy. But when this happened it was somehow our fault and we still had to eat it. If we didn’t, we got into trouble and were punished.

Because Eunice was still starving us on and off, she was more keen than ever on her ‘spot checks’ to measure the food in the kitchen. We were growing, hungry children but we were all only still allowed four slices of white bread a day, the cheapest, nastiest brand, sometimes with Heinz sandwich spread on it. We were only ever allowed fruit if we were in her Good Books, and then only one piece each after dinner. I never could have asked her to buy some, or asked for money to go and get some from the shop. In fact, I was never able to ask her for anything at all.

One day, Eunice came into the kitchen and went straight over to the bread bin and threw it open. There was some bread missing – she was convinced – and there would be hell to pay. Eunice grabbed me, pushed up my sleeve and marched me over to the Raeburn, which was burning hot. She lifted up the large cast-iron lid and I could feel the searing heat of the hotplate hit my face in a blast. Eunice had my arm firmly in her claws.

‘I can’t abide lying. “Thou shalt not steal” is one of the Ten Commandments.’

And with that she pulled my arm roughly and positioned my hand, palm down, about an inch from the burning surface of the hotplate. My reaction was to pull back from the heat, which I could feel was going to blister me. I tried to wriggle away but Eunice held me fast.

‘Own up. Who was it?’

It wasn’t me. I hadn’t touched the bread. I was trying to pull away from the heat, now searing into my hand, but Eunice kept hold of me, hurting my wrist in her strong grasp, and dragging my hand even lower. I was sure I was going to start frying. Behind me the other children stood silently afraid, watching the spectacle, and I could feel their eyes boring into my back, but even so, the culprit, who was in the kitchen, didn’t own up. My hand, meanwhile, felt like it was starting to melt and I didn’t know if I could stand much more.

‘You know what happens to liars? It’s like this in the flames of hell, their tongues melt, their eyes melt, their skin falls off their bodies, and they are in unbelievable pain

Eunice was off on one of her hellflre speeches and meanwhile my hand was sizzling in her scrawny grasp. It was all too much, and the real thief was clearly not going to own up and save my skin.

‘It was me.’

‘The demons in you know no bounds.’

Just when I felt I couldn’t bear another second Eunice released me, satisfied she had flushed out the wicked demon, yet again. Of course I was guilty. I was evil all the way through. My soul would be saved, although my body would be sorely abused. I rushed to the sink to thrust my throbbing hand under running cold water as tears stung my eyes. I blinked back the tears, determined not to show Eunice that she’d hurt me in anyway. I was shaking with fear and pain, but again, I tried to hide the tremors from her beady gaze.

As if all this wasn’t enough, Eunice had also devised yet another nasty punishment. She must have lain awake at night thinking of what horrible things she could do to us next to ‘teach us a lesson. She developed a new form of torture called the ‘invisible chair’. We had to crouch down on our haunches in a sitting position, with our backs or shoulders leaning against the wall, sort of squatting, and wed have to stay there for ten minutes to an hour, maybe even two. I found it difficult to stay upright, and my legs ached terribly, so I’d often fall over, but Eunice would watch and hit me with a stick, or shout that I had to get back into the upright, crouching position in the invisible chair and stay there until she was satisfied.

She’d make us do this for all sorts of reasons, sometimes very petty ones. One time, I turned on the TV without permission and watched some ice-skating, I think it was Torvill and Dean and it looked magical. But Eunice caught me and I was made to go in the invisible chair by the wall for two hours.

Eunice had occasionally done this kind of thing before. Back in George Dowty Drive, when I still had long hair, she had tied my ponytail to the door handle to stop me falling over. I thought it was less painful having my hair pulled than having to crouch in the semi-sitting position, although neither was particularly pleasant to endure, especially both at the same time.

I was so scared of Eunice that one time when I lost the key to the chicken shed I simply hadn’t the nerve to tell her. I was so terrified of what she might do to me that I lied. I told her that there had been a man in the chicken shed trying to steal them and that I’d opened the door and caught him red-handed, but I had run away, dropping the key as I went. It was quite a story (I had a good imagination and was convincing) and she believed it. She marched out to the shed but couldn’t find the key in the dark. However, she was clearly spooked about someone coming onto the farm, and I even had a rare card from Eunice saying how brave I was to stand up to the bird snatcher.

After that Eunice called in her first ex-husband and asked him to come and guard the chickens with her for the next three months. The poor man had to sleep in the old rickety caravan in the farmyard. However, he still worshipped her – God knows why – and was happy to come and help her the minute she called him. I felt bad about getting the poor man involved, especially when there was no one in the shed in the first place. But my fear of Eunice had led me to lie, which was ironic, as she was always convinced I was lying anyway.

One Christmas, the chickens really were stolen, though. It made me feel better about lying as it really did happen in the end, but I was upset as I had felt they were my friends, and now I was left with only two chickens, Lady and Queenie (I’d given them all names by then) and some cockerels who – without their usual female companions to occupy them – spent their time fighting. The burglary made me feel spooked myself, especially as I think the thieves had scouted around our farm the day before, asking about a derelict car, a Scimitar, that we now had in the farmyard. They asked me all about the chickens, whether they were good layers or not, and then the next day they were all gone apart from two.

It had never occurred to me to ask those men for help to escape, or to tell them what was going on with Eunice. I had been trained to pretend that everything was fine whenever I came into contact with anyone in the outside world. I was also too terrified of blowing the whistle on Eunice because of the range of terrible punishments which would inevitably come my way as a consequence. She was the all-seeing, all-knowing controller of our little, meaningless lives.

CHAPTER 15:

I’ve never really been sure why Eunice took on five children after her two daughters had grown up but, as I mentioned earlier, I’m sure part of the reason was that she saw us as a meal ticket. She was already claiming allowances for both ‘fostering’ and ‘home tutoring’, but another way of gaining money from playing the system was to have us registered as disabled in some way. So at different times Eunice campaigned to get Sarah, Thomas and myself – who she believed behaved badly anyway – diagnosed as being on the autistic spectrum. She would then be eligible for disability carer’s allowance for each child if she succeeded.

Somehow or other Eunice had got a prescription for Ritalin for Sarah. I think she had taken her to a specialist at some point earlier and had her diagnosed as autistic. In my opinion, Sarah was probably just totally traumatized by years of enduring Eunice’s appalling regime, especially after the horrific month of being locked up and starved. Rather than being autistic she was shut down with shock and fear after so much abuse and negligence. Or she may have been depressed and sad as several people noticed later, such as the Jehovah’s Witnesses she made friends with. However, at this time Eunice succeeded in getting the diagnosis she wanted and having found that a relatively easy process she then tried the same strategy with Thomas. He was apparently diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and was prescribed Ritalin too. Later she would do the same for Robert, who really
was
quite hyperactive – and I should know, as the person who looked after him most of the time.

But Eunice had another, even more sinister, motive for getting hold of the tablets. She believed that at Armageddon soldiers would come and put to the sword anyone who wasn’t a true believer in her religion. The 144,000 that would be saved would go to heaven, and the rest of us lesser mortals would die a horrible, painful death of the most unbelievably gruesome kind. Eunice told us she was hoarding tablets to take when the soldiers came to get us. We would have to commit mass suicide if we didn’t want to be killed by them. She would ram her theory into us over and over. The upshot was that Eunice hoarded drugs in the house, although she also used them to keep us children quiet.

So it was only a matter of time before Eunice decided, when I was about twelve, that I was the next suitable candidate for ‘treatment’. I remember being taken to see a psychologist. She may have been the same one Sarah and Thomas had been taken to earlier, or maybe Eunice was working her way through different doctors to avoid being found out. Before I went into the room to meet the doctor, Eunice primed me on how I was to behave, on pain of punishment, of course, if I didn’t comply. I had to pose as if I had Asperger’s. She had done her research and explained I had to be very inarticulate and shut down. Eunice made it very clear that I had to say absolutely nothing if I was spoken to, and not reply if I was asked a question directly. I had to keep my head down, look at the floor and she would do all the talking. The routine was to be similar to that of our rare visits to the doctor or dentist.