I hated calling her mummy.

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Curtesy google images….

My birthday arrived I was now seven years old. I had been in the UK seven months. I had already lost account of all the beatings I received. As a result I hated calling her mummy, as it felt like I belonged to her like she belonged to me.  I didn’t want to belong to her.  Well, I noticed everyone was using the mummy word.; and as the word occasionally  rolled of my tongue; each time my tongue felt heavy.

I was ashamed of her she was old and she dressed funny. I didn’t like her, she took me away from my father, she beat me. I was beaten with the curtain wire most of the time or the cord from the steam iron in fact anything she could get her hands on.  She loved the power she got from me cowering in a corner and begging her to stop. Yes, I was a typical abused child. I do not recall ever being bad enough to get those beatings.  After all, what could an only child do, to deserve such beatings. I just had to look at her funny,  so she thought, or not come immediately when she called.  She was a sergeant major and I was the pupil.   She would flip very very easily.  It got to a point where I was afraid to sleep, in case she called and I didn’t hear. I grew harder and I tried to turn my heart into stone.  This was something I read in a book about a girl who had a stony heart.  I remember after she used to beat me I would look at myself in the mirror and laugh.  Crazy or what.  Maybe that was the closest thing to crazy..

It was because of this that  I used to tell people she was my granny.  I didn’t mind calling her granny. So I would try my utmost best to just go straight into a questions and answers  to avoid the first word. I would refer to her as my mummy to others. So a typically conversation would be..

“Hmm, could I have a drink please?.

If she called me, rather than say yes, mummy. I would say “I’m coming, or mention what I was doing the odd times I had to say the word mummy my tongue felt funny.


We attended church regularly every week that was all my life was about. I hated the Christians, they use to scare me when they got into the spirit as they called it then.  I just saw people throwing themselves all over the floor  or hopping on one leg like they were possessed.  Scary times for a young child

After service most children would go to their friends houses, I was never allowed. In any case I stuck out like a sore thumb, I wasn’t allowed friends, so no one ever visited. A  typical weak was church on Sundays from 10 till 2pm, the evening service from around 6 till 10pm. Mondays was prayer meeting, Wednesday we visited another church, Friday was back at church, Saturdays we had church conventions, I didn’t mind those. I like listening to people singing. Then back to church on Sundays.

Mondays was an escape as I was with my best Friend at school. I hated when school finished as I had to go back home.  By the time I was nine years old. I was able to wash, cook and clean. I was a little skivvy maid, really how could I possible call her mummy.  I hope she never noticed as I would be beaten again, but little did I know change was coming..

 

 

 

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