About Me, My Family and My Life - Early Years: A Life in the Making

by Elaine Riley
(Lancashire, UK)

I hope that this makes sense, and that it's easy for you (whoever you are, reading this), to understand that this follows on from my first article of a similar title...

Anyhow, my early childhood years appeared "normal", inasmuch as I understand that normal is hard to quantify, with everyone having differing experiences... But, suffice it to say that my parents did pretty much what might be expected of parents of little kids. They played with me, read to me, took me to the Zoo... things that I can imagine parents of little kids the world over doing. Nothing untoward in that! My parents seemed to be present in my life for a lot of the time, and reasonably interested...

Perhaps, if I'd looked hard enough, and knew what I know now, there were "signs". Little things, insignificant perhaps in their own right, and easy enough for a Primary school-aged child of no worldly experience to overlook. These were the things that were to "pave the way" to later, full blown abuse.

As I've said, I was cared for by an Aunt and Uncle whilst my mum recovered from Postnatal Depression. Both she, and I, had been very unwell (I had a serious respiratory disorder), and spent some time in Hospital - mum spent her Birthday and Christmas there (I am a Christmas baby, my Birthday being exactly one week after my mother's, and one week before Christmas). I can only imagine my mother's unhappiness at being in this situation, and at being unable to take her baby home for Christmas. At what should have been a happy time, she was at her most miserable.

Psychologists might say that my mother and I "failed to bond". When I was returned to her, she was an anxious mother, and I was an attention-seeking baby. Mum says I cried a lot, which she hated. She has told me she used to shut me out of the house in my pram if I cried. Mum tried to sever contact with the relatives who had "fostered" me, and when we did have to see them, it was tense. They had a happy, healthy, beloved daughter, born only weeks before me, and I knew as I grew up, that mum could not bear this. That somehow it made her feel a failure!

Coming from huge families, my parents had been brought up in a competitive environment, and they thought it perfectly normal for a child to have to fight for its parents' attention. They were not emotional, demonstrative, "touchy-feely"; they neither treated each other like this, nor their children. Hugs, kisses and positive affirmation were DEFINITELY NOT a feature of our family. But they WERE obsessed with "keeping up with the Jones's"; as children of poor families, my parents were dedicated social climbers - at any expense. Life was constantly about what other people might think of us; about setting ridiculously high standards, about being "the best". As I've said, the little signs were there... My parents chose my activities, my friends and my clothes, laying an outfit on my bed for me to wear. I was not allowed crisps, sweets, biscuits or sandwiches - not for health reasons, but because my mum could not abide crumbs! Refusal to abide by these rules was NOT tolerated. My parents dealt swiftly with this; any refusal on my part to be submissive was seen as a "tantrum", and tantrums got punished! My parents have always believed in smacking, and have felt it necessary. They would probably argue that children cannot be reasoned with. And, besides, my parents believed in a very "old-fashioned" type of parenting. The Victorian "children should be seen but not heard" type. They demanded respect, but did not give it!

A pattern emerged early on, with my mother being more "hands on", and my father distant, only really involved in the giving of "discipline". We DO have family photos, the very early ones of which seem to show caring parents (mum holding my hand, dad buying me ice-cream), but even the photos are a record of something I am only now coming to comprehend. You see, there are NO baby photos of me; only of my younger brother. The only exception is one posed picture, clearly taken at a Studio, of my parents together with me as a tiny baby. I reckon this must have been taken as some sort of consolation for my fostering. There are tons of my brother, in his pram, on holiday, at home... My brother is just over five years younger than me.

I do have fond memories of my early years. Most of them are of time spent with friends from Primary School. I did extremely well at school, being an academic high-flyer. This set the scene for my parents, and they habitualized only showing affection in response to my having "performed" for them. As I got older, the emphasis was more and more on academic achievement. As I got older, the bullying I received at school for being an academic achiever grew worse. Strange to say, but the bullying had started as a result of my mum's illness! The woman who kept secrets from her own children had confided elsewhere, telling parents of my friends, and teachers about her problems. Maybe she felt she could not avoid this, as another bout of her illness had meant that I had to start school early for my age (I started Infant School aged just over three, joining the class a year older then me, but eventually being "held back" to wait to join the class representing my correct age group). Comments had been circulated by neighbourhood gossips that my ability at school was a result of "tutoring", and that my family were "corny" and "crummy". The fact that my father had worked on fairgrounds, coupled with my family's dark colouring resulted in name-calling such as "Gippo" and "Witch". It was assumed that because my mother was unwell, and my family background poor, I should automatically be "thick as a plank" and stupid with it! Unfortunately, gossip often reaches its victims. Unprepared as I was for it, I tried, as my parents did, to laugh it off.

Family life at home was o.k. When I look back, it does seem that dad would have preferred a boy, and brought me up much as one. I played cricket, and learned to be very outspoken, getting me into much trouble at school. My father was a vocal and aggressive man if angered, and swore violently at home. My brother and I quickly picked up this language! Meeting with relatives were uncomfortable and fraught - family feuds proliferated. Being Catholics, my family were numerous. I have cousins on my father's side of the family old enough to be my parents! I have relatives I've never met!

Any meetings that DID take place involved competition and open jealousy. Sister competed with brother, Aunt with Uncle, cousin with cousin. Competition took many forms - who was oldest, who was tallest, who was prettiest, who was cleverest, who was richest. Conversation was about little other than what school one might go to, what University, what job one might get, what it paid... My parents, Aunts ans Uncles constantly tried to upstage each other; where they could no longer "trump" each other's actions themselves, it became a matter of doing this vicariously, through the actions of their children. "So-and-so is prettiest", "so-and-so is going to Oxford", "so-and-so is joining the Royal Ballet", "we're buying our daughter a pony", "we're getting our son a car". Slowly, it became painful and embarrassing. After all, I wanted to get to know these people for who they were, to have happy, regular, loving relationships with my relatives.

Then the "bombshell" was dropped! My Gran, my mum's mum, who I had doted on, had ABUSED my mum! (I never had much contact with my paternal Grandmother, who was elderly and frail). Things changed when I reached puberty, about the time when I was ready to go to High School. It was as if my parents somehow felt I should be an adult now, fend for myself, "grow up". My mum now had her "little helper", someone on whom to offload all her troubles - to tell about her sister's pregnancy, to tell about her own bullying at school. She had someone, too, to help about the house as she looked after my brother. History was about to repeat itself...