Cassie Harte - I Did Tell, I Did: The true story of a little girl betrayed by those who should have loved her

The True Story of a Little Girl Betrayed By Those Who Should Have Loved Her

For every child who has suffered abuse in silence and every adult who has had the courage to tell.

T here was never a time in my life when I wasnt lonely and afraid. Right back as a toddler I already knew I was different, the odd one out, the reason for all the conflict in our family. I knew because I was told that every single day.

I never wanted to have you, Mum said constantly. Youve ruined my life. You spoiled everything, you did.

Anything that went wrong or got broken was my fault. Every day she told me I was getting under her feet, driving her mad, making her ill. Her life would have been so much better if I had never been born. My sisters and brother were blameless but I was the troublemaker, the source of all the familys problems.

When you are told often enough that youre plain and worthless, stupid and a liar, you believe its true. What was wrong with me? Why was I so rotten and bad? I was only a little girl, trying her hardest to please, trying her best to make her mother love her.

If you think youre worthless, you dont stand up for yourself in life, dont make any demands. You believe you deserve no better. So when there is a bad person, an evil person, around, then youre really in trouble. Theres no one to turn to and nowhere youll be safe. Evil people target the vulnerable; they can sniff them out.

Right through my childhood and into my twenties, I was never protected, never safe. Most children run to their mothers when they are scared and unhappy or when something unspeakable happens to them. For me, that was never going to work. I was unwanted. Unloved. Completely alone.

M y sister Ellen was ten when I was born and Rosie was eight, while my brother Tom was only two. Ellen was special because she was the first-born, while Rosie had been very ill as a baby and suffered learning difficulties as a result, meaning she was cosseted by all and sundry. Tom was Mums favourite, her precious pup who never put a foot wrong as far as she was concerned. And then there was me, Cassie, otherwise known as Plain Jane, with my long, dark curly hair, much darker than any of the others.

I was never in any doubt about my position at the bottom of the heap in the family, as Mum never missed a chance to make it clear to me. When my nan came to visit on Sundays, we would have afternoon tea of ham and salad followed by fairy cakes with different-coloured icing, and I was always the last to get a cake. Everyone else was allowed to choose: Tom would go first, and he took the chocolate one; then my nana would go next, then Ellen and Rosie, and when there were two cakes left on the plate, Mum would take one and Id be left with the last cake that no one else wanted. So I knew exactly where I stood in the pecking order. There was no question about that.

Everything that went wrong in the house was my fault: if there was mud on the carpet or a broken plate, I got the blame. When the dolls house furniture got left out on the floor and Mum accidentally stood on it, it was me she shouted at.

It wasnt me, I protested, tears springing to my eyes. I didnt do it. I knew I hadnt because Id been at my dance class that morning, and it had definitely been put away before I went to bed the night before. Ellen and Rosie played with it as well. Why didnt they get the blame?

Liar! Mum yelled. Youre always telling lies. I dont know why I have to put up with this. My life would have been so different if only you hadnt been born.

There was no point arguing. She had spoken and that was that.

When our cat was allowed to escape out the back door just before Mum was due to take him to the vets, once again it was my fault.

You stupid girl! Mum screamed at me, utterly furious. Ill never catch him now.

I knew it hadnt been me because Id been in the back bedroom the whole time rubbing milk on the patent leather of my tap shoes until they shone, and cleaning the soles of my ballet shoes with chalky stuff so they didnt slip.

Thats it! Mum decreed. Youre not going to your dance class until you find the cat.

When you are blamed for things you havent done quite so often, you stop protesting after a while. I went out into the cold and searched for hours until I found the cat hiding in an outhouse, safe and sound, but I was too late for my class by then. I supposed it must somehow have been my fault after all, but I didnt know how.

Dance classes were my favourite thing in the world in my pre-school years. Id been going from the age of two and I think I was quite good. Certainly, I could walk right on the tips of my toes and I always got a part in the concerts they gave. Once I played Little Bo Peep. My hair was already curly but Mum decided I needed to have ringlets for the role so she yanked my hair tight and tied it up with knots of rags on which I had to sleep the night before the show. She yanked my hair a lot, in fact. Long curly hair was the perfect thing for her to vent her frustrations on and my hair would often be tugged if I stood too close to her.

It sometimes seemed as though my siblings were living a different life than me, even though we were all in the same family. Mum used to take Tom and my sisters out shopping and theyd come home laden with new toys and clothes, but she never bought anything new for me. They went for picnics and fun day trips, while I was left behind with Mrs Rogers, the next-door neighbour. I accepted this because I had never known any different, but it made me very confused. Why did Mum cuddle them and not me? Why was I unwanted, unloved? I craved her love and approval, but no matter how hard I tried I could never get it.

Mum was a big, dark-haired womanhandsome, I heard my nan calling her. She was a very powerful character, physically and mentally strong, and used to getting her own way in life; you would probably describe her as a bit of a battleaxe. My dad, in contrast, was tall, thin and placid, a kind man who was no match for her. Like me, he was used to getting the rough edge of her tongue and hed slink off to his shed in the back garden and shut the door, looking for a few hours of peace and quiet.

I was born in November 1945, while Dad was still stationed in Burma, where hed been fighting with the Marines. He didnt come home until I was six months old, then he went away again on and off for the next few years, and when he came back to live with us for good he got a job as a shipbuilder in the dockyard near where we lived. He cycled to and from work and I remember him always arriving home cold, wet and tired after a long hard day. Every Friday lunchtime, in the years before I started school, Id accompany Mum to the dockyard gate where shed take his pay packet off him as soon as he was paid. Mum would count the notes and coins carefully into her purse, then give him back just enough to buy his cigarettes for the week. The rest was for the housekeeping.

We lived in a bungalow with a little garden out the back and a concrete patio. It wasnt very bigthere were only two bedroomsand when I was little, all four of us kids top-andtailed in the one bed. Tom and I would have our heads at the bottom, while Ellen and Rosies heads were at the headboard, and Ellen used to read us bedtime stories every night. We kept our books under the bed. One night she asked for another book and I stretched my hand under the bed to get one and felt something tickly running over me. I looked down and let out a piercing shriek because the biggest spider I had ever seen was scurrying across the floor.