Rosemarie Smith - Little Molly

www.grosvenorhousepublishing.co.uk

This is the true story of a little girl who battles to keep her younger brothers and sister alive.

Rosemarie Smith

Had it not been for the following people my story would never have been told._

My Counsellor Clive Powell: thank you for your patience, optimism and insight.

Elaine Palmer and Wendy Kopetzki who spent countless hours typing and correcting my errors: many thanks to you both.

To John Edwards, Julie, Steve, Danny and Kirsten for showing me that some of life's precious moments are shared with friends closest to us.

To Ruth Pulis, Maggi Taylor and all the staff at Grosvenor House Publishing for their speed when replying to my emails, for their patience when answering my questions and for their professionalism when piecing my book together: many thanks to you all.

And finally, a kind and loving thought for my children Ian, Cheniel, Kyle, and Allishia who have shown me that despite my abusive childhood life can still be beautiful.

I would like to say I enjoyed writing this book, but it wouldnt be fair to say I did it without a struggle. When I accepted this challenge I must admit I didnt think I would find my story so hard to tell and there was no one more surprised than I, when I finally wrote the last page. It was only when I wrote Molly that I could faithfully acknowledge to myself the true devastation of child abuse. When you feel a victim of child abuse it is extremely difficult to look upon the past with compassion or understanding, as guilt totally devours our minds. So until I wrote my story down and read it like an outsider looking in, it was impossible to understand how destructive the abuse had been.

Having re-read the whole story of Molly from beginning to end, I can now see the saddest part of my life was accepting abuse as normal. Although I still havent been able to understand why this happened to me, the writing of Molly has helped me to move on with my life, accepting that it did happen but will never stand in my way again. The story of Molly will always stir the saddest of memories that I have of my childhood even so I will look back at it completely satisfied that writing it was the best step forward. With a tremendous amount of help and support from my counsellor Clive Powell, I have completed the most difficult journey of my life and I thank him for accompanying me.

When I look back at my childhood I remember all the years I suffered in silence, thinking about all the people I could have told, but didnt. Then I wonder how many thousands are still waiting, desperate to tell their story - my heart goes out to them. Its difficult to face up to an abuser and the truth is it doesnt get any easier with age. But, luckily, we have people like Clive and it is people like him that make a difference. I would like to take time to pay tribute to my children Ian, Cheniel, Kyle, and Allishia who at times have suffered from the result of my upbringing. I thank them from the bottom of my heart for having patience and understanding and for allowing me to experience true love and happiness. Thanks, kids I love you and I have always loved you.

Where do you come from? I am so unsure

My eyes do not see you, but do you see me, Lord?

I do not understand, my mind will not accept

My family has forsaken me, and they have no regrets.

I have no friends, yet I yearn for many.

Pray Lord who will love one so melancholy,

Whose heart breaks, whose tears flow

I know not real love, how can that be so?

I am here Lord, all alone, can you not see?

There is nothing left on this earth, for a little girl like me.

How will I know you when you come to take my hand?

Will you ease away my pain, hold me close and comfort me?

In this cruel world I see little hope for me;

An innocent child; Suffering miserably!

I have written this book to the best of my ability, upon memory only. Although I have written a reasonable amount I have decided to omit certain things for the sake of my family. If however, I have offended anyone I apologise most sincerely.

This is the true story of Molly, a seven-year-old girl who battles to keep herself, her younger brothers and her sister alive following abandonment by both her parents. Molly teaches her younger siblings to forage, scrounge and steal in an attempt to survive, while she suffers both physical and severe sexual abuse from her older siblings. Just as things begin to go wrong for Molly and her young family, her prayers are answered.

I lived with my parents and nine other siblings in a three bedroom council house at Beech Crescent, Eckington, a small mining village situated on the Yorkshire and Derbyshire border line. Our family home was both desolate and unmanaged, yet we had a huge flowerbed and vegetable garden, lovingly tended by my father, whose pride and joy were his dahlias. The garden was more orderly than our home ever was. The strongest memories of childhood with my parents are of a cold, dismal house, cluttered with items of no use; ashes from an unlit fire scattered over a large area of our kitchen; grease and dirt smeared across the white, enamel - topped table that stood beside the old gas cooker that was much the worse for wear; piles of unwashed crockery lay on a slimy, wooden draining board, while heaps of potato peelings stood in un - drained, stagnant water blocking the sink. Large piles of urinated blankets and sheets were thrown in an area beside the sink giving out a strong foul smell of ammonia that stuck in the back of my throat. Clothing we once wore was now laying around covered in mould and mildew, no longer fit for us to wear. Our kitchen was a horrific sight for anyone. However, little did we know, there was much worse to come.

My day usually began each morning when I was left alone to look after my younger brothers Andrew and Simon and my younger sister Lorraine, all who were under the age of six. Our bedclothes consisted of a couple of urinated, shabby blankets that Id retrieved from beneath the kitchen sink along with a few of Fathers old overcoats. The mattress we slept on was heavily stained with large patches of wet and dried urine that had been previously caused by our older siblings as well as ourselves and absolutely reeked ammonia. The bed was large enough to sleep the four of us, it had belonged to Mother and Father when our family lived together the sleeping arrangements had been different then, as we each had our own places. But for now I slept in my heavily stained dress in the bed that everyone else had once slept in. All our clothes carried a strong smell of urine from previous nights bed wetting as we no longer had a change of clothing and never bathed. Our circumstances had become so desperate, clean laundry was no longer an option.

My name was Molly. I was around seven years old, small and thin with dark bobbed hair. I was pretty, but I had become a foul mouthed tomboy and spent all of my time fighting and hanging around the streets with my brothers.

I was one of ten children and certainly the oddest amongst them. Apart from my desire to roam with them from one end of the town to the other, I had absolutely nothing in common with any of them. I had three older sisters, the youngest being eight years my senior, and five brothers whose ages ranged from six months to nineteen years. Anne was the eldest and Simon was our baby, although, my youngest sister Lorraine fitted that role too.