A Kink in My Armour

Copyright © 2012 by Lizzie Rose.

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Contents

The Butterfly

Foreward

Synopsis

Dedication

Surrender

Chapter 1 Home Is Where The Heart Is . . . Not

Chapter 2 Roses Have Thorns

Chapter 3 A Good Habit

Chapter 4 Swimming Upstream

Chapter 5 The Sound of Silence

Chapter 6 Angels Don’t Have Wings

Chapter 7 A Chance Encounter

Chapter 8 Blossoms on My Tree

Epilogue

Biography

The Butterfly

Butterflies have wings which appear to be almost translucent from the human eye. Paper thin and delicate, they appear weak however they are particularly strong. The tiny butterfly draws her strength knowing her wings are strong enough to carry her throughout her life and that they will never fail nor will they tire. As she continues on her journey the butterfly’s wings have the strength a thousand men could not endure but it is with this strength that she empowers herself to complete her life. The butterfly carries on this life with a dignity, gracefullness and with a depth of perseverance knowing that whatever she may endure, her wings will support her throughout her journey just like the protective cocoon from when she was born.

The butterfly appears to have a lonely existence but as she travels this life, she touches many of us and in return we send love to her as she is one of the most beautiful living creatures on the planet.

Foreward

All stories reveal the capacity of the human spirit to transcend limitations in one form or another. This story is about appalling limitations that span decades, in a supposedly civilised society. One might imagine it existing in some war torn country seen on the nightly news. But no, it happened right here in Australia, under our very noses. It is a story for our rapidly changing and unknown times. It teaches us that we really can achieve anything we set our hearts upon, that whatever challenges have been laid before us, and are to come, that ‘this too shall pass’. The heroine of this story, has been there before us, lighting the way, and we know that if she did it, then so can we. This is the essence of all great stories, inspiring and bringing greater life to all.

—Julie Nihill, BSc, Dip Ed, Actor, Producer, Writer

Synopsis

Lizzie Rose

This true life story has numerous twists and turns and is based around the life of a young child who survived a horrific train crash in the seventies in New South Wales. She was fifteen, one of only a few who survived carriage No. 3. You will remember Granville.

Her memories of Granville, the emergency services worker who saved her life, the horror of his actions towards her in the aftermath of the crash, would leave her terrified and traumatised for the rest of her life. For him to be made a hero would devastate her forever, and to be approached to go on national television to surprise him was the last straw. She declined. She didn’t care.

He was no hero in her eyes.

Previous to the train accident, she was a survivor of sexual abuse, rape, and child abuse. Her time spent in an orphanage with her younger sister was not as scary as she had expected it to be. It was warm and welcoming and the nuns were compassionate, something she had never experienced before in her lifetime.

The child abuse was set aside for her solely by her mother, the one person who should have given her comfort, love, and guidance, who should have nourished her children with food, clean clothes, and a warm and loving home, and did nothing but serve her up a daily dose of abuse, degradation, and hatred.

Living a life with someone who was alcohol-dependent and who thrived on relationships which were detrimental to the health of her children, as well as herself, seemed nothing in the mother’s eyes. Relationships that were dysfunctional and far from those of role model behaviour, were witnessed daily.

She had to live within the person who had to observe the signs of a typical abusive day which you knew would turn into horror. She knew the feeling that a strange calm was blowing in the wind and had to wake and find that in the blink of an eye, all hell would break loose, and no matter who was at fault, the mother always turned her anger and hatred to the one person who could barely look after herself, a mere child. This child became the protector of her siblings.

She stood tall amongst all the anger and violence to shelter and protect each and every one of them.

At the tender age of thirteen, this girl experienced an act, something more powerful than anything most people would see, something even bigger than herself, an event which would impact that of other people for the entirety of their lives. She categorically states that this was where an angel had stepped in, and not being a religious person, now laughs at that fact.

She had to live through her childhood with a range of fathers, one, her natural Father, and four others, the stepfathers. Then, there were the ones who would be the worst nightmare for this child specifically. She had to experience this behaviour at the hands of the people who a child should trust and feel secure with and a mother who never believed anything she said, and when told of the abuse, took the side of the abuser.

This is the true story of one person who overcame adversity in its harsh, raw and naked form. Of sadness and pain, of true inspiration, love, compassion, and empathy. For no matter what life dealt her, she had the strength of power to regain her full self, which was totally in her own hands.

She controlled the key which started the engine to pull herself out of what life had dealt her and move forward in a most definable way, her ability to show true guidance to those around her.

She experienced the birth of her own children and saw how they were to enrich her life and the lives of those around her. She encouraged, supported, and loved them with tools she didn’t know existed within herself for she had never been shown the same growing up. She knew no skills of parenting apart from those she had witnessed. She hit a turning point within her own life and saw the trigger and knew and understood the warning signs which could have made her become her mother. She recognised that she could have repeated the behaviour she had seen as a child.

She accidentally found the man who would impact her life, be her life partner who showed her unconditional love and support and encouraged all her dreams till they became reality, to be there to pick up the pieces when it all became too much to bear. This is love, real love.

This is a compelling story which will grip you till the end. The reader will cry as you feel her pain and live her nightmare.

A Kink in My Armour proves that a person can live through four decades of horrifying abuse and can move forward to lead a more positive and fulfilled life.

This person has triumphed and is now living a happy life in Melbourne with her wonderful husband and three beautiful children and grandchildren. A person who has risen above the depths of despair, who now has a professional career and is now able to talk of the gravity of her experiences with such detail that it makes you feel you have lived her pain. She is a true survivor and in all essences, one who has been put upon this earth for a more than special life which has, and will, go on to enrich the lives of all those around her.

Despite being deprived of affection herself, a more positive person with so much compassion to give I have never known.

When the story ends, the reader will close the book, sit back and imagine the life that unfolded for this woman, value their own life as their heart fills with love, while their mind contemplates the life that endured so much. They will absorb her story like a plant absorbing the warmth of the sun.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to you, my dearest friend, for your honesty and courage, in the hope that in some small way, I have helped you heal, and as a survivor of abuse, that your story will give strength to the many others who suffer in silence.

Surrender

Her roots spread deep into the ground, deep into mother earth,

For she was here before you, nurturing was her worth,

She knew how to protect you, courage was her name,

Her gentle arms around you, to push away your pain,

Who will protect her now, when she is so alone?

Does anybody feel for her? Does anybody know?

To take this darkness from her and help her see the light,

Is something that I dream of, to help her with her plight,

For she thinks she is on her own and only she knows why,

But I am here for her and I will help her try,

The storm clouds, they are brewing, but I can see them shift,

And once the rain has fallen, this will be her gift,

Does anybody feel for her? Can we make it swift?

Her work, her life, relationships, all suffered in the battle,

And while she was there for everyone, her little mind did suffer,

Her broken, battered body fell on to the ground,

And her armour, it was stripped, and her shell it wasn’t found,

I wish that I could tell her, her strength will reappear,

Does anybody feel for her? Is anybody near?

I wish you could know her with might and all her glory,

Compassion and endurance was one thing for her story,

For she too is an angel, with wings of glistening gold,

And she will continue protecting us from now until she goes,

Her tools are words for all of us, a master of her plan,

For I was but her servant and I felt all her pain,

Does anybody feel for her? Do you think you can?

We all love her deeply and this is her gift to man.

Chapter 1

Home Is Where

The Heart Is . . . Not

A Mothers love should wrap around for fear of being lonely,

Hot food upon the kitchen stove for fear of being hungry,

The hearth it should be burning for fear of being cold,

Her love should surround us for fear was all we know.

Whack! A backhand across the forehead. I lay across the floor.

My head spun as I lay dazed, unable to move, and the tears that stung were starting to well up in my eyes. I rarely cried in front of her and tried my hardest not to do it that day, but it all seemed out of my control. When did my mother need an excuse to take her mood swings and bad temper out on me?

They would always be right out of the blue and usually occurred at any given time of the day.

I had finished school for the day. It was so hot, and all I had wanted was a cool drink, so I headed straight for the kitchen. I was nine years old and still had my school case in my hand when she met me at the entry to the dining room. I had often seen these beltings coming, but this one took me by surprise. I hadn’t been home all day and had made sure that our room was tidy before I had left for school that morning.

It wasn’t long before my head ached with pain from the first whack and I was having difficulty seeing out of one eye. My back also hurt from where I landed as I had hit the side of the wall as I fell and twisted my body.

I lay crumpled like a rag doll discarded by a child. It was no use complaining, as that would only have seen another belting, so I kept the pain to myself and slowly dragged myself up, still clutching my school case and walked to my room. As I lay on my bed, I wondered what was to come and how would she react to me when it was dinnertime. My sister sat next to me and held my hand. We stared into each other’s eyes.

My mother was born in 1947 to a farming couple who really did not want children in their lives. She was the eldest of two girls and was a quiet child; this showed in her behaviour towards other children, as she could not relate and was always in trouble at school for fighting. She had to be tough and was never one to be picked on in either her primary or secondary school years.

The other children learnt to stay away from her, as she was not friendly or easy to get to know. It was rare that she was invited to a friend’s house after school.

She never had a close friend to share her experiences or to play with.

From what I had witnessed, when her sister, my auntie Belle, called around, she always held the upper hand. She had a demanding voice and everyone obeyed her demands. Belle was scared of her, and I could tell that as she never answered back or argued with her. Whenever Belle came around, Belle always spoke nicely towards my siblings and me. Belle occasionally gave us a cuddle, albeit extremely rarely.

The family home was nestled in Katoomba, near my great-grandmother’s house, and was a grand old house which was nestled on some twenty acres of property. The house was a large homestead similar to that of the neighbouring areas. They had many bedrooms, all with large windows and huge lounge rooms, with a fireplace in every room. The kitchens