(aka Bike) Part 1897 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad
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“Did Stella ever play Mary in the school nativity play?”
“I don’t think the world was ready in those days for a Cameron to play the mother of God.”
“Why ever not?”
“Some would have seen it as art imitating life too closely.”
“You’ll have to explain that to me,” I asked, feeling completely unsure of what he meant.
“Oh it’s simple enough, if I were to say God complex, would it appear any easier?”
“What, that some would see your family as having a God complex?” I tested my hypothesis.
“Got it in one, I knew you were a smart cookie.”
“But why would they say that–you seem quite well adjusted, more so than most other dysfunctional titled families.”
“Oi! Just because the royals are barmy doesn’t mean we all are."
“The royal family are something special, anyway. They’re subject to so much publicity and scrutiny. Now, because Kate has announced she’s pregnant, she’ll be under even more scrutiny. I feel sorry for her."
“Absolutely,” he agreed, “I can’t understand why an attractive, apparently intelligent young woman would marry into that lot.”
“Perhaps it’s for the same reason as I married you?”
“You mean he got her up the duff and was too scared to tell his grandmother?”
I looked at him in disbelief. “I was hardly up the duff was I?”
“Yep, without a paddle. Look, I know you had Mima secretly, and only pulled her out of the cupboard when she was getting too big to hide in there, then concocted some cock and bull story with Janice Scott. I’ll bet you did it with all the kids.”
“That would mean I probably had Julie about the time I did the nativity play,” I concluded by his crazy logic.
“See, and they all thought it was a doll–have you no shame, you hussy?” he asked, keeping a poker face.
“Absolutely not, I’ve had nineteen different litters all by different fathers.”
“See, a confession at last–arrest her, constable.” I turned around just in time to see Simon turn into Mr Punch and he stalked the constable and then began bashing him on the head with his club. I tried to stop him and got bashed on the head myself. I called for him to stop hitting me and struggled violently–which was when I fell out of bed, waking up with quite a shock.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Simon peering over the edge of the bed.
“You hit me,” I said rubbing my head.
“No I didn’t, I heard you shout something and the next thing you wriggled and fell out of the bed, I was fast asleep.”
“But you turned into Mr Punch and hit me with your club.”
“Cathy, do I look like Mr Punch?”
I squinted at him, “A bit,” I said.
“Oh thanks, in which case you can get yourself up and back into bed.” He rolled back and disappeared from sight. I managed to clear my head and scramble on to my feet. I felt wide awake. It was one o’clock in the morning and I was wearing my nightdress. I’d obviously had a silly dream and fallen out of bed.
“I’m going to make a cuppa, want one?” I asked my husband, who was pretending to have gone back to sleep.
“No,” he muttered and pulled the duvet up round his head. I pulled on a cardigan and went downstairs after checking on the three girls–they were fine.
As I drank the life restoring fluid I pondered on my dream. How could I accuse Simon of hitting me? He has never laid a finger on me in anger. He’s far too cultured to do so, though I knew there were plenty of men who did hit their women and even some women who hit their men–domestic violence was a real problem.
It was now half past one and I rinsed out the cup and returned to bed wondering why I was thinking of domestic violence. The next morning I heard that the local women’s refuge was going to have to close unless they raised a hundred thousand pounds by the end of January. Talk about synchronicity.
I heard the interview with the head of the trustees on the radio as I drove home, the radio switching itself onto the local Solent station without me touching it. I’d been listening to the Brahms violin concerto and the stations just jumped by themselves.
A hundred thousand is a lot of money, but I could probably pledge a thousand. They were asking people to pledge money by phoning in. I stopped the car and called the number and after being asked how much I wanted to give was put through to the presenter of the show.
“Who’s calling the Mike Briar’s show?” asked the host.
“Um–Cathy.”
“Hi, Cathy; are you calling to pledge some money for the refuge?”
“Yes.”
“How much are you going to pledge?”
“A thousand pounds.”
“Wow, Cathy, another ninety nine like you and we’d hit the target. Are you a survivor of domestic violence?”
I was about to say no, when it occurred to me that I was. “Yes.”
“And that’s why you’re pledging a thousand pounds?”
“No, it was my father who used to hit me, not my husband–he’s never laid a finger on me or abused me verbally–no, I just think it’s an important matter for the safety of women in the Portsmouth area.”
“Your father used to hit you?”
“Yes, look I’d rather not talk about it, just tell me where to send the cheque.”
“Okay, thank you, Cathy–seems like our topic has raised some ghosts from her past,” continued the voice on the radio while the one on the phone was obviously that of a fund raiser who took my name and bank card details. She also took my address so that the tax I paid on that money could also be claimed back from the Inland Revenue as a gift aid. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake, then realised I hadn’t.
Instead of driving home I pulled into Morrison’s and went to their restaurant and bought myself a coffee. It was absolutely heaving and I had to share a table with a youngish woman and her daughter–a child of about nine.
“D’you think the rain is ever going to stop?” I said making polite conversation. Her face was hidden by her hand and instead of answering she shrugged. I therefore assumed she wasn’t in a conversational mood. I began to wish I hadn’t spoken or in fact hadn’t come here.
I blew on my coffee which was very hot–far too hot to drink; at least it was for a wimp like me.
My gaze was drawn to her face. It was still hidden from me by her hand however her daughter asked for something which required her to move the hand and get something from her bag. She had a black eye.
I must have stared at it because she said aggressively, “My old man done it, alright?”
“I’m sorry.” I looked away and then I replied, “No it isn’t all right, it’s all wrong.”
She looked at me in surprise. “Wotcha mean?”
“If he did that deliberately you should tell the police.”
She laughed, “’Ere, I lives in the real world–there women gets battered every now an’ again. It ’appens.”
“Only because you let it.”
“What? You think I let ’im do this, or this,” she pulled up her sleeve and showed me marks of cigarette burns and bruises on her arm.
I was horrified. “You mustn’t let him do it! What about your daughter–what message is it sending to her?”
“I do it to keep ’im off ’er.”
“Oh my god, he wouldn’t touch her, would he?”
“Too bloody right he would. Look, I gotta go.” She tapped her daughter on the shoulder and before I could say anything they disappeared into the throng in the main part of the store.
Comments
Domestic Violence
Unfortunately it seems to escalate in this season of peace and goodwill.
Positively Sad
Bike Resources
Seems that Cathy's weird dream
portended her hearing the Mike Briar’s show and meeting that poor distressed, abused mummy and child. No doubt time for Super Cathy to don her spandex and trounce a bully.
May Your Light Forever Shine
I know Cathy won't be able to leave this alone
but what can she do when a woman refuses to even talk about it much less ask for help. Not a life threatening cliff-hanger for Cathy and family (I hope) but leaves us wondering what comes next.
... and the radio switching stations by its self?
What does that mean?
Easy!
The radio didn't switch by itself - it was switched by a certain deity that likes to poke around in Cathy's life from time to time...
...but this appears to be one of the first times Shekinah's found a use for Cathy that doesn't involve BLH (unless Cathy can use it to 'home in' on the woman and do something remotely)...
As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!
A stronger station overpowering a weaker one due to a hill ...
blocking it's signal, The Shekina flexing her powers or fauly electrical grounds in her car?
How soon until the radio sation realizes a minor member of the aristocracy, the wife of a famous and rich banking family has just made a donation.
What about the fool battered woman? So battered she assumes it is normal AND who doess it to *protect* her child? Will Cathy feel guilty she ran off and wouldn't let Cathy help?
Funny yet sad chaptr.
Just have to believe that doctor's wife and her bully of a child will be aporoblem. And what of old Ms Browncow, her Urban Assualt Vehicle, um SUV, and her welp?
John in Wauwatosa
John in Wauwatosa
Sadly...
Sadly, John. Far to often, women in such situations really do NOT see any way out of their situations. It's not so much they think things are "normal" but they don't see any way out. Sometimes, they are "convinced" that it's "their fault" - that if they're only better, they won't need to be beat more. Sometimes, it's to protect a child... Sometimes...
All that said, I do wonder how long before we see Lady Cammeron/Dr. Watts working to DO something about this - at least locally. (Though, why do I get this picture of Cathy accidentally running across the above mom, just as her "significant other" attacks again... I can't seem to get this picture out of my brain - Cathy intervening.)
Nah, it's not possible, is it? Cathy would have recognized the voice from the phone. That daughter couldn't be the one that was decked by Mima, could it? That couldn't be the mother that threatened Cathy on the phone, could it? It would go a long way to explaining the older girl's bullying of Mima... But, nah, it couldn't be. Cathy would have recognized the voice. (John, you evil one, you get me thinking of strange things in stories.)
Annette
A reminder of a painful, sad
A reminder of a painful, sad reality in our world.
Kris
{I leave a trail of Kudos as I browse the site. Be careful where you step!}
As a survivor.
I made a lot of excuses over the years to keep my self within the rules of remaining senseless and accepting, that I was responsible for my own abuse. Two years ago I received awake up call by having to prove to the state I was good enough to keep my children safe from the abuse the world could and would heap on them. This started my journey into accepting I was a survivor who made many critical and necessary decisions which kept my fragile little family together. The first thing was to admit that I had been and was being emotionally abused by the person I loved, and I was the one who needed to put a stop to it.
IN my Humble Opinion we as the humane race need to end the abuse of people everywhere by the more powerful. Be it the Telaban, a state dictator, religious leaders playing god,corporations and bankers, or the dysfunctional bloke or wife smacking someone around for the fun or satisfaction of it. This is not reality but an excuse, It does not matter who or where or why but bullying must be stopped now before the world and us survivors become extinct.
Catherin donating 1.000 Pounds Stirling is a good start and an excellent example of what we should all do within our own means to stop this crime. May be she could go to the radio station and create a challenge to the rest of the Portsmouth area to raise the rest of the money. May be the Dormouse women can become the do not abuse women as well. The Goddess has given Catherin a quiet challenge, then a visceral example to motivate her into action. When situations arise and the combined forces of Catherin and Goddess are aligned Things Happen. I just Hope Catherin sees this and acts.
BTW it was my step father who started this cycle of abuse on me. and His mother who emotionally abused him. We must confront this multi-generational train wreck for what is is, a crime against humanity.
Sorry for my soap-boxing.
Michele Whitewolf
With those with open eyes the world reads like a book
I wonder, Michelle, since it
I wonder, Michelle, since it is now obvious to anyone who reads the newspapers how true the old saying is that "Power Corrupts", whether power over one's "self" corrupts one ? I do agree about the questions bit - my old Prof and Tutor when I was doing my first degree used to say "There are no stupid questions, only stupid answers!".
I was shocked by Angharad's writing that there was this radio programme with a Briar running it ! There aren't that many of us at all, and I wonder if it was my name that gave her the idea....
Lovely idea Angharad, for Lady Catherine to make that donation. The battered mother annoyed me - it is silly women like that who let brutes calling them selves "men" get away with such unacceptabe behaviour. Any woman who thinks by letting the ape that she is married with knock her about will "save" her daughter from being molested, is barking mad up the wrong tree trunk. We girls have the upper hand, only still so many dont realise it. "Use your intellect girl, muscle power has nothing compared to it!" is what I want to tell this poor girl.
Briar
Oh Geez
We all know Cathy is not gonna let this slide. I wonder if she was sent to meet her next adopted kid, or just to save the woman. And here I thought Simon was holding his own and really winding Cathy up, and she was doing it to herself. HA!
Possible Next Adoption?
I also had this feeling when I read the part where Cathy saw the abused woman and her daughter. I get the feeling that the woman will be attacked again, and so severely, that she will not survive, and the husband will be jailed, leaving the girl on her own.
I don't think the girl in this case is Melanie, but I could be wrong. I guess I'll have to see what happens in order to find out for sure.
Domestic violence
In almost every case, long before someone is physically assaulted, the abuser has waged a sustained campaign against the psyche and the soul. This leaves the victim believing they deserve it or that they can’t physically, emotionally, or financially do anything that will get them out if it. The assault on the mind, emotions, and feelings of self-worth are the hidden injuries that the abused sustain. The safe physical haven that a women’s shelter provides is the easiest of the things that they do. The repair of the mind and soul are much harder to “fix†than bruises, burns, and broken bones. 20 years ago, when I was actively working with a shelter, the average was a woman had to leave her abuser 7 times before they left for good. Yes some left after the first incident, but others kept going back. No, they did not like getting beaten, and the reasons they gave for going back seemed to be varied, but in the final analysis, until a person’s feeling of self-identity and self-worth was healed, the victim usually could not see the possibility that they could make it, that they could live and provide for themselves and especially their children on their own. Providing healing for a broken mind, a betrayed heart, and a ravaged soul is the real work of a shelter.
I have enjoyed your series and appreciated all the issues you bring to light. I have definitely become addicted to this soap opera. THANK YOU.
Music is the language of the soul.
Violence.
Violence, domestic violence ... any sort of violence is unacceptable.
What makes domestic violence particularly nasty is the circumstances surrounding it. The victim is usually 'trapped' by various circumstances like a lack of alternative accomodation or independent income, conniving relatives, different cultures, poverty and many others. All these circumstances are essentially elements stemming often from ignorance in the victim or victims.
Shelters are essential for such victims. Well done Cathy for contributing such a substantial sum, though I suspect more action might be pending bearing in mind the Cameron fortune.
Well done for raising these issues at this time of year Cathy because Christmas is a time of great stress for families and such stress can precipitate violence or even eviction or escape leading to homelessness.
Thanks love.
XX
Bevs.
Looks like another cause
for Super Cathy!