Grace Part Three.
Mum said, “One of the young girls at our POW told someone that Uncle Stan had touched her on her private parts, so what the other leaders did was, they asked one at a time and in private, the first seventeen girls if he had touched them down there too and all of the girls said, ‘Yes,’ they didn’t ask all the girls for there was no need he had abused them all.” I was devastated! For as a fairly small gathering I knew them all very well, those my age or older and all the young innocent sweet lives, now ruined and tainted by him! I couldn’t hate him any more than I already did. A year after I’d found Faith through all the struggles of trying to cope with seeing him every Sunday, my Mum took us all from that POW and into a completely diffident Place, every single thing was different, the new place had about three hundred Believers. But because of him I no longer believed! I wanted to know their names but mum said, “It’s best you don’t know, for you know them all anyway.”
Mum went on, “The lovely lady from the huge POW that we all would go and visit every three years, she was at my Aunties house, and when she heard the scandal she said to my Auntie, “I do not believe any of it!” They were both in my Aunties kitchen alone and my Auntie said to her, “It is all true, for my niece told us when she was fourteen, and it was all hushed up, she is nineteen now, but it is all 100% true.” Mum said, the woman broke down and cried and cried!! Auntie had never seen an adult woman cry that much, like she saw that day. But what is SO sad, this I have just thought of this, is that he went on to abuse all the girls for the next five years! That’s beyond criminal! I believe all religious establishments do this, hush it all up. The only person who wins is the abuser. So then my Uncle had to step down as our Leader! Many of the young people left and to this day have never returned to Faith.
When I was nineteen, one night after I’d finished reading a book called, ‘For This Cross I’ll Kill You,’ by Bruce Olsen, he too was nineteen and he’d done SO much with his amazing life, I knelt down by my bed and rededicated my Life to God. My bed wetting stopped when I was nineteen. And I never wet the bed again. I remember when I was quite young about ten years old, my Uncle took me to a private doctor so I could have an injection in my buttock, to stop me wetting the bed, he was doing my Mum a favour by taking me for her, he was in the room as the doctor gave me the injection, it was awful, but there was nothing I could do I had no say in the matter, and poor Mum didn’t know. I still wet the bed the next day, and the day after that....... my step dad would, beat the hell out of me with his thick leather belt with a smile of his face, as I screamed and tried to cover myself up under my wet sheets and blankets, but he been stronger never gave up until he got me! I hated him too. I didn’t know of suicide back then, or I’d have killed myself! Kids and teens know of everything now but back then there was no internet or mobiles.
The Youth from my POW often went away in the school holidays in Sherborne a boarding school there, and always begged me to come too. I always lied and would say, “No, it doesn’t interest me,” I couldn’t tell them I wet the bed! I would die, if that was to happen in the dormitory. Then as I only wet the bed when I was on my period and at nineteen, I seem to have stopped all together, I decided one day to go with them all, for the week, would I be OK? We have to live our lives, with our secrets and try to over come our fears of failure, I was a tough cookie but very nervous and vulnerable. I talked with Mum about it, and she said, “You go, you will be OK.” But in my World would I be OK? The first day of Camp arrived, I was at Sherborne! In total there was one hundred young people from all over the UK.