Innledning
Hello, I'm Marjorie Woodrow.
My birthdate is the 28th of May in the year 1926.
I entered this world beneath the shelter of a towering tree, right in front of Keewong Station. Keewong Station lies nestled up in the direction of Hillston, amidst the picturesque landscapes of the Riverina region. You see, there was a place called Carowra Tank, which was a mission in those days.
It was eventually taken over, prompting the relocation of its inhabitants, including my family, to Menindee. This transition involved cattle trucks and various logistics, and I was just a newborn then.
Carowra Tank was not just where I was born; it was also where my mother resided and worked for the landowners of that property.
And that's where she was raped and fell pregnant, and I was the one then, was the baby to be born from there.
At the tender age of two, my life took a dramatic turn as they arrived in Menindee and separated me from my mother. It was a heart-wrenching moment, one that I learned more about from my mother in the years that followed.
Innholdsfortegnelse
- [Living with her grandfather]
- [Marjorie lived with Alice Smith]
- [Marjorie told Alice she wanted a job so she could be independent and buy herself things]
- [Marjorie was sent to Cootamundra Girl’s Home aged 13 years old]
- [Marjorie was picked up by the police and had to go to court in Glebe, Sydney]
- [Parramatta Girls Home]
- [People in charge]
- [Marjorie speaks up]
- [Slave labour and stolen wages]
- [Marjorie wrote to the Aboriginal Welfare board when she turned 18]
- [Marjorie met her mum in 1993]
- [Her mum asked her one thing]
- [Her mother’s experience]
- [Marjorie’s mum]
- [The lies in Marjorie’s file]
- [Reasons for removal]
- [Healing]
Utdrag
My memory takes me back to that fateful moment when tears welled up in my eyes as I stepped into the ominous building. The police officer, however, sternly admonished me, insisting that my tears were in vain.
He uttered, "Crying won't change a thing because you're destined for Parramatta Girls Home." Then, with a sense of authority, he reassured me, "You needn't speak; we'll handle all the necessary discussions on your behalf."
So, I entered the institution, and they swiftly took charge of the proceedings. They labeled me as "uncontrollable," someone who had repeatedly fled from the previous home and proved difficult to manage.
Their solution, as they saw it, was to transfer me to Parramatta Girls Home, a place where they believed they could exert control over me. Let me tell you, it was an unforgiving and formidable environment.
[Parramatta Girls Home]
Cootamundra wasn't the toughest place I've ever been, but Parramatta, well, that was a different story.
Parramatta felt like pure confinement. The daily grind included scrubbing the floors relentlessly until they sparkled.
Failure to do so resulted in a severe penalty – seven days surviving solely on bread and water. I found myself in that situation more than once, unfortunately.
Legg igjen en kommentar