life she had longed to be one of the boys. She loved to play football, cricket and climb trees. She always kept her dark hair cut short. The longer she could fool the other kids then the longer she would be accepted. Of course the boys always found out eventually – and it broke Barbara’s heart.
But that was nothing compared to what had happened to Barbara when she was just four years of age. It was an incident that scarred her for life and helped shape the following years of torment and waste.
She had always been a friendly little girl up until then. And it was no surprise that she befriended a local gardener in her favourite park. She would often accept gifts of sweets from the man. Barbara was just a small child. She did not know any better. But he did. He knew exactly what he was doing when he took little Barbara to an isolated piece of wasteland and ripped down her clothes.
When the terrified youngster was found wandering the streets distraught, a fundamental change had taken place in Barbara’s character. Therot had already begun to set in.
The end result was a troubled life as a teenager and then an adult. Barbara, somehow, just didn’t seem quite right. Dagenham was a brutal place for a misfit. And all the time in the back of her mind she kept remembering the horror of that attack on her innocent body.
Time and time again she was beaten up by other children. They used to tease her relentlessly about her hair. About her bucked teeth. About her being a girl. She wanted to be a boy to teach them all a lesson. She convinced herself that if she had been a boy then that monster would never have assaulted her. He was the root of all her evil.
Barbara bottled it all up inside herself. She never told her parents what was happening. She did not want to accept the fact – she was a girl. She just let the beatings continue. But they were inevitably affecting her life. They were etching hatred in her soul. Barbara had always hated certain people. Now she hated the world.
Perhaps George and Gladys Miller should have done something. They certainly saw the signs. But, like many parents, they chose not to say anything. To ignore it, hope it would go away. They were afraid it might push Barbara even further down the road to self-destruction. They were completely unable to put their feelings into words.
She came across to everyone as reckless and uncaring. The truth was that she was eaten up with guilt inside. She felt a failure. She had failed herself by allowing that animal to molest her.
Barbara felt that life had become one big bitch – and she was going to take it for all it was worth. Sexually, physically, morally. By the time Barbara was in her mid-twenties she had long since lost her self-esteem. She had waved goodbye to ambition. There were few jobs out there for a girl like her. She knew she had nothing to lose.
Barbara’s only pleasure in life was the ultimate act – sex. She craved it day and night. Yet it was that very act at such a frighteningly young age that had damaged her temperament in the first place. What made it worse was that so few men were interested in her. With her closely cropped hair, jeans, T-shirt and hobnail boots she didn’t turn many heads. As a teenager, she could only attract the boys by promising them literally anything if they would take her out. Her outlook on life was shaped for ever by that first horrendous experience and the subsequent adolescent sex behind bicycle sheds and in disused railway yards.
Sometimes the boys would line up and take it in turns. She knew it was wrong. But at least they were nice to her before they had their way. The trouble was they were invariably really horrible themoment they were done. But it hurt the most when none of them would even acknowledge her in the school playground the next day. It was as if she did not exist. She couldn’t stand that. She would go to the toilets and cry. But she soon learnt to stifle the tears. The
But that was nothing compared to what had happened to Barbara when she was just four years of age. It was an incident that scarred her for life and helped shape the following years of torment and waste.
She had always been a friendly little girl up until then. And it was no surprise that she befriended a local gardener in her favourite park. She would often accept gifts of sweets from the man. Barbara was just a small child. She did not know any better. But he did. He knew exactly what he was doing when he took little Barbara to an isolated piece of wasteland and ripped down her clothes.
When the terrified youngster was found wandering the streets distraught, a fundamental change had taken place in Barbara’s character. Therot had already begun to set in.
The end result was a troubled life as a teenager and then an adult. Barbara, somehow, just didn’t seem quite right. Dagenham was a brutal place for a misfit. And all the time in the back of her mind she kept remembering the horror of that attack on her innocent body.
Time and time again she was beaten up by other children. They used to tease her relentlessly about her hair. About her bucked teeth. About her being a girl. She wanted to be a boy to teach them all a lesson. She convinced herself that if she had been a boy then that monster would never have assaulted her. He was the root of all her evil.
Barbara bottled it all up inside herself. She never told her parents what was happening. She did not want to accept the fact – she was a girl. She just let the beatings continue. But they were inevitably affecting her life. They were etching hatred in her soul. Barbara had always hated certain people. Now she hated the world.
Perhaps George and Gladys Miller should have done something. They certainly saw the signs. But, like many parents, they chose not to say anything. To ignore it, hope it would go away. They were afraid it might push Barbara even further down the road to self-destruction. They were completely unable to put their feelings into words.
She came across to everyone as reckless and uncaring. The truth was that she was eaten up with guilt inside. She felt a failure. She had failed herself by allowing that animal to molest her.
Barbara felt that life had become one big bitch – and she was going to take it for all it was worth. Sexually, physically, morally. By the time Barbara was in her mid-twenties she had long since lost her self-esteem. She had waved goodbye to ambition. There were few jobs out there for a girl like her. She knew she had nothing to lose.
Barbara’s only pleasure in life was the ultimate act – sex. She craved it day and night. Yet it was that very act at such a frighteningly young age that had damaged her temperament in the first place. What made it worse was that so few men were interested in her. With her closely cropped hair, jeans, T-shirt and hobnail boots she didn’t turn many heads. As a teenager, she could only attract the boys by promising them literally anything if they would take her out. Her outlook on life was shaped for ever by that first horrendous experience and the subsequent adolescent sex behind bicycle sheds and in disused railway yards.
Sometimes the boys would line up and take it in turns. She knew it was wrong. But at least they were nice to her before they had their way. The trouble was they were invariably really horrible themoment they were done. But it hurt the most when none of them would even acknowledge her in the school playground the next day. It was as if she did not exist. She couldn’t stand that. She would go to the toilets and cry. But she soon learnt to stifle the tears. The
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