SisterIsobel
toldthe
oldergirlsto
hitmewith
coathangers
40
MybrotherFred
andI atour
confirmation
My husband
Jack – soulmate
and best friendDISTURBING
Beingbundled intoa car
asa littlegirlwas the start
offouryearsof hell...
MarieHargreaves,65,Oldham
M
y dadopenedthe
cardoorforme
to jumpintothe
backseat,and
myeyeswidened.
‘Wow!’I gasped.
‘Wherearewegoing?’
I wasonly6, it was 1959
andI’dneverevenbeenin
a carbefore.
‘You’regoingonholiday,just
youandFred,’Dadreplied.
I didn’trecognisethewoman
driving,butI didn’tthinkto
askDadashewavedusoff–
I wasjusttooexcited.
MyolderbrotherFred,then
7, andI satandwatchedasthe
town,thenthecountryside,
whizzedby.I feltsorryformy
eightyoungerbrothersand
sisters,leftathome.
Wefinallypulledupanhour
orsolateroutsidea building
withhugeoakdoors.
Thewomaninthecarwalked
usupthestepsandintoa
hallway.
But,asI spotteda nun
walkingtowardsus,I gotthe
feelingsomethingwasn’tright.
Suddenly,Fredwasledin
onedirection,whileI was
takeninanother.
I beganto cryasI wasdragged into a bathroom,
stripped and bathed.
Then my long, brown hair,
which I loved, was chopped
short above my ears.
‘Why am I here?’ I sobbed.
The nun in charge was called
Sister Isobel O’Brien.
‘You have come to live in the
convent, you’re going to be a
nun,’ she told me.
I cried myself to
sleep that night,
and the next
and the next.
Each morning,
we were woken at
6am, made to mop
the floors before
we could even
have breakfast.
Then, we
had to kneel and
say our prayers.
At least at
mealtimes, I’d
catch a glimpse
of Fred, but we
never had much
chance to speak.
Whenever I asked
the nuns about my
parents, I’d be beaten.
‘Little girls
shouldn’t askquestions,’ I was told sternly.
Soon, the beatings were
a regular thing, whether
I asked questions or not.
Once, I left a tiny bit of boiled
egg inside the
shell, and Sister
Isobel ordered the
older girls to hit
me with wooden
coat hangers.
The pain was
excruciating, and
I was covered in
bruises for a week.
At night, it was
even worse. The
older girls climbed
into my bed and told me, ‘This
is what happens with boys.’
I was sexually abused, but I
had no idea what was going on.
But, in many ways, the
mental abuse was the worst of
all. The nuns would tell meI was an orphan and I had no
parents, brothers or sisters.
I used to lie in bed and
wonder whether the vague
memories I had of a mother
and father, or
playing football
with my siblings
on the street, had
all been a dream.
My only
escape was school.
I loved going to
lessons, because
I could get away
from the nuns.
One day, a boy
in the playground
told me that he loved me and
said, ‘I’ll always come to find
you, even if you go to Africa.’
It didn’t make sense, but
it made me cry – because it
was the only show of affection
I’d had for years.
In 1963, when I was 10
years old, the convent closed
down and me and Fred wereWORDS:
ANN
CUSACK.
PHOTOS:
FOCUS
FEATURES
A
childh
o
SNAT
C
Me with with my
baby brother
and Fred