TRANSCRIPT

At the time of recording this Episode, we have been on the road…. in our caravan now for three weeks.

Our first week we based ourselves at a beautiful place called Murwillumbah, located in the Northern Rivers of NSW.  This gave us the opportunity to stop and plan our next 12-month of travelling around Australia, after a manic 6 months of renovating our family home.

We also used this time to drive by various locations, including Banora Point, Kingscliff and Tweed Heads.  This area is loaded with memories, some good, some bad.  It was where I had lived with my then violent ex-husband over 20 years ago, before together with my 2 sons, we had to escape in the middle of the night to Emerald, an outback town in QLD.  

The second week of being on the road was meeting up with my mother and father in-law at Nambucca Heads.  For me, Nambucca Heads did not represent any personal significance, however it did provide a safe place that I could really start working deeply into telling my story.  By now we are also settling into our caravan life, the start of our 12 month adventure.

The next location we stayed was Riverwood Downs.  This was and is a place of very personal meaning.  When I was 16 and pregnant with my first born son, I stayed here for several months with a beautiful couple Chris and Val for several months prior to giving birth.  That moment in time,  proved to be a monumental sliding door moment that allowed me to change a life pathway that could otherwise have proven to be very different.  Stay tuned for this episode.

This week we are staying at Budgewoi.  An absolutely stunning location on the Central Coast of NSW.  Ocean on one side and a huge natural lake on the other side.  It’s cold as we are now well and truly into winter, but the sun is shining and provides warmth through the window of our caravan.

Every morning and night for the past three weeks, the sound of Kookaburra’s early morning and evening can be heard.  Sometimes there has been just one, but many times there have been many more, sitting either on the trees or powerlines outside our caravan.  If you haven’t heard the sound of a Kookaburra, they start with a small quiet cackle, then slowly open their beaks to the sky with a crescendo that becomes louder, louder and faster and faster.  They are then joined with other Kookaburras to create this choir of cackling.  A beautiful, calming sound.  If you google the spirituality of a Kookaburra,  you will find that they have a potent healing energy, and their appearance in your life may signify a period of deep healing.  This healing is not just happening for you, but people around you.  Creating a healthy ripple effect that positive changes are to come.

How appropriate as I lean into this episode and again, reminded of my purpose.  To tell my story with rawness, not overlooking the power of those that were in my invisible village, but the responsibility we all have as a character in other people’s invisible village.

February 1985, I am now 13 years of age.  No longer a virgin, smoking, swearing and living with my boyfriend, oh and lets not forget I am disassociated from the Jehovahs Witness.  School is back and how I made it to school is a little unclear.  But nevertheless, I somehow did.  Again, something that remained consistent during that time of my life.

It was a Tuesday night, quite specific I know.  For some reason, I had a fight with my then boyfriend and decided that I would go up town with his friends.  They were all male, and while I don’t remember all of them, I do remember one.

‘Kathy come back’ my boyfriend yelled out as I disappeared into the night and down the road with his friends.  I had only known them for a few days or weeks.

It would be the first time that I would be introduced to alcohol.  We sat on the town end of the old Katherine rail bridge.  It was obviously a meeting place of some sort, as I remember lots of people coming and going.  I had no idea what alcohol could do to your body.  I had only ever had a rare sip of beer or wine.  My mother and father never really drank alcohol, and on the rare occasion that they did, we were allowed a tiny slip, which we would screw up our face in disgust at the taste.

So here I was, a cask of wine, my body would have been very underweight, having spent the past few months homeless, so I would assume that it wouldn’t have taken very much before I was well underway to being intoxicated.

‘The cops are coming, the cops are coming’ someone yelled out.  I remember being dragged up and over the old Katherine railway Bridge.  My memory of this moment in time becomes blurred, as I trip and hit my head.  The lights that were by now dulled by alcohol, were completely out.

I woke up on some sort of couch or bed.  Looking around I become aware that I am in a small cabin.  A man speaks and says it’s okay, you’re okay now.  I start to panic though and ask to go home to my boyfriend.  The man says okay, I will take you.  We step out of the cabin and I have absolutely no idea where I am.  There didn’t appear to be anything around us, no houses, just this cabin in the middle of nowhere and a dirt track out.  As we start to walk out onto the dirt road, I start to realise that I am a very long way down the road on the other side of the Katherine River.  A very long way from where we had been drinking.  I wondered how I got there and wondered why I had no underpants.  And I was sore and bruised all over my body.

Nevertheless I asked the man to let me go as he seemed to have hold of my arm.

We continued to walk further down the dirt road and then out of nowhere he pushed me over onto the spear grass growing on the side of the road.  Speargrass grows to over 2 metres in the Northern Territory and is really really prickly.

The man precedes to tell me that he rescued me from 10 guys and it was now his turn.  

I’m not going to go into the details, as I don’t feel that it is required.  But you get the picture.  Yes raped.

When he is done, he gets up and lets me go.  I looked around at my surroundings as the moon was shining really brightly.  Somewhere in that moment, I had the foresight, that in the event that I needed to tell the police, I had a few landmarks and awareness of where I was.  I started my long walk back into town.

I am going to pause here for just a minute, as you can expect this moment in time is so challenging to talk about.  It is actually a place that I don’t consciously go back to, although there are times unconsciously, a smell, noise or any other type of trigger may send me back.  I remind myself that this is no longer happening to me!!………I can hear the sound of the Kookaburra starting their cackle, joined by other Kookaburras.  A spiritual metaphoric sound, like a beautiful choir.  Sitting in the trees, their beaks pointing to the sky as they let out the joy of their voices.  This spiritual bird is telling me that profound healing is taking place, not just for me but for other people hearing this who have or know someone impacted by rape.  I am right where I need to be, my purpose for telling my story. 

As I continue my walk down the dark dirt road, which seemed like hours, I finally arrive at the Stuart Highway, the main road that runs through the centre of Katherine.  I cross the main bridge, walking in the middle of the road, hoping that a huge road train would come in either direction and end it all.  This would be my second attempt of suicide.  But a road train didn’t come, the streets of the town were deathly quiet.  No cars, no people, just the silence of the early morning darkness.  

I walked down the street where my boyfriend stayed, opened the back door, found the room that he was in.  Everyone was asleep on the floor, including the guys that I had joined up with to drink at the old Railway bridge.

The following morning, I showered and borrowed my friend’s clothes.  She lived in the same house and off I went to school.

I sat with my group of friends and they asked what had happened to me.  My entire body, legs, arms and face were covered in bruises, cuts and scratches.  My only explanation was some white guy had grabbed me.

Later that afternoon I was called to the front office of the school, and there waiting for me were two police officers.  I remember being very  scared, as I knew that I was underaged to have been drinking alcohol.

But no it wasn’t about that at all.  I was taken to the Police Station and asked a whole bunch of questions.  One of my friends had told her mum about what had happened to me, and given that she was a health worker, reported the incident to the police.

I was then taken to the hospital and underwent a forensic medical examination.  A very degrading experience to say the least.

After the hospital, I was then taken back to the police station.  My entire body was photographed and then question after question which went on for about 8 hours.  There were massive blank spaces in trying to detail the entire previous night’s events, and the police were trying to link it all together.  From the moment I hit my head, and was dragged over the bridge, I couldn’t remember how I had ended up in that man’s cabin.

During questioning, I suggested that perhaps if I went back to the railway bridge and tried and retraced my steps that perhaps I would remember.  They agreed that this would be a good idea.

So with a handful of detectives, we arrived at the northern end of the old rail bridge.  I stepped down to try and walk across, only to discover that the length of the bridge was about 100m long and 23 metres below was the river, that the entire bridge could only be described as completely derelict.  Full of gaping holes, rotten sleepers and the only thing still intact was the iron of the railway tracks.  I remember looking at it, thinking, how did I ever cross that and not fall below.  Falling below would have been instant death.!!  And as I looked back to the detectives and moved myself away from the edge of the bridge, there was absolutely no way I could retrace those steps across the rail bridge.

We continued up the long dirt track to where I could remember the man, the cabin and the spot where he had thrown me into the speargrass.  They poked around in the speargrass with this little stick, asked me more questions and then I was back in the police car, back to the police station for more questioning.  At one stage, I remember seeing my father through a window at the Police Station and wondered why he was there.

Shortly after the police interrogation, I was in the temporary care of my friend’s mother.  Beautiful lady, who kindly allowed me to spend the next couple of nights in their home.  Somewhere, during these few days I was told that I was being sent to live with my Aunty and Uncle in Melbourne.  I had never met these people.  My Uncle was my fathers twin brother and all I really knew about them was that they were not Jehovah’s Witnesses.

The next challenge for me was spending a four hour drive from Katherine to Darwin, in the car with the family.  By now I am completely traumatised, the consequences of being in that mentally wicked tornado had taken its toll, not only on my physical body, but by now my mental health felt like it was non-existent.  I was numb to the world.

I don’t recall any of the flight from Darwin to Melbourne, but I do vaguely remember getting off the plane and being greeted by my Aunty and Uncle.  It was a freezing night, leaving the extreme humidity and heat of the Northern Territory to arrive at night in Melbourne in February 1985 was a huge shock.

My Uncle and Aunty lived just outside of Melbourne in a rural suburb called Langwarrin.  This is where I would spend the next 6 months living.

I took an instant liking to both my Aunty and Uncle and found it difficult to believe that my Uncle was the twin of my father.  They were both incredibly different in both looks and personality.

The first night in my new home, despite freezing outside, it was warm inside. I had my own bedroom, an electric blanket and an incredible feeling of safety.  The morning light, I was able to see that my new home was on acreage, with a huge horse dressage arena and 2 horses out in the paddock.  How lucky was I?  Horses were always something that I loved and would often dream of one day having my own horse.

My Aunty and Uncle had two children, both a lot older than me and were no longer living at home.  For me, it felt like I was an only child, far removed from being the eldest of 5 kids, in a noisy chaotic house and of course the mental tornado that had been my life for the past 6 months.  I was no longer moving from one park bench to another or different houses almost every night, to now somewhere that I felt safe, welcomed and accepted.

As an adult, I look back to this time and think how amazing that my Aunty and Uncle, together with both my cousins, had been critical characters in my invisible village during this time.  In that moment of bringing me into their home, their own children had left home, they had no idea who I was, we had never associated with any of my Fathers family and they definitely had no awareness of what the past 6 months had been like for me.  My cousin K, who at the time was living with her boyfriend would call me her little sister, something that was amazingly comforting and given that both horses were hers, she actually gave me one as a gift.

During the first few weeks of relocating, I was able to re-establish my relationship with my Aunty E in Perth and we wrote to each other at least a couple of times a month.  I would be so excited to receive her very, very long letters.  We would also talk on the phone, well I probably did a lot of listening, she was a talker.

I am not clear on how long I had been in Melbourne, perhaps only a week when there was THAT phone call.  I remember coming out from my bedroom, down the hallway to the kitchen, which is where the landline was situated.  My Aunty always sat on a stool, pen in hand, doodling on a pad when she spoke on the phone.

This time though, my Aunty was standing with her back to me and I could tell from the tone it was not a good phone conversation.  She hung up the phone, turned to me, her face looked like she was in complete shock.  I instantly was anxious, not knowing whether to stay or go.  She summoned me to stay.

Barely able to get the words out, my Aunty started to tell me that the results of the rape forensics had come in and the results indicated that I had been pack raped with 10 identifiable specimens.  I had also contracted Chlamydia and needed to go to the Dr immediately for treatment.

I hadn’t at that time, and for many many years after, any memory of that particular event amongst the other events of that night.  The mind has an amazing way to protect significant trauma.  It is actually called dissociative amnesia.  In later years, vague memories appear in most instances triggered by a smell or situation, however my dissociation from events mean that I see and feel as if I am watching a movie, a 3rd person.  

The days and weeks after receiving that phone call, I was seeing Dr’s and psychologists.  Again very vague recollections, however I do recall the Dr indicating that the length of time that I had been infected with Chlamydia, meant that it could impact on my future of having children and psychologists telling me how I would start behaving as a consequence of rape.

My Aunty and Uncle were now confronted with a lot more than they had been briefed from my parents.  In later years, they told me that upon the request from my parents to look after me, I was described as going through a rebellious stage and it would only be for a couple of months.  Now the situation was significantly more.  A 13 year old, severely traumatised, had been living on the streets for the past few months and now there was welfare, police, detectives, Dr’s, Psychologists and now an impending court hearing date to be held in Katherine.

My Aunty and Uncle could be described at the time as, middle income, both worked, beautiful rural home on acreage, horses, 2 cars and their own children who had left home successfully starting out in their chosen careers.  My Aunty had grown up in a protected home, with loving parents and one of four girls.  A close family that would have seemed to have been a healthy functioning family unit.  And then here I was!  It was far from what they had ever experienced and it would have been incredibly overwhelming.

I am not sure if my parents at the time, just could not communicate the severity of not only their situation as parents, the embarrassment would have been huge.  But to then also have to explain the significance of the situation that I was in, would have just been next level.  Or perhaps the mental tornado had just moved so hideously fast, that for anyone trying to keep up with events that unfolded over a 6 month period, was just impossible.  Nevertheless, my Aunty and Uncle would have been completely unprepared, inexperienced and overwhelmed.  

However through this period of time I only ever felt safe, welcomed and unbelievably supported.  There were many nights that my Aunty would spend hours talking with me, hugging me and wiping away my tears.

There is so much more to the next phase of this part of this story, which will be told in the next few episodes.  The mental tornado of chaos of the past six months, had definitely slowed pace and was losing momentum, however I was now entering into another storm, only this time the safety net of my invisible village was really emerging.

My Aunty and Uncle, along with my 2 cousins were and still to this day remain a significant part of my invisible village.  What would have happened to me if they hadn’t said yes to me staying with them?  What if they had immediately sent me back to my parents once they realised that I was not just a rebellious girl?  A lot of if’s.  They only showed me love, support and acceptance.  I will be forever grateful.

As I close out this episode, I can hear the Kookaburras starting their cackle as the light of the day starts to go down.  A familiar sound that again provides me confidence and comfort that I am ok to share my story with you.  My profound recognition that those who were in my invisible village at that time of my life were many diverse characters that I will never truly know all of who were there, but contributed in some part to my recovery.

I invite and welcome you into the next episode of my story.  

Raised by an Invisible Village.

Creating a safe and connected space for you and I ☺