Never a Hero to Me (22 page)

It was like being back in the Army base in some ways as each school was similar to a little village. There were playing fields and a netball court, there was a dining room and assembly hall, there was a swimming pool, a sick bay and lots of classrooms. Every place holds its own memories for me – but all of them are good. The discipline and restrictions of boarding school life held no horrors for me, for I had a freedom within those rules I had never had before, a freedom from being nothing more than a plaything for my sick father. What did it matter to me that I had homework and exams? I soon found out that I had a brain. What did it matter that I wasn’t allowed out except under strict directions and promises? I was safe in school and on school grounds, so didn’t particularly want to go anywhere else.

Each of the houses had a matron of their own, and the girls used to say they were worse than mothers. This, again, was alien to me – my mum hadn’t exactly been the traditional type, and what I really wanted was what these matrons wanted to provide, namely safety and security. There were times when I ‘talked the talk’ with the other girls who liked to moan about the restrictions placed on them, but, to be honest, I loved the way in which I was looked after. I had no inclination to run about with boys or have sex on the sly, I just wanted to keep away from my dad.

My matron was called Frau Schneider, a small, rather plump woman, with the voice of a docker! When she shouted, everybody listened, but she also had a true kindness to her. She used to breed and show Hungarian Puli dogs, the fancy types whose fur grows like dreadlocks. Everyone loved her and her dogs. Frau Schneider had ten of them, and she would regale us with tales of their adventures and characters as well as keeping two at the school. One of them, Kaiser, was enormous, a black Puli with huge hanging dreadlocks all over his legs and tail. I don’t remember why, but one day, some girls, including me, decided we’d try and brush those dreads out. That was a disaster – Frau Schneider had spent a fortune on Kaiser, and was very proud of his looks, with the ‘dreads’ being a very distinct look for the breed. She went ballistic when she found we had turned him to frizz, but never found out who was responsible. The tuck shop visit that day was suspended for all girls in my house – if you ever read this, Frau Schneider, my apologies . . . but Kaiser did seem to enjoy the attention!

Dorms usually held four to six girls – there were four in mine, including myself – and they were pretty spacious. Ours had two metal-framed bunk beds and a wardrobe sectioned into four spaces. Each girl had her own chest of drawers. There was a desk to share and a lockable cupboard each. The cupboard was for the things we thought were most important to us – and that usually meant food, so they tended to be full of coffee, sugar, biscuits and sweets. I kept my cigarettes there too. The windows were framed by heavy curtains and there was an overall feeling of everything necessary being provided, with no luxuries. It was better than anything I’d ever had.

If dorms were messy or beds unmade, the house matron would strip the beds and empty the drawers into the middle of the floor. Each house also had a housemistress and a house prefect; the housemistress was usually a teacher and the prefect was a sixth-former. As well as these, each floor had its own monitor, so there were plenty of people to keep us in check. Every new boarder was matched up with a senior girl for a week or two until they got used to the place. They showed you where to go – gym, dinner hall, classrooms, assembly – and made sure you knew all the rules and regulations. I guess, in some ways, it was like a children’s version of the Army and, because of that, I fitted in quite well.

Just as it had been at all of the Army schools, we were taught in English not German – German language was an option though and, even now, I’m quite fluent. Every morning we would have a roll call. All of us lined up outside our dorm and names were called out. This was to ensure none of us had run away during the night – that never happened that I knew of, although there were plenty of late-night excursions the staff were unaware of. They did try to keep tabs on us and sometimes there would be roll call in the wee small hours if they suspected something. However, while there were plenty of girls who knew just how to sneak out to the boys’ school, they always seemed to know when a middle-of-the-night roll call was being mooted, so avoided those times. They were communication and spying experts the Army would have been proud of – maybe it was in their genes!

After roll call, mail was handed out. Needless to say, I never received any but always hoped Mum would write one day. She never did. Our pocket money, usually ten Deutschmarks, would come from the matron but sometimes a girl might get extra from her parents when opening her mail.

The other three girls in my dorm were very different from each other, and they were all there for very different reasons to me as well. I remember them so well, as they were the first close group I had ever belonged to. I recall the way they dressed, the things they liked, the passions they had, clearer than my own, because they were just normal girls going through their teenage years with no baggage.

Jodie was the daughter of an RSM (a Regimental Sergeant Major). The official reason for her being there was that there was no school where she lived. I always suspected her parents didn’t know quite what to do with her and were delighted to get a rest. Jodie was the outrageous one. She was sporty and loud, she joked a lot and was always up for a laugh. She was constantly getting caught smoking and the teachers frequently disciplined her for swearing, which would put most of her father’s Army colleagues to shame. Jodie was very boyish, she had short hair and preferred trousers, mostly opting for ‘skinners’. She would often wear Doc Marten boots and was the least interested in looking girlish. One of the other girls in the dorm used to say she brought shame on our room because of the way she dressed, and she was only half-joking. Her words, however, seemed to make Jodie even more determined to keep to her own fashion style.

Kate was at boarding school because her parents were on a posting to Singapore. She was the tallest of our group. She had long black hair and freckles all over her face (which she hated). Kate was also very sporty and participated in all the after-school sports, being especially good at hockey and netball. She was a sensible dresser who had a penchant for long flared skirts and a twinset, clothes which were very grown-up really but suited her mature character. She was the mother figure in our group as she constantly worried about the other girls, especially if there was any bullying. She was concerned about every other girl, not just those of us in our dorm. On one occasion, a new pupil was being bullied by someone from another house completely. It was Kate who warned the older girl that she would have to deal with all of us if the bullying continued. She seemed to have a radar for it. Although I never saw her being bullied herself, she often alluded to being the victim of it when she was much younger, and I guess that’s what made her such a fighter for other younger, weaker pupils who were at the mercy of the established thugs who ruin any school. Kate had brought a small record player with her, which was a delight for all of us. It was the mid 1970s, and music seemed as important to teenagers as breathing – perhaps fewer things have changed than we realise.

Amy was a pretty girl of slight build with dark-brown hair cut into pageboy style. She was the eldest in our room and very popular throughout the school. Amy was an only child, quite a flirtatious girl, fun-loving and daring, yet also sensible, never overstepping the mark. Her father was high-ranking in the Army and the family was always on the move. At the odd school disco she would keep the boys interested, dancing and flirting with them during the evening, but she never left with anyone in all the time I knew her. Amy had very particular clothes preferences. She’d never be seen in jeans other than Levi’s, and she loved pretty flowery blouses.

The atmosphere in the dorm was a happy, relaxed one – even when Frau Schneider was on the warpath, we all pulled together and had a laugh. We would spend hours talking about music, playing draughts and Twister. The latter was our favourite board game of all, even if it did usually result in a ticking off from Matron because of the hilarity it caused as we mangled ourselves into ever more contorted shapes.

These were new and welcome experiences for me. I had friends who knew nothing of my history – at that point. I had food and clean clothes and safety. The only thing I found uncomfortable to begin with was the constant chattering about boys. How could I, at that age and with my background, fall into the easy gossiping of my new friends? For them, falling in love was something which hinted promise and excitement. Sex would come eventually and it would be part of the natural order, at the right time and in the right context. I managed to join in with the breathless wondering about which boys were good-looking and what they would be like as boyfriends, but there was always a part of me which wondered what Kate, Jodie and Amy would think if I told them the truth. It played on my mind a lot during those early days – what would they call me if they knew I’d already had sex? What would they really feel about me if they knew I had let my dad do all those things to me? Would they still be my friends, or would they turn into enemies, calling me names and making me feel so much less than them?

I kept it all to myself, but that would change.

For the time being, this was my new life and I revelled in it.

This four-year period was an island of peace and security in my young life. After a while, I would wake up in the morning without my stomach in knots; I was finally allowing myself to believe I was going to be allowed to stay and I could look to the future. My parents didn’t keep in touch and never visited. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t hurt because there was always a small, unrealistic, part of me which hoped they would change – that, one day, Dad would turn up in floods of tears to apologise for everything he’d done to me over the years and come up with some miraculous excuse for the abuse. This excuse was one which, no matter how hard I tried, I could never think of, which isn’t surprising – how could you ever excuse what he did? In my daydreams, it would all be sorted. I would forget the pain and the horror, and he would turn into the dad I’d always wanted. In this Disney version of my life, my mum was also part of the turnaround. She’d roll up to school, draw me into her arms and hug me as we both marvelled at our love for each other.

Fat chance.

They never even wrote.

The upside was that, without Dad poisoning my life and Mum withholding all love, I had the chance to make a new world for myself. Amy, Jodie and Kate were the members of my new family. It was my chance to be young – at last. On one occasion, we were lying back on pillows from our beds in the dorm. Flicking through magazines Kate had been sent, I saw a picture which made me drool with jealously. In it, the model had extraordinarily huge Afro hair, the style which was becoming so fashionable, no matter the race or genetic make-up of the wearer. In fact, during that time, there was an explosion of the hairdo, which paid no heed at all to the appropriateness of who was sporting it – strange times!

As we sat there looking at the glossy pictures, I couldn’t help but say, ‘I wish my hair was like that.’ The words were hardly out of my mouth before Jodie shot back, ‘Get the perming stuff, Tracy, and I’ll do it for you.’ The plans were made immediately. Jodie, of course, had absolutely no hair-dressing experience, but we all got carried away, and that little detail seemed unimportant. The next time we went into town, I collected everything from the local chemist. Weeks of planning were now going to come to fruition and all I could think of was the wonderful new hair I would be sporting.

We all rushed back to the dorm with the paper bag full of hairdressing requirements. Amy and Kate sat down to watch, while Jodie waltzed around like Vidal Sassoon. I sat there with a towel around my shoulders while she fumbled around with the perming lotion – which I thought would strip the nose lining from all of us before the afternoon was over – and squirted it all over my head. The curlers were wound tightly around my hair and the lotion was dripping from them. I could feel it burning and my eyes wouldn’t stop streaming. However, youthful optimism was stronger than the evidence, and we all looked forward to my marvellous new Afro.

To be fair, when the curlers and papers were taken out, it wasn’t too bad. Our excitement over having had something to plan and execute – and the relief that I wasn’t bald – made me think I looked fantastic. Maybe I did – for about two days. As time went on, my hair got fluffier and fluffier. If it got wet in the shower or a few raindrops hit it, it seemed to expand in seconds. By the end of a week, I looked like a maniacal lion. My hair was about ten times the size it should have been, and it seemed to need shearing rather than hair products. Which is exactly what happened – after many comments from the other girls and lots of ‘suggestions’ from Frau Schneider, I traipsed to the town hairdresser, only two weeks after I had gloried in my gorgeous Afro. It was all sheared off and I went back to normal hair. I was rather relieved actually.

As I was gaining more confidence in my new life, my past was something I tried not to think about. It wasn’t that I had forgotten those awful years since I was five – how could I ever forget that? – but I was trying to forget to remember, if that makes sense. Every time a feeling or a thought popped up, I would try my best to squash it back down. I didn’t
want
to think, I didn’t
want
to remember. What I really needed was to become as ordinary as possible and, although the very thought terrified me, that involved being interested in boys.

I looked on it as playing a part in a school play. I would just have to
act
a different Tracy. Jodie was the one who was really keen on getting me to join in her excursions to the boys’ school, but I preferred it when Amy was involved – when she ventured out on expeditions to the other school, she realised it was only for fun and no other reason. Some girls, including Jodie, would drink bottles of beer or Apfelkorn before venturing out; on these occasions, Amy made sure she didn’t go with her and I liked the sense she brought to the trips. Alongside some other girls from a different house, we would sneak out and go across enemy lines. All we would do when we got there was sit and smoke, having a chat, usually about music and school – but each time it felt as if I was taking my life in my hands. What would have happened if we had got caught? Some of the other girls were found out, and they had their privileges suspended for a week or more. To me, the worse thing was that their parents were told too. I would break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it – I needed to create an ordinary, normal version of myself, but if teachers knew I had been visiting boys, would they tell my parents? Would they tell the CO who had done so much to help me? This was what really scared me. If CO Stewart heard such tales, what would he think? I thought I knew – I was sure it would make him rue the day he had believed me; he would think I was a liar, a slut who chased after boys, a manipulative girl who didn’t deserve to be at boarding school.