Connie McGargle

When I was about to turn 5 we moved to Cherry Hill, New Jersey.  There is this image of long green patches, & quiet streets with few cars so kids can play on it.  This was a sweet community.  This was quintessential suburbia.  {Before it received it's bad reputation}.
 It was great during the summer, running through the backyards of the houses, playing tag, kick the can or hide and seek.   {I know that for the British, our American yards are very strange, we had no fencing to divide our neighbours houses from ours}.  There might have been a few flower features but these are kept to small patches at the front of the house.  So it was endless lawns of 4" high grass.   The other odd thing, is that we didn't run through wash lines.  I don't remember ever seeing a wash hanging on a line in Cherry Hill.  We certainly had enough good weather in the summer months for sheets to dry.  I guess we were all so modern in the US and had the dual set washer dryer.

{This fact, that I had no childhood experience of wash lines, made it quite bizarre when, in years to come, I would spend my married life, raising my children in Scotland.  When my twins were born, I was desperate for a clothes dryer.  My mother-in-law said she would send up a wash line.  I thought this was ridiculous!  It wasn't as if we lived in the reasonably drier part of Scotland!   To my mind, I would be putting wash out, only to run out and retrieve it before it was soaked by rain!  I had four children under the age of 4, how would that work exactly?}

But the best part of our life in Cherry Hill, was the community swimming pool was right at the end of our back yard!  I didn't even have to be old enough to cross the road to get there!   At that time, I could spend all day in the water pretending to be a Dolphin or a Mermaid!   Occasionally pretending to have a Tea Party at the bottom of the pool.  These are all good memories.
At this stage in my life, and in this house, my grandparents, George R & Gertrude used to drive up and visit us.  I always knew it was a special Saturday when I could smell Granfaddies coffee and Hot Cakes.  To this day I love the smell of coffee.   It reminds me of sitting in the company of someone who loves me.  Who thinks I am worth the time to talk to, has time to teach me how to shuffle cards.  


So there is this wonderful bond here for me to my father's parents.  My Granny would come up to watch us,  but mostly me as my brother & sister were in school.  I was only in Kindergarten.  My Granny was so unlike my mother.  She would play with me, she would hold me, if I need a cry over a bee sting.  She was the warmth and the unconditional love that wasn't present in any of my relationships within my home.


Again, there is loads of good here! 


 Now,  the sadder part of this story.  


I made a friend.   A friend I would love to apologize too.   Read on, and you too will understand.


I made and instant friend with a little girl of my age in the neighborhood, her name was Patricia.  I would go over to her house after my brother & sister left for school.  We would watch some cartoon on the TV.  I remember, like me, Patricia was often watched by her Grandmother.   She would often sit in the room with us, she never said too much, but was there for us.   I also remember, with great fondness of the time I spent within Patricia's house.  There was a warmth and a familial love, that wasn't present in mine.


Then,  my Granny sat me down and told me I could no longer play with Patricia.  My Granny, marched me over to Patricia's door,  made me knock on it and call her out.  I had to tell her I could no longer play with her.  I never really understood why I had to do this.  I wish with all my heart, my Granny hadn't done this.
It was a rotten thing to do, and that lovely little girl deserved so much better from us!

This then threw me in the path of Connie McGargle.  Connie lived 3 houses down from Patricia.   My Grandparents had no qualms with my playing there.   I guess they were the same social-economic group!  But. there were some very dark and serious problems within this household.  My little friend Connie had these deep red scars on her left shoulder.  She showed me, they went all around her shoulder joint.   The story was, that her brother had pushed her through the glass door at the back of the house.  She had nearly lost that arm.

 I had my first sleep over at Connie's house.  I remember we were in our pajamas, we were up late as it was dark outside & we were giggling about something.  Connie's brother came in, shouting about something.  He tore down the blankets, pulled up Connie's nightshirt and started to hail punches down upon her.  I remember this, and then I am watching the scene from above.  There are two things;- one I am mad with myself for never standing up for Connie, I wish I had known how to defend her!  The other, is the explanation of why I hate sleeping in strange places!   I think I was so frightened that I had inadvertently astral projected.

What I learned at that house, was that the oppression and subjugation of women by men is completed by acceptance and passed down.   If I really focus on the image of Connie's mother, she was beautiful, attractive I don't remember her being drunk, but there was always beer bottles around.  The house was clean, but I remember cutting my foot on broken glass inside the lounge.  I also knew that Connie's father beat her mother, I guess that was why no one ever thought to defend Connie from her brother.

I don't remember much after turning 7 years old.  I had a different teacher in school that year and made a friend who would be my best friend until well after I moved to the Naval Base in Bethesda.

Not that long ago, I was working with a Healer on my issues.  At that time, I had started writing my journey.  My very personal experience with abuse.  It brought much deep and unsettled pain to the surface.  During this one particular session, the Healer said, there is a woman in spirit around you.   And I asked, is it Connie McGargle?   To me,  I am not even sure why that name would come to me.  It has been decades since I lived in America, I hadn't spoken about her to anyone.  She said yes.   I took this knowledge and opportunity to apologize for not being strong enough to defend her.

When I think of my journey.  How hard it has been for me, being brought up in a house were Mental/Emotional abuse was used to control and dominate its members  and again, the focus is the Husband dominating and controlling the wife and therefore the children.  I wondered, did Connie ever escape?  Did she learn that love is nothing like the experience she had in her home?  I know the answer now.  Perhaps she came near me that day to encourage me to write this story and my story.

Writing my experience seemed a bit pointless.  I wondered, why was I writing this?  Why go over all this bad stuff?   Having to write it meant it was bringing up old memories that I have well buried under pounds of physical weight, and held down through heavy mental gates.  I mean, in my childhood, there are some beautiful days of innocent childhood play!  I must hold those memories dear.  But what good is writing all this?   I am not writing to make a Top Seller, or information to help someone make their first million?  So I had all these doubt's about it.  Then a friend said, how she loved to read real life stories of human spirit's triumph over adversity.  We all suffer that is true.   No one escapes it.   It is to be expected, like taxes!  What I am learning now, is that within this pain, and sometimes inexplicable situations, there are gifts.

That may be really hard to see, even right this moment as I write about Connie and really see it through my adult eyes, I am crying for her.

I always thought this story was about how my Grandparents Racism put me in a situation to be exposed to serious brutal abuse.  Now I think, I have to tell this story.  I have to make sure Connie didn't suffer for no reason.

So to Patricia, I am so deeply sorry that my Grandparents wouldn't allow us to play together.  I loved you, I loved being in your home, which your family opened so generously to me.  Even though my skin colour didn't match yours.  It never stopped You or your family from accepting me!

To Connie, thank you for sharing your Cheese Doodles and Barbies.   May you be surrounded by Angels,  may you know no pain and may your soul be at peace.  If there is more to say on your behalf, guide me.