This is a truly harrowing tale, written in the first person by a
woman born out of wedlock to live her childhood as an orphan, abused,
unloved.
Ann Thompson was born in Christchurch in 1941 to a 16-year-old mother who placed her baby in a Catholic orphanage.
What follows is a sadly familiar tale of cruelty, neglect, torment and tears – all triggered by the abuse of nuns there to care for her.
Most of these tales of abuse come from overseas homes.
This one comes from Christchurch, from Nazareth House, run by the Good Shepherd sisters to provide a home for girl children in need of care.
And it rings true.
We have no cause to doubt the words of Ann Thompson, today in her late 60s, still haunted by the abuse of her childhood.
Not all the nuns were cruel. Some she loved. Two flank her as she stands with her young husband on their wedding day, the festivities organised by the nuns in lieu of the family she did not have.
But the good nuns did not make up for the bad ones and they were unable to stop the abuse she suffered, unable to ensure she went to school, continued her education, as she found herself cooking meals and doing institutional laundry from the age of 13.
There are shades of the Magdalene laundry here and shades of all the intimidation and terror that can come in hierarchical structures when nobody says no, when common sense, courtesy and compassion go out the door.
Some of the abusers were lay women co-opted into the caregiving role but most were nuns, and it saddens me to write this because the word nun and the nuns I have known I hold in high esteem.
There are good Good Sheps, too, but some of those of whom Thompson writes, those who terrorised her through the 1950s, were not.
This is not a professionally written story and were it so we'd think some sharp editing would have improved the flow.
The epilogue, written by Catholic priest Father Thomas Doyle, a canonical lawyer who has helped Ann and others of her era get claims settled, adds a great deal to the tale. But Thompson says until someone accepts responsibility for what happened to her, until those nuns or a representative of that order expresses contrition, says sincerely, sorry, she is unable to put it behind her.
Her life was blighted by those who should have cared for her.
Is it enough to say that was yesterday, a different world, another time, people got away with a lot then, accountability's a very new word?
Is it though?
REVIEWED BY PAT VELTKAMP SMITH
The Southland Times
Ann Thompson was born in Christchurch in 1941 to a 16-year-old mother who placed her baby in a Catholic orphanage.
What follows is a sadly familiar tale of cruelty, neglect, torment and tears – all triggered by the abuse of nuns there to care for her.
Most of these tales of abuse come from overseas homes.
This one comes from Christchurch, from Nazareth House, run by the Good Shepherd sisters to provide a home for girl children in need of care.
And it rings true.
We have no cause to doubt the words of Ann Thompson, today in her late 60s, still haunted by the abuse of her childhood.
Not all the nuns were cruel. Some she loved. Two flank her as she stands with her young husband on their wedding day, the festivities organised by the nuns in lieu of the family she did not have.
But the good nuns did not make up for the bad ones and they were unable to stop the abuse she suffered, unable to ensure she went to school, continued her education, as she found herself cooking meals and doing institutional laundry from the age of 13.
There are shades of the Magdalene laundry here and shades of all the intimidation and terror that can come in hierarchical structures when nobody says no, when common sense, courtesy and compassion go out the door.
Some of the abusers were lay women co-opted into the caregiving role but most were nuns, and it saddens me to write this because the word nun and the nuns I have known I hold in high esteem.
There are good Good Sheps, too, but some of those of whom Thompson writes, those who terrorised her through the 1950s, were not.
This is not a professionally written story and were it so we'd think some sharp editing would have improved the flow.
The epilogue, written by Catholic priest Father Thomas Doyle, a canonical lawyer who has helped Ann and others of her era get claims settled, adds a great deal to the tale. But Thompson says until someone accepts responsibility for what happened to her, until those nuns or a representative of that order expresses contrition, says sincerely, sorry, she is unable to put it behind her.
Her life was blighted by those who should have cared for her.
Is it enough to say that was yesterday, a different world, another time, people got away with a lot then, accountability's a very new word?
Is it though?
REVIEWED BY PAT VELTKAMP SMITH
The Southland Times