Thursday, 24 September 2009

War on Women and Children by Maggie Tuttle

In 1943 I was born in Winston Green Prison Birmingham to a woman who called herself a mother. She was to me the wickedest woman on the planet; she was sentenced because she had gone to London heavily pregnant with me and left a two year old and three year old to look after themselves in the streets at the time my father was serving in the war. On her release from prison a judge order that I be kept at home with her to help stabilize her, my two sisters went into foster care.
So for 13 years I had to endure being beaten, starved, no education, locked for days in a room whilst she was out or away. I had no voice, and at the age of seven I jumped from the bedroom window so that I could end a terrible life; sadly at the time I lived. Who gave a damn and where were the do-gooders, and the judges?
I was just one of millions of children worldwide forced by governments to live a life that there are no words to describe to anyone, nor would anyone understand the plights of abused children, unless they have lived through the same situation.
It is a fact that apart from my two sisters in foster care, I have three other sisters buried in the Leicester cemetery and one child who she burnt in the garden.
She (I can never utter that word M as I never had a true M) left when I was 13 and since then my father who was a good man but totally influenced by her, and had been since the day he married her, suddenly gave me all the things a child should have food, care and love. But most of all he allowed me freedom of speech. Wow can you imagine I am allowed to say what I want at the age of 13?
So here we are, she has gone, and I then made a vow to myself, there will never be anyone in this world to ever rule me or my brain again. For this reason I have never once in my life taken drugs or alcohol. No man, women, politician or government will ever tell me what to do, not without an argument or after they have finished what they started out to do, which is to kill me via their system.
But tell me; has life for a child from my days changed for the better? NO, it has got worse, and still grandparents and dads have no rights, unless they can afford the courts, and in most cases they still get no rights.
Moving On
At the age of 17, I left Leicester and went to London, from where I studied music for two years. After two years I started travelling the world in show biz as a singer, and it was from here I got educated.
On my travels no matter where I was in the world, I was made aware of the childrens sufferings, maybe I kept seeing myself as a child, but my tears were there for them. You cannot go to university or sit in an office or a court and know of the torture of how children are abused and threatened that if they speak out to anyone about what is happening to them they will fear for their little lives, perhaps more beatings, sexual assaults, oh my God the pain.
I remember speaking to a lady who said she was abused by the system, locked in a room for days alone, and for a drink had to drink her own urine. She was age 5. And so it went on until she was able to run away.

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