Bringing-Them-Home-Report-Web

and how we washed the missionaries’ laundry. Every Sunday evening we had tosoak the missionaries’ laundry. Every Monday morning we washed clothes by handsor scrubbing board. We then had to rinse and put it into the big boilers. Then rinsed,then starched, then rinsed, then squeezed and hung out to dry. We had to iron all theclothes, plus mending and darning.We made our own clothes for the girls and the boys that were in the dormitory. Wenever was given footwear, only when and if we were making our first communion,confirmation or crowning of Our Lady. It felt real good to wear shoes and nicedresses for only an hour or so.We were treated like animals when it came to lollies. We had to dive in the dirt whenlollies were thrown to us. The lollies went straight into our mouths from the dirt. Wehad to, if it was birthday or feast day of the missionaries, wish them a happy day,take our lollies and run, knowing what could happen. We had to sometimes kiss themissionaries on the lips, or touch their penises. I remember clearly on one occasion, Iwas told to put my hands down his pants to get my lolly.The nuns taught us that our private parts were forbidden to touch. If we were caughtwashing our private parts, we would get into trouble from the nuns. I grew upknowing that our private parts were evil, yet missionaries could touch us when theyfelt like it. That is why when I grew up that I automatically thought when a manwanted sex that I had to give it to him, because that’s what, y’know. Sometimes I hadsex not for pleasure, but just to please the man.Even at the dormitory, when we used to complain to the nuns about what thebrothers and the priests had done to us, we were told to shut our mouths. That’s whythey used to always tell me I’m a troublemaker. Those same priests, they’re still alive,they’re still working down south. Even the nuns are still here in Broome; there’s acouple of them still there.It never happened to me, but I remember the priest … used to just walk into thedormitory and pick any girl out of the crowd, ‘You, come with me’, and take them.And I noticed, when those girls used to come back they were very upset. I can’t saywhat really happened there, but ‘til this very day, those people don’t go to church.The thing that hurt me the most while growing up is that we were pulled away fromour sisters and brothers. My sister’s a year younger than I, yet I could not hold her,cry with her, play with her, sleep with her, comfort her when someone hit her, and eatwith her. We weren’t allowed to be close to our sisters or brothers. The missionariespulled and kept us apart.I was taken out of school when I was only 15 years of age by the nuns and placedwith the working girls. I had no further education. To leave the mission I had to havetwo people to sort of say they’d look after me. [Carol lived with an aunt and workedas a domestic for a family in Broome.] I remember being reminded many times aboutbeing sent back to Beagle Bay if I did not do my work properly or not listening to thethem. I did not want to go back there, so I had no choice but to listen. This is one ofmany times I felt trapped. I was treated like a slave, always being ordered to do thisor do that, serving visitors and being polite to them.[At 19, Carol gave birth to a son.] I had no-one to guide me through life, no-one to tell