Millicent

At the age of four,

I was taken away from my family and placed in Sister Kate's Home - Western

Australia where I was kept as a ward of the state until I was eighteen

years old. I was forbidden to see any of my family or know of their whereabouts.

Five of us D. children were all taken and placed in different institutions

in WA. The Protector of Aborigines and the Child Welfare Department in

their 'Almighty Wisdom' said we would have a better life and future brought

up as whitefellas away from our parents in a good religious environment.

All they contributed to our upbringing and future was an unrepairable

scar of loneliness, mistrust, hatred and bitterness. Fears that have been

with me all of life. The empty dark and lonely existence was so full of

many hurtful and unforgivable events, that I cannot escape from no matter

how hard I try. Being deprived of the most cherished and valuable thing

in life as an Aboriginal Child - love and family bonds. I would like to

tell my story of my life in Sister Kate's home - WA.

My name is Millicent

D. I was born at Wonthella WA in 1945. My parents were CD and MP, both

'half-caste' Aborigines. I was one of seven children, our family lived

in the sandhills at the back of the Geraldton Hospital. There was a lot

of families living there happy and harmonious. It was like we were all

part of one big happy family.

In 1949 the Protector

of Aborigines with the Native Welfare Department visited the sandhill

camps. All the families living there were to be moved to other campsites

or to the Moore River Aboriginal Settlement. Because my parents were fair

in complexion, the authorities decided us kids could pass as whitefellas.

I was four years old and that was the last time I was to see my parents

again. Because my sisters were older than me they were taken to the Government

receiving home at Mount Lawley. My brother Kevin was taken to the boys

home in Kenwick. Colin and I were taken to the Sister Kate's Home. We

were put in separate accommodation and hardly ever saw each other. I was

so afraid and unhappy and didn't understand what was happening.

We were told Sundays

was visiting day when parents and relatives came and spent the day. For

Colin and I that was a patch of lies because our family were not allowed

to visit. We spent each Sunday crying and comforting each other as we

waited for our family. Each time it was the same - no one came. That night

we would cry ourselves to sleep and wonder why. We were too young to understand

we were not allowed family visits.

A couple of years

passed and I started primary school.

It had been such

a long time since I had seen my brother Colin. I was so helpless and alone.

My brother had been taken away to the boys' home in Kenwick and now I

was by myself. I became more withdrawn and shy and lived in a little world

of my own hoping one day Mum would come and take me out of that dreadful

place. As the years passed I realised that I would never see my family

again.

They told me that

my family didn't care...

They told me that

my family didn't care or want me and I had to forget them. They said it

was very degrading to belong to an Aboriginal family and that I should

be ashamed of myself, I was inferior to whitefellas. They tried to make

us act like white kids but at the same time we had to give up our seat

for a whitefella because an Aboriginal never sits down when a white person

is present.

Then the religion

began. We had church three times a day, before breakfast, lunchtime and

after school. If we were naughty or got home from school late we had to

kneel at the altar for hours and polish all the floors and brass in the

church. We had religion rammed down our throats from hypocrites who didn't

know the meaning of the word. We used to get whipped with a wet ironing

cord and sometimes had to hold other children (naked) while they were

whipped, and if we didn't hold them we got another whipping. To wake us

up in the morning we were sprayed up the backside with an old fashioned

pump fly spray. If we complained we got more. Hurt and humiliation was

a part of our every day life and we had to learn to live with it. Several

more years passed and I still had no contact with my family, I didn't

know what they looked like or how I could ever find them. By this time

I was old enough to go to High School. This meant I didn't have to look

after several of the younger kids as I had previously done, bathing, feeding

and putting them on the potty and then off to bed, chopping wood before

school and housework which all of us kids done and the housemothers sat

back and collected wages - for doing nothing. My life was miserable, and

I felt I was a nobody and things couldn't get any worse. But I was wrong.

The worst was yet

to come.

While I was in first

year high school I was sent out to work on a farm as a domestic. I thought

it would be great to get away from the home for a while. At first it was.

I was made welcome and treated with kindness. The four shillings I was

payed went to the home. I wasn't allowed to keep it, I didn't care. I

was never payed for the work I did at Sister Kate's so you don't miss

what you didn't get, pocket money etc.

The first time I

was sent to the farm for only a few weeks and then back to school. In

the next holidays I had to go back. This time it was a terrifying experience,

the man of the house used to come into my room at night and force me to

have sex. I tried to fight him off but he was too strong.

When I returned to

the home I was feeling so used and unwanted. I went to the Matron and

told her what happened. She washed my mouth out with soap and boxed my

ears and told me that awful things would happen to me if I told any of

the other kids. I was so scared and wanted to die. When the next school

holidays came I begged not to be sent to that farm again. But they would

not listen and said I had to.

I ran away from the

home, I was going to try to find my family. It was impossible, I didn't

even know where to go. The only thing was to go back. I got a good belting

and had to kneel at the altar everyday after school for two weeks. Then

I had to go back to that farm to work. The anguish and humiliation of

being sent back was bad enough but the worse was yet to come.

This time I was raped,

bashed and slashed with a razor blade on both of my arms and legs because

I would not stop struggling and screaming. The farmer and one of his workers

raped me several times. I wanted to die, I wanted my mother to take me

home where I would be safe and wanted. Because I was bruised and in a

state of shock I didn't have to do any work but wasn't allowed to leave

the property.

When they returned

me to the home I once again went to the Matron. I got a belting with a

wet ironing cord, my mouth washed out with soap and put in a cottage by

myself away from everyone so I couldn't talk to the other girls. They

constantly told me that I was bad and a disgrace and if anyone knew it

would bring shame to Sister Kate's Home. They showed me no comfort which

I desperately needed. I became more and more distant from everyone and

tried to block everything out of my mind but couldn't. I ate rat poison

to try and kill myself but became very sick and vomited. This meant another

belting.

After several weeks

of being kept away from everyone I was examined by a doctor who told the

Matron I was pregnant. Another belting, they blamed me for everything

that had happened. I didn't care what happened to me anymore and kept

to myself. All I wanted now was to have my baby and get away as far as

I could and try and find my family.

My daughter was born

[in 1962] at King Edward Memorial Hospital. I was so happy, I had a beautiful

baby girl of my own who I could love and cherish and have with me always.

But my dreams were

soon crushed: the bastards took her from me and said she would be fostered

out until I was old enough to look after her. They said when I left Sister

Kate's I could have my baby back. I couldn't believe what was happening.

My baby was taken away from me just as I was from my mother.

My baby was taken

away from me just as I was from my mother.

Once again I approached

the Matron asking for the Address of my family and address of the foster

family who had my daughter. She said that it was Government Policy not

to give information about family and she could not help me. I then asked

again about my baby girl and was told she did not know her whereabouts.

In desperation I rang the King Edward Memorial Hospital. They said there

was no record of me ever giving birth or of my daughter Toni. Then I wrote

to the Native Welfare Department only to be told the same thing and that

there were no records of the D. family because all records were destroyed

by fire.

I now had no other

options but to find a job and somewhere to live. After working for a while

I left Western Australia and moved to Adelaide to try and get my life

together and put the past behind me. I was very alone, shy and not many

friends and would break down over the simplest thing. Every time I saw

a baby I used to wonder, could that by my little girl. I loved her and

so desperately wanted her back. So in 1972 I returned to Western Australia

and again searched for my family and child. I returned to see the Matron

from Sister Kate's. This time she told me that my daughter was dead and

it would be in my best interest to go back to South Australia and forget

about my past and my family. I so wanted to find them, heartbroken I wandered

the streets hoping for the impossible. I soon realized that I could come

face to face with a family member and wouldn't even know.

Defeated I finally

returned to Adelaide. In my heart I believed that one day everything would

be alright and I would be reunited with my family. My baby was dead. (That's

what I was told). I didn't even get to hold her, kiss her and had no photographs,

but her image would always be with me, and I would always love her. They

couldn't take that away from me.

Confidential submission

640, South Australia: WA woman removed in 1949. In January 1996, Millicent

received an enquiry from the South Australian welfare authorities. A woman

born in 1962 was searching for her birth mother. This was Toni, Millicent's

daughter. The two have since been reunited. Millicent's story appears

on page 115 of Bringing them home.

Last updated 2 December 2001.