Call Me Evil, Let Me Go: A mother’s struggle to save her children from a brutal religious cult. Sarah Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ bless you my darling and here are lots of sloppy kisses.

      Mum and Dad xxxxxxxxxxx

      I felt very mixed emotions when I received this letter. I was pleased Dad seemed to have forgiven me, but it made me realize that my life at Tadford was a done deal and that there would be no reprieve. It was a long time before it dawned on me that my parents had absolutely no need to hear explicit details about my sex life. Children don’t tell their parents what they get up to. It is totally inappropriate and unnecessary, and the pressure on me to confess all was, I came to believe, more about driving a wedge between us than setting any sort of record straight.

      Shortly after my problems with the hotpot I had another run-in with the teachers. I was supposed to go swimming in the town swimming baths, but my period, which had previously stopped for about a year – I’m not sure why – started again. I was in a lot of pain and absolutely didn’t want to swim. I felt too embarrassed to explain the real reason and instead just kept refusing to go. Siobhan Scott, who was with me in the corridor of the new school building, got very cross and eventually Heather Black was asked to come over. Even though she was quite a tall woman of substantial build, it seemed to me she did everything her much smaller husband told her to do.

      She was furious at my refusal and started to try to drag me to Black’s office, but I broke away and ran out of the school, my only thought being that I had to get away. It was totally impulsive. I had no specific place to go to or any sort of plan. Tears streamed down my face and even though I didn’t have any money on me, I stopped at the nearest bus stop hoping a bus might come that I could jump on to and escape. A woman was waiting for the bus and must have wondered what on earth was going on. Heather caught me before a bus arrived and marched me straight to the house where she and her husband lived. We went into Black’s study, where a number of important Church members, including Charlotte Snelling and Olivia Porter, were waiting.

      The room was dark and had a distinct smell of leather. There were two red leather sofas, a big brown leather chair and lots of books lining the walls. I was told to sit on one of the sofas and Siobhan sat next to me. I was then bombarded with accusations of how rebellious and terrible I was, and each person told me in turn that I had to do what I was told. The telling-off lasted about two hours, most of which I spent in tears. I finally confessed that I had my period and that was why I couldn’t swim. They all looked at me incredulously and started laughing. Black asked if that was all and hadn’t I ever heard of a Tampax? I thought it was an awful thing to say to a young teenage girl who had just arrived in a completely new place. I didn’t know how to reply or why a group of adults would want to gang up on a young person. So I just sat speechless, feeling a mind-numbing embarrassment that stayed with me for weeks. As did my hatred of Black and how wretched he made me feel.

      When they finally let me go, I went straight to Siobhan’s house, phoned my parents and pleaded with them once again to take me away. I was too inhibited to tell them about the Tampax incident and only spoke in general terms, saying yet again how much I hated the place. Not surprisingly they said I should stay and they would see me soon. I felt crushed and hurt. I had to do everything in my power to escape its grip. Quickly, before it was too late. I had never felt so alone, so unloved and so full of emotional pain. But no matter how loudly I shouted for help, no one, not even my parents, listened. Mum and Dad seemed united in taking the same hard line. There was no give and take. I couldn’t negotiate with them an inch. The bald reality was that I was imprisoned in a place I loathed. Was this what I deserved? Was I so awful? Yet even in the depths of my pain I managed to separate the knowledge that my parents wanted me from the fact that they couldn’t cope with a feisty teenager.

      When I put the phone down I thought, ‘I just can’t feel any worse’, and as the days went by I simply couldn’t settle. I felt desperate and scared. I had to escape, so a few days later I tried to run away again. I had no particular plan. All I could focus on was escaping. My parents had regularly sent me pocket money for toiletries and snacks, none of which I had been allowed to spend. When I counted it all up I realized I had £16. It was enough, I decided, to catch the bus at the end of the street and get away. I packed a small bag, slipped out of the house in the early afternoon and started walking down the street. A little old lady, a member of the Church, stopped me and started talking. It seemed rude not to listen and she chatted for so long that by the time we went our separate ways, I chickened out and went back.

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