Relinquished, Returned, Rejected - Softcover

Ashwin, Jackee

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1452531714 ISBN 13: 9781452531717

Publisher: BalboaPressAU, 2015

Synopsis

On Monday, October 28, 1974, author Jackee Ashwin was with heavy heart and belly, no money for a bus ride and a long walk across town with suitcase in hand. She was heading for her final checkup with the doctor, forty weeks pregnant, swollen ankles, swollen fingers, and a waddle of which any duck would be proud. It was the day her son came into the world, and it would prove to be one of the saddest of her life.

From the 1950s through the 1970s, thousands of newborn children in Australia were taken from their mothers simply because the women weren't married. The children were placed in other families, the women ridiculed and shamed. In Relinquished, Returned, Rejected, Ashwin tells her personal story of hiding the shame of her teenage pregnancy, the adoption, and the guilt that accompanied her throughout her life.

Spanning forty years-from the foothills of Ben Lomond in Tasmania, an island state of Australia, to Cairns, Far North Queensland-this memoir shares Ashwin's heartbreaking story of losing her son to adoption as part of the "stolen white generation" and the joys of holding him in her arms as a thirty-eight-year-old man. The years in between found her dealing with still birth, a marriage breakdown, and mental resilience.

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Relinquished, Returned, Rejected

By Jackee Ashwin

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Jackee Ashwin
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-3171-7

Contents

Dedication, vii, 
Preface, ix, 
Acknowledgements, xi, 
Part 1, 
Chapter 1 1955 - 197, 43, 
Chapter 2 The Pregnancy, 7, 
Chapter 3 The Following Years, 25, 
Chapter 4 Success, 37, 
Chapter 5 "Getting On With It", 44, 
Chapter 6 A New Beginning, 49, 
Chapter 7 Meeting a Soul Mate, 55, 
Chapter 8 Online Support Group, 61, 
Chapter 9 Arrival of Adoption Papers, 65, 
Part 2: Returned, 
Chapter 10 20 June 2012, 75, 
Chapter 11 Early Days, 81, 
Chapter 12 First Meeting, 86, 
Chapter 13 Day One, 93, 
Chapter 14 Day Three, 1974 Revisited, 98, 
Chapter 15 The Days Ahead, 102, 
Chapter 16 September to November 2012, 107, 
Chapter 17 My Son's Visit, 111, 
Chapter 18 2012 Christmas, 116, 
Chapter 19 Moving House January 2013, 120, 
Chapter 20 March 2013, 124, 
Chapter 21 Home, 130, 
Chapter 22 September - December 2013, 134, 
Chapter 23 Arrival of Grand Daughter, 138, 
Chapter 24 Early 2014, 141, 
Chapter 25 Sydney June 2014, 144, 
Part 3: Rejected, 
Chapter 26 Return Home, 153, 
Chapter 27 On the Road to Rejection, 158, 
Chapter 28 Moving Forward, 164, 
Chapter 29 Days of Decisions, 167, 
Chapter 30 Decision Made, 170, 
Chapter 31 The Parcel, 175, 
Chapter 32 Being an Adoptee, 180, 
Chapter 33 Twelve Months On, 196, 

CHAPTER 1

1955 - 1974

* * *

My life leading up to 1974 was not that of a young girl growing up in a normal loving family environment, quite the opposite. For reasons still unknown to me today in 2015, back in 1955 as a three week old baby girl, I "first" left home. I, along with my sister who was two at the time, were given to the neighbours who were living on the farm next door. Mum and Dad A took us under their wings, fed and clothed us along with their five daughters who were already in their late teens and early twenties.

My parents and two elder siblings were living on the next property situated in the foot hills of Ben Lomond, a popular snow-skiing attraction in the north of Tasmania.

Living long term with the non-biological family impacted greatly on my ability to have any kind of close relationship with my biological parents; it was always distanced and even awkward to some degree. The biological parental bond was never apparent. Looking back to those early years, it was as though I had two families, one side that were loving, kind and caring, the other I was somewhat distanced from. Leaving home so early meant I never "grew up" with any of my nine brothers and my other younger sister.

I do, however, consider myself lucky. My childhood was special and our second Mum and Dad A doted on both my sister and me. We were loved and always had beautiful home cooked meals. My "family" consisted of their daughters who, when they married and had their own children, would visit nearly every weekend. When their grandchildren came along, my sister and I felt like we were the "big" sisters and played endless games with them on the front lawn of their home. We were never known to this extended family as anything except Jack (me) and Bill (my sister). Our real names were very rarely spoken. I have no idea why this was so but that is just how it was. Coincidentally, if I caught up with any of that family today they would still call me Jackee.

Sadly, Dad A lost his sight in one eye due to a car accident. He was driving a Model T Ford and ran off the road. I was too young to remember the accident but he underwent surgery and the eye was removed and replaced with a glass replica. Over time, he lost sight in the remaining eye, meaning his days were downgraded from an active farmer to that of listening to the radio, and sitting for endless hours. As a young girl, my only chore was to escort him on a daily walk, and I became his eyes, telling him all I could see. I did this for many years; we would complete our three-mile return trek down the hill to see his sister, who lived at the back of a Bakery shop. After a cup of tea and a thick slice of warm bread straight from the oven, smothered in butter and jam, we would turn and head for home. He was a beautiful, gentle and caring soul; I still miss him dearly.

During these early years, I saw very little of my biological family because travel wasn't as accessible as it is today. Dad A had sold his car after the accident, and wherever we ventured, we walked. My sister and I relied on our biological family visiting us, which was fairly infrequently.

As I reached my early teens, my biological family had relocated from the farm and was living in the city. I was attending high school in the midlands. During these high school years, in the late 1960's and early 1970's, I absolutely loved school, had a thirst for learning and hardly missed a day. I played competitive sport and most lunch breaks would see me training for either the midlands softball or netball clashes with other high schools. I held records in various running races for a few years after I left school, and for three years in a row was the senior girl cross-country champion.

Each Saturday, during winter in 1971 and in my final year 1972, I travelled to the city, participating in the rostered inter-high school netball. I can still remember, during those mornings at the netball courts, both before and after the game, I would look back towards the city, because just over the hill, no more than three kilometres away, were all my siblings. I was so close and yet so far. They never ventured over that hill to see me or to watch me play sport.

At the end of school term during my high school days and able to travel alone, I would catch the bus to visit the home of my bio-family for a short while. I enjoyed the summer holidays immensely, games with brothers and swimming at our favourite spot for hours on end. Towards the end of the holidays, I would be back on the bus, home to a much quieter life. Mum and Dad A were well into their seventies by this stage and thinking back to that time, it was quite a lonely existence for me. I was mid-teens and living with an elderly couple. The two homes and the two lifestyles were so vastly different.

In 1970, my sister left school, left our midland home and moved to live and work in the city. I was number four in a family of thirteen now living on my own. At the time I didn't realise the impact this separation would have on me in years to come.

Scholastically I was very gifted and had a thirst for continual learning and I feel sure that because of the quiet evenings spent in the company of an elderly couple, I put more effort into study as there was very little to distract me. Mum and Dad A didn't have a television. The only noise in the house happened each Saturday night when I would tune the old white radio to a particular station. We would listen to old-time music and the announcers calling the gypsy tap, progressive barn dance, the waltz and many more.

Not growing up and bonding closely with siblings during my early childhood, still impacts on my life. I remain somewhat distanced from them and prefer solitude to family gatherings, a sad reality. I get homesick for my island home and the distinctiveness of the island, of seeing familiar things and friends, but not so much for family. Sad but true and when I do visit, I rarely visit all my family.

CHAPTER 2

THE PREGNANCY

* * *

During my final year at school, I was one of four students from our school who won a scholarship to attend college that focused more for those wanting to pursue management and office work as a career. The scholarship was for attendance during 1973, which required me to move from the country to the city. At the end of the final secondary school year in 1972, I left my solitude and country life to become a city girl, moved and returned to the bio family fold.

For eight months I lived with my biological family and attended college during the day. I found the distraction at night over bearing and needed to retreat to the bedroom to find peace and quiet to do any study. Being "home" was very different for me; suddenly I had to be part of the washing-up team and the ironing team, help with meals and household chores every Saturday. This had all been done for me when I was growing up. I missed Mum and Dad A, missed the quiet life and more. I very much missed being spoilt like an only child. I suddenly had to participate in a family setting. This phase of my life was very foreign to me, in addition to me learning how to be part of a large family. It meant that there were siblings a lot younger than me vying for attention.

However, all this "back to the fold" and family life changed in August 1973. My father decided it was time to move back to the country, stating the younger boys needed space to run and grow and they couldn't do that in a duplex house in inner city. He was finding being a brickies' labourer difficult, having arthritis in many bones throughout his body, as the work was very labour intensive. He secured a position easily and the family packed up and moved to a property owned by a Midland grazing family. My father went back to farming, something that was always in his blood, along with his fondness for wide open spaces. The property was positioned between two little townships in the midlands country, about twenty kilometres from where I had grown up. His reasoning also was the "boys" could follow in his footsteps as they left school. He was right, because one by one that is exactly what they did. This life suited them.

But, for me, how ironic was this? I was now in the city alone again, except for my eldest sister. Two peas back in a pod. My siblings had moved and were attending the same school I had recently left and where I had spent some very lonely times. I felt life was unjust and again felt deserted. Why couldn't this have happened years prior, even if I stayed with Mum and Dad A? At least I would have had some sort of relationship with my brothers and my other sister who was two-years behind me at school.

Unfortunately, this predicament meant my sister and I needed to find our own accommodation. She was working and I desperately wanted to complete my scholarship. Through the help of a close-family friend, we secured an apartment and we moved our meagre possessions into the empty kitchen. It was a three-roomed apartment and we shared a double bed. Thankfully it was furnished but, linen, towels and personal items needed to be purchased. Financially the situation was difficult and again without support from my parents. With the financial situation pretty grim, it quickly became evident that I had no other choice but to abandon my scholarship and find a job to boost my sister's pay-packet, assisting the two of us to survive in the city.

This was a hard option, but, with no foreseeable alternative and decision made, I set about finding work. I still remember very clearly the first two weeks in that apartment. We had very little money and each meal was bread and vegemite with no call from "home" to see if we were doing okay, it felt like we were the forgotten two again.

Luckily work was very easy to come by. In those days, you could choose to do anything you wanted and never any need for a written application. It came down to getting a little dressed up, walking into your chosen place, meeting the boss and walking out with instructions to "start Monday". My eldest sister had followed in my mother's footsteps and secured full time work at the local spinning mill so it was pretty much a given that I would too.

My first job was a spinning machine operator. This was very hard and very physical work with some heavy lifting. I was constantly on my feet leaving little time to sit down during the working day. I was taught how to spin wool, how not to catch my fingers in the spindles, was given a stanley knife to cut waste from the rollers and a little apron made of thick plastic with two big-pockets at the front. I was a working girl. Goodbye study, goodbye any chance of ever being a university student. Any thoughts of furthering my education went by the wayside. We had to survive in the city. Working for a living was so very different to our previous secure life and little home-town back in the midlands.

And so it was, a six am start one week and a two pm start the next. We would catch a "mill bus" on the six am start and then walk home, after punishing our bodies for eight hours. The next week we did the opposite, walk to work before being on our feet for eight hours and then, thankfully, catch the "mill bus" back to the flat.

I remember being so tired that, by each Friday shift, I found it was nearly impossible to place one foot in front of the other. My body ached and my feet were sore. The noise of the machines resonated like a deep hum, and if you chanced a moment to sit, it was very easy to nod off to the sound. A dangerous past-time while sitting in the aisle between spindles turning at thousands of revolutions per minute.

In 1974, my mother worked full-time shift work. The "mill", as it was known locally, employed hundreds of people throughout the north and was one of three textile mills that have since closed, adding to the list of industries that have now left the island.

While working shift work and driving into the city from the midlands each day, my mother kept house, fed, clothed and looked after the rest of the family. Her only help was my younger sister. My mother was a very determined soul, had very little patience and added to her burden was extra weight she carried after having thirteen children. Her word was law, and if smart enough, you never questioned that law. She ruled the house. My mother never seemed to enjoy socialising. The family never visited aunties and uncles. My siblings very rarely met with, or got to know, their cousins. They were like strangers to us. My father passed away in 2001, and after that time my mother worked tirelessly for all the returned services agencies in the northern midlands area.

My father was also a very hard working man, and being ex-military, expected every meal to be placed on the table for him. When mum worked, one of the "kids" would be responsible for the evening meal, then, a delegated team from the roster would step in and wash up and tidy the kitchen, and make lunches for the next day. This ritual went on for many years, and even though I spent very little time in the household, I cannot ever remember my father picking up a tea-towel or pitching in to lend a hand with household duties. It was an era where men ordered, women delivered and questions were not asked. Our role was to always make his life happy. Everything else could be going pear-shaped but, so long as he was happy then all was at peace with our world. In my opinion, he was quite a selfish man in many ways.

In my opinion, my father was not a loving person either. He was unable to express love in any way. He was a man's man and could be very violent, especially towards my mother and more so if alcohol was involved. Decisions he made were law, beg to differ and either he or mum, who would walk on water to help keep him happy, would reprimand you in no uncertain terms.

I cannot ever remember sitting on his knee, or ever hearing either parent saying to me, "I love you". I always thought, given the chance, dad's preference would have been for a life of solitude. He never seemed to enjoy the company of his children. I also believe that because there were so many children, he didn't like being out in public with his brood. His demeanor had developed during his own childhood, when he, his brothers and sisters, suffered at the hands of a very alcoholic father. Added to that was an army upbringing and growing up in a very remote area of the state and having very little access to the outside world.

In early 1974, I found out I was pregnant. I had been seeing a boy for a few months, and at the time it felt like love. I wasn't taking any contraception or precautions, and as a result I fell pregnant. After confirmation from my doctor, timidly I faced the consequences of informing my biological parents. I was looking for support because by this time Dad A had passed away and Mum A was in a nursing-home in the city. Their property had been sold and possessions divided between their five daughters. I had no other option.

Initially, I kept very quiet about my predicament until I was four months into the pregnancy. I was hesitant about approaching my biological parents until I really had no choice because my growing belly and morning-sickness at work made my condition very obvious, along with the fact I was never an overweight person and my tummy was expanding, making my condition very obvious.

So, at four months, the dilemma had to be faced. Because of my estranged upbringing, coupled with my fear of immediate, further rejection, speaking to my mother would not be simple. I still had deep seated emotions of not being wanted as a baby, and, that, for some reason, I was not wanted as part of the family. In addition to all of this, I felt like I was being a nuisance. Nerves were at all-time high.

Finally, the conversation with my mother took place at work. Mum's reaction was predictable. Words that nipped were forthcoming, querying why it had happened, wanting to know who the father was, reprimanding me for not being more careful, adding that we were always going to end up 'no good'. And so it went on, until finally the hurtful words that were uttered stating my baby would have to be adopted out. Neither parent had a kind word to voice about the baby's father, neither of them had warmed to him at all. For all intent and purposes this baby would be "just like its father!"

My mother's reasoning for the adoption was clearly stated, having a baby would ruin my life, and even worse, I was incapable of offering the baby a proper upbringing, thereby ruining its life also. Added to these words was the question of who was going to marry me with a kid in tow, stating no respectable man would even look my way. My mother voicing those words truly hurt me to my very core, but, who was I to argue. If she didn't love me before she certainly didn't love me then! To me her lack of love was obvious, especially since I had been given away as a baby to the neighbours, complete strangers, who then raised, fed and clothed me and my sister without one penny of support from my parents and even more so leaving me to basically grow and mature as a single child. Slam went the door of hope, only to be opened immediately by the guilt and shame door, the one that beset a teenage pregnancy in that era. The long standing guilt stayed with me until 2012.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Relinquished, Returned, Rejected by Jackee Ashwin. Copyright © 2015 Jackee Ashwin. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: BalboaPressAU
• Publication date: 2015
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1452531714
• ISBN 13: 9781452531717
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 212