Unanswered Questions

By Pamela Livingston

An empire demolished, a family destroyed, from the memories of one of five siblings. She was eleven before she even remembers knowing whom her grandparents were. It took until her adulthood before she realized their wealth and power in the community. The very people who swore to serve and protect turned a blind eye to her and her sublimes when they needed them most. Was this because of the money that her grandparents had or where they stood in the community? As a child, she watched her family slowly being destroyed and her grandparents empire brought down. One man could and would control her even past adulthood. To this day she still does not know how she could love someone and be afraid of that person at the same.. Her Mother searched her whole live for love but found only men who wanted her parents money and someone to take care of them. Alcohol took her from her children and left them dependent on the one person she feared most. Leaving her Mother on Christmas Eve and being taken to the lover of her Mothers husband. That woman soon became the Mother she did not have to be. Teaching her all the things that her mother never had time to. Losing that woman thirty-five years almost to the day I she met her, would prove very hard to overcome. Finding out in her late forties of an uncle who was her birth fathers twin and an aunt she had never known about.

Though she has never married she borne two children now in their early thirties. The oldest one broke her heart with the abuse of his daughter and the eventual adoption of her. The cycle of abuse and adoption had gone full circle. Her mother was adopted and now her granddaughter. She has drawn many simple pictures of every home she remembers starting at age four. She recalls every town or city that she lived in and some of the people who made a mark on my life.

As you can expect, not everyone is pleased about this book being published. Some family members who were not present for many years feel that this story should remain untold. This was an undertaking that started while she was in grade eight, and she believes there was a reason she started it way back then.. This is something she did for her. She hopes that in her telling her story that she can help others. Anyone that has experienced abuse in the past should seek help in dealing with the feelings that remain. As well, anyone dealing with it now should ask for help no matter how young or old you are or how afraid you are. If they do not listen, yell louder. Stop the cycle of abuse!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462815159

Pamela Livingston

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Copyright © 2010 by Pamela Livingston.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Unpublished as of May 2010

Property of Pamela Livingston

Woodstock Ontario Canada N4S 2J3

Cover design by Pamela Livingston

Pictures drawn by Pamela Livingston

First copy printed by Woodstock Print & Litho in Woodstock, Ontario

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

84027

Contents

Overview

Acknowledgments

A Note From The Author

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

About The Author

Bibliography

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DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my Step Mother, Pauline Zagorodny for being the Mother she did not have to be. To Jim and Carol and the kids, I want to thank them for always being there for me. To my grand daughter even though she may never know about me. May the cycle of abuse that has followed the women in this family end with you. May you life be full of love, joy and peace, until we meet again, your Grandmother loves you and misses you.

OVERVIEW

This book is written as if the author is talking personally to the reader. Most of this story focuses on the mental state and the use of alcohol by an adopted child of a prominent family of the Oxford County community. A woman who when she found her biological mother was told to go away and then searched until her death for love, finding nothing more then men, who wanted her for what her parents could give them. Finding comfort in alcohol was her only escape, leaving her children to vend for them selves. The memories of a child growing up needing the simplest of things like a winter coat yet the wealthy Grandparents did nothing. The hopes and dreams of children looking for guidance dashed daily. The people who were supposed to serve and protect those children turned a blind eye to them and pretended they didn’t see. The power of one man that could and would bring this family to its knees for no other reason then money! The lingering questions that one of these children lives with still today.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank the following people for helping me with this book.

Editing:      Heather Hordienko

                   Diane Curwen

                   Nancy Sieber

                   Frank Visi

For being kind enough to listen to me talk about this book for so many years and having faith in me that I could get it done.

                   Jim and Carol Dean

                   Rob Fody

I also want to thank my teacher from Blossom Park Adult School for giving me the encouragement to keep writing. Thank you

                   Mr. D. Leconte

I want to thank Melissa from Staples for putting the finishing touches on the cover and back of this book.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

This book has taken many years to complete. This story is completely factual from one of five siblings. You will come across many names in the following pages, but most of the names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent. I have however received written consent to use a very small percent of legal names. In the pages forth coming, when a person is introduced for the first time a line will appear under the name. Through the pages you will come across simple hand drawn pictures of buildings as I remember them back then.

When I wrote my very first draft of this novel in grade eight I had no idea that it would ever come to the point of putting it into book form. Through the years I have come across many people that wished this book would disappear. I believe I kept it on the back burner for so long because the unknown of publishing and not knowing whether my story could help others. Now I am fully confident that telling my story can and will help others. As human beings not one person in this world should go through any kind of abuse and should seek help. Children’s cries for help sometimes go

UNANSWERED so they need to yell it from the rooftops

PROLOGUE

Not in a million years could she imagine coming to a new land. She was one of many young girls from numerous orphanages in England called Borstal girls. She was sent to a well-established prominent Dutch-Canada Tobacco farmer in Ontario at the age of eleven or twelve. Being sent to Canada was supposed to be a brighter prospect, and the new family would protect her. Instead, shortly after her arrival the head of her new family raped her. To avoid the disgust and shame of his actions, his wife was ordered to raise the child as if she had bore the child herself. The Borstal girl, my great-grandmother was given the job of housekeeper and nanny to this child, my Grandmother. My Grandmother grew up not knowing that the nanny was in fact her biological mother. When finally told of the truth never accepted it or acknowledged it. Well there it is, in black and white, so it must be true? If I have learned anything in this life, it is, if it sounds to good to be true, then it is most likely not true at all. After much research of these claims made by my Father in a letter, they could not be verified or disproved. The idea that finally knowing something about my ancestry was at my finger tips but just out of reach. Wanting this new information to be correct, but wanting it to be factual. Anyone who knows the truth is either deceased or chooses to keep these QUESTIONS from being ANSWERED. As I researched this new information I learned that the Dutch did not come to Canada until after the war around 1922 so how could the Borstal girl sent over in 1905 be possible? Also I have no idea what my Mother’s name was at birth. So these questions for now will remain unanswered.

I first located my Grandfather, the man who adopted my Mother in the 1901 census, with the help of volunteers at the Historical Society. He would have been three years old. His parent’s Mr. & Mrs. George Henderson came here from Cleveland Ohio. He was the oldest boy of the couple. Mr. Harold Henderson married Pauline Onietia McDonald on Saturday, July 2, 1927.

A woman bore an illegitimate child on November 11, 1937 in Tillsonburg and gave that child up for adoption to Mr. & Mrs. H.R. Henderson of Vansittart Ave., in Woodstock Ontario. They were wealthy, prominent and well-known community members. I have found no paper trail of this adoption. The child, whom was adopted by this well-known and wealthy couple, was my mother.

Mr. Henderson is a man I wish I had known better. The few times that I remember interacting with him he seemed like a very intelligent, well mannered and loving man. I have done some research to learn about my Grandfather before I knew him. The story that follows is a story not of Mr. H.R. Henderson but a story about how his empire was brought down. Elizabeth, the baby who was adopted, would attend Victoria Public School to grade six, then Central High School for seven and eight. Next she attended Havergal private in Toronto from grades nine to twelve. In 1940 they were shown to reside on Riddle Street in Woodstock Ontario, until moving to Vansittart Ave., in 1946. Rumors have it that Grandpa Henderson was indeed my Mother’s father. I seem to have some problems getting information on my Grandparents because of the Freedom of Information is blocked until ninety years after death.

Whether my Grandfather came from wealthy parents, or made his fortune on his own is a conundrum to me. In 1946 after working at the Woodstock Lamp Co., located at 9 Perry Street in Woodstock, Ontario, Grandpa purchased it. In the early 1950’s he joined the Committee of the Woodstock Hydro Company and for a short time was the chairman of the board. In 1952 Grandpa Henderson moved the Woodstock Lamp Co., to 44 Finkle Street and remained there until he sold it, some time in 1962.

Grandpa Henderson was also a lover of golf and in the history books located at the Graigowan Private Golf Club there is a picture of him and a trophy he donated for the Oxford Invitational Tournament in 1955, now known as the Canada Trust Trophy. During this time he also invested heavily in the stock market. I believe he stayed on the committee until around 1959 and the last time he is shown to own the Woodstock Lamp Co., was 1962

Later Elizabeth Henderson married, an English immigrate, Harry Campbell Allen and gave birth to two children, before finding her biological Mother in Simcoe in 1957. She was told to go away. No one knew of her and that is how her mother wanted it kept. Even though our Mother was raised in wealth not wanting for anything, I believe deep down, there was a longing to find her real roots in her life. The life of privilege was not enough. All she wanted was some truth. My parents then went on to have two more children.

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This is the only picture I have of my Mother and me.

I don’t believe I ever saw her smile,

but she is here.

CHAPTER 1

FIRST MEMORIES

The sounds of a door being slammed, breaking glass and the screams of pain coming from my mother! Foul language being thrown back and forth at each of them. Now bleeding, but still not wanting to stop fighting. The first memories of a child are scorched in my mind.

A drunken brawl something I am sure had happened many times in the past. My mother’s adopted name was Elizabeth, and she was adopted shortly after birth to a wealthy prominent couple and my father was from England. Meeting in the Toronto area around the time she attended the Havergal Private School in Toronto.

My father Harry Allen born in England is one half of a set of twins. Born to Mr. & Mrs. Tom Allen who already had one child, a baby girl named Madeline. Harry Allen described to me as a cad arrived in Canada in the mid 50’s meeting and marrying my mother soon after.

My Mother was just over five foot tall with dark shoulder length hair and her attire consisted of blue jeans and sweatshirts for the most part. My father other then being very tall the only memory of him at this point was this fight. They were drunk and fighting and she walked out the door and he slammed it behind her at the same second she stretched out her arm to stop it. Her hand penetrated the glass pain in the center of the door. I can envision the breaking of the glass and hear her screams even today. Her arm was cut up but she did not attend the hospital that I can recall. Dad must have left soon after that.

I find it surprising, what a person remembers from their childhood, like a bird pooping on my head. This is another memory I have of our home on South Street in London, Ontario. I can look back and picture the house like it was yesterday. I remember the house was white and was built on the side of a hill. To get to the front door, we had to climb an immense wooden staircase. Our lane way was circular and in the center of it was another house. Located in front of our home, was a small red brick house. This abode was home to two elderly women. When I think of them the name Helen keeps coming to mind. Whether they were sisters or just good friends or whether they were widows, I have no inkling. However, something tells me that they were very nice ladies. The houses were located one in front of the other on the north side of South Street near Wellington Road, about one large block from the Old Victoria Hospital in London, Ontario.

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The third oldest and only, girl at this point and pint size compared to my three brothers. Ron, the oldest born on Christmas day, he was tall with dark hair and a medium body frame. Ron was a loner and kept to himself for the most part.

Two years younger then Ron was Andy. Andy had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was a chunky boy and he too was a fairly tall boy.

Barry named after our father was two years younger then I. Barry was very skinny with dirty blonde hair. He too would grow to be the height of his older brothers.

Then there was me, I would never be tall by any means at all. I was given the name Pamela, which to this day I dislike. I prefer to be called Pam. I have no pictures of myself, or my brothers to know what I looked like back then other then I have blue eyes like Andy. Andy and I are the two that I feel look the most like brother and sister then the rest of them. There are two years between all of us Ron, Andy, then me then Barry.

We were still on South Street when Mom went out to purchase a car. She came home with much more than a car. She brought an old friend too. The car lot was located at the corner of Hill and Richmond Street in London. I do not know whether he was a co-owner or just knew the owner. His name was Cam and he quickly became a daily visitor. With him came a number of his friends some good, some not so good. One of them, Rex was a kind and also very mysterious man. He told me recently that Mom would take us kids by the lot and he would give us his empty beer bottles. We met more fellows. A married couple named Morris and Rebecca who lived in Warwick in a house trailer settled beside a restaurant that was an old gas station. The two bays were still used to repair cars.

Cam being there would not bring any good changes to our lives. The drinking and fighting between Cam and Mom was bad. Cam was not an honest man and spent a lot of time in and out of jail or running from the police. Some of the people he brought to the house were of the same mind set. While still living on South Street our father came and took us to his home in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. At this point in my life I still had no knowledge of any grandparents let a lone wealthy ones. Just as mysteriously as we ended up there our Mother came and retrieved us.

Mom was working at Bondi’s pizza a few blocks away on the corner of Horton and Waterloo streets. She was also working somewhere else but I am bewildered to where that might have been. Also I wonder how she ever worked with the amount of alcohol she absorbed, and knowing she did not have the time to take care of her children or teach us anything as simple as cleanliness. At this time in my life I have no recollection of any birthday parties or even Christmas dinners or presents, just more drinking and fighting.

Cam had many business partners, some of whom were women, a fact that Mom did not like. She quickly became very jealous of Cam and his female friends. One of them was Pauline M. She was married but that did not seem to detour either of them. Cam would tell Mom she was crazy, if she thought anything except business was going on, but time and time again, it would be proven that Mom was right to feel that way. This in turn, brought on even more drinking and more violent fights. Cam was always driving different cars and I do not believe any were really his. He was the kind of guy that needs to show off, make people think he is something he is not. He was a very smart man and could con the best of them. He was not particular on whom he conned: friends, family, as long as he got what he wanted. He felt no shame in calling others stupid.

It must have happened very fast, so fast I do not remember. Cam and Mom were married in a small ceremony. I believe now that that day was the beginning of the end of my Mother’s life and any hope of a happy life for any of us. I was not invited to the wedding, nor was Andy. Only Ron and Barry attended.

Soon after our trip to Saskatchewan, we moved to Walker Street in London. It was a short dead end street just off Edgerton Street and Hamilton Road. This house too holds a place in my memory.

It was small, yellow in color, and there were only houses on the north side of the road. On the other side of the road were hydro poles. The house started resembling a car lot in the front and a parts department in the rear. I now grasp that on the day Cam and Mom were married he now held the power of pulling the purse strings that were connected to the Henderson money. That day, my Mother married the man she loved, and, a man that would never love her.

During our stay on Walker Street, while walking home from school one day, a car hit my younger brother Barry. We were walking south on Edgerton toward Hamilton. I recall that we were not walking together but within eyesight of each other. Barry crossed on a red light and was hit by a woman who happened to be a nurse. The accident is a complete blank to me, but the memory of him having to wear a hockey helmet for months after is there. The driver of the car was not charged because Barry walked out in front of her. There was another time when one of us was hit by a car on that road, not sure who. I do recall getting in trouble for crossing that road. Barry had been hit by a school bus some time before in front of our Grandparents house in Woodstock but I have no recollection of this at all.

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On or around my ninth birthday, August 1968, we moved to Ragel Street in Watford. I retained this because they told me it was my birthday present. I still have never had a birthday cake or present, so having a house was as good I guess. The house was in a small town. The living room was in the front right-hand corner of the house, looking at it from the street. It was longer than its width. Across the hall from the living room door were the stairs leading to the second floor.

Both Mom and Cam were still drinking a lot. When they drank, they fought. Mom was always very jealous of Cam. She was always accusing him of fooling around. I don’t think she was wrong to feel that way. He did not always come home at night. As I sit here typing, a dog comes to mind. The name tiny keeps