Sarah Wilson - Violated - A Shocking and Harrowing Survival Story From the Notorious Rotherham Abuse Scandal

Laura was born in August 1993 and we were close from the start, playing little games and doing all of the things that sisters like to do. Of course, we had our squabbles, too. One of my aunties had a video camera and there is some really funny footage from when we were little of me going in a massive huff when I catch Laura riding my bike!

Laura and I never spoke about what was going on with Mum and Dad – we were too young – but we were both scared by all the fights and the shouting. I wanted to protect her, but I didn’t know how. We’d hear them rowing loads, at all different times of the day and night. When we were really little, we loved watching the cartoon Pingu , which was all about the life of a little penguin. I remember sitting in front of the television, hearing crashing sounds coming from upstairs. We’d just keep watching the TV, so it could drown out the noise and we could pretend that everything was okay.

At night, we’d huddle together in our room and play with our dolls, trying to block out the shouting and screaming downstairs, but sometimes, when we heard Mum begging Dad to calm down as he threw things around the room, it was all too much.

One time, I heard Mum cry out in pain and I just knew that Dad had hit her. I was so frightened I crept downstairs – my knuckles white with fear as I clutched my favourite Barbie doll – and called 999. I only knew that was how to get hold of the police because I’d seen it on TV. I didn’t really think about what I was doing, and I could barely speak when the operator answered. I just whispered that my daddy had hit my mummy and told them what I thought was our address before hanging up and darting back up to my room, terrified that Dad would catch me and know what I’d done. I know the coppers turned up, but I can’t remember what happened when they arrived. All I can recall is that horrible, sick feeling I would get in the pit of my stomach when I heard Dad raise his voice. I wasn’t sure if he knew it was me who’d called them, or what he might do if he did find out. I was terrified he’d do something to really hurt Mum, or maybe start on one of us as a punishment. I worried about what I would be able to do to stop him. What could I do? A five-year-old child against a fully grown man?

Mum chucked Dad out a few times, but he always came back. I think she was scared to say no when he wanted to give their relationship another try. Who wouldn’t be? Who would want to be left on their own with four kids? Still, every time Dad left I prayed we’d finally seen the back of him. Living with him was like being in a war zone, and Mum was on eggshells all the time. We never knew when Dad was going to explode in a fit of fury. The smallest thing would set him off and he’d tear round the house like a tornado.

For some kids in my position, school might have seemed like a refuge from everything that was going on at home, but not for me. From the moment I walked through the doors of Ferham Primary School for the first time, I knew I wouldn’t fit in. My home life had made me feel vulnerable and lost, and the bullies picked up on that, which made me an easy target. The school was a real mix of Asian and white kids, and almost everyone taunted me in their own way. There were a few ringleaders, though, mainly girls who pulled my hair and called me names – normal kid stuff, you’d think, but it just never seemed to stop. The three really mean girls were Jenny, Anna and Carolyn. They picked on me for all sorts of things, for anything they could think of – from the gap in my teeth to the fact that Mum couldn’t afford to buy me the latest trainers. As they played their little games in the playground, giggling with the other girls in my class, I’d stand at the side and watch, trying to swallow the lump in my throat and wondering why they didn’t want me to join in with them.

They made me feel bad and ugly. Like most five-year-olds, I hadn’t really thought about how I looked before I started school, but Jenny, Carolyn and Anna noticed everything. They constantly told me I looked horrible and that my clothes were stupid.

‘Look at Sarah’s jumper,’ Carolyn sniggered one afternoon. ‘Where did you buy that, Wilko?’

I might have been among the poorer kids in the class, but back in the nineties no one in Ferham really had much money and none of us was in a position to turn our noses up at anything. But this hardly mattered to these girls.

‘Wilko for Wilson!’ Anna giggled. ‘No wonder you look so shit. Your mum can’t afford to shop anywhere else.’

I’d sometimes see the other girls in my class playing in the street after school or in town with their parents in pretty tops or girlie little dresses. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my black, shapeless shellsuits, hand-me-downs from my big brothers. The more the bullies taunted me, the less I thought about what I wore or how I looked because I simply couldn’t win. Even when Mum had enough money to treat Laura and me to some new clothes, I always begged her to buy me another pair of trackie bottoms. At least that way no one could accuse me of trying to look pretty.

I never felt like I fitted in there, and so I didn’t listen much in class. I was far from stupid but I was never top of the class or the teacher’s pet. That would have just given the bullies another reason to single me out, and all I wanted was to fade into the background. I desperately hoped that I could be invisible, that the other kids would just not notice me and wouldn’t give me grief.

It was a shame the way that school worked out, because ever since I was really young I’d wanted to do something with my life. I had dreams of what I could do when I was older. While lots of children would flinch at the sight of blood, I’d never been squeamish and I was always first on the scene when one of my brothers or sister got a cut or a bruise. When I was really little, before I started school, I told everyone that I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up, but after the first few years of primary school I stopped dreaming about stuff like that. Just getting through each day was an effort. Things got even worse later, when I lost my baby teeth and my big teeth started to come in.

‘Sarah, what’s wrong with your face?’ Jenny said one morning, as we copied down some sums from the blackboard.

I turned scarlet and looked at the ground, saying nothing.

‘Look at the gap in your teeth,’ Carolyn said. ‘I’m glad my teeth don’t look like yours.’

It wasn’t just about my appearance, though. Any time a classmate spoke to me, or invited me to join in one of their games, the girls would tell them they’d catch some horrible disease if they came anywhere near me.

‘Don’t play with Sarah,’ Jenny would say. ‘She’s got the lurgy!’

‘You’ll catch her germs,’ Anna would add, hand on her hip. ‘Play with us instead.’

Each time this happened, my new friend would scuttle off, leaving me standing alone in the playground. Some would give me an apologetic backwards glance, and I got the sense that they didn’t really want to play with the class bullies, but they were too scared to say no or to stick up for me because that would have made them a target too. Others didn’t give me a second thought as they ran off, delighted at having been asked to spend their lunch hour with the most popular girls in the class.

I never confided in Mum about what was going on at school because I didn’t want any more hassle and I knew she’d just get really angry at the bullies. If I’d told her any of the names they called me, she’d have been down at the headteacher’s office like a shot, and I didn’t want anyone to think I was telling on them – that would have just meant more trouble, and that was all I needed! Sometimes, when I felt really miserable and lonely, I ached to tell her, but there was always something going on with Dad and the time never seemed right. Still, a mum’s instinct is a powerful thing and she always had an inkling I was being picked on. Although I know she begged my teachers to keep an eye on me, the girls who bullied me never seemed to get in any kind of trouble.