Name Ms MK
Hometown Rangitikei District
Age when entered care 4 years old
Year of birth 1958
Time in care 1962–1973
Type of care facility Foster care; schools for the Deaf – Van Asch College in Ōtautahi Christchurch, Deaf unit at Sumner School in in Ōtautahi Christchurch; residential home – Randall Home
Ethnicity NZ European
Whānau background Ms MK has three siblings, and 13 half siblings on her father’s side. She has two children and two grandchildren. Her three siblings also went into care.

“It’s like broken glass – you can put it back together, but it’s still ugly”

My hearing loss may be from being hit in the head as a child. I don’t know for sure.

When I was 3 years old, Dad went to jail. Then my mum died when I was 4 years old, so my siblings and I went into care. I was sent to Van Asch at 6 years old and was there for nine and a half years.

Once I arrived at Van Asch I went straight to bed, because I thought the school was a hospital. It took me a couple of days to realise where I was.

I was at Van Asch School for most of the time I lived at the boarding school, but I also went to the Deaf unit at Sumner School from 1967 to 1969. At Sumner School, I was in a Deaf unit with seven other children. The teacher would give me the strap because I didn’t know how to do math. The strap would usually come around lunchtime, and I would put my hand in hot water before lunchtime so it wouldn’t hurt as much. After I got used to it, he started giving me the strap on the other hand, and on the tops of my hands too. I never learned properly there because I was so scared of him.

At Van Asch, we weren’t allowed Sign Language. If we got caught signing we had our hands smacked. Sometimes we had to put our hands behind our backs. They didn’t teach Sign Language – the teachers didn’t know how to sign, and they would write on the blackboard instead. When staff weren’t looking we used to sign our own sign language – not taught by teachers or other people, but taught by kids. We developed our own way of communicating and learnt about our own culture.

From 1964 until 1973 I was in 35 different foster homes during the school holidays. I struggled to concentrate at school because I was often scared thinking about which foster family I would be going to next holidays. I didn’t get any qualifications, because I couldn’t concentrate properly with all the anxiety, and I used to get nightmares. I felt unsettled and on edge. I was sexually abused in some of the foster homes, and sometimes physically abused too.

I hated being at boarding school. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, because some staff were good but some were very horrible to me. Sometimes I would wet my pants because I was so scared of the staff. One of the worst was my teacher. She used to pick on me and was cruel to me for four years.

When I was about 13 years old a boy from the boarding school down the road came to the girls’ dormitory where I was sleeping and tried to do things to me that I didn’t want to do. I said no and pushed him away. He pulled the blanket back and pissed all over my sheets, then he ran off. The sheets were wet, but my pyjamas were dry. My teacher came and pulled my blanket back. I told her I had done a wee on the bed, because I couldn’t tell her a boy had come along. She got the wet sheet and wiped it on my face. All the kids were looking at me and I just had to stand there.

Another time, the kids had to transfer all the beds from one dormitory to another, but I was really sick. I told my teacher I was going to vomit and couldn’t move the beds. She pushed me and slapped my head. Then I vomited in the corridor. The teacher made me mop up my vomit, but I couldn’t because I was too sick. She cleaned up the vomit then slapped the mop in my face.

I sometimes felt uncomfortable at Van Asch. When I was 6 years old the staff taught us to wash ourselves in the bath. I didn’t wash myself properly, so my teacher put the soap in my private parts and it burnt. When I was 7 years old, the staff made me go in a cold water bath with the boys because I was a tomboy. It was embarrassing.

Sometimes I was locked up in a room by myself for being naughty.

The staff treated me worse than other kids because they knew I didn’t have a family I could turn to or complain to if things went wrong. I was too scared to complain to anyone at Van Asch in case the abuse got worse, and I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway. I was the one in the trash and I just had to carry on.

Social Welfare would take me to the shops every three or four months to get new clothes, but the clothes weren’t as good as the other kids’ clothes and I would get teased.

I didn’t know my birthday until I was 12 years old, and I didn’t know my middle name for a long time either. The first birthday present I got was from a teacher – she gave me a gift with some lollies, books, pencils and other things. I wasn’t used to it – we didn’t celebrate birthdays or holidays at Van Asch. We didn’t get Easter eggs, Christmas or birthday presents. We didn’t have special things of our own, like toys or pictures of our families.

I left Van Asch in 1973 and stayed with foster families and went to a school with a Deaf unit. I met my best friend there. We had lots of laughs. It was nice having someone who understood me. In my last year of high school, I was with one family who were nice and generous and I was a little bit happy. After care, I found a place to board and got a job. I reconnected with my dad and met him when I was 22 years old. I love him because he’s my dad, but he’s on the wrong track.

I often get premonitions, and I got them when I was younger too, I think because I’ve had to learn things on my own. It’s like a stray dog can look after itself better than a spoiled cat. My time in care taught me how to look after myself.

Being separated from my family had a huge impact on me. Foster families were never the same as my real family. I wasn’t in touch with any of my siblings or my dad for most of my life. No one in the system thought it was important that we stay in contact. I only re-established contact with my siblings on my 60th birthday. We keep in contact, and I’m glad I’m in contact with them but I’m sad about all the years we lost.

I focus now on making sure my children and family don’t go through what I went through. It might be nice if the government acknowledged what happened and apologised, but it is hard to get back those pieces. I carry the long-term impacts from my time in care. I feel sad inside and suffer from anxiety. I still have nightmares about the abuse and neglect. These things stay with you, and you can’t just get rid of them. It’s like broken glass. You can put it back together, but it’s still ugly.[30]

“At Van Asch, we weren’t allowed to use Sign Language. If we got caught signing we had our hands smacked.”

Footnotes