Age when entered care 5 years old
Year of birth 1965
Hometown Perth, Australia
Time in care 1970–1979
Type of care facility School for the Deaf – Kelston School for the Deaf in Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland.
Ethnicity NZ European
Whānau background Ms NH’s mother, sister and brother are still alive. They live in their own house.
Current Ms NH lives by herself and is on a pension. She enjoys spending time sewing and crocheting.

“If I couldn’t speak properly, I got hit”  

I was born Deaf and blind in my right eye. I’m the only Deaf member of my family and growing up my family communicated orally and I couldn’t understand everything. I went to Kelston at 5 years old. I was scared and felt unsure about being there. I didn’t know I was Deaf or different to my family, and I was confused. I also didn’t know my mum was going to be leaving.

I started feeling depressed right from my first day. I was thirsty and drank water from a fountain, and I didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed to drink it. A staff member grabbed me by the throat and yelled at me and hit me.

We didn’t learn anything – they didn’t teach us anything and there was no learning, it was all about learning how to speak. We had to use the oral method to say our name and the teacher would make us hold our hands to our throat so we could feel the vibrations. We had to do this over and over again. We also had to sing, but we couldn’t hear the music.

After breakfast we had to line up to get toothpaste. When it was my turn, the teacher who had hit me insisted I vocalise the word ‘please’. I tried many times and she got angry that I couldn’t get it right. She hit my head and pushed me against the wall, then told me to wait at the end of the line. I tried again and again, and she hit me as I got it wrong. I was sobbing uncontrollably. The other girls weren’t being hit. They just stared at me.

A similar thing happened in the dining room – if we didn’t verbalise ‘please’ properly, we had to go to the back of the line, and if I got it wrong I would be hit. Sometimes I’d repeat this three or four times, going to the back of the line because I couldn’t hear or understand. Other students sometimes had to go to the back of the line, but I never saw them being hit for getting it wrong. When I eventually got my food, I would be eating and still crying. 

One time I was washing my hair in the sink. I checked first to make sure the teacher wasn’t around. It was safe. Then I felt my face being shoved down into the sink, and someone was trying to drown me in the water. I couldn’t breathe, and it went on for so long. I saw it was the teacher, pushing my head into the water. I hit her hard and ran away fast. I didn’t know how to tell anyone about it. 

The same day we had fish and chips for dinner. I hated fish so I was just eating the chips. The teacher saw I wasn’t eating the fish, so she came over to me, picked up my fork with fish on it and forced me to eat it by squeezing my cheeks, making my mouth open. A similar thing happened at breakfast the next day – I wasn’t eating porridge, and another staff member came up to me angrily, hit my hand with the spoon and forced me to eat the porridge. I forced it down and then vomited everywhere. 

I was so depressed at Kelston. It got worse and worse the longer I was there. I felt my head get so tight and sore. I just wanted to go home and be with my mum. 

I didn’t tell my parents about what was going on because I couldn’t communicate. The staff members at Kelston saw me being abused but said nothing. I didn’t have any friends and I was very isolated.

The teacher abused me nearly every day. She would hit me, whack my head, and slam me into walls. I remember always being sore and having bruises. I was also picked on by other students and bullied. 

When I was 14 I moved overseas with my family, and I felt my depression slowly releasing away, and my wellbeing began to improve. Deaf people were shocked that I hadn’t learned any sign language. I got a better education and learned sign language so I could communicate. My mother asked me if I wanted to move back to New Zealand and I said no. I don’t want to go back, and I haven’t been back since.

When I was 30 I started telling my mother all the things that had happened to me. My parents went to night classes to learn sign language so we could communicate properly.

I can never forget the abuse I received from people who were paid to be there for me and care for me. The trauma has stayed with me. I still have awful thoughts of how I was treated, and I’m still scared to see those mean teachers and staff members.[3]