Little Anna was waiting at Nairobi airport with a glue stick and a passport pic. So with the NZ embassy, we contrived a passport for her, flew it to Switzerland via AirNZ, where a pilot carried it into Kenya. But I couldn't get my Anna out of Kenya because she was not on a passport. I came home to NZ because my youngest daughter was paralyzed. Whilst in Kenya, I was arrested for treason.but that's another story. And I had 2 emergency Caesarians, one without anaesthetic. That stopped me in my tracks for many years. While in Kenya, I contracted cerebral meningitis from swimming in foul water, off the side of the yacht. I arrived on the shores of Kenya, East Africa, in a 28ft yacht, and traveled Europe from there. This is Malcolm's story as I believe it unfolded. Yet he ultimately rose above it all, and with admirable strength, courage and innate resilience, was finally able to 'free the regular boy within' as he had always wanted. When considering the tragedy and abuse of Malcolm's wasted earlier years, it is a story of immeasurable sadness. We followed Malcolm's story from childhood to adulthood as best we could even after he was eventually discharged back into the community.
He was one of the lost children, those forgotten or abandoned by their families. When there is a modicum of doubt in my mind I have changed names and details for the protection of those still living.Īs a child I knew Malcolm, who was then a young man, since Dad often invited him home for meals. Wherever possible, I have used correct dates, names and places. Therefore I have blended together various stories in this narrative as representative of our family and friends' combined belief of what most probably did happen during the period covered by this narrative.
To separate the truths from the almost-truths at this stage would be an impossible task as many of those concerned have died. From a young age we absorbed the stories, and it was difficult to know where fiction ended and the greater truth took over. On turning fifteen we often worked up the hill, helping in the canteen, laundry, wards or occupational therapy. We sometimes shared our primary school with young patients who came down from the hospital.
I was raised within the community of the New Zealand, Seacliff Mental Hospital village during the 1950s, with each of our family members working in the psychiatric hospital at some time or another.
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