I have a scar on my left eyebrow. I don’t think many people know it’s there, because it’s overshadowed by a mole. Even I forget, until it’s time to pluck my eyebrows and then unlike the right one, which hurts like eyebrows do when you pull them, it has this strange tingling thing going down. Every time I remember its existence I’m catapulted back to the day I acquired it when I was a young girl living in a very different society. I lived on the edge of a rough neighbourhood that grew up when the local council built hundreds of homes in the 1930’s. They cleared the slums in the wet quarter of the city and dumped 2500 people in a soulless area that became infamous for vandalism.
There was no-one to play with in my road but one girl in my class at school lived inside this troubled circle, we were friends and as soon as I was allowed to spread my wings it was to her I flew. I never ventured to the park – that was far too dangerous; we’d hang around on street corners instead. In time the next phase of building began, this time private homes were built on the broad fields where I’d been taken for Sunday afternoon walks as a very little girl. A building site was very tempting to Linda and I – don’t ask why, I haven’t a clue what made a couple of eleven year old girls want to snoop around there. Maybe the risk of getting caught scrambling through breeze blocks and unframed doorways imagining the room they would become. It was always sunny back then, we all say that don’t we? When I was a kid summers were long, hot and dry. Well on that day it was and in the early evening we were looking for some trouble to raze when it came to us with a bang.
First came the shouts, ‘Oi blackie,’ ‘nigger,’ ‘gollywog,’ ‘we’re going to get you.’ Worst of all a ‘joke’ from some disgusting TV comedian of the day, ‘What’s black and lives in a hedge?’ I’ll leave the answer to your imagination or memory. Jokes like that were commonplace back then before the Race Relations Act was introduced and Alf Garnett argued that Jesus was English rather than acknowledging that he may have had some interesting skin tone.
I was a feisty little thing; I’d had to defend myself a few times so that night I turned to look at my tormentors, hands on hips. I even watched one of them pick up a stone a hundred yards away and take aim. I watched its arc through the air towards me, closer and closer, one of those moments when that air was pre storm silent. Ten feet, five, one, bang. Into my head, I spun with disbelief and shock.
‘Run’ Linda said and pulled me along. I tried to shake her off and somehow lost several minutes. I was vaguely aware of her returning with adult voices. I was taken, bleeding and dazed to hospital, an echoing, high ceilinged place with slamming doors where they shone bright lights to check my eyes and I could hear them say ‘Half an inch lower and she would have lost her eye.’
I enjoyed the attention at school the next day, showing off my stitches, but I didn’t play on building sites again.
Verbal racist abuse continued through my early and mid teens. I was never physically attacked again, but those years when skin heads ruled the town at night coincided with my night club age. I could never just relax and I still hate being around town after dark, I look out under my scarred eyebrow, over my shoulder.
Lucid Gypsy 
I’m so sad that you had to go through this Gilly. It makes me angry. But then beautiful souls do have to go through this kind of a grinding process – the way sandpaper polishes something so that it is clean, smooth and shining. At least, I think sandpaper does that. In any case. Very poignant entry.
Thank you dear Shaz. Our past really does shape us as humans doesn’t it? People like us, who have had sometimes unpleasant experiences grow stronger, wiser and have richer lives. I wouldn’t want to be someone that nothing had ever happened to, how boring would I be? As it is my life has allowed me to be able to help others just a little.
Well it’s just disgusting. This arrogant, foul attitude always makes me feel ashamed to be part of the same race as these people – but of course, it was ingrained and perpetuated by ignorance and a lack of intelligence. Thankfully, my children’s generation virtually all seem to have moved on. There will always be an element of this sadly, but those fools don’t deserve to be heard or involved in our lives.
You’re right Kathy, thankfully such behaviour seems to only occur in pockets around the country. Ignorance is the main problem, remember our study in AA100? Benin? that should be in the school curriculum. Thanks for your passion dear Kathy.
Oh yes, Benin was a very good example wasn’t it. The disbelief that it’s people were such great artists and a misunderstanding of their traditions. It ever was and will be but less so as we move on we hope. It’s like any prejudice, mental health, female/male or anything that makes us different from one another. See what a debate you have started? Marvellous. One has to be passionate about life, otherwise we might as well be dead! On that cheery note, I’ll sign off now 🙂
What a terrible indictment of our attitudes to each other. I have come across prejudice from all sides over the years but thankfully it has become much rarer. One of the reasons for that gradual improvement is that kids don’t see colour (for example) – they just see their mate who they play with. Long may that improvement continue.
thanks for sharing your story, so scary to be attacked and sent bleeding to hospital, awful to have that fear and anxiety about going out in your youth … but look what you turned it into, the gorgeous adventurous wise you! i too have a scar in the middle of my left eyebrow, caused by falling on a nail i was carrying when i was a toddler …it is hard to see but still there white and clear between the hairy bits, so we are “eyebrow scar mates”!
Hey scarbrow sister thanks for your sweet words, does yours tingle if you pluck as well? Must have been scary for your parents when that happened! All part of the quilt of life. It seems to have stirred people up reading this so thats got to be good.
A very good description of a very unfortunate time. It is sad that children or adults have to endure these types of things. We think times have improved but, I often, wonder. I still experience some of it in my little town. People have a hard time with someone who looks different than them. It is a shame they are so unable to see beyond the exterior and into the glorious interior that we have.
Wear our scar proudly – you are beautiful.
Isadora
Ah you are a beautiful person with a very special spirit, keep being just who you are x