A Chamber Of Horrors

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For half a lifetime "Jean" had said nothing of what had happened to her - the terror and the torment and the agony of her so-called childhood was locked up in her memory. Never forgotten. Just sitting there under the surface. Filed away. On her mind but never spoken. For half a lifetime.

Who would believe her if she spoke? No one, she felt. No one would believe what had happened to her - and to the others.

And, anyway, she had to get on with life. There was no point living in the past.

It was the same for "Lizzie" - although she had talked about it to a stranger three days ago.

She had talked about it for the first time in her life five days ago - to the police.

For "Lizzie" there were few tears left. There had been lots in the last five days.

Bobbie had talked about it all before. Her tears had all been shed.

But Jean was now living those bottled-up memories for the first time and the pain was too much. The tears and the sobbing choked her halting words. Hour after awful hour.

The pain she had suffered was mirrored in her face and she cried for herself and for the others as she told the stories of what she and her unfortunate little friends had suffered.

The stranger sat and listened. Stunned and shocked.

After all had he not written the Neerkol stories? He had heard first-hand the atrocities the children there had suffered.

He had imagined Neerkol was the only place such things had happened.

But he was wrong.

There was another Neerkol in Queensland. And, if it could be imagined, it was worse.

It was Nazareth House. At Wynnum. Just down the road from the capital city of the Sunshine State.

But Nazareth House was not a home for children. This was no orphanage. This was a torture chamber. This was madness. This was sadism beyond imagining. And certainly beyond understanding.

The stories spilled out. Horror after horror.

Three women who had been to hell, and somehow, God knows how, had survived.

They had "lived" in that place together and they had come back together to tell of what they had suffered so that the world might know and so that it might not ever happen again.

It was time to speak out. Other victims in other homes had found their voices. Nazareth House's terrible past should also be outed.

And two of their mates had already died, from cancer, without the chance to tell their stories. Another two of the group (Lizzie was one) now had cancer and had been told it was terminal.

It was all there in the wedding photograph. This one was dead. Cancer. This one was dead too. Cancer again. This one had attempted suicide and was now a paraplegic. This one had suffered a mental breakdown.

The victims of Nazareth House, Wynnum, Queensland, Australia and the Congregation of the Poor Sisters of Nazareth.

And it was all done in the name of Jesus Christ and the Almighty God.


How could that be?

Their stories follow.

The Torment of Bobbie Ford

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