Suicide of female soldier brought back sad, bad memories ..it goes on and on
I saw the news about beautiful Anne-Marie Ellement who was a Royal Military Police officer who hung herself after the Army made the decision not to charge soldiers she had accused of raping her.
It seems the organisation she worked for closed ranks and turned against her, even fellow female officers called her names and made her life a misery. (Oh these people who never leave the school playground).
As a final slap in the face was that one of the males who raped her was posted to where Anne-Marie was stationed.
Will people never learn about abusing fellow men and women? It brought back bad memories for me and my own traumatic life and especially the story of a girl I knew at school.
She was a bit younger than me and we hung around in the same gang (bus shelters, smoking, wasting time but it was better than being at home). We were similiar in that we were the quieter, shyer and more likely to be picked on girls. However, I found some strength and got away but on one visit a number of years back I heard that she was dead.
She was dragged into a house and raped by two blokes. It went to court but they got off. They laughed in her face. She got depressed and took a bottle of some kind of painkiller. She threw up, feeling lousy but because she'd thrown up she was told to sleep it off. She never woke up! I hope there's a place where the wronged meet again.
The following is a little poem in rememberance of her and the verse in italics is Oliver Goldsmith's 'When
When lovely woman stoops to folly
And learns too late that men betray
What charm can soothe her melancholy
What art can wash her tears away?
I remember Sparky
Quiet with short hair
And big eyes
A bit crossed
She came from the next mining village
We used hang around bus shelter
Made of concrete it was like a den
We wasted homework time
We could have been bettering our lives
But the bus shelter was better than home
We had our demons
Worse in the gang
As soon as I could, I ran
Left North for South
But still had problems here
But not as bad
As the bus shelter years
The only art her guilt to cover
And hide her shame from every eye
And give repentance to her lover
And wring his bossom is…to die.
Posted by Wendy Young, 7 March 2014
Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 11 May 2016