Posted on 12/01/2007 3:05:53 PM PST by fanfan
It is a story all too common in modern Britain.
A false allegation turns a mother and her children into social pariahs.
There are silent calls, stones thrown and death threats.
The police seem powerless. But Joanne Binns wouldn't give in.
This is her chilling diary...
The youth brandishing a knife pinned my 15-year-old daughter against the alley wall.
Holding the blade to her throat, he threatened to kill her.
For months, my family and I had been targeted by out-of-control teenagers trying to drive us from our home on a Leeds estate.
This was the worst attack so far and it was right outside our house. One thing was sure.
The more the gangs threatened and tormented my children, the more incensed I became.
Now it was war: the thugs or us. I was eight months pregnant, but I would protect my family whatever it took.
It wasn't going to be us.
I didn't have an easy childhood. I was born in Bradford in 1973. In my teens
I was placed in council care and moved around children's homes where I learned to survive on my own.
It was tough, but I knew right from wrong, and was determined to better myself.
My daughter Rachel was born when I was 17; a son, David, followed two years later.
Their father and I split soon afterwards. He remained in touch with the children, but I faced the difficulties of life as a single mother.
I was always convinced, however, that I'd be able to give my children a more comfortable upbringing than I had.
That meant keeping them out of trouble, especially David, who has learning difficulties and dyspraxia.
While David was growing up I was unable to work as I'd become his full-time carer.
Money was tight. For a time we lived in rented accommodation, but I always relished the idea of living in our own house.
By 1994, things were looking up. I was offered a council house to the south-east of Leeds city centre at East End Park, an area made up of small blocks of flats and terrace houses.
There was a three-year waiting list to get a place – I soon discovered why.
People had grown up together in this close-knit neighbourhood.
There was a strong sense of community.
Whenever people saw us in the street, we'd be greeted with a friendly "good morning" – not the two-fingered salute we'd become accustomed to elsewhere. I contributed by starting a children's drama club.
I'd taken part in theatre at school and had always loved it – even if I never got the big roles.
The club began in a simple way. One evening, Rachel came down from her bedroom and performed a small play with three of her friends.
They had talent, so I decided to do something about it.
We started off with 17 children in my front room, but after I managed to get funding from the council we moved to a nearby hall and the number grew to about 35.
Here was a brilliant way to give the estate's children something to do after school.
There was just one rule – they had to stay out of trouble.
Meanwhile, I found a new boyfriend and became pregnant. Sadly, our relationship didn't last.
I never wanted to be a single mother, but I had no choice but to do the best for my children.
With the drama group going from strength to strength, we put on several productions. But, away from the class,
I could sense our community spirit ebbing. Gradually, more teenagers were hanging around on street corners.
Their parents seemed to have less control over them. In this environment, street-law ruled and rumours spread easily.
Then suddenly everything changed. Almost overnight, I went from insider to outsider.
In late 2005, someone – I still don't know who – apparently accused me of reporting them to the police.
This is the worst thing you can say in such a close-knit community.
It wasn't true and I expected the neighbours to trust me.
But I was wrong. Perhaps through jealousy – because I was trying to better myself, because I was running the drama group.
Perhaps they thought I was turning my back on them. I don't know, but that's how my troubles started.
It didn't seem much at first. David, then 14, would get teased because of his learning difficulties.
Eggs were thrown at our windows, there were prank calls and my phone number was posted on the internet.
Then things started to deteriorate.
This is the diary of our tumultuous year. It is one family's story, but we are far from unique.
All over the country you hear how out-of-control thugs are making people's lives a misery.
I hope our experiences will show that we can stand up to the yobs.
December 11, 2005: Today a brick landed through our window.
We've been getting abuse in the street and threatening text messages but this is the first time things have turned violent. The local children I thought I knew have turned on me. I've known some of these teenagers since they were babies.
Some are children I taught at drama club. Now I hardly recognise them. It's like they've all had personality transplants.
I've spoken to their parents: they say they've grounded their children, but the youngsters ignore them.
January 12, 2006: I'd hoped everything would blow over after Christmas, but it's now getting out of hand.
~Snip~
August 15: Finally, things seem to have calmed down. There's still intimidation, but it's mainly by text now.
~snip~
Not 1984. A Clockwork Orange.
You’re right.
Thanks.
“It is 1984.”
Well, it’s socialist Britain, anyway.
The only flaw (from the liberal POV) was that she was carrying a baby to term.
It’s sad.
Look at what has become of them.
Not that we’re far behind.
*sigh*
That is what they wanted.
It is here also, not the full force but the advanced elements and the people are just as happy as a cow in clover
Fathers are so important. I sure wouldn't be who I am, without mine.
I hate feminists.
They've tried to ruin everything good, and it's working. }:-(
Fathers *and* mothers are vital to all homes.Any kid who grows up without either one will suffer...substantially...for the rest of his/her life.
My little sister,who's a grandmother now,*still* speaks of how sad,difficult and frightening it was for her after our mother died when she was 16.And she says this in spite of the fact that our Dad did everything he could for her.
The attackers all look like Muslum yobs.From where the photo was taken,you’d have a clean shot on at least 4 of them.
And that, in fact, is what these little @$$holes need. For at least one of them to get shot by one of their victims.
She must have been very close to your Mom.
It's nice that they had the time together though.
How surprising. /s
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