#MeToo

This is the story of the first time I was sexually harassed. It was 37 years ago, when I was 15. Like most 15 year old girls, I wanted my own money. We lived in a rural area, so jobs weren’t thick on the ground. I can’t remember how I found out about the cleaning job with Mr Manson; I think maybe my Dad knew someone who knew someone. I went to see him with my Dad. It was agreed. I would work as a cleaner on Saturday mornings in Mr Manson’s house for £1 an hour. It was good money.

Every Saturday morning, my Dad drove me to his house and picked me up three hours later. The work wasn’t difficult. A bit of washing up, dusting and hoovering. To my 15 year old perspective, Mr Manson was an incredibly old guy, although with hindsight I think he was only about 60 – eight years older than I am now. Nonetheless, he was still 45 years older than me. When I had finished whatever had to be done, I made myself and Mr Manson a cup of tea, which we drank in his old-person living room.

A few weeks into the job, I had made the tea and we were chatting. I never really liked him, but at that age I couldn’t put a name to the feeling. He asked me if I like fun. I think I need to say at this point that I was a naïve 15 year old, my upbringing had been sheltered and largely in rural areas. Fun to me meant going to the local disco for a dance, or hanging out with my friends. So I answered yes, I do like fun. What kind of fun do you like? He asked. I told him my innocent 15 year old girl pursuits. Oh no, he said. I meant fun in bed. Sex. Do you like fun in bed? Because I can give it to you.

Even now, 37 years later, the feelings of fear, revulsion and disgust are as strong as they were then. I leapt up, grabbed my bag and ran towards the door. Have I offended you in some way? He asked. I didn’t answer. I ran out of the house and down the road. I'm thankful with hindsight that he wasn’t a strong man, otherwise I’m really not sure where this would have ended.

I met my Dad coming up the road in the car to pick me up. I was completely distraught, so much so that to begin with he couldn’t work out what I was saying – I was sobbing so much I couldn’t get the words out. When we got home, he sat me down, handed me a glass, and said drink this now. It was vodka. I drank it. My first experience of sexual harassment turned out to be my first alcoholic drink as well.

I calmed down enough to tell him what had happened. We had family friends staying that weekend, and everyone else was out. My Dad was like a cat on a hot tin roof. The minute my Mum and the rest of the family got back, he was out of the house like a champagne cork. I found out later he had gone back to Mr Manson’s house and threatened him through the window. Mr Manson wouldn’t come out.

I now know, 37 years later, that Mr Manson had a profound and lifelong impact on me. He shattered my innocence. He showed me a world that was not safe, where I had to protect myself. I would never be that innocent 15 year old girl again; even now I look back at my 15 year old self and feel overwhelmed with sorrow for what I lost that day.

My Mum and Dad were truly wonderful. I was entirely believed. There was not a miniscule hint of victim blaming. They did their best to help me get over it. My Mum even let me get my ears pierced a year early. In the post Jimmy Saville era, the police would have been involved, but it was different then. I did get over it in that I carried on with my day to day life. My Dad found me another job as a waitress in a hotel. I went to school, passed my exams, went to university. I never really did get over it though. The memory of this event is as clear today as the day it happened.

A few weeks later, my Dad came in and said, I’ve got something for you. He handed me £3. What’s this? I said. Your pay from Mr Manson, he said. Apparently, he’d met him in the paper shop. I don’t know the detail of what happened, other than Mr Manson handed over the £3. I don’t know what my Dad said, but knowing him as I do, I can guess.  I suspect Mr Manson never visited the paper shop again.

Me too.