UrsulaSteinberg

My mother had no escape route. There were no refuges she could run to; no helplines to call; no advocates to speak out for her. No one came to help, even though everyone knew what was happening behind our closed doors. The small houses in our road were close together, and every Monday morning I walked to school with a bowed head, praying that I wouldn’t run into a neighbour who had heard the weekend’s rows. The police, when they were called, were little help. I remember hearing them say things like “She must have provoked him”, or “Well, Mrs Stewart, it takes two to make a fight”. They had no idea. My mother did nothing to provoke the violence she endured – even if she had, violence is an unacceptable way of dealing with conflict.

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