Yeah, Me Too:
Grief can affect your life in so many ways.
It doesn’t just go, it lingers…
I am about to share my experience with you in the hope that awareness around the intensity of grief is addressed in the workplace, in the home and in your personal life.
When someone you love dies, you can find yourself engulfed in a fog that blurs the lines and confuses your mind to the point where you continue in a state of autopilot that allows you to carry on, but devoid of emotions, numb to your pain and the reality of situations you may find yourself in.
My father died suddenly in 2004, I was on maternity leave and his death left me without family and real support. I was a single mother of two young children and I worked for London Underground as a Train Driver on the Bakerloo Line; I was 26, I had a mortgage and I had to carry on. Whilst I was consciously aware of death, I didn’t know what grief was, I didn’t know that this was an energy that sucks you into a deep dark place and although I would mask my misery with humour and a smile, I was completely hollow inside.
When I returned to work I wasn’t given any information about grief or the organisations in place that could help me with my emotions. On the contrary, I was told that I was to put my private life to the back of my mind and drive the train. Let me tell you now, when you are working an eight hour shift in the tunnels, your mind will wonder. Mine did, I would replay the trauma of my dads death and family loss over and over again. As I result, I had SPADS, this means that I moved trains past red signals and fail safe mechanisms would stop the train. The customers were not in any danger, but this was a sack-able offence.
In 2006 I was raped by a manager I trusted, he was aware of my fathers passing as I had confided my grief to him on one occasion when he boarded my train on his way home. The rape resulted in a pregnancy and I had a termination. I resigned from London Underground in 2009 after my final SPAD. I couldn’t continue with the company, I feared seeing him on platforms or running into him. I began to retreat into myself and the pleasure of working for the company turned into despair.
About a year after leaving the Underground a company magazine called On The Move dropped through my letterbox. As I flicked through the glossy pages I froze as I saw the image of my rapist receiving some kind of award. I broke down and told my partner what had happened to me in 2006. With my partners encouragement, I wrote about my experience and I posted it to my blog. It received a lot of attention and I received messages from women saying they had had similar experiences. I later learned that the man who raped me had been given early retirement and his full pension. I also learned that he had assaulted someone else.
In the next post you will read the full article that I shared on my now defunct website DipseyAura.
I will then share with you my realisations about grief, the trauma I experienced whilst on the Underground and the reasons why it has taken me so long to address this deeply distressing matter.
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It Happened To Me
Every so often a subject comes up that I know I really must write about but don’t want to. I have been toying with how I would start this article and my reasons for doing so for a while now and I still don’t know, even whilst typing, how this is going to work out.
My reasons for writing about this now is because I didn’t feel strong enough to deal with the event when it happened and I think many people may benefit from my writing about it.
So what happened?
A few weeks ago I picked up the On The Move magazine issued for London Underground staff. It would seem I have not been deleted off the mail shot and as I browsed through I was a little shaken as I saw the picture of the man who raped me.
I used to work for the world famous London Underground, I drove a train on the Bakerloo Line from Elephant and Castle to Harrow & Wealdstone. I enjoyed my job and found that working in a predominantly male environment where every day is different was exciting. I certainly knew I could not work in an office, I had done that and being around ladies literally did my head in.
I had gotten myself ready for the retirement party of Tom Scott a Duty Manager from Queens Park, and made my way to Liverpool Street where the pub on the station had been chosen for the send off. I had made a prior arrangement to turn up with Group Station Manager Barry Grant as I did not want to walk into this pub on my own. I went out to events held by the drivers from my depot Elephant and Castle but I knew that there would not be many if any Elephant Drivers there that evening. I ended up walking in on my own and of course was greeted by the familiar faces of the Queens Park drivers.
When Barry Grant called my phone I went down to the main station entrance and met him. We walked straight to the pub. I had a lot of respect for Barry Grant because he was a black man who had worked his way up the ranks and seemed to have taken a lot of shit off the company whilst doing so.
I had had a problem with my train on one occasion at Baker Street and Barry Grant along with another Manager, had arrived on the scene to help me. Barry Grant ended up driving my train from the other cab at the rear of the train with me directing from the front, because I could not get any movement. This caused a lot of trouble with the unions and attempts were made for him to be sacked. The memo I had written about the situation I had found myself in on that day is what had saved him his job. So I guess we had formed an unlikely friendship. I say unlikely because there is a lot of distrust between drivers and managers on the Underground.
We didn’t have each others numbers nor email addresses, however we would exchange in brief conversation if he happened to be on platform 4 at Elephant and Castle by the manager’s office where there were always other drivers waiting to pick up their trains, having said that these encounters only happened about twice. One such occasion was prior to the retirement party, I happened to be driving northbound to Harrow and Wealdstone and Barry Grant asked if he could ride in the cab with me to Wembley North Station which was now his home station following his move from Surrey, quite close to where I live. It is not unusual for people to sit up front with the drivers and to be honest most are happy for the company.
We spoke about my needing au pairs for my children whist I was at work and the fact that I had purchased a house and moved to a nice area since becoming a driver. He spoke about losing contact with his daughters and his frequent trips to Thailand. The last I had known he was engaged to be married to a lady named Ping or something like that, I had even seen pictures of her. I had asked him how that was going and he said it wasn’t I got the impression that there had been a few “Pings” since I had heard of the first. It was whilst we were travelling north bound that we arranged to meet up before Tom Scott’s doo. Barry Grant gave me his card and left the train.
The evening was a lively one and the drinks were flowing. London Underground had put a lot of money behind the bar for everyone to drink til’ their hearts were content. I hadn’t been anywhere near Barry Grant however towards the end of the evening he offered to take me out for a meal in China Town so that we could “soak up some of the alcohol.” We left the pub together.
We boarded a Central Line train at Liverpool Street and as the train approached Oxford Circus Barry Grant said that we should go back to his house, he decided he would cook for me instead and then pay for a cab to take me home. There was a short walk once we got off the train and Barry Grant was talking about the recent murder of an Asian Police woman that had take place around the corner from his house. Once we were inside his flat he fixed me a drink and put Memoirs of a Geisha on the television whilst he went off and cooked. I am not sure whether I finished my meal, I know there was not much on my small plate.
Barry Grant showed my photos of his daughters who had been taken to the coast and were now living a new life, he had no contact with them. To be quite honest I don’t remember much else of that part of the night, I know that by now it was well past midnight and that I was falling asleep. Barry Grant said that I could lay down in his bed and I thanked him. I said “You can lay down there too – I promise I won’t rape you.” We both laughed and I went and laid down on the bed, not in it.
When I awoke in the night Barry Grant was on top of me, inside me.
The next time I woke It was morning and Hollyoaks was on the television, the sun was shining and the walls were baby blue. I didn’t quite know what had happened. Barry Grant was talking about work, and people that we worked with in detail. He spoke of another female Train Driver then based at Queens Park who he alleged had tried to claim he had harassed her. Barry Grant also spoke of my chances of getting promotion and the ease of which it could be obtained if I had him on side. Barry Grant spoke of other managers and the need for black members of staff to stick together. I got the impression that the black managers had a network of helping others get up to management positions and that I could be part of this elite group. In my head I was trying to take in what exactly had happened. How exactly had I ended up in be with Barry Grant. Ugh, I remember thinking, he goes to Thailand, Do I really want to be with him? There he was, Barry Grant, talking about his poor finances, I said I lived in my overdraft and he talked about a time when the bank decided to cancel his overdraft one month leaving him with absolutely nothing to pay his bills. Barry Grant spoke of the fact that if we put our wages together that would give us a lot of money to play with, especially if I were to get a management position.
When I felt well enough Barry Grant walked my to the station and highlighted details of the murder that had taken place weeks before. I can not remember the full conversation but I know I said that I thought I might need to take the morning after pill, Barry Grant didn’t have much to say at that statement. We said goodbye on the bridge and I walked down the stairs and boarded the train. I knew who the driver was, actually it was a friend of mine but I decided to sit at the back of the train. I changed trains at Oxford Circus for the Victoria Line and then I took the Northern Line from Stockwell station to my home station. I know I took the morning after pill however I am not sure whether I went straight to my nearest boots or whether I waited until the Monday.
It was the afternoon and the sun was shinning but I just wanted to get home, have a nice bath and relax with my children. As I walked I called my best friend and told her what had happened. I was so confused. I knew that people had one night stands with Managers to get promotion but I didn’t want promotion, what was I supposed to do now? Would he think we were together? Did I even want to be with him, ugh I knew the answer to that one was No. We talked about the situation I had found myself in, in detail and I made a mental note to go to the clinic to get myself checked out and I decided to just forget about it.
I sorted out my overdraft after remembering that the bank could claim their money back at any time and tried to fix up my finances. I was still confused about what had happened but I put it to the back of my mind, went to work and cared for my kids. Pretty soon I started to feel very ill in the mornings and then I found I was not able to keep my food down. I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive. I was pregnant with Barry Grant’s child, I knew the moment it was confirmed that I just wanted it out of me.
Maybe it was a month after the rape, the phone rang. It was my good friend Natasha who used to work for London Underground. When she asked me how I was, I spilled the whole sorry story, she was horrified, she said to me “Hold on, Laura do you know what you’re saying?”
I replied “Yes, I’m pregnant and I have to get rid of it”
“Laura, he raped you, don’t you know that? Tell me again what happened”
I remember saying, that it can’t be rape, I know him, he’s a manager. That is not what rape is.”
I had always imagined rapes happened down a dark alley in the dead of night by someone you never knew. My friend was disgusted and asked me if I had his number, I found the card he had given me. She insisted I call him and tell him what he had done to me. I came off the phone to her and went upstairs to vomit.
Whilst I was in the bathroom, I called him. Barry Grant sounded happy that I had called, when he asked me if I was alright I replied “No.” I said “I’m pregnant and seen as you go to Thailand I need to know if there is anything else you could have given me” Barry Grant retorted “I’m at my mothers house, I will call you back later” I remember feeling empty and tired and simply horrible.
That evening Barry Grant did call me back, he asked me if I was going to continue with the pregnancy. I told him no way and told him all I wanted to know was when last he had been to a clinic. For some reason Barry Grant was ‘insulted’ at being asked such a question and launched into a massive rant about nearly dying in the tsunami and my not having any respect. This is one conversation I wish I could have recorded because Barry Grant ranted and ranted, firing accusations as his mind raced, “I thought you said you were going to get the morning after pill?” I tried to explain that I had, but couldn’t get a word in so I stayed quiet and left him to it and he fought hard to fill the silence by digging himself further and further into a very big hole. “I thought it was okay because we were friends,” he shouted at me.
At that point, I realised that what I had been told earlier was correct and I had been raped and he knew what he had done was wrong. I told him I never wanted to see or speak to him ever again and put the phone down.
I arranged the termination and when asked by the medical staff what my reasons were for the termination I explained what had happened to me. One doctor urged me to report it to the police but when I explained where I worked she said that I would probably be better off leaving it, she said that he would have the best lawyers and that I would be taking on the whole company and the unions. I was also told that I could have a member of the police present at the time of the termination who would take a sample of the tissue and store it in case I wanted to use it at a later date for evidence. I thought about it but wondered what good that would be; it wouldn’t prove I was raped. I wasn’t strong enough to be dragged through court; I couldn’t bare the thought of having my private life splashed all over the papers, how would my family feel and most of all what would the people I worked with think of me. I got on with everyone and enjoyed going out with the guys from work on rare occasions, I had no real social life. Surely now I would be viewed as a slag in a very male oriented work environment.
I told my manager, in hindsight though he probably knew about it long before I did, he was black and so obviously part of the ‘network’, he didn’t want anything to do with it. I took time off work, had the procedure and returned to work as soon as I felt well enough.
I told my friends, and had their support but what could anyone say or do. One friend suggested I tell my mother and I did during a telephone call months later. Our relationship was not in the best of places but I did tell her that I had had a termination, and why? Because I had been raped. My mothers reply was “What stupid position did you get yourself into for that to happen?” Honestly I wasn’t expecting any sympathy from the woman. I just hadn’t expected the reply I did get. If that was what my own mother could say to me, how on earth could I expect any compassion outside of my family?
About two years later at an ASLEF meeting I managed to speak briefly with an ASLEF Lawyer, I explained the situation to her and she sussed it was me I was referring too, I wonder how many times she had heard the “friend” line. The Lady told me that London Underground had a responsibility that night to keep me safe especially seen as they were the ones who had funded the tab, she said at that point I still had time to do something about it, the lady gave me her card and once again I gave in to fear and literally ran from the room. I never spoke to her again.
I did tell people what had happened to me. It was my way of dealing with what had happened, looking back now I realise I was in a mess for a long time, and yes I did get depressed. The front of a train is not the best place to be when you are experiencing deep emotions because your on your own for a good 7 hours, you can only think. I couldn’t make sense of it all, I needed advice but no one had the answers.
I was always the happy smiling Laura, but when I wasn’t able to smile through my upset I would call in sick with stress or childcare issues. I had long bouts of sicknesses and in those time’s I was able to be a mother to my children away from the Underground with no chance of seeing him. When I would return a lot of the drivers believed I was taking the piss because I was a woman with kids. I never went official for fear I would lose my job and be branded a liar by people I had once regarded as my friends.
And so life went on, it’s not actually an event I think of until that is I get a magazine drop through my letter box and see Barry Grants smug face starring back at me. I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to end this article but will it ever really be finished.
This seems to be such a taboo subject with so much guilt attached to it. However I strongly believe the GUILT IS MISPLACED. I realise some people can not get past being raped. I know it can effect people for their entire lives. I would advise anyone suffering because they have been subjected to such a violation to seek help. If I didn’t have certain friends in my life I may not have been able to deal with myself. Once I spoke about it, some of my friends opened up about their experiences and one situation had been so similar to my own.
I like to think that this is in my past. I also believe that my speaking about it can help others. I know I should have dealt with this a long time ago, however I knew at that time that I had two options, go the whole hog uncertain of the results or continue providing for my family as I was all they had.
As long as you keep something in your mind you keep it current and allow it to have an effect on you. I refuse to let the memories of that persons selfish act hold me to ransom. I AM alive and life is for the living, not for the re hashing of a painful past.
Have I learned much?
Hell yeah, it’s one of those things that have given me life lessons that have gone towards making me the person I am. Stronger and happier now than I have ever been.
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Speaking My Truth
Looking back over certain events of my life, I can see an order, a reason and the ongoing role Time plays in our lives. In my post titled, ‘It Happened To Me’, (saved from my blog DipseyAura in 2013), I signed off on a happy and positive note, I really thought that writing about the event, healed the trauma I had experienced at the hands of the man who raped me. It did not.
I woke up, It was happening, I didn’t say no, I didn’t fight, I passed out.
I’ve battled with that.
But who does that? I was asleep, I didn’t give consent… that’s rape.
I have looked at it from so many angles.
I think about it a lot, it’s unfinished business and it has been triggered most recently by a person I have encountered who looks just like him. I am unsettled. I am disturbed by the fact that I may have enabled a rapist to harm other women and I’m disturbed by the thought that vulnerable people working on the Underground may have had similar experiences, because I didn’t speak up.
I did speak up though, I told a manager, the top man on my line. I told people I worked with and I wrote about it. The result? London Underground covered it up. The man who raped me was retired on his full pension, it’s what they do… and they are not the only ones who cover up crimes within their ranks. I’m sure many people can testify to this practice within our grand and historic institutions.
As a young ‘Black’ woman, I ticked my fair share of boxes when it comes to degrading social stereotypes, but I was proud of myself for having achieved the status of a Train Driver, I owned my house and I was a ‘strong Black woman’, I was only 26 and I had accomplished so much in my early years on my own, but I felt powerless against the machine.
Let’s be real, I was raped by a ‘Black’ man who had risen up the ranks. A rarity, how could I expose him for being a rapist? I was in a troubling situation and as a single woman and mother I had two mouths to feed. So I did my best to get on with my life. I wanted to be dead, but I had to carry on.
I was urged to report the rape to the police in 2015. There was little they could do. Believing he was outside the UK they placed a block on his passport so that if he re-entered the country he would be questioned. I have not heard from them since. Following the report I was offered counselling with STAR and through that process I made a discovery of myself. I trusted the man who raped me because he wore a suit. The drivers wore a uniform, but he wore a suit. In my mind this meant I could trust him and be safely guided by him. I automatically respected him and saw him as a figure of authority over me. Why? Because I had been raised as a Jehovah’s Witness. Those men wore suits, and raised in a bubble, I was naive to the fact that this too was an organisation that harboured rapists and villainised the victims.
Still, what would they think of me? More shame on myself and my family.
I didn’t know what rape was, I didn’t know what it meant to be raped, but I did know that people who were raped had a hard time proving it. Estranged from my mother and her family of Witnesses I had no elder wisdom or guidance. My dad, who had worked nights as an engineer on the Underground, had died and I had no other relative I could call on. Without protection my fall back was cultural, ‘you don’t chat your business…’ Well I had broken that rule to no real avail and so, my depression deepened, my mental health weakened and my grief had me on the ropes as it clocked up my traumas.
I wore a mask, ‘don’t let them know you are struggling’.
My hair fell out, I got sick with stress, I lost my home, relocated and was bed bound for a decade…
I am weak – That is a big statement from a ‘Black’ woman. Barely uttered out loud. I’m lost and tired.
But I have to speak my truth!
The work of healing is ongoing, whilst I continue to be the help, support and guide for those from all walks of life who experience grief in it’s many forms, I am now diving deeper into this part of my journey, to root out my own trauma and lay it bare. That’s the least I can do.
I have to make my experiences count, other people might just gain the strength to speak up.
I’ve created resources that will help individuals to prepare themselves and their loved ones for their death, and gain a deeper awareness of death related grief, generational and work related grief and trauma. All this and much more through the creation of books I needed when I was thrust into tumultuous situations.
The work goes on and I see how I have been led to this point of disclosure.
London Underground and their managers failed me.
They had a duty of care toward me.
I’m turning it around.
They can not sweep my experience under the rug this time…
Perhaps they have changed their policies around their duty of care toward their staff. Maybe they have sought to find better ways to support their staff experiencing grief and trauma. They may well have looked at their culture of covering up events that could tarnish their reputation and decided to create open pathways for positive resolutions. I doubt it.
Ultimately I left the company to protect my sanity, but 17 years later, I am still affected by my experiences whilst working for London Underground.