Pre summer holidays 1977
Life in general in 1977, when I was 15 years old, saw many changes. A significant difference was that three outsiders were in my life. These three people were not involved with the criminally insane religious organisation to which my family belonged.
Already present was a man with whom my mother had a de facto relationship, John Joseph Quinn (commonly called ‘Jack’), who was not connected with the global underground occult network, including all of its religious festivities, events etc. My mother met Jack at a pub she went to after work in Richmond. He would eventually become my stepfather.
Also, at this point in time, not only was the outsider, Jack, around, but my mother was also working full time for a theatre supply company in Hoddle Street Richmond, and had been doing so for many years. Through her work in the theatre supply company, she made an adult woman friend through after-work social activities. This woman’s name was Marge Noonan.
Furthermore, every second Sunday for the preceding 7 years, I had also been taken by my mother to visit my brother, Danny, in Kew Cottages. It was at Kew Cottages that a third outsider entered the picture. This was a woman named Jean Shaw, who had a son in Kew Cottages who had Down’s Syndrome. Jean Shaw befriended my mother at one of our visits. So now there were three outsiders hanging around, looking at our so-called mother-daughter relationship.
Around this time, we moved into a new house at 37 Leander St, West Footscray, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. My mother was still the main controlling ritual abuse perpetrator to me. The big difference was that there were now three outsiders who were watching the control and domination over me by mother. This outside scrutiny, of course, made my mother try to appear to be a normal human being! Not an easy task for her.
At this time, the relationship between me and Jack began to deepen. He was a good man, and our relationship had nothing untoward about it. This man had fought in the Second World War and other wars following. He had done overseas postings, and had lost the opportunity to be a husband and father to his family. He’d been married before he met my mother but had become divorced from his first wife due to the wars in which he’d been involved and he did not have close relationships with his children for the same reason. By chance, however, despite Jack’s sad personal life, he met what appeared to be a still attractive woman in her mid-forties (my mother) who had a young teenage daughter (me) who got along with him so well that, prior to his marriage to my mother, he was already talking about adopting me as his own daughter.
Jack spoke openly to me of his desire to adopt me as his own daughter. This was a very dangerous thing to do in front of my mother. It was dangerous because my birth name, Maureen Joan Farthing, had already been written (when I was 8 days old) by hand with my own blood by my mother into the occult’s ‘book of death’ and the ‘book of queens’, as is the custom of the occult. This might not make sense to readers unfamiliar with the occult. If Jack had adopted me, I would have taken on his surname, which was unacceptable to the occult people because I would be under the authority of a non-occult person, and this wasn’t acceptable. It was okay for Jack to marry my mother, because I still retained the Farthing family name.
When I was very young, I decided that by my first coming of age (21 years old) that I would be married to and under the authority of someone who was not involved in the evil religion that my family was involved in so that I would not be under the ownership of my Farthing/Harmer family. My mother was very worried about the relationship that was starting to grow between Jack and me! She needed to make sure that Jack did not adopt me. I won’t go into it here, but over the years, my mother worked hard on Jack to drive a wedge between him and me so that there was no risk of him adopting me, even though she married him.
Anyway, coming back to 1977, the healthy and positive relationship that was forming between me and Jack was not what my criminal and deranged mother wanted. A significant problem for my mother with what was happening was that it increased the risk that Jack might notice something very odd in the mother-daughter relationship and that I might feel close enough to him to trust him enough to tell him about the real woman my mother was (and still is). Here, I must remind the reader that I had been, on many previous occasions in my short life, punished and tortured, and had also had to watch several of my pets killed and / or tortured, by way of training me never to speak out about what was happening in my life to anyone from the outside.
With this background set, I will now speak about the great lengths to which my mother went to shut me up and prevent me from speaking to outsiders, but particularly to Jack and the two normal women (Marge Noonan and Jean Shaw) now looking into our lives.
My mother owned a long-haired tortoiseshell female cat that was not de-sexed. In the 1970s, rules and local council regulations were not as strict as they are today regarding de-sexing, and of course the cat was having a litter of kittens at least twice a year to any of the local tomcats.
I had already made my own decisions regarding having my own pets, as I no longer wanted to go through any more heartbreaks of getting attached to cute fluffy kittens and puppies that any teenage girl loves, as I had already watched in horror torturous killings been done to my pets. I didn’t want to go through this again, and I did not want any more domestic pets to suffer. In other words, I wanted nothing to do with my mother’s tortoiseshell cat and her constant litters of kittens.
My mother, of course, had other plans and particularly wanted me to be, in the occult’s wording, in the ‘frame of mind’ personality called ‘saviour’ when she decided that she was now going to hurt kittens from this tortoiseshell cat. This aspect of my personality (‘saviour’) had long ago been created in my own personality profile of trying to save other people, children, and pets that I loved. That said, my mother also knew that even this aspect of my personality would probably not be enough to give me the strength to save the tortoiseshell’s kittens, as I had clearly demonstrated throughout my childhood and teenage years that I understood that I had no power over the torture and killing of both human beings and animals despite whatever was said to me to the contrary. In other words, the reason my mother, following her criminal insane mindset, tortured and killed animals, was in the hope that I would step in as their saviour and stop what was already going to happen to them, and then suffer even more because I was never going to be able to prevent whatever was going to happen from happening.
My mother’s decision that she was going to hurt the tortoiseshell’s kittens was not just to reinforce the ‘saviour’ personality aspect, it was also designed to cause another instance of false guilt in me. My mother knew very well that if she tapped not only into my mind, but also into my heart, she then could try to use my own compassion to force me into participating in whatever evil / insane game she would set up to get me to respond and engage in. Prior to the situation in which there were three outsiders hanging around, these games had been played many times. Now, however, things were far more dangerous for my mother because it was starting to look like I might speak to outsiders and expose her for what she really was and still is. Every insane thing that was ever done to me was done in a cold and calculating way for the purpose of keeping me quiet about all of her behaviour! What happened with the tortoiseshell’s kittens was yet another instance of this kind of activity.
The tortoiseshell had her second litter of 6 kittens. I had previously ignored the first litter of 5 kittens. Every one of the 5 kittens from the first litter had been sold to the local pet shop and I was told before they were taken away that they would either be sold or, if they could not be sold, fed to large snakes. When the second litter of 6 kittens was born, I was told that this litter would have much the same fate. The only difference, however, was that this time, I was told that I could pick out any 2 of the kittens to keep – the rest would, as with the first litter, be either sold or fed to large snakes. The comment about the remaining kittens potentially being fed to large snakes was, of course, designed to try to make me want to save them. My mother worked hard to get me to get attached to the kittens in the second litter, telling me how cute they were and trying to get me to look at them or pick them up. I steadfastly refused to do any of that. There was no way I was going to pick out 2 kittens to keep and I showed absolutely no interest in any of the kittens.
I came home from high school one day at the same time I always did. Naturally, my mother knew that I would arrive when I did. When I arrived, she knew that Jack would not be arriving home for at least another hour or so. I walked out to the back porch to find my mother with all the 6 kittens from the second litter in a large hand basin of cold water. As I walked out, my mother told me that the kittens now had their eyes open.
I just stood and looked at her and the kittens. Running through my mind was the main thought that my mother was going to drown the kittens. I believed this because she had previously had done many near-death drownings to both my brother Danny and me in baths, troughs, and other things. Instead of immediately drowning the kittens, however, she started laughing hysterically, in much the same way as she did when shoving my or Danny’s head under water for long periods of time. Obviously, she did this to reinforce the thought I was having that the kittens would be drowned.
Despite this, I still just stood there looking at my mother. Her laughter then changed to the evil cackle I knew so well and then she said, “I am baptising the kittens.” I continued to just stare at her and not respond to what should have made me very nervous. I knew that no matter what I did, the kittens were going to die. [When my mother said ‘baptising’, she did not mean in the sense that most readers would understand it – she meant that she was dedicating the kittens to satan, according to the insane Farthing/Harmer religious belief system].
Rather than immediately drown the kittens, however, my mother started taking the kittens, one by one, out of the hand basin and dried them off with a towel. The ones waiting to be dried off were crying and trying to get out of the hand basin. She pulled out all of the kittens and dried them off. It was at this point that I started to walk away from the mad old hag. As I was walking away, however, two of the kittens came to me crying and they tried to get on my feet.
I still did not want anything to do with these kittens. While all the weirdness with the kittens was going on, I was not thinking about the time that had elapsed. Suddenly, Jack got home from work, saw what was happening with the kittens crying at my feet, and said, “Oh, how lovely, you have two of the kittens choosing you.” He had not seen what had happened beforehand. I knew that he had already been worked on by my mother about how good it would be for me to have a couple of kittens. Because he had not seen the insane events first, in his innocence, he believed that I was starting to look at and warm to the idea of keeping a couple of the kittens and that these would be good pets for me.
While Jack was standing there, my mother was behind me bringing in the rest of the kittens to return to their tortoiseshell mother. So I picked up the two kittens that crying at my feet with the intention of also returning them to their mother. Jack asked me what I was going to call these two kittens and he seemed really pleased that these kittens had chosen me. He told me when animals choose you as their owner, and then they are more faithful. These were really not words I wanted to hear and so I returned the kittens to the mother cat and said I was going out to see friends.
When I returned to the house, Jack and my mother had had a few beers and, as my mother was trying to pretend to be a normal human being, she had also cooked tea. I should note here that my mother was not averse to preparing meals for me – the only problem was that they were very often in the form of live snails, worms, and dirt. When it was apparently ‘normal’ food, it was very often poisoned by my mother with things like arsenic and lead in small quantities. I had learned by this age to have my meals at my friends’ houses; friends who not only had normal mothers, but they were actually good cooks too and of course the food would not be drugged. So I declined the meal and just went to my own bedroom and really wanted nothing to do with any conversations.
I can only say that the 2 grey and tabby kittens ended up being mine and the remaining litter were sold to the pet shop. The woman from the pet shop came to the house and collected them when they were 5-6 weeks old.
My heart did still not want to have anything to do with these 2 kittens and I especially did not want to become fond of them, so they only got the very unoriginal names of Smokey and Tabby.
The summer school holidays started and even with my mother now involved in a de facto relationship with Jack, I still knew that she would drag me to the usual occult holiday festivities in South Gippsland, Victoria, Australia. I knew that it would not be at Pine Lodge in Inverloch as this would not be a place she would take Jack to and so I knew she would be hatching another plan in a different venue under the guise of a holiday.
But I only gave this some thought over the next few weeks until the surprise holiday would start.
The school holidays themselves gave my mother a lot of one-on-one time and many hours without other people watching to thrust these kittens on me. She would often wake me up early in the mornings before she would go to work and before I would go and see my school friends. When she did this, she started with telling me that I needed to learn to be responsible for them with giving them their food and water and cleaning up after them. This was the beginning of making me responsible for the kittens, but it was also done in the hope that I would bond with them, as of course they were cute and because kittens can bring much happiness into people’s lives, and I was a very unhappy teenager.
And so the school holidays continued, and the Christmas holidays in South Gippsland took place under guise of a camping holiday with friends of the family network in Wonthaggi, Victoria, Australia. The camping was on a back beach only accessible through land owned by a family called Browne, who were related to the Harmer family.
During this so-called camping holiday I had watched my mother spiking Jack’s beers with drugs so that he would pass out asleep before the midnight festivities in which I was forced to participate. After the ‘holiday’, we returned to life back in West Footscray and Jack returned to work. The new school year was still a few weeks off and my mother had more than the main holiday days off from her full-time job.
When we got back to 37 Leander St, West Footscray, the grey fluffy kitten I had called Smokey had a rear paw badly infected and swelled up. Smokey was crying with pain and my mother said that a snake must have bitten its paw. I didn’t believe this, as it seemed obvious to me that if a half-grown kitten was bitten by a snake, it would die.
I then took this kitten to the vet who said that whatever was wrong with its paw was too complicated and full of infection and I could either have him cut off that paw or put the kitten down. I chose to have the half-grown kitten put down as I knew that this was just the beginning of tortures to be done to this kitten by my mother.
I found this whole experience very emotional as I did not believe that at such a young age I should need to make this decision to kindly put down the kitten. Also, now I was in financial debt to my mother (due to the vet bill) and knew I would have to pay her the money for the expensive vet bill by yet again being prostituted. The vet also mentioned that there would need to be further consultations (and therefore bills) even if the paw was removed then and there. In other words, it was cheaper to have the kitten put down and it was a rational choice to make because I knew that the kitten was going to be killed eventually by my mother, but not humanely the way the vet would, and I would also be forced into more prostitution than what was already planned for me. The final reason was that despite myself, I had finally become fond of this kitten, and I couldn’t bear the thought of what was going to happen to it before it ended up being killed. Therefore, the vet put the kitten down as I asked him to, and left the kitten with him to dispose of it because I didn’t want my mother to do something sick with the body of the kitten.
When I got back from the vet, I was asked by my mother why I had not had the kitten’s foot and half of the hind leg removed (which was odd, as the vet had only mentioned the need for the paw to be removed). I only replied that I thought it was kinder not to let this kitten live its whole life with half of its hind leg missing. I didn’t bother challenging her with what the vet had said and I certainly didn’t say anything about what I knew she would do to the kitten if I’d taken it back from the vet.
My mother was enraged with this answer and ranted at me that cats can live a full life with only 3 legs, but of course I knew she was really enraged because I had had the kitten humanly dealt with (and therefore an opportunity to traumatise me further with hurting the kitten was lost), and also because what I had done resulted in only one vet bill and not many bills, so it was going to be easier for me to work off the debt than it would have been if I’d not had the kitten put down.
That night, I felt the strong need to also say goodbye to the remaining kitten (Tabby) as I knew that when my mother had not gotten her way, then I would be punished, and it wasn’t hard to guess what was in store for Tabby. I simply said a little prayer, thanking God that Smokey was no longer alive to be tortured, and asked that Tabby would have a quick death at the hands of my mother.
The next day, after Jack had gone to work early in the morning, I was woken up by my mother with Tabby being held by the scruff of its neck. My mother was screaming at me: “Ït’s all your fault! It’s all your fault!” Then she told me that Tabby would have to be killed.
I tried to plead with my mother to not hurt the kitten, even though I knew this would only fuel her rage and worsen the evil deed she was about to commit, but I pleaded again, hoping that my mother would lose control enough that the kitten would be killed quickly. I had learned from experience that sometimes my mother would not be quite as methodical in her depravity if she were out of control with rage.
She ran out into the kitchen, still carrying Tabby by the scruff of his neck so that he could not claw her. I followed her, still begging her to not hurt the kitten. However, she went through the cutlery drawer, pulled out a fork, and rammed it into Tabby’s tiny body.
I just stood watching her. I did nothing because I knew that if I did, things would only get worse. Of course, this was another lose-lose situation. It was going to get worse anyway. When my mother didn’t get any more reactions from me, she then threw Tabby into the microwave oven, slammed the door shut, and pressed the high setting for 10 minutes. She then came over and grabbed me by the hair and shoved my face up against the microwave door to watch the sparks flying off the fork and the kitten get cooked.
When this was over, I had to bury Tabby out in the backyard along the narrow side of the shed and was told that Jack would be told the kitten had been pinched (stolen).
This is the nature of both my brother, Daniel Farthing’s, and my mother, the one who is clearly criminally insane and who has caused all her children to suffer terribly from torturous abuses. Even our pets were tortured and abused in very sick and perverted ways. But there was always a reason behind everything done. Readers might be wondering why my mother did what she did with the kitten. The answer is this. I was set up to get attached to a living creature, which was then cruelly tortured and killed. The message here was extremely clear: I was not to get attached to Jack and confide in him, or he too might be caused pain and suffering, and might even be killed.
[The example of what I’ve just described is only one of dozens of similar incidents. Hopefully the reader will understand why my mother did what she did and what it was designed to accomplish. I will give one more example here of how an animal was used to teach me lessons my mother felt it was important for me to learn. In this example, the simple choice of a name for an animal carried with it special significance. Several years after Tabby was killed, after many more litters of kittens had been born by my mother’s tortoiseshell cat (and taken to the pet shop to be sold or eaten by snakes), and after several unsuccessful attempts to again get me to get attached to a kitten, my mother finally realised that I was not going to fall for the game of getting attached to any more kittens. When this point arrived, Jack drove my mother and me to the vet to have the tortoiseshell de-sexed. When my mother filled out the form with her name and address and the cat’s name, the vet himself questioned her about the cat’s name. My mother said loudly that the name of the cat was Mole. But in private conversations with me, the cat was called Slut as well as Mole. In the 1970s, the word mole was also slang for slut. The reason my mother called the cat Mole / Slut was to try bring out in my own behaviour two other aspects of my personality (other than ‘saviour’ and many, many others) that the Farthing/Harmer family created called ‘the slut’ and ‘breeding bitch’. I was called these names all throughout my teenage years. This was done in the attempt to keep me in the ‘frame of mind’ to behave like a slut, so that I would get pregnant and then ‘breeding bitch’ would produce babies for sacrifice, just as my sister had. Despite the Farthing/Harmer families’ best efforts, however, they did not succeed in this respect. This was because when I was a very young child, watching my sister go through the heartbreak of having babies taken from her for sacrifice, one of my personal prayers to my Father in heaven was “Please never let them get me pregnant.” This prayer was answered.]
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