As a child, she loved to draw. She would sit in the courtyard drawing the skylark her sister kept in a cage, with all these different types of pencils, and next to this skylark, she'd invent another, outside of the cage, and the two would be staring at each other, neither one opening their mouths to sing. I think drawing was an escape fore her; a view of the beautiful things in life. She wasn't a girl who was born surrounded by beautiful things.
They say the caged bird sings of freedom. I think if Imogen understood her life, she would have identified with that bird. But she was too young, then. All she knew was what she saw, and what she saw was vile. Our father was a vile man; viler after a drink. And Imogen was young and innocent. In his eyes, desperate for corruption. And that's what he did to all of us. His sons he taught how a woman must be kept in her place, scared and broken. His daughters he taught where that place was. The horror uof Imogen's young life does not bear repeating.
Each of us searched for a way to hide from it. We each longed for an escape. For me, that escape came with the horses we owned, and in the boy hired to look after them. Daniel Wolf, a year younger than me, provided such warmth in my life that we were soon inseprable, despite the class differences. When you're desperate, nothing matters. For Imogen, her creative flair was her freedom, and it had the added bonus of bringing her close to her chambermaid, Jayne Gibbons. A beautiful, independent girl, two years older than Imogen at my age. She was observant, calculating, and knew from the start that things were not perfect in this, the Bird household.
Even as her brother, Imogen did not tell me things. She was too selfless for that, and I was too wrapped up in my own world to notice anything amiss. I thank the heavens that I was the only one, and that Jayne Gibbons was there. Imogen found herself, at the tender age of fourteen, in a desperate situation that she did not know how to deal with. It was years later when I found out, and the horror I felt made me sick.
Imogen Bird, my little sister, was heavy with the burden of our father's child.
It was Jayne Gibbons who helped Imogen, darling Jayne, and so she shall take over this story and tell you what I cannot. What I do not know. Be warned: this is not a happy story.
- Matthew Bird
They say the caged bird sings of freedom. I think if Imogen understood her life, she would have identified with that bird. But she was too young, then. All she knew was what she saw, and what she saw was vile. Our father was a vile man; viler after a drink. And Imogen was young and innocent. In his eyes, desperate for corruption. And that's what he did to all of us. His sons he taught how a woman must be kept in her place, scared and broken. His daughters he taught where that place was. The horror uof Imogen's young life does not bear repeating.
Each of us searched for a way to hide from it. We each longed for an escape. For me, that escape came with the horses we owned, and in the boy hired to look after them. Daniel Wolf, a year younger than me, provided such warmth in my life that we were soon inseprable, despite the class differences. When you're desperate, nothing matters. For Imogen, her creative flair was her freedom, and it had the added bonus of bringing her close to her chambermaid, Jayne Gibbons. A beautiful, independent girl, two years older than Imogen at my age. She was observant, calculating, and knew from the start that things were not perfect in this, the Bird household.
Even as her brother, Imogen did not tell me things. She was too selfless for that, and I was too wrapped up in my own world to notice anything amiss. I thank the heavens that I was the only one, and that Jayne Gibbons was there. Imogen found herself, at the tender age of fourteen, in a desperate situation that she did not know how to deal with. It was years later when I found out, and the horror I felt made me sick.
Imogen Bird, my little sister, was heavy with the burden of our father's child.
It was Jayne Gibbons who helped Imogen, darling Jayne, and so she shall take over this story and tell you what I cannot. What I do not know. Be warned: this is not a happy story.
- Matthew Bird
