My childhood was stolen but I’m determined to make a difference
Cleonie Quayle, 62, Merrylands, NSW.
The policeman gripped my arm. “You’re coming with me,” he said gruffly and yanked me away from the camp fire.
“No!” I screamed and started crying.
I looked over at my brothers, Kenny, 16, Trevor, 12, and Cliff, eight, who were all crying, too.
Then the policeman locked us up in a prison cell for the night.
It was 1965, and I was only four years old.
My parents, Norma and Keith, had brought us down from Ivanhoe to Balranald, NSW, for a family event. We’d been sitting around the camp fire when the policeman arrived.
The next day, my brothers and I were sent to Sydney.
I went to the Bidura Children’s Home…
