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    The Pathway to Freedom
    The Pathway to Freedom
    The Pathway to Freedom
    Ebook25 pages13 minutes

    The Pathway to Freedom

    By Linda Mary Ashdown

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    About this ebook

    The Pathway to Freedom, is the short true story of how my life was amazingly restored by God, when with great compassion and mercy, He revealed himself to me and lead me out of the darkness, shame and despair that abortion had so instantly brought upon me.
    In these days, when sadly, abortion is considered just another form of birth control, this little book may help many women find healing and forgiveness after having chosen to take that option, and gone down the long, painful road of regret.
    Being a thought provoking and honest book, it might just also, help save the lives of unborn babies, who have no voice! Sadly, it is too late for the thousands of aborted babies, who should have been born to fulfil their individual lives and play out their unique role in society - In this life, we will never know the infinite value of what has so easily been cast aside. But, if this testimony can help save even just one precious life, then the writing of it will have been worthwhile...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLinda Mary Ashdown
    Release dateAug 2, 2014
    ISBN9781311525758
    The Pathway to Freedom
    Author

    Linda Mary Ashdown

    Being born speedily on the Leap Year Day of the 29th of February 1944, was, I understand, quite a shock for both my mother and myself. I wasn't due until March, but my poor mother had been administered a hefty dose of Cod liver Oil (which she hated), as the hospital needed my mother's bed to be allocated to the next expectant mum. Deliveries were run on a tight schedule in Preston Royal Infirmary at that time. Nature being allowed to take its course was a rare luxury the hospital could not afford, with so many 'War Babies' coming into the world!At that time, my father, Lesley Ashdown, was serving in the RAF and was stationed near Blackpool, Lancashire. After my safe arrival, he was promptly shipped off to the Middle East and remained there until well after the end of the war. And so my mother, tender from delivery, returned home to cope alone with a new baby, my elder sister, Jackie and brother, Russell.My Father, having successfully survived some near misses when serving abroad, finally returned to England to be 'demobbed'. It was then our family left the North of England to settle back in the town of my Father's birth, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire.Life in that pleasant market town was where I formed my earliest memories. It seems my health was at times rather frail. This meant I had periods off school and spells in hospital. Such times made my school life something to be dreaded because I had missed work and didn't understand. One of my most vivid memories was of being packed off at six years old, to recover my health in a coastal Convalescent Home in Sandwich Bay, Kent. To me, at that tender age, it was another traumatic event. Suddenly bereft of all that was safe and familiar, I found myself in a Post War Institution, were the routine mirrored something along the lines of a harsh Victorian boarding school. Each child had to take responsibility to clean their iron bedstead and turn their mattress weekly during laundry changes. A change of clothes was also only administered once a week, so wow-be-tide anyone who had an accident, especially as the only toilet facility at night, was a large communal, stinky potty, placed in the middle of the dormitory. Fridays particularly became a nightmare for me from the first week. Each child lined up outside the 'Sick Bay' to take the weekly dose of "BlackJack." As I lined up for the first time, I had no clue what this "Blackjack" was. The older kids found great delight in terrifying me with their stories. By the time I entered Sick Bay' I was full of deep apprehension and my worst fears were quickly realised. How long I was held there I have no idea, but daylight was streaming through the window when I entered the clinical room and when I was finally taken to my bed in the dormitory, everything was shrouded in deep darkness. The time in-between was spent forcibly being made to swallow the dreaded "BlackJack" then tearfully vomiting it out into the stone sink in the corner of the room. Finally, Matron was sent for, then the three of them started a second round of forcible administration. My stomach simply could not keep it down. From that time on I was considered a most 'difficult and wilful child!'That summer was full of fear and isolation, with no contact with my parents apart from one Saturday afternoon visit. That afternoon on the beach with them was a tearful event as I pleaded to be taken home. But it was not to be... I was returned into the hands of Matron to finish my term of treatment. However, I do have the clear memory of one small victory. It came on the day I was finally being allowed home. When the other children and I filed in for breakfast, we were served a bowl of cereal. On this particular morning the milk as stinking sour, but the staff continued to serve it. I just couldn't eat it. Needles to say I was hauled up to the top table to be dealt with by Matron. I remember pleading with her, saying,'Please don't make me eat it, I'm going home today. Please, please don't make me, Please, No!'At that, the angry woman stood me on a chair in front of the rows of tables and ridiculed me. Everyone laughed and sniggered as they downed their breakfast... Later that day, as our private coach, full with returning children, travelled back from Kent to central London, the nightmare began... First one child was sick, and then another. On and on it went, until every child was vomiting profusely. The nurse on broad was running up and down the gangway with her solitary, and very inadequate bucket! That bus was awash with stinking sick as I pressed my face into the window to keep out the smell. I was the only one who remained safe.It was a glorious moment when that bus parked up under Big Ben and I ran out into the fresh air and my mother's arms!Needless to say, any days I could spend with my mother, doing my favourite things like drawing and painting were very precious to me. They were indeed very happy times as my mum (Marjorie), was a trained and talented artist.Writing came later for me when I was fortunate enough to get into a good girls' senior school. There I started to flourished and enjoy school life. My ability in art was encouraged to the point that my teachers' hoped I would go on to qualify as a teacher. However, with my sister and brother both in higher education, the burden of another one in college did not go well with my father. So, having a natural interest in nursing since admiring them as a young patient, I was encouraged to take that direction. I worked for years in nursing, especially after I was married and bringing up my children. However, as I got older, I missed that creative side of my life and decided, with the encouraging supportive of my teenage children, to divide up our large three car garage and build myself a studio that looked over the garden. From that time on I developed my work interests towards Fine Art Illustration, mainly in watercolour painting. Over the years I have been fortunate enough to get work regularly published and I also spent some years teaching.At this point, I need to briefly step back to the early 1970s when my children were still under ten years old and I was pregnant with my fourth baby. My husband and I had always talked of having a large family, but it was at that point, my marriage, suddenly started to fall apart. I was a busy working mum doing night duty in a Cardiff hospital, when my husband's secret struggle with alcohol came clearly to light. That may sound rather naive to say, but back then, I had no real understanding on the subject of alcoholism - especially as my husband had never been an open drunkard! And so, back in those early days I found myself facing a serious situation and some hard choices - the forced sale of our home, separation and the destruction of our family life.I make no charge for the downloading of "The Pathway To Freedom" as I feel it should be freely available to anyone who seeks truthful answers on the matter of abortion.Thank you for taking the time to read this Bio, may it encourage you to download, "The Pathway To Freedom."May it help you to make right choices if it is your baby's life in question. Or maybe, my testimony may help bring you to a place of personal healing and freedom from deep distress, should you have ever gone through with the termination of your pregnancy...Linda M. Ashdown

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      Book preview

      The Pathway to Freedom - Linda Mary Ashdown

      The Pathway to Freedom

      By Linda M. Ashdown

      Copyright 2014 by Linda M. Ashdown

      Book Cover Illustration

      Bluebells at St. Boniface Down, Isle of Wight

      by Linda M. Ashdown

      Smashwords Edition

      License Notes. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with someone else, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This book is dedicated to

      Michael

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One.

      Chapter Two

      Conclusion

      References

      The Pathway to Freedom

      Chapter One

      The woman sat with her head bowed. Her long fair hair fell forward hiding her face. She was grateful

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