No Easy Road Page 4
At first, I only vaguely registered the silence in the room. I moved half way towards the bed, then stopped. No one was talking. Nobody was getting ready for bed. All the boys were standing still, staring hard at me. They made me feel uncomfortable, uneasy, unwanted. The atmosphere felt tense, almost hostile and I was frightened.
Billy sensed the change in atmosphere, too. Without warning, some of the boys moved slowly towards me. They had a look on them I never saw before. I knew them all, but now I wanted to run away from them. I didn't understand what was happening. Suddenly, Billy jumped in front of me, shielding me, shouting at them angrily. The boys backed off. The tension in the air melted away. I felt relaxed. But when I tried to get into bed, Billy pulled me back.
"You're not sleeping in there. You're sleeping in my bed tonight", he said.
I didn't object. I was over the moon at the thought of cuddling into my big brother. He made me feel safe. I couldn’t stop talking either. I had a million and one questions inside me, all bursting to get out. Poor Billy.
"Why is the grass green, Billy?", I asked, barely pausing for breath or to listen to his answer.
"It just is", he replied. "Just get to sleep."
"Billy, is Johnny your best friend? Do you like me better Billy? Why do you like Johnny?".
"Shut up and get to sleep!".
Another question followed, and another and I nudged and poked him each time for the answer. He got more and more annoyed as the long night dragged slowly by. Eventually, he fell fast asleep. I don't know whether it was out of pure exhaustion or me finally running out of questions. As I lay in darkness and the silence of the unfamiliar room, I thought only about the house mother and what she did to me. How I hated her even more now. I felt hurt and angry and wished more than anything else she would die.
When I awoke the next morning, I wasn't thinking about my sore bottom any more. All I could think of was breakfast. At first, I didn't really notice how quiet the home was. I did think it odd there was no house mother to lead us into the dining room as usual. Some of the older children acted strangely. There was none of the normal shouting and screaming. They talked together in small huddles, whispering amongst themselves. Then I heard them mention the house mother and how she was found dead in her bedroom upstairs.
Although I felt very sad, I didn't fully understand I would never see her again. It only began to sink in when there were no more fishies in the committee room, or outings to Nigg Bay, where once June and I covered ourselves in the bright red lipstick we took from her handbag. She was really angry on that occasion, too.
As the years passed, the sadness grew because we parted under such a dark cloud. Good or bad, she was the only mum I ever knew. In the days and months following her death, no one thought to ask me how I was feeling. No one cared enough to see whether or not I was coping. I was just left to get on with it.
Inside me, I also carried the guilt of wishing her dead. For years, I really thought I was responsible. When Billy told me he saw her ghost one night while raiding the pantry, I was too terrified to go down the stairs to the toilet on my own in the dark. So I wriggled about in agony until I wet the bed.
Chapter Four
She intrigued me the moment I saw her. I was playing outside in the playground at the time. The smartly dressed lady walked purposefully up the driveway to the front door of the home. With a green jacket nipped in at the waist and a matching pencil skirt and feather boa hat, she looked the picture of elegance. In her right hand, she carried a small black handbag, matching the colour of her high heeled shoes.
After ringing the doorbell and waiting a moment, the lady went inside. A few minutes later, she came out and walked back down the driveway with Thomas in tow, one of the young boys from the home. Later, they returned to the home in time for tea. For the next few weeks, the lady came back every Sunday, taking Thomas out for the afternoon each time.
One Sunday afternoon, she didn't turn up as usual. Next day, I was surprised to see her sitting in the dining room. After watching us all take our places at the breakfast table, she stood up.
"Be quiet!", she snapped.
An expectant hush fell over the dining room. All eyes turned towards her.
"Children. I have an announcement to make."
She paused, deliberately, waiting for complete silence. Her eyes darted back and forth, from face to face, fixing every eye for an instant with a steely gaze. Satisfied she now had our undivided attention, she cleared her throat slightly.
"I am your new house mother. Carry on with your breakfast."
The announcement was short and to the point. Without uttering another word, she hurriedly left the dining room. If none of us knew quite what to make of her, she wasted no time in showing us. When Thomas said something which annoyed her, she threw him into a small dark cupboard and leaned back smiling with her full weight against the door. He banged and pushed and screamed to be let out. We all watched in disbelief. Now we knew what our new house mother was like and what would happen to us if we stepped out of line.
* * *
During the early fifties and sixties, it was fashionable for many local organisations to hold Christmas parties and invite children along from all the children's homes. One such event was organised by the WRI (Scottish Women's Rural Institutes). We dressed up in our best second hand party clothes and walked to the hall, arriving just before 3 o'clock in the afternoon when the party was due to start.
As I entered the hall, it wasn't the beautiful Christmas tree at the far end which caught my attention, although tall and beautiful and highly decorated. No, it was the long table on which lay dozens of large plates piled high with cakes of every conceivable colour, size and shape. There were chocolate cakes, cream cakes, pink dainty cakes, and cakes full of delicious, oozing jam. What an assortment. I never saw so many goodies in my life all in one place. I couldn't take my eyes off them.
The children were running about shouting and screaming and letting of steam. The noise was almost ear splitting. But I didn't join them because I was more interested in the cakes sitting temptingly on the long table. The table was hidden by a white table cloth almost reaching to the floor. There were chairs neatly tucked around it, all ready and waiting for the hungry hordes.
I slowly walked along the length of the table eyeing up each pile for a second or so, trying to make up my mind where the best cakes were so I could sit within easy reach of them. I didn't want any other kid taking the cakes I wanted. The trouble was they all looked so delicious and I didn't know which ones to choose. My mind was in a bit of a turmoil. It was a hard decision to have to make and time was fast running out.
I grabbed the nearest cake from a plate and dived out of sight underneath the table cloth. Being so small, no one noticed me. I took a sample bite and then carefully placed the cake back on the pile underneath another cake so the bite mark wouldn't be seen. I repeated the whole sneaky process again and again and by the time I reached the bottom of the table, the ducking and diving underneath had become a well practised routine. Finally, I felt satisfied, after tasting every cake. Now I knew which ones I was going to have.
Just then I heard the children being shouted through to the hall. I quickly sat on a chair to make it appear I was the first to take my place at the table. No one suspected anything. But no sooner had the children tucked into the feast laid out in front of them, an older girl, sitting close by me, let out a wail of disappointment.
"I'm not eating that. It's got a big bite in it!"
As she threw the cake down on to the table, there was another cry from further along.
"This one's got a bite in it, too."
Other children added their voices to the growing clamour as each discovered a bite had been taken out of their chosen cake. Before I knew it, the place erupted into a small riot. Cakes were being thrown here, there and everywhere across the table. I sat quietly smiling, feeling rather full up, pretending to be a complete innocent. I was having a great party but nobody else was.
The plump lady seemed to be one of the main organisers. She kept giving me suspicious looking glances. I'm sure she noticed the amount of chocolate and jam and sticky icing which was plastered all down the front of my party dress. But not being able to prove I was the culprit, there was nothing she could do or say. I was so thrilled at the thought of getting away with it.
However, she remembered me the following year, when the same party was held again in the same hall. Only this time, the lady kept a wary eye on me. She never once let me stray anywhere near the table. And of course, the party passed off perfectly.
Christmas was always a magical time for me. There was an electric charge all around the home. The children became more and more excited as the big day drew near. But before then, there was Mr McDonald's party to look forward to. Apart from Christmas itself, it was always the highlight of the festive season.
On the day of the party, we were all told to go upstairs to dress up in our best clothes. My room overlooked the front garden and the long driveway. So I was first to hear the sounds of the catering vans arriving at the front door. Watching it all from my window, I was transfixed.
Van doors were flung open and a procession of waitresses in neat white aprons and caps carried large platters of food smartly into the home. Then they unpacked cutlery, plates and glasses and laid the table. The sounds generated by this frenzy of activity continued for several more minutes until silence indicated the end of this well practised drill.
I quickly finished dressing and hurried out my bedroom to join the other children waiting in the playroom downstairs. We were instructed to wait there so we wouldn't get in anyone's way. An hour later, all was ready. We were led through to the dining room now magically transformed into a banqueting hall. The two long wooden tables, normally bare, were covered in the finest of linen and tableware. Our eyes popped out in amazement.
The house mother was already sitting waiting for us at the small table where she usually sat. It was positioned in between the two long tables so she could easily keep an eye on us all. Although our excitement was just about unbearable, everyone knew better than to let go of their feelings, even on such a day. Her eagle eyes watched closely, missing nothing. As we made our way to our normal sitting positions, no one talked, or whispered, or did anything which might bring her disapproval.
The silence was at last broken by the entrance of the waitresses, expertly carrying plates of sliced turkey, hot steaming roast potatoes and vegetables with lashings of gravy. They moved with clockwork precision, placing a plate neatly in front of every child, but never smiling or uttering a single word.
I was served by a waitress who appeared to be slightly older than the others. Eyes and cheeks were plastered with heavy make-up and lips were covered by the brightest red lipstick I ever saw. Her greying hair was died black to give a younger look. I was sure her make-up would crack if she smiled.
Such mouth watering food was devoured without mercy. Not a scrap was left on any plate. The house mother looked pleased. Without an apparent word from anyone, the waitresses returned from the kitchen and cleared the tables ready for the ice cream and jelly. Despite the clatter of plates and the jingle of cutlery, there was still barely a whisper from any of us.
Midway through the ice cream and jelly, Mr McDonald made a grand entrance carrying fistfuls of small brown envelopes in his hands. There was a presence about him, an aura which filled the room. Tall and smartly dressed, balding with black square framed glasses, Mr McDonald looked every inch the successful businessman. He reminded me of Sgt Bilko in the TV comedy program.
Slowly, he made his way up and down the tables. He paused for a moment at the back of every child. Then he placed an envelope on the empty plate at each child's side before moving on. This was the highlight of the afternoon, expected and much anticipated. For we all knew what was inside the envelope. When he was finished, Mr McDonald turned around and faced the room and wished us all a merry Christmas.
When we polished off the last traces of the ice cream and jelly on our plates, Mr McDonald left the dining room along with the rest of the staff. The waitresses sprang into action for the last time and rapidly cleared the tables of the remaining plates and cutlery. Finally, they pulled off the tablecloths and transformed the tables once more into their usual wooden bareness.
Throughout this final flurry of activity, we remained where we were, sitting calmly waiting for the last waitress to go and the kitchen door to close for the last time. Then all pandemonium broke loose. The silence and solemnity of the afternoon was torn apart. Fingers ripped open envelopes and children squealed with delight holding up a ten bob note in their hand. It was a small fortune. The hubbub of shrill chatter was about only one thing, the toys they were going to buy with the money.
But the excitement was short lived. A suggestion was made later on that the ten bob notes should be handed over for safe keeping. A member of staff collected the money and the envelopes and they were never to be seen again. Mr McDonald did a lot for the home over many years, providing not just the party every Christmas, but also free cinema and theatre tickets and much more. He was a kind and caring man who tried to make our lives just a little bit better.
Christmas Eve arrived soon after. The tall tree in the dining room covered in decorations and lights looked even prettier. With each passing moment, the buzz of anticipation grew louder. By now, the excitement was plainly visible on every child's face. There was only one topic of conversation. What was Santa going to bring?
Bedtime came at last. I ran up the stairs and into the little girls' room which June and I now shared with two more girls, sisters Margaret and Catherine. Eventually, they all fell asleep. But I forced myself to stay awake because I wanted to see Santa. I had to know what he actually looked like. Was he really jolly and kind? Was he scary? If I saw him, should I talk to him or pretend to be sleeping? What if he knew I was pretending? Would I still get my toys?
These thoughts and many more filled my mind. All I could think about was Santa as the minutes dragged slowly by. I lay quietly on my bed staring at the stars peeping through the curtainless window facing me. Far off city noises and the sound of muffled voices from downstairs gently broke the silence in room. I turned over on my side, then back again, both restless and tired at the same time. I tried my hardest to stay awake, but I fell asleep.
When I opened my eyes, it was morning. Sleepily, I lifted my head off the pillow and sat up and looked around. There was a long misshapen pillowcase perched awkwardly at the bottom of my bed. The room was filled with squeals of delight and shouts of "Santa's been! Santa's been!" and then I realised I must have fallen asleep and missed him. But my disappointment only lasted as long as it took me to reach the bottom of the bed.
My fumbling fingers searched deep inside the pillowcase and pulled out a doll. She was dirty. An arm was missing. Half her blonde hair had fallen out. I was puzzled. My head and arms all but disappeared as I delved back into the pillow once more. Fingers searched and probed and closed around a second doll. I pulled her out into the light for a closer inspection. I decided I didn't like her either. She was so ugly looking. Her eyes met in the middle of her nose.
"Ugh. Cockeyed!", I shouted out in disgust.
I dropped her quickly and she tumbled to the floor. My hand reached in again. This time I brought out books and annuals and a jigsaw puzzle, all of which I piled next to me on the bed. I took a book from the pile and opened it, eager to look at the pictures. But every page was covered in scribbles. Pages were missing. Some were torn. As I grabbed the jigsaw, pieces spilled out the box and onto the bed. The box was ripped.
Once more I searched the pillowcase. But now it was empty and crumpled up in a shapeless heap. The
re were no more toys left in it. I felt a little sad. Then my fingers stumbled upon something small and thin at the very bottom. I pulled it out. It was a letter. Even although I couldn't read yet, I felt very pleased. No one had ever sent me a letter before. The letter made me feel very important. I jumped off the bed and opened the attic room door and rushed down the five wooden steps leading to the the big girls' room where my sister slept.