No Easy Road Read online

  "Lottie, Lottie", I shouted breathlessly, hardly able to get the words out. "Someone's given me a letter."

  "Hmmm", groaned my big sister.

  She wasn't fully awake yet. But I forced myself into her bed and pushed the letter to within an inch of her face.

  "Read it, read it!", I shouted.

  "Give me a minute", said Lottie, rubbing the sleep from half opened eyes.

  She grabbed the letter from me, annoyed by my demanding attitude and then moved it backwards and forwards slightly in front of her face until the writing came into focus. Then she read it out aloud. It was from a lady who owned a toy shop. She wanted to be my new mummy and I would have lots of different toys to play with every day. I had to write back to her.

  My face lit up. Someone wanted to give me lots of new toys. I felt happy but also a little sad because I didn't know how to write back to the lady. Lottie didn't see my sadness. She was now too busy discovering what was inside her own pillowcase. So I returned to my room to play with my broken toys.

  After breakfast was over and the plates cleared away, the dining room was filled with the chaotic sounds of excited children. Boys whizzed about noisily all over the place playing with aeroplanes and cars. Girls played quietly with their dolls. In one corner sat my brother Billy, lost in a world of his own. He was playing with the battered shell of a small car. The car had no wheels. But that didn't seem to bother him as he drove it along an imaginary road in the air. We laughed and argued over the jigsaw puzzle he was also given as a present. Even although a dozen pieces were missing, somehow we still managed to finish it.

  Despite broken toys and missing jigsaw pieces and scribbled books, nothing could take away the magic or the excitement or the enjoyment of Christmas. Broken toys were better than no toys. As for the letter, it simply disappeared. I wondered about it for many years afterwards, trying to figure out who wrote it and who put it in my pillowcase. But it was a mystery without any answers.

  * * *

  It was early evening and I was having fun in the bath. Edith was showing me how to get the bath water very soapy and to blow bubbles using my fingers. Evertime I managed to blow a bubble and make it rise into the air I squealed out with delight. We sang the song "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles" and Edith noticed I was very happy and over excitable.

  "What have you been doing today?", she casually asked.

  Not realising what I was really saying, I blurted out, "I went to the funfair and went on all the rides with my sister Lottie and my big sister Mary Anne."

  "So who had the money to take you on all the lovely rides?", said Edith.

  I innocently told her Mary Anne, not wanting to be distracted from blowing more bubbles. I forgot Mary Anne's warning, not to tell anyone where I was today. Without realising it, I landed her right in trouble.

  Mary Anne was later accused of stealing £5 from the house mother's purse. It was a small fortune in the late 1950s. Of course, I didn't know anything about any money as we made our way to the beach in the early afternoon Easter sunshine. I walked in between Lottie and Mary Anne, holding their hands and chattering non stop. We were having a great adventure.

  We never quite made it to the water's edge and instead found ourselves walking slowly along a small road running parallel to the beach, moving towards the lights and sounds of a distant funfair. As we got nearer, the indistinct buzz in the air swelled up then died on the breeze hitting my face. Gradually, it changed into a wall of sound.

  This was my first visit to a funfair. I was dazzled by all the coloured bulbs and flashing lights and deafened by the music blaring out from the carousel and the other rides. For the life of me, I couldn't quite understand how people were screaming out in terror and happy and delighted at the same time. It was all fascinating and a little bit scary at first.

  My head was spinning around in all directions trying to take in the new and exotic sights and sounds. The delicious smell of burgers and fried onions and candy floss hung in the air making me hungry. Men in cloth bonnets and ladies wearing head squares and large gold earrings stood behind wooden stalls, jingling money in their big apron pockets, tempting the passing mums and dads and young teenagers enjoying the Easter holiday to part with their hard earned wages.

  All afternoon, they shouted out, voices hoarse and cracking under the strain, trying their best to be heard above the constant whine of nearby generators providing the power for the dozens of rides at Aberdeen's famous Cadona's Carnival. Mary Anne tugged at my hand as we weaved through the milling crowds to the high aluminium steps leading onto the waltzers. My sister handed over some money and a heavy bar slammed down to keep us safely in our seats.

  We were off a few seconds later, spinning around in one direction and then the other, going faster and faster, until I could no longer move any part of my body. My stomach felt like it was rising up into my mouth and I just wanted the ride to be over. Not so Mary Anne and Lottie, who both enjoyed every second screaming to the heavens.

  The ride stopped and I got off feeling extremely disorientated and rather queasy. I threw up. After that, no amount of coaxing by my sisters would get me back on the waltzers. So they left me to watch them. On they went, again and again, enjoying the thrills. Every time the waltzer stopped, they hopped right back on.

  After about the fifth or sixth go, they realized how bored I looked standing at the side, not enjoying myself any more. So we all made our way to the candy floss stall where the woman there handed me a giant pink candy floss wrapped around a stick. The sticky sugar stuck to my hair and covered my clothes but melted in my mouth. How I enjoyed the taste of my first candy floss.

  Before I knew it, my legs were tired and my sisters were dragging me away. The adventure was over and we couldn't be late for tea. Warning me not to tell anyone of our visit to the funfair, we rushed back home with such haste my feet barely touched the ground. Mary Anne and Lottie were relieved to find nobody missed us.

  After tea, I was called through for a bath. The dirt and dust of the funfair and the remnants of the candy floss sticking to my hair soon disappeared in the lather of bubbles and soapy water. I never knew what punishment Mary Anne received, but it would have been severe.

  Chapter Five

  Edith was small in height with short wavy honey blonde hair. She was either in the kitchen, baking with her sleeves rolled up, or washing the dirt away from my face and hands. A very hard working country girl, Edith was very set in her ways. But she always had a lot of time for me. Nothing was too much trouble. Edith baked me a large sponge cake for my birthday. It was covered with pink icing and there were five candles on top. She took it through to the dining room where all the children sang Happy Birthday to me.

  It was the morning of my first day at school. Edith tried to dress me but my non stop chattering and fidgeting made it difficult for her. She looked exasperated as she tried to do the buttons up on my new school cardigan, telling me all the time to be still. But I wasn't listening to a word she was saying. When she finally managed to get me looking all neat and tidy, Edith warned me to put my dukes up and fight if anyone gave me a hard time or picked on me. She curled her hand into a tight fist so I understood.

  "Remember what I told you", she said, opening the back door of the cloakroom.

  With a quick wave goodbye, I ran and skipped down the main road to the school a short distance away from the home. I walked into the noisy playground where girls played hopscotch or skipping games and boys ran about all over the place chasing their new found friends. At last, I was a part of it all, no longer sitting in the committee room listening to the happy sounds of children playing.

  As I explored the playground, I came across an old empty bike shed. Next to it was the girls' toilet. When I went in, there was a little boy half naked crying his eyes out. His trousers were lying on the floor. An older girl with long brown hair was strutting about wearing his pants on her head. She taunted him and ignored his pleas to give him his pants back. I saw she was enjoying th
e power she had over him and it made me angry.

  "Give him back his pants!", I demanded.

  The boy looked at me and stopped crying.

  "No!", she said.

  The girl took the pants from her head and began to swing them through the air in a circle. I couldn't help myself. The anger bubbled over and I remembered to put my dukes up, just like Edith told me to. I flew at the girl and punched her on the nose. She dropped the pants on the stone floor and ran screaming out the toilet door. The boy gave me a smile. He slipped his pants and trousers on and quickly left. I ran all the way back to the home. Edith was surprised to see me and frog marched me right back again. I made an enemy and a friend on my first morning at school.

  Within the first month, I was off school for several weeks with scabies. I hated the daily ritual, drawing the poison out of my skin which was infected with me scratching so much.

  "Patsy Whyte", said the house mother, slapping another hot steaming bread poultice onto my skin. "If you don't stop scratching, you'll have to wear a mask."

  I was covered in scabs from head to foot which itched like crazy. It was torture. The poultices burned my face and made me yelp and jump about in pain. They always felt too hot and I dreaded them. The poultices were applied three times a day. I would rather have worn the mask and asked the house mother when I could get it. But she never meant it and I was disappointed. I thought wearing a mask would be great fun because I could scare the wits out of the other children in the home.

  All the while, Edith kept an eye on me as I slowly got back to normal. She was the most important person in my life. By this time, Mary Anne was no longer at the home. One morning, I noticed she was gone. We never said goodbye. I wouldn't see her for another 36 years. I didn't have very much to do with my sister Lottie or brother Billy either. We were related, but family ties were never strengthened or encouraged. So they were just like any of the other children at the home. A year or so later, when I was out in the playground, I spotted Lottie through the big steel gates. She was carrying a suitcase and stepping into a big black taxi which drew up outside the home. She never saw me watching her leave. Once more, there was no goodbye. Many years were to pass, too, before I saw her again.

  Not long after I returned back to school, Edith left the home to get married to a coal man. I saw her standing in the kitchen shortly before her wedding. She was as black as the ace of spades. Her face was covered in soot. She was wearing old sheets made up to look like her wedding dress and paraded on a horse and cart up and down the road outside the home. This was the custom for all brides to be and was supposed to bring them good luck. I was happy for her but also sad to see her go.

  Christine took over when Edith left. She was tall and slim and pretty. Aged in her early 20s, Christine's hair was dark and wavy with silver streaks through it. I didn't like her from the word go. She picked on me at every opportunity and sent me to bed straight after tea.

  "Bed!", she always said, looking me sternly in the eye while I sat at the table.

  I dreaded seeing her for I always knew what was coming next. There was no reason to send me to bed for I hadn't done anything wrong. She just didn't like me. This went on for weeks.

  One night, I was lying in bed in my room on my own feeling bored and rather fed up. The house mother was in her bedroom next door. She came through unexpectedly and handed me a big bag of marshmallows. There was no explanation. I think she may have felt sorry for me.

  Every Tuesday was bath night. It was Christine's job to bathe all the younger children. As I stood outside the bathroom, I overheard her talking to a small boy in the bath.

  "I'm going to grab your wee robin. I'm going to get it!", I heard her say.

  This was my chance to get rid of the woman who was making my life such a misery. I quietly tiptoed away from the bathroom door, watching where I placed my feet so she wouldn't hear the floorboards creak. Then I ran to the house mother's sitting room. I knew such talk was not tolerated.

  The house mother quietly listened at the bathroom door for a minute. Then she threw it open and gave Christine such a dressing down. A fuming row erupted as Christine tried to defend herself. But it was no use. The house mother dismissed her on the spot. I felt a sense of triumph. My life was free of Christine at last. It was all about survival and I was learning fast.

  Christine was replaced shortly afterwards by Helen, a kindly quiet middle aged lady with short black hair. She was very good to me and I liked her very much. She popped into my room on her days off when I was in bed. Every couple of weeks or so, she also gave me a little doll. I don't know who was the happier, me receiving it or Helen giving it to me. The doll was always brand new and still in its box. But I had to keep quiet about it and not to tell anyone. One evening, she told me her mum had died. So she wouldn't be coming to see me any more. I missed her greatly.

  Sunday afternoon was always hard for me. The playground was empty so there was no one to talk to or play with. I watched through the bars of the steel gates as fathers arrived at the front door of the home to take their children out for the afternoon. Minutes later, they emerged with their children, all dressed up in their Sunday best. Then they all made their way down the gravel driveway lined with trees and walked out into the freedom I longed for.

  I watched the same scene unfold every Sunday for year after year. The children always looked happy and excited. They were visiting their fathers' houses. So many times I wanted to jump over the gates with their sharp pointed tips and go with them. But I couldn't get out. The gates were padlocked, separating me from their happy world. My eyes followed them as they all filed past. No one ever came for me.

  When the children returned, we all sat down for tea. The blue plastic plate in front of me contained two dried up oatcakes and two slices of bread thinly covered with dried in jam. Next to them was a small, extremely thin piece of ginger cake, which broke into pieces as soon as it was picked up. A cold mug of tea sat next to my plastic plate.

  The children were chatty and contented and stuffed full of sweets. Their pockets jingled because they were full of money which was spent at the school tuck shop the following day. I felt jealous and envious.

  * * *

  The first boy I ever fancied was David who was in my class at school. I was around six and he was slim with light brown hair swept to the side in a parting. But he never noticed me. He was always more interested in playing cowboys and Indians with the other boys.

  The playroom at the home was a mess with walls full of holes and bits of broken off plaster lying scattered across the floor. It was soon to be renovated but in the meantime we all amused ourselves by using small pieces of the plaster as chalk, drawing faces and pictures and graffiti of all kinds on the walls. I remember drawing love hearts but finding a clear space was always the problem. PW L DG, they proclaimed, and there was an arrow drawn right through the middle. It was innocent fun.

  Naturally, my first crush didn't last very long. Some years later, when I was playing in the swing park near the home during the summer holidays, I noticed a teenage boy sitting on the swings. I saw him there before and was starting to get to like him and several times I caught him looking at me. Despite feeling rather shy and awkward, I plucked up the courage to sit on the empty swing next to him and we began talking.

  He told me his name was James and that he lived in Ferriers, a housing estate of tenement slums not too far away from the swing park. I'd never been there but I knew the reputation it had for poverty and large families and all kinds of squalor. Some of my classmates lived in the estate and always appeared dirty and unkempt.

  James asked me where I came from and I pointed upwards, to the home. Because it was perched on top of a hill, it dominated the whole area. From the home's windows, the house mother easily saw the swing park and kept a close watch on everything happening below. It was also a cheap way to keep the children at the home amused and out of the way all day. So we were encouraged to play there.

  After telli
ng James my name, he paused for a moment or two and then asked me a question which made me cringe inside.

  "Is your mother Nanny Whyte?"

  I blurted out she was.

  James added, in a matter of fact voice, "Yeah, I know her. She's a wino. All the kids call her Nanny Wine Paps."