Читать книгу The Forgotten Child - Richard Gallear - Страница 12

September 1958 (nearly 4) – Grown into a fine boy – sturdy, adventurous and agile. There has been a very marked improvement in this child. Much happier. Laughs and plays and sings. Speech quite fluent. Has a lot of imagination. Co-operative and gets on well with other children. Plays very well by himself.

Field House progress report

There was always so much to do in the gardens of Field House that often we didn’t have any extra entertainments organised, though I do remember one occasion when a big van arrived and out jumped a man in multicolour clothes. He built a sort of booth out of wood and striped fabric on the lawn. We all gathered round and the housemothers organised us into rows on the grass.

‘We’re going to see a puppet show,’ one of them announced. ‘It’s called Punch and Judy.’

None of us knew what a puppet show was, but as soon as it got under way we were all laughing and shouting out at the puppets’ antics. We had a wonderful time and talked about it for days afterwards.

‘I liked the policeman best,’ said the boy next to me in my dormitory as we were getting ready for bed that evening.

‘I liked it when they threw the string of sausages,’ I replied.

I often took myself for walks around the gardens or to the vegetable gardens at the back of the house. One very still day, sitting in the cedar tree to the left of the house, I could hear the sound of trickling water. When I craned my head in that direction, I couldn’t see much, except for an ornamental gate in a wall, which hid what lay beyond. I had never been down that side of the house, so I clambered down and set off to find out what it was. A few days earlier, my housemother had read me a story about an explorer. I had asked her what an explorer was and she explained, ‘An explorer is someone who goes to new places and finds out what animals live there and what flowers grow there.’

‘Could I do that?’ I asked.

‘You could, if you want to, when you grow up.’

Well, I knew I wasn’t grown up yet, but now I felt just like an explorer, walking alone into an unknown place to see what might be there. I was so excited at the thought that I didn’t even consider whether I was allowed to go there.

When I reached the gate, it was closed, but I gave it a little push and, much to my surprise, it swung open, revealing a magical place, a beautiful garden so different from everywhere else. I walked in and looked around. It was a fascinating place. Everywhere I looked there was something new and different – things I’d never seen before. I could hardly believe it.

‘I went to a beautiful garden today,’ I told my housemother at bedtime that evening.

‘Did you really?’ she said with a smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether I was just imagining it.

‘Yes, I went through the gate in the wall and saw such beautiful things.’

She put her head on one side. ‘Tell me what you saw.’

‘I saw red trees and places where water was running and jumping up in the air. I saw strange flowers and lots of butterflies.’

‘Ah, that must have been the Japanese garden,’ she explained. ‘The red trees are called acers and the jumping water was a fountain. I think there are quite a few pools and small fountains in the Japanese garden.’

‘What does Japanese mean?’ I asked her.

‘It means from Japan. We live in a country called England, but right the way across the other side of the world there is a country called Japan.’

I don’t suppose I really understood what the world was, let alone places so far away, but the next day she brought me a round thing she called a globe to look at and she showed me where England was on the globe, and then she turned it and pointed at Japan.

‘You are allowed to go in the Japanese garden as long as you’re careful,’ she told me.

In the days and weeks that followed, I returned to the garden repeatedly. I walked around its carefully raked paths, between the ornamental cherry blossom trees, and watched the little waterfalls and fountains. I noticed different butterflies and caterpillars and several types of insects there too.

Against the background of trickling water, I heard the familiar buzzing of bees and a strange new sound. I followed where it came from and found a very peculiar-looking creature. I had never seen frogs before, let alone a toad, so I watched it closely, as it sat and watched me, like a staring match. This now became my favourite place. I suppose I could have brought some of the other children to see it, but I liked having it to myself for a little while.

Many years later, I found out that this was a very special Japanese water garden, designed by a famous woman called Gertrude Jekyll, so I suppose we were very honoured as small children to have that as part of our playground.

In the autumn at Field House there was a special treat – conker trees, as we called them. I loved running out in the mornings to inspect the newly fallen conkers from the chestnut trees. I would pick up the most beautiful ones I could find and polish them with my shirt or my woolly jumper, before putting them into my pocket. The housemothers made holes in some of the chestnuts for us and threaded lengths of string through them, so that we could play conkers.

‘Be careful,’ one of them warned. ‘Don’t swing them around or you might hurt each other.’ The housemothers showed us how to use them: ‘Take turns to try to hit the other person’s conker, like this.’ They stayed out with us to make sure we did it the right way.

I liked playing conkers with all the others, but what I liked best of all was polishing the ones in my pocket and taking them out at night to put in the little drawer in my bedside cupboard as additions to my collection. I was just learning to count, so the conkers were ideal and I counted them every night before I got into bed, like a miser counting his gold sovereigns.

From my earliest memories, I loved looking from the lawn, across the fields and up to the Clent Hills, so it was a great excitement every summer, for those of us who could walk far enough – a four-mile round trip – to have regular outings to those very hills. Sadly, my friend with the callipers couldn’t come on those days, but I know he had special treats at Field House while we were out and he was always as excited to tell us about his day as we were to tell him about ours.

On sunny days, almost every week, the kitchen staff would pack up sandwiches and drinks for us and put them in bags, which the housemothers carried. Straight after breakfast, we were lined up and counted, before setting off in a line down the long drive, past the lodge at the bottom, through the gate and out onto the country lane.

We must have looked a strange sight, a long crocodile of small children, walking two by two, dressed in a motley collection of hand-me-downs. Years later, when I saw The Sound of Music, with Maria making curtains into clothes for the children, it reminded me of our ‘make-do-and-mend’ outfits. But we were young and we knew no different, so it didn’t matter.

As we walked, the housemothers started us off singing jolly songs, like ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’, ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’ and Ten Green Bottles’. We learnt a lot of songs on those walks. Sometimes we crossed fields and the grown-ups told us what crops the farmer was growing and how to look after the countryside, by walking round the edges and making sure we shut the gates behind us. In some of the fields the crops were taller than we were! As we walked along the lanes, they told us about the hedgerows, the wild flowers and the birds.

Every time we approached Clent village, the excitement rose and, sure enough, there leaning on his gate was an old gentleman with long grey hair and a weathered look, smoking a wonderful, ivory-coloured pipe carved into a man’s face. I now know that it must have been a Meerschaum pipe. There was something about the smell of that pipe – even out in the fresh air, it had an alluring, aromatic scent. But it wasn’t just the man that fascinated me, it was the monkey sitting on his shoulder. I think this gentleman must have lived on his own in his little old cottage with just the monkey for company. He always seemed to wear the same scruffy clothes, with holes in his shirt – he even made us look smart!

Small and brown with darting eyes, the monkey sat on the man’s shoulder, its arms round his neck, its eyes following us as we passed by. We weren’t allowed to touch the monkey, but we could stop and watch it if it was moving about, which it often did, coming alive and showing off when it saw us approaching. It would twitch its fingers as if playing an instrument, then clamber around, doing somersaults. Sometimes it made a chattering sound, as if saying hello to us. This monkey was one of the highlights of our outings. Perhaps we were also a highlight of the monkey’s day, watching this straggly troupe of small children walk past, waving and calling out jolly greetings as we went by.

Finally, we climbed the lane to the top of the hills and there we could run free and play for hours, punctuated by sandwich breaks. The adults organised ball games for us to join in, but we didn’t have to, so I used to wander round looking for insects and rabbit holes.

At the end of the day, we packed everything up and set off on the long walk back to Field House, where we could look forward to a hot meal on our return, before a quick wash-down. We were so tired those evenings that we’d go straight to bed and lights out, then followed the deep sleep of exhaustion after a long, happy day.

The only other trip we ever went on while I was at Field House was quite a surprise. I must have been about four and a half when my housemother told me one morning to dress quickly because we were going on a special outing.

‘It’s just for the older ones,’ she explained. ‘We’re taking you to Hagley railway station to see a steam train coming through.’

‘What’s a steam train?’ I asked. I had heard of trains, but didn’t know what steam had to do with it and I was quite excited to find out.

There were just a few of us on this trip and we set off straight after breakfast, walking along the lanes to the station. As we approached, the road widened and we saw cars and other vehicles passing by. I had always loved playing with my little toy cars, so this was a fascination for me. Soon I started to recognise some of them from the models I and my friends played with. We saw a bus too – it was bigger than I expected and had a lovely chugging sort of sound.

Looking back, I suppose that was the purpose of the day for us, to experience noisier, busier surroundings, as the staff knew that one day soon, most of us would live in more urban surroundings and we would almost certainly need to take buses and trains and learn how to cross roads. Indeed, we were all lined up along the edge of the pavement and told to look right, left, right. Most of us had problems with that, so the staff came along and patted us all on our right shoulders. Then we had to practise crossing the road.

We walked through the station building and were introduced to the station master, who took us all out onto the platform.

‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘It’s very important, don’t go any nearer than this.’

So, we spread out in a line along the back of the platform and waited. I don’t think any of us children knew what was going to happen, so there was a lot of nervous anticipation. We listened to the announcement the station master made with his megaphone. That fascinated me in itself – the way it made his voice louder.

‘Look,’ said my housemother, pointing along the track into the distance. ‘Can you see the steam?’

‘Oh yes,’ I said, peering in that direction and seeing the white and grey cloud that seemed to be moving towards us. I was mystified that I couldn’t see the train itself, but that soon changed as it drew closer. Small at first, it grew bigger and bigger, turning into a roaring, snorting monster. The giant engine emerged from its steamy shroud as it pulled into the station with a squeal of brakes. I stood back with a gaping mouth, in awe of the noise, the steam and the pungent smell of burning coal in its fiery furnace. I remember being frightened of it – fascinated, but fearful. The whole station seemed to shake.

Once the train had stopped and people started to get out, I was able to see that it was painted in a dark green colour, very shiny with gold writing on it. From where I was standing, I was lucky enough to be able to see into the driver’s cab, where the train driver operated some shiny brass knobs and levers, while another man shovelled coal into the hungry furnace. I must have taken a step forward to get a better look, but my housemother immediately yet gently pulled me back.

New passengers boarded the train and settled into their carriages while the guard walked up and down, closing doors. Then he waved his flag, the engine fired up and the train began to move away, creeping slowly along the track, snorting bursts of steam as it went. The driver and his assistant leaned out of their cab and waved cheerily at us, followed by some of the passengers as their carriages moved past us. Of course, we all waved back like mad, which was great fun, waving and waving until the train had disappeared round a bend up the track.

That was an incredible day and I can still almost taste the coal dust, but I was glad at last to get back to the peace and quiet of Field House.

A day or two later, one of the housemothers brought in some second-hand model trains for us to play with and a book about steam trains that we gathered round to look at. Now we had not just the humming of car engines to make, but also the steam and roar, the squealing brakes and clanking noises of that amazing train as we shunted our new toy steam engines across the floor of our dormitory. It didn’t stop there either: for days afterwards, the lawn became our station and we became the trains.

Christmas was always a special occasion to brighten the winter months at Field House. None of us had families to spend Christmas with, so the housemothers did all they could to make it special for us, although they must have had their own families too.

There was no build-up like there is today. The first we knew of it being anything different was on Christmas Eve, when fir trees were brought in from somewhere in the grounds. One was placed in the girls’ dormitory, another in the boys’ and one in the dining room too. The tree in our room was almost up to the high ceiling and wide all around. I remember the lovely scent of the fir needles that pervaded the dormitory. The staff came in and decorated it for us while we watched them, our excitement mounting as they adorned the branches with glittery silver and red tinsel, gold-foil wrapped chocolate coins and, right at the top, a large silver star.

‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day,’ explained my housemother as she put me to bed that evening. ‘If you are all good boys, there will be some presents under the tree when you wake up in the morning and a chocolate coin for each of you. We will come in and give them out.’

This was such an exciting prospect that it was hard to get to sleep that evening, but finally, we all did, and sure enough, when we awoke it was Christmas Day and there were presents all around the bottom of the tree. We leapt out of our beds with squeals of delight, but three of the housemothers were already there too, so nobody had the chance to touch the presents until it was time.

‘You can all sit on the ends of your beds and look at the presents. There are enough for everybody and you can all choose one each, but no squabbling. I am sure you will share them with each other,’ said one of the housemothers.

I could hardly contain my excitement. The presents were all sorts of toys and games and cuddly things – none of them wrapped – so I remember casting my eyes across all this bounty to see if anything particularly appealed. We had been so well brought up to share and take turns that none of us were selfish enough to grab something that someone else wanted. If I chose something that another boy had his eyes on, he might say, ‘I would like that’, and I would give it to him.

‘Here you are,’ I would say. ‘I’ll choose something else.’ And the housemothers would smile at me and make sure I kept my next choice.

I remember the Christmas after my fourth birthday, how excited I was when I spotted something straight away that I would ask for as my choice. It was a round metal thing with coloured circles painted round it, a push-down button at the top and a sort of spike underneath. Having never seen one before, I wanted to know how it worked and what it did. I waited as patiently as I could until it was my turn, hoping desperately that nobody else would choose it first. Fortunately, it was still there, so I went and pointed at it.

‘That’s a spinning top,’ said one of the staff. ‘I’ll show you how it works, if you like.’

‘Yes, please!’ I exclaimed.

She came over and pressed down the button on the top, which sent the top spinning on its spike, so that the coloured circles made patterns. When it went fast they seemed to disappear, but when it slowed down it was wobbling about all over the place, which made me laugh. I loved that spinning top. It was the best toy ever and I played with it a lot, but I let the others have goes with it, too, just as I did with my two toy cars.

One of the other boys would say: ‘Please can I play with your red car?’

‘Yes, you can,’ I would reply.

He would play with it for a while, then he would bring it back and park it under my bed alongside my other car. It was the same if I asked to borrow anyone else’s toy. We were all very good at that, we all shared everything.

What I remember best about our wonderful Christmases at Field House was the food. To start with, the smell of roasting turkey wafted through the house. It was so enticing that I found it very hard to have to wait until lunchtime.

Finally, it was time to go into the dining room, where there was another tall Christmas tree, with tinsel and various other decorations hanging on it, including crackers. We jumped up and down to see the tables specially decorated with red tablecloths and strewn down the middle with more crackers. We were so excited to pull those, but we had to wait till after we’d finished eating. It was a lovely, heart-warming occasion and we had a delicious meal, piled up high. Even I felt full after just one plateful!

Later that afternoon, we all stood together and sang carols round the dining-room Christmas tree, with its lights twinkling. It was a magical time. Most of the housemothers were there, including mine, joining in with us as we sang ‘Away in a Manger’, ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, ‘Jingle Bells’and other well-known festive songs.

We all loved the whole, very special Christmas experience, but it didn’t last long. On Boxing Day the trees came down and everything went back to normal again, except we still had our presents to play with. And I loved my top – I enjoyed setting it off and watching it spin, round and round. I soon discovered that I could make it spin faster and longer if I wanted and after that I spent hours with it, perfecting the way I spun it.

Birthdays were celebrated in a low-key way. The staff would tell us ‘This is Richard’s birthday’ or ‘This is David’s birthday’ and at teatime there would be a cake with a single candle in it, whatever the age. The birthday child would blow out the candle and then we all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and that was all – no presents. What I hadn’t yet grasped was that with every birthday, the time when I would have to leave drew nearer. None of the children could stay at Field House beyond their fifth birthdays, so I was now perilously close to that time.