Читать книгу The Forgotten Child - Richard Gallear - Страница 17

July 1959 (4 years, 8 months) – Fine healthy boy. Much more stable and happier. Full of imagination, conversation, knowledge of everyday things.

Richard’s last progress report before leaving Field House

30 August 1959 was a beautiful sunny day, but it didn’t feel sunny to me. It was the day my cosy world fell apart. That afternoon I would have to leave the only home I’d ever known – a happy home of fun and laughter with my friends, a secure place where every adult loved us and cared for us. I knew nothing of my beginnings, but I did know I didn’t want to leave Field House. I didn’t want to go and live anywhere else, I wanted to stay there for ever.

It was my last morning so I went to all my favourite places. First, to the vegetable garden, where I had ‘helped’ so often. Everything was growing well, including ‘my’ lettuces, poking up through the soil, and the runner beans I’d planted and watched growing up their canes.

‘I’m leaving today,’ I told the kindly gardener, trying to put on a brave face.

‘Are you now?’ he said. ‘We’ll miss you.’ He paused. ‘Have you got time to pick a few of these beans for the kitchen before you go? Then you can eat them for lunch.’

‘Yes, please,’ I said, perking up at the thought.

Next, I visited the Japanese garden and said goodbye to my friend the toad, who sat and croaked as if he understood.

The rest of the morning went far too quickly and when I went in for lunch, I was overjoyed that it was steak pie, mash and gravy with ‘my’ beans. It was all delicious, so I had another helping.

The housemother at our table told the other boys that I was leaving and they all came up to say goodbye to me as we left the dining room. I didn’t like them saying goodbye – I didn’t want to say goodbye, I didn’t want to go.

Finally, I went to my dormitory, where my housemother was packing my few belongings into a little, scuffed leather suitcase and ticking them off on a list.

‘I’ve packed some spare clothes for you,’ she explained in her kindest voice. I didn’t realise it at the time, but perhaps she didn’t want me to go either. ‘I’ve put in your favourite toys too.’

‘My cars?’ I asked.

‘Yes, both your cars and your spinning top.’

I pulled open the drawer by my bed: it was empty.

‘Where are my conkers?’ I asked, my anxiety rising.

‘In your case.’

I tried desperately to think what else I might need. Then I realised …

‘Where’s Jeffrey?’ I wailed. ‘My teddy!’ I felt under my bedcovers for him. ‘He’s not in my bed, I can’t go without him.’ I was panicking now.

‘It’s all right,’ she tried to soothe me. ‘Jeffrey is in the case too – I knew you wouldn’t want to go without him. I had to squash him in, but I think he’ll recover all right. I expect he’s a bit worried about going to a new home too.’

‘Oh, really?’ I hadn’t thought of that.

‘I’m sure we have packed everything now,’ she reassured me. ‘Let me give you a big hug.’ She put her arms round me and for those last few moments I felt secure. Would I feel like this with my new foster mother, in my new home? I had to hope so. I held on for as long as I could, then she gently pulled away.

‘Come on, it’s time to go.’

At two o’clock that afternoon, we stood on the drive, my housemother holding my hand and carrying my case in her other hand. This was a terrible moment – the phrase ‘gut-wrenching’ comes to mind when I think back to the forlorn little boy I was, standing, waiting.

‘They’ll be here in a minute or two,’ she said. ‘Now, I want you to be a good boy and be happy in your new home.’

I couldn’t say anything, so I just nodded.

‘You will have a good life and a good future with your foster parents.’

But I hardly knew them. I screwed up my eyes and hoped to vanish, but when I opened them again, I was still there.

The crunch of the gravel heralded the approach of a vehicle, which suddenly came into view and parked beside the house. I recognised it because one of the other boys had a toy version that looked the same. A small Ford van, it was hand-painted in two shades of blue. My housemother squeezed my hand and we walked across together. It wasn’t far and yet it seemed like a huge gulf of despair to me. I knew I had to try and be very brave.

Mr and Mrs Gallear both got out of the van and Pearl gave me a lovely smile and a wave. I immediately felt all right with her. If only Arnold looked happier to see me, I might have felt a bit better, but he wore the same stern, distant expression that he’d had the first time they came. I felt instinctively that he didn’t like me, which made me feel very uncomfortable. At that moment, young as I was, I knew it was Pearl who wanted me, not her husband.

‘Wave back to your foster mother,’ coaxed my housemother.

I did a little wave to her, but I felt too sad to smile.

As we walked towards them, Pearl came to meet us, wearing another flowery summer dress. She looked lovely, walking with footsteps as dainty as a dancer and beaming her happy smile at me. But standing by the van, like a dark shadow in the background, was Arnold, who was not even looking at me. Though I tried my best not to cry, I was sobbing inside. I clung to my housemother, but she gently released my grip and knelt down, with Pearl standing next to her, looking anxious.

‘Be a brave boy,’ said my housemother. ‘I won’t forget you and we will all be thinking of you, but these are your new parents and this is your new life.’ She stood again and passed my hand over to Pearl, who grasped it warmly, along with my little case.

‘There’s a list of Richard’s things in the top of the case, together with his medical notes for you to give to his new doctor.’

‘Thank you,’ said Pearl.

‘Off you go now,’ said my housemother. ‘You will be fine.’

I gave her a little wave and walked with Pearl to their van. In fact, I was focusing on it. From the little toy van one of my friends had, I knew there were only two front seats. Where would I sit? For a moment I hoped they would not have room for me and would leave me behind, but not so. Did Arnold know what I was thinking? As he walked round to the back and opened out the two rear doors my heart sank.

‘We’ve been looking forward to taking you home with us today,’ Pearl said with a smile and a squeeze of my hand. ‘We’ve put some carpet in the back of the van for you and a cushion to sit on,’ she explained. ‘To make you more comfortable.’

She gave him my case and he tossed it in the back. Now that my things were in there, I had to resign myself to going. I trusted Pearl, but I was wary of Arnold. At the time I didn’t know the word ‘vulnerable’, but that’s how I felt. I was reticent to clamber in, so Arnold lifted me up roughly and into the van, closing the doors behind me. Inside, I sat on the cushion with my legs stuck out in front. The only windows were at the front and little squares of glass in the rear doors, so I couldn’t see much either way.

Although I was fascinated by vehicles and knew that this was a Ford Thames van, I had never actually been inside any vehicle so this was all a new experience for me. Normally, I would have been excited, but not today. Arnold and Pearl got in and closed their doors. He started the engine and we were off. I had to put my hands out behind me so as not to fall off my cushion, going over the bumps.

As we went down the drive, I turned around to look through the back windows and saw Field House for the last time, receding and getting smaller as we went. Desperate to keep it in view, the tears running down my face, I craned my neck to see the building, my dormitory, the lawn, my friends and everyone I loved all disappearing for ever. Through the gates we went, round the bend and off down the drive towards the lane that led to the outside world. I was miserable – I had left behind everything I knew and loved and had no idea where they were taking me.

It was a very warm day and soon it became uncomfortably hot and airless in the back of the van. I struggled to keep my balance as we moved along the twisting country lanes. Before we had even reached the main road, my tummy started to feel like collywobbles inside and I began to feel ill – I think it must have been the upset and uncertainty.

Suddenly I was sick. I vomited all down the front of my clothes and my legs, onto the cushion, the carpet – everywhere. I started to cry in earnest now, as Arnold rammed on the brakes and Pearl turned around with a sympathetic glance.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said as Arnold pulled into the side of the road, muttering loudly. ‘Sorry,’ I repeated, ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’

But that was only the start of my troubles. As Pearl whispered soothing words, Arnold yelled, ‘You stupid child!’

He flung his door open and stomped round to the back of the van. As bad-tempered as he might be, I still thought he was going to clean me up and sort things out.

But I was wrong.

He yanked the doors open and with an angry face and staring eyes, dragged me out, down onto the ground. Then, right there on the gravel at the side of the road, he laid into me, fists flailing, blow after blow, shouting at me all the while.

‘How dare you make a mess like that, pouring out your filthy insides all over my van! You little brat!’ he shouted. ‘Haven’t they taught you how to behave?’

‘I didn’t m-m-mean it,’ I stammered. But he hit me all the harder.

I could understand why he was cross. I knew I shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t stop myself. Again and again he hit me, as I instinctively curled myself into a ball.

‘Sorry,’ I whimpered, again and again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

There I was, a little boy, not yet five, and he was a big strong man, raining punches on me. He was out of control. I didn’t understand most of the words he said, but I heard Pearl’s protests. The tears were pouring down my face and I could tell from her voice that she was crying too.

‘Stop it, Arnold! Stop hitting him!’ she pleaded. ‘That’s enough. Please stop, you’re hurting the poor child. He’s only little, and he couldn’t help it – he was car sick.’

I was crying, she was crying, and still he hit me a few more times until he’d finally sated his rage. He stood back and Pearl leant down and gently helped me up, dabbing at my tears and washing the worst of the sick off me with some water and a hankie.

‘There, there,’ she tried to soothe me. ‘You must be hurting. We’ll sort you out properly and put some cream on your bruises when we get home.’

‘Stop feeding the brat that drivel,’ ordered Arnold, ‘we’ve got a long journey to do!’ He tore me away from her, frog-marched me round to the back of the van and this time he more or less threw me in and slammed the doors shut.

I was in shock, whimpering as quietly as I could, unable to believe or understand what had happened to me. No adult had ever hurt me in any way before, let alone hit me. I had never known fear of anyone. At Field House, I had always been treated with love and care by the wonderful staff, even when I was naughty. Already I missed them so much – I wanted to ask Pearl and Arnold to take me back there, but I didn’t dare.

Was this how my life would be from now on? Were all mums and dads like this? As we set off again, I nursed my bruised and battered body, but I couldn’t stop crying, even when he shouted at me to shut up. He clearly didn’t want me, yet they had chosen me.

The journey from Field House to the Gallears’ home in Birmingham was probably only about an hour and a half, but it seemed like for ever to me, in my misery and sickness, which didn’t stop. I was very nearly sick again, but somehow managed to prevent it, fearful of another beating. Worse still, I was trembling with the shock, the pain and humiliation. I did not understand: how could the lovely matron and housemothers let me go away with this evil man? Why did nobody protect me? I was sure they would have stopped him if they’d realised what he was like. If only I could tell them, I knew they would come and rescue me – but how could I let them know?

From the back of the van, I couldn’t see much of the changing landscape, from rural to urban as we went through the city, though I glimpsed enough to know this was like nothing I’d ever seen before – an alien landscape. The one thing I did notice, as we drove along, towering over everything else, were the huge black windowless buildings in the mid-distance, which I later found out were gas tanks. Finally, we seemed to leave the city behind and travelled down side roads lined with little brick boxes with windows, some of them joined together in rows.

‘Here we are,’ announced Pearl as the van slowed down, turned and came to a halt in what seemed to be a dead end (in fact, it was a driveway). ‘Welcome to your new home.’

From the back of the van, all I could see was a brick wall, so I didn’t reply. But I was highly relieved that the van had stopped and I hoped I wouldn’t feel sick any more. Arnold came round and threw open the back doors. Fresh air at last! But he stood there with a threatening scowl. Highly aware of the awful stench of vomit that covered me and the floor of the van, I desperately wanted to get away from it, to be outside, but I was reluctant to get out with that man standing by the open doors like a predator waiting to clutch his prey.

‘Hurry up and get out,’ he barked, ‘and bring your stinking things!’

I had no choice, so I jumped down in front of him into the afternoon sunshine. It felt as if my stomach leapt after me – I was so afraid. I remember that once I had steadied myself, I was glad of the breeze to waft away some of the smell. Arnold towered over me in a menacing way, the sun glinting sharp rays off his glasses. Pearl was unlocking the front door of a tiny house – well, it seemed tiny to me, attached to another house just the same.

Having spent all my life so far in Field House, with its huge rooms and wide windows, surrounded by acres of its own land, this was a strange sight.

‘Get inside!’ ordered Arnold. ‘You smell disgusting, get those stinking clothes off!’ he sneered.

I was surprised to see that Pearl looked almost as frightened of him as I was.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ll take him in and sort him out.’

Arnold went off and she came to help me out.

‘You poor boy,’ she said in her soothing voice. ‘You must feel awful in those smelly clothes, we’ll soon clean you up and sort you out.’ She picked up my case and took me by the hand. ‘This is our house,’ she added. ‘It’s your house too now.’

I suppose I should have said something nice, instead I looked down at the ground and all I could see was concrete. I didn’t know that word, but it seemed to me that this hard stuff was everywhere – the driveway, the road surface, even on some of the houses. I had never seen anything like it. And the houses themselves were like toy houses.

I would soon come to realise this was a normal suburban road – a cul-de-sac – but I couldn’t see any wide green spaces or trees or distant hills, only a few small flowers in gardens down the road. Worse still, I could hear a continuous rumbling sound in the background, which I later found out was traffic. At Field House there had always been peace and quiet, except for the birdsong in the trees, so this was all a huge shock to me.

‘Let’s go inside,’ suggested Pearl, leading me in through the front door.