Читать книгу Someone to Love Us: The shocking true story of two brothers fostered into brutality and neglect - Terence O’Neill - Страница 10

In the autumn of 1943 Ginger announced she was leaving the Connops’. Over the last two and three-quarter years she’d become a good friend to us, almost like a big sister, and Dennis, Freddie and I were distraught. We ran out to our den in the chicken shed and had a good old cry together. Freddie was particularly inconsolable because she’d become a substitute mother figure for him. He liked to sit on her knee and have a cuddle, and she would always oblige. We weren’t ever told why she was leaving. It was just another of those occasions when grown-ups made decisions that affected us and only informed us later.

We watched as she carried her bag down the front path, waving goodbye, and we tried not to cry in front of her. I felt cross with her as well as sad. Why was she leaving us? What reason could possibly be good enough?

‘We’ve got a new maid starting tomorrow,’ Mrs Connop said kindly. ‘I’m sure she’ll take just as good care of you. Don’t worry about that.’

But we didn’t want a new maid; we wanted Ginger. When the next girl started, we registered our protest by giving her a hard time. We’d play up while she was trying to get us ready for bed, and disappear when our tea was on the table. She had a bad cold when she arrived and was always blowing her nose so I’d chase her round the house calling ‘Snotty nose! Snotty nose!’ It must have driven the poor girl to distraction. Dennis used to do an imitation of her sneezing that had us in stitches, although he was far too nice to let her see it, as I would have done.

At around this time, Dennis left the Sisters of Charity School, which was just a primary school, and moved up to a Church of England secondary school on the outskirts of Yarpole. I don’t think he was very happy there. One day he came home and told Mrs Connop, with barely concealed disgust, that they were having a cookery lesson the next day and he was supposed to bring the ingredients with him.

Freddie and I teased him all night, telling him he was turning into a girl because only girls did cookery.

‘Bloody idiots, what d’you know anyway?’ he snarled, and we giggled even more.

He set off for school the next day clutching his bag of ingredients and looking rather downcast, but it was a different story when he came home at four o’clock, holding out a golden-brown apple pie. He seemed very proud of it and Mrs Connop said it was a ‘perfect piece of baking’. Needless to say, we all helped him to eat it and I have to say it wasn’t bad at all.

The problem with Dennis being at another school was that I had no one to stick up for me on the walks to and from school when Dick and the other village bullies started shouting out names or throwing stones at Freddie and me. There were several incidents that came to blows and I was always getting told off by the nuns and, latterly, by Mrs Connop. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Boys had to learn to defend themselves in the world and if you didn’t stand up for yourself you’d get walked all over. It was just one of those things. On a couple of occasions I heard Mr and Mrs Connop talking about our ‘trouble with the local boys’ but frankly I didn’t see why they should worry about it. It was up to me to sort it out.

It was in June 1944 that Mr and Mrs Connop called us into the drawing room one night looking very grave. I racked my brains to think of any mischief I’d been up to that they might have found out about, but nothing sprang to mind.

‘Boys,’ Mrs Connop said, ‘we’ve been aware for some time about the tension between you and some lads in the village. We had to talk to Newport council about it because they have a responsibility for your welfare, and anyway…’ She turned to Mr Connop as if looking for back-up. ‘A decision has been made that you should go to stay elsewhere.’

‘But it’s not our fault,’ I cried out. ‘They’ve been picking on me all along.’

‘That’s beside the point. It’s all arranged now,’ Mrs Connop said. ‘A man will be coming to collect you on Wednesday to take you to your new home. I’m sure it will be lovely. We’ll miss you, of course, but I know you’ll be well taken care of. Lots of people are looking after your best interests.’

We stood frozen to the spot with misery. ‘Why can’t we stay?’ Freddie asked quietly.

‘It’s for the best,’ Mrs Connop said, in a tone of voice that made us understand there was to be no negotiation.

‘Why don’t we all go and listen to the radio?’ Mr Connop suggested. The Allied Forces had landed in France earlier in the month and we’d been following their progress through Normandy, but none of us boys had the stomach for it that night. We felt as if we were being punished for something we hadn’t done.

‘Life gets tedious, don’t it?’ Dennis commented drily to me. I didn’t know the word ‘tedious’ but he explained it meant dull or boring. I supposed that was one way of putting it.

In bed that night I asked him, ‘What do you think our next place will be like?’

I could almost have predicted the answer, which had become a catchphrase of his: ‘If things don’t change, they’ll stay as they are.’

I decided to be optimistic. Every move so far had taken us somewhere better than the last place. But what could possibly be better than the Connops? I hoped we would be placed on another farm. I liked the farming life, the open fields, the animals and, of course, the access to delicious food when I knew other people were having to put up with rationing. (Mrs Connop was always reminding us that we should be grateful.) I was also going to miss Mr Connop who had been a father figure to me in a way that my own father had never been.

On Wednesday, 28 June 1944, Mr Connop wakened us bright and early and Mrs Connop and the new maid came upstairs to pack our belongings. We didn’t own any suitcases so Mrs Connop agreed that she would lend us some so we could take with us all the new clothes we’d been bought during the three years we’d been staying with them. Mr Connop wrapped up our board games and books in brown paper parcels and tied them with string. He was trying to be all jolly but it sounded false and empty and no one was laughing.

I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach. Why did we have to move? I loved staying at the Connops’. Was it my fault for fighting with the local boys? What was I supposed to do when they were bullying me?

We came downstairs for breakfast but I could hardly eat because of the tight feeling in my chest.

‘I’ll make you sandwiches for the journey,’ the new maid said. ‘It’ll take you a while to get there and you don’t want to go hungry.’

It only occurred to me afterwards that she must have known where we were going – something that no one thought to share with us.

At ten o’clock, there was a knock on the front door and a tall man, wearing a brown suit and a trilby hat, was shown into the hall. Mrs Connop came out to shake hands with him.

‘They’re all packed up and ready,’ she said. ‘I’ll just fetch them for you.’

Dennis, Freddie and I trouped out, our faces tripping us.

‘This is Mr Easterby,’ we were told. ‘He’s going to take you to your new home. Be good boys for him and don’t cause any trouble.’

Mr Connop shook hands with each of us in turn, wishing us good luck in a gruff voice, and then Mrs Connop gave us each a quick hug.

‘Have you got all your things?’ she asked. I thought I saw a glint of tears in her eyes but I might have been mistaken. I think she was fond of us, but she was probably looking forward to a more peaceful life once we were gone – me in particular.

Each of us had a small suitcase and our brown paper parcel to carry. We picked them up and Mr Easterby led the way out of the front door and down the path. We caught the bus from Yarpole to Hereford and got out at the stop beside the railway station.

When we realized we were going to our new home by train, Dennis and I looked at each other with barely contained excitement. All those years we’d been watching the trains in the sidings down at Pillgwenlly docks, we’d never actually been on one. We’d seen them puffing along, belching out clouds of steam, pistons chugging in and out of the cylinders, but what would it be like to be a passenger on one, speeding through the countryside?

We climbed the steps and Mr Easterby held the door and ushered us up into a narrow carriage with four seats on either side. He lifted our suitcases into the woven nets hanging from racks above our heads, gesturing for us to sit down. Dennis and I managed to nab the window seats, and Freddie squawked in complaint.

The train puffed away from the platform and we sat mesmerized as the scenery rushed past us. I remember lots of electricity pylons stretching across the fields, and a village called Craven Arms, which made us giggle because it seemed such a silly name. Mr Easterby sat reading a newspaper and not paying any attention to us at all, as we chattered and directed each other’s attention to some new sight. He only roused himself to snap at me when I pulled down the carriage window and tried to peer out.

‘Sit down, Terence, unless you want your head knocked off when a train comes the other way.’

I jumped back into my seat smartish at that.

The train journey was way too short for my liking – only about an hour – and then we were getting out at Shrewsbury station, from where we had to catch a bus to our destination. There was a long wait before we got onto a trundling country bus that wove its way out of the city, stopping every hundred yards or so for passengers to get on or off. We were starving, so we ate our sandwiches and looked out the windows at the hilly landscape.

‘Over that way is Wales,’ Mr Easterby gestured, and I gazed out at the dark hills on the horizon, wondering if that’s where we were going.

Finally the driver called out ‘All passengers for Hope’ and Mr Easterby stood up and said ‘That’s us!’ A village called Hope seemed like a good omen.

‘I hope we’re going to like it in Hope,’ I quipped, and Dennis rolled his eyes and said ‘Very funny!’

As the bus moved off, we stood by the roadside with our suitcases and packages and Mr Easterby squinted at a sheet of paper on which were written the directions we were to follow. We were standing beside the village shop, which doubled as a post office, and I was aware of some women inside peering out at us with curiosity.

‘This way,’ Mr Easterby said, pointing across the road. ‘Pick up your things and follow me.’

We walked over the road and past the village school. I wondered if this would be the school we were to be sent to and whether I would like it or not. We climbed a steep hill, the road all the while getting narrower. There was a farm near the top called ‘White Gates’ and, sure enough, I saw the gates were painted white. At a crossroads just beyond, the road split into three and Mr Easterby led us down the narrowest road, which was little more than a dirt track. It was late afternoon by this time and we were all getting tired but there was no sign of human habitation – just a long winding track disappearing off between the trees.

Mr Easterby took off his hat and wiped his brow. ‘Not much further now, boys,’ he said, and I thought it was all right for him because at least he wasn’t carrying a suitcase and a parcel. They weren’t heavy but they bumped against our legs awkwardly as we walked.

The track wound its way down a steep hill, and at the bottom there was a metal gate. Were we really at the right place, I wondered? It seemed so isolated, literally miles from anywhere. The track shrank even further until it was just a footpath. We passed a farmhouse on the left and then, finally, another house came into view and Mr Easterby said, with a sigh of relief, that this was the one.

It was a shabby, grey stone house that didn’t look very big. I couldn’t help thinking that it felt like quite a letdown after the Connops’, but I suppose nothing could have been as good as theirs.

Mr Easterby knocked on the door and a grey-haired woman opened it almost immediately.

‘Mrs Pickering?’ he asked. ‘I’ve brought the Newport boys.’

‘Oh, goodness! You’d better come in,’ she said, seeming flustered. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Here, boys, put your things down in the hall here.’

We marched in and piled up our belongings where she indicated. A little girl, who looked about seven or eight years old, was sitting at the table watching us with a serious expression.

‘This is Dorothy,’ Mrs Pickering said. ‘She arrived earlier today. There’s been some kind of mix-up, I think.’

‘A mix-up?’ Mr Easterby looked exhausted from the walk. He took his hat off and sank into a chair. ‘Oh no.’ He looked at us. ‘Boys, why don’t you go and play outside while we try to sort things out. Any chance of a cup of tea, Mrs Pickering?’

I looked at Dennis, who shrugged, and we turned and went out the door again. Behind the house there was a field of tall grass. We could hear the tinkling of water somewhere so we ran through the grass until we came upon a brook, which was about two foot wide, sparkling in the late afternoon sunshine.

‘Let’s dam it,’ Dennis suggested. ‘Go and collect all the rocks you can find.’

Freddie and I splashed around collecting rocks while Dennis arranged them across the width of the brook. We didn’t talk about whether we would be staying there or what the mix-up might be but the worries were niggling away in my head while we played.

It was about an hour later when Mr Easterby came out and summoned us. He and Mrs Pickering were sitting at the table with the little girl and he introduced us in turn. ‘This is Dennis, who’s eleven; Terence, who’s nine; and Fred, who’s seven.’ He looked at us. ‘Boys, there’s a problem in that Mrs Pickering was originally going to take the three of you but now that young Dorothy here has arrived, she doesn’t have the room. She can take two of you, but not three.’

We looked at each other in horror. My chest felt tight with a panicky feeling. ‘But we have to stick together,’ Dennis said.

‘I understand that, boys,’ Mr Easterby said. ‘That’s what the Newport authorities want as well, but we’re in a bit of a bind because there’s no time to find you somewhere else tonight. What Mrs Pickering suggests is that Terence and Fred stay here and I take Dennis to one of the farms up the road. He’ll be really close by.’

I shouted out ‘No! You can’t do that.’

Mrs Pickering rushed to reassure us. ‘It’ll just be for sleeping. You can see each other during the daytime. Dennis can come down here. He’ll only be a few minutes away.’

‘I’m afraid it’s the only solution, boys. It won’t be so bad. You’ll see.’

I looked at Dennis and his eyes were wide with anxiety but he didn’t say anything more. It seemed the decision had been made.

‘You can’t,’ I argued, but with less conviction because I could tell that nothing I said was going to change their decision. ‘Where would you take him anyway?’

‘Do you remember that farm we passed called White Gates?’ Mr Easterby asked. ‘Mrs Pickering thinks they might take him in.’

I nodded, eyes to the ground and a big lump in my throat. Dennis had always been there, all my life, and I couldn’t imagine how I would cope without him. Tears were pricking my eyes but I knew I was too old to cry so I held them back. This was the worst thing ever. Worse than leaving the Connops. Worse than being hit by the staff at Stow Hill.

I watched as Dennis picked up his suitcase and brown paper parcel and followed Mr Easterby up the path. He turned once and caught my eye just before they went round a bend that took them out of sight. I hugged myself, feeling very lonely and vulnerable. Anything could happen now and I’d have to deal with it because I was older than Freddie. I had to be the responsible one. But I didn’t feel responsible. I felt very young and very scared.

Mrs Pickering made us fried eggs with bread and butter and a cup of tea and tried to chat to us as we ate, but I couldn’t speak because of the lump in my throat. Freddie answered her questions in his high-pitched babyish voice and I stayed quiet. We went to bed soon after our meal, but I couldn’t get to sleep. It was high summer and still light outside, so I lay going over everything in my head. Why couldn’t we have stayed at the Connops? We’d been happy there and I’d thought that’s where we would stay until we left home. Now we’d been dumped in a place that seemed a bit rundown and scruffy and much smaller than the Connops, and worst of all we’d been separated for the first time ever. I remembered how upset I had been when Dennis started school six years earlier and couldn’t spend the days playing with me, but this was incomparably more awful. I needed the comfort of him being there when I closed my eyes at night. If I woke in the early hours, I needed to hear his breathing before I could go back to sleep again. What would I do without him?

Next morning, we got up bright and early and were eating our breakfast downstairs when Dennis appeared. Mrs Pickering invited him in.

‘So are you staying at White Gates then, dear?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘They couldn’t take me because the lady is expecting a baby soon and they said they’ve got their hands full. They suggested we tried some people called the Goughs, at Bank Farm. It was quite a bit further on but when we got there they said they’d take me.’

‘The Goughs, eh?’ Mrs Pickering said. ‘I’ve never been up there. Does it seem all right?’

‘I like being on a farm, ma’am,’ he replied.

‘Well, that’s just fine, then,’ she said. ‘You come down here to see your brothers whenever you like.’

After breakfast, we ran outside back down to the brook and I was delighted just to be by Dennis’s side again, hearing his voice, looking at him. It made me feel safe. We found that our dam had held up overnight, creating a nice pool above it where we could paddle. When we explored further, we came across a small wood with some cottages on the other side. A kind lady who lived in one of them gave us a biscuit each, which was very welcome. There were cows grazing in a field and we fed them handfuls of grass, then stroked their heads through the bars of the gate. The lump in my chest was softening slightly. Maybe it was going to be all right here after all. So long as we spent our days together, surely it didn’t matter too much if we spent the nights in different places? It was only for sleeping, after all.

A couple of days later, Dennis took me over to see the Goughs’ place for the first time. It was a long walk, right the way back past the school and the village store where we’d got off the bus and then along the main road to a five-barred gate opposite a petrol station. After that you had to follow a footpath through a field up to the house, which was fronted by a vegetable garden.

‘So this is Terence!’ Mrs Gough exclaimed, coming out of the house to say hello. ‘Welcome to Bank Farm.’

My first impression was that they must be very poor people because her clothes were worn and faded and her ginger hair was messy like a bird’s nest. Mrs Connop had always looked smart, in a skirt and blouse with neatly set hair. Mr Gough came round the corner of a shed and I thought at first he looked a bit scary, with short dark hair, a craggy forehead and bushy eyebrows that gave him a scowling expression, but he greeted me in a very friendly manner.

‘You must be missing your big brother,’ he said. ‘Seems a shame the three of you had to be split up like that.’

I shrugged and looked at the ground. ‘You’re welcome here whenever you want to see Dennis,’ he said. ‘Any time.’

His accent was quite different from the Connops’: rougher, and with an emphasis on the R’s that was like a growl.

Dennis showed me round and I was impressed with all the animals they had: two big horses, lots of cows and some chickens as well.

‘I helped to feed them this morning,’ Dennis told me proudly, and I was jealous of that. I’d always liked feeding the animals at the Connops’.

The next day when he came to see me at the Pickerings, he said, ‘The Goughs have got room for one more and they were wondering if you want to come and stay with them instead?’

I thought about it. ‘Nah!’ I said. ‘I’m fine here.’ I felt that I’d only just made a move and Mrs Pickering seemed really nice. I didn’t fancy having to move again, even if it meant I would be with Dennis. ‘Why don’t they take Freddie instead?’

‘They said they wanted you. They said they were going to speak to the authorities about it.’

‘Is it OK up there?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, it’s fine.’

‘Well, we’ll see what happens,’ I said gloomily. It wouldn’t be up to me then. Grown-ups would make the decision for me, as usual.

And that’s the way it turned out. On 5 July, just over a week after we’d arrived in the village of Hope, Mr Gough came over to pick me up and take me back to Bank Farm to move in with them. Mrs Pickering was happy about it, so long as she got to keep Freddie as company for the little girl Dorothy.

Freddie looked a bit upset when I picked up my case to go, but he didn’t kick off too much because he was already getting quite fond of Mrs Pickering. Besides, Dennis and I had promised we’d come back and visit him most days.

Mr Gough carried my case for me as we climbed up the path to the road.

‘We’re supposed to send our empty cases back to the Connops,’ I told him. ‘They’re just on loan.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we fill them full of frogs then send them back?’

I couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of Mrs Connop opening a suitcase full of frogs in that grand, oak-panelled hallway and them leaping out all over the place.

‘That’s what we’ll do then,’ he said, chuckling. ‘I’ll see to it later.’

When we arrived, Mrs Gough came rushing out to welcome me and she put her arms round me and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Welcome to Bank Farm, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.’

Dennis gave me a wink. I blushed and mumbled ‘Thanks’ as I pulled away from her embrace. I wasn’t at all keen on people hugging me. It was something girls did, something cissy. I was tough now, I thought. I wasn’t a kid any more.