Amelia's story (5 page)

Jake and I had gotten hold of our mother’s alcohol earlier that morning
,
not realizing what it was at all. The bottles had been left in the bottom kitchen cupb
oard; we came across them while
making our breakfast and had drunk some before school
,
thinking it was pop, but we
didn’t drink
very much at all as the taste was pungent.
 

However
,
it had not mixed to
o
well with the sleeping pills our mother had slipped into our hot milk the night before. As you can imagine
,
s
he never took us to the doctor
or rushed us to A&E because she knew she would be in serious trouble if they found
sleeping pills
in our systems once they had pumped our stomachs.
I
nstead
, she
managed again to keep the Social Workers at b
ay with a very convincing story
and apologizing for not putti
ng the alcohol out of our reach.
She claimed
the only reason it was there was due to a
party she had been to recently
and had forgot
ten
to store the drink in a safe place on her return from the party.
Jake and I were feeling groggy mos
t mornings now when we woke up. O
f course
, at that
time
,
we had no idea why we always felt
tired
in a morning. Our lives had become quite un
be
a
rable,
and we spent all our time trying to keep out of our mother’s way. In fact
,
we had turned it into an
art form
.

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Things were slightly better for a while following the incident with our school.
Mother was less unpredictable and made a small effort
,
but this was for he
r own gain more than Jake and I.
She knew she was on thin ice
once again and needed
to keep the authorities at bay. O
ur temporary reprieve was not out of
guilt for her terrible actions, but purely for selfish reasons of not wanting to be found out again for the un-fit mother she truly was.

Our mother told us
that we would soon be having a new brother or sister, and th
at she needed all the help
we co
uld give her, especially from me.
S
he told me that she would be relying on me heavily in
the
future to help with more chores around the house and look after the children. Our mother was still smoking and drinking heavily throughout her pregnancy, yet again, the
further her pregnancy advanced,
the more bad tempered she
became
. A couple of months before Jenny was born
,
we were told that we would have to go into care for a while as she needed some space.
Shortly
after this, she voluntarily placed
both Jake and I into care.
She once again
could not cope with the responsibility of Jake and
I while
she was expecting her third child. We were sent to Colton Hall Children’s Nursery Home in Shropshire. I remember it very well. I cried
,
believing she was unable to cope because Jake and I were naughty. She
drank
all through
out
her
third pregnancy,
ate
very little
, and smoked
in a man
ne
r that made you wonder if cigarettes were going to become extinct soon. Unfortunately, Jenny was born physically disabled and with cer
e
b
ral
palsy.
Jake and I spent
the Christmas holiday
in Colton Hall with no visitors. I remember
waking up on Christmas day
in strange
,
somber surroundings
. As
I looked around
,
I could see we were in a dormitory with at least
ten
other children who were already awake and huddled together laughing at us. Then one child pointed
our beds,
and Jake shouted
,
“
Look, Amelia, your bed.”
I looked down
at
my bed and the bottom half was soiled. Jake
’
s was just the same
too
.
We
climbed
out of our beds and just sat on the floor close to each other until a member of staff came into the dormitory. We were to discover a little later that all new kids got this treatment on their arrival at Colton Hall. Tha
t same morning we noticed there was a plastic see-
through bag at the end of our beds this contained fruit and a few little pleasures such as a coloring
book and a bar of chocolate.
A
ll the other children were hurriedly searching through their bags to see what Father Christmas had b
r
ought for them.
Some of the more fortunate children were blessed with visits from their parents on this special day and some were not so fortunate. I remember that during our time at Colton Hall, I felt lonely and I wanted to go home. I did not understand why we were there, where
our
mother
was,
and why had she not stop
ped by to see us over Christmas.
To a seven-year-old child this was a very emotional thing
to deal with, and to even try and make
sense of it all was a sheer impossibility. I just know
that I felt like
Jake and I were
to blame for everything. W
e really believed that everything was our fault because we had been naughty. We did not take well to Colton Hall and spent most of our time crying or sitting together and not saying much to anyone from one day to the next.
Eventually we were allowed home
,
and
we were
greete
d with smiles and pleasantries. O
ur mother made an effort for a while with promises that everything was going to be much better
from now on and that we all had
to stick together. However
,
this didn’t
last
very long before M
other fell foul to her usual and cruel ways.
Soon after our half
-
sister was born
,
it became apparent that the rest of the world was to blame for Jenny’s disab
ilities.
M
other was struggling to cope with Jenny
,
as she was born disabled and one leg was a little shorter than the other, so hospital visits and the frequent journeys were becoming too much for her to be
ar
. Jenny was unable to walk by herself for a very long time. Jenny was beautiful
despite her obvious disability. S
he w
as always smiling and laughing. I
n
fact
,
she was so unaware of her surroundings
,
it
’
s fair to say
she was the happiest of us all and
thank
God
for that small mercy. Jake and I loved
her instantly. Jenny had a shock of beautiful, yellow hair
and bright
,
blue eyes,
and
her smile reached from on
e end of her face to the other. S
he was a true blessing for Jake and
I
. I loved her with all of my being and was amazed with this tiny new addition to our family. Jenny was a good few months old when we arrived home.
A
short wh
ile later, and totally out of the blue, Jenny, Jake, and I were
urgently whisked away without any warning
and with
just a few clothes to cover us for the next few days. We
were
told that our mother and father had been taken ill and needed to recuperate for a while. We
were
left at a
neighbour
’s house the day before
,
but our parents never returned home. Everyone was anxious
,
but they were trying so hard not to worry us.
 

As the even
ts unfolded, I discovered that M
other and Robert had both taken a suicide pact and overdosed together. They were eventually found by concerned neighbo
u
rs who had slipped over the back gate and let themselves into the house. They immediately called an ambulance, and then they called the
Social Services
. J
ake and I were both devastated;
we had very little
knowledge of what was going on,
only that it was very serious. Of course
,
we both
k
new where this was going to lead again. We were sure that we would be placed in yet another children’s home. Once again we were left fearing our immediate future,
and
the familiar feeling of instability, insecurity
, and fear consumed us at that time
.
We were all sent to Colton Hall again, while our mother and father were being investigated by
Social Services
a
nd the health services for their
stability as parents. We at least were familiar with the surroundings of Colton Hall
.
W
e knew one or two of the children who were permanent residents until they reached a cer
tain age and then
they would be moved on to another home. So
,
settling in the second time was far easier on us all than it was the first time. We were spared the usual ritual of our beds being soiled, which was a relief to both Jake and I. The staff did all they could to make us feel welcome
,
and I remember that our breakfast sitting was the ver
y first time I had tasted honey.
I was encouraged to try some with my porridge and it was delicious! I’ve loved it ever since. I will never forget that first taste in my
mouth,
a beautiful mixture of
honey
and oats! As the days passed,
we were all settling into a routine
.
W
e were quite happy and had adapted well
to our temporary surroundings.
I loved the fact that we had a set breakfast time
each day
. In the morning when the alarm rang out like a billowing horn, we all
jumped
out of bed and
washed before we were all escorted to the small dining hall where there was a feast f
it for a king set out before us. T
his was something we
were definitely
not used to at all. The tables were laid with
plain plastic cloths and small-sized cutlery. T
he table was adorned with mini
-s
ized boxes of cereal for us to choose from, there was warm toast delicately cut into triangles in a neat
,
little toast rack, and the option to have warm por
ridge was there if we preferred.
I n
ever wanted to leave the table.
I wanted to eat everything set out before me, and most mornings I did! After breakfast we
headed
into the nursery area
,
which also double
d
into a pl
ay area for the five- to- seven-year-olds.
A
ctivities would be arranged to keep us amused until lunchtime arrived
.
Once
again we would be greeted with a delicious feast of meat and potatoes and a side dish
of peas, simple wholesome food.
I loved it and the regular routine was so good for us all.
We thought about our parents less and less mainly due to the regular stability Col
ton Hall had given to us. While
at Colton
Hall
, a problem that I developed in the form of bed-wetting had stopped after a while; I no longer woke up in the middle of the night soaking wet and crying out. Jake’s
confidence had also increased;
no
rmally he was exceptionally shy;
however
,
he had become more outgoing and was joining in with the other children rather than sitting alone in the corner. Jenny was just happy no matter what
;
thankfully, she was far too y
oung to know what was going on. S
he was also taken very good care of at Colton.
Unfortunately
,
our current welcomed stable lives were about to be disrupted once more. Our
m
other and
stepfather had
recovered from their overdose and had been discharged by the psychiatric consultant, who deemed them fit once more to be capable parents. The
Social Services
dep
artment
had an urgent meeting following receipt of the health service
’
s psychiatric reports on them both. They were no longer a danger to themselves or the
ir
children. All governing bodies were convinced and in complete agreement that their children could now be returned home once more.
Sounds surreal
,
but this was the 1970
s
and things were dealt with far differently
than they are today. We were assigned a Social Worker
,
who looked
in on us from time to time.
I recall her visits very clearly
.
O
n the morning of her visit
,
M
other would be up and out of bed, cooking
breakfast, and setting the table.
W
e
were all dressed
in our Sunday best, and because mother was happy we children were happy (and she knew
then that
all would be well).
The Social Worker would arrive on time
,
and M
other would greet her at the door presenting the perfect family image
.
T
he house
was
spotless
,
as were us children, and we
played
happily together, the perfect family picture. Mother always prepped us before the Social Worker arrived
,
warning us that if we were naughty while she was
t
here that we would all be taken away, and we would never be allowed home again. This would put the fear of
God
into us and was enough to ensure
that
we were on our best
behaviour. Our mother al
ways led us to believe that Social Workers were interfering busybodies who had no business calling on her all the time.
On the surface we looked like
most
families
,
and t
he Social Worker would be happy.
S
he would be armed with her black clipboard
,
all the while writing away as she was talking to our mother
,
ticking her boxes and satisfying herself that all was well. She would finish her tea
,
then leave until
her
next visit.
As
s
oon a
s
she
left, M
other would almost immediately revert
to her harshness
. We were instantly ordered to
change
out of our Sunday
best
and put
our old playing clothes back on. T
he shouting and stressing would start soon after. We
were
ordered to go outside the front
of the house
to play so
she could have peace and quiet.
T
ranslated
,
this usually meant she needed a drink or three. Eventually when we were allowed back in
to
the house
,
we could
tell our mother was different—
s
he slurred her words
and stumble
d
around the house.
The arguments
had become
more frequent, more frightening,
and M
ot
her became terribly erratic. She
would fly into an uncontrollable rage more often than not,
and her target was nearly always me.
She
lash
ed
out at me with anything she held in
her hands at that moment—
a rolling pin, a saucep
an, even a dog chain. She
turn
ed
into a mad
woman, sometimes calling me all the ugly names she c
ould muster from within herself and
with the front
door wide open for all to hear. T
hen
she would throw me
outside.
Tears
fell
down my face in bucket loads
, and
I would
bare
ly be able to breath
e through my crying. I felt
humiliated and embarrassed
and prayed the ground would just open up and swallow me.
This would always be justified one way or another,
and
if she felt a shadow of guilt she punish
ed
me for making her feel bad
.
I was to blame for her miserable l
ife as far as she was concerned,
and I was reminded of this on an almost daily basis.