Forgotten Children

by Cathy Sharp

  She longed to do more – much more, and not just as an administrator. Angela hadn’t realised until she came here that there was a deep well of love inside her, just waiting to pour out. Some of the sights she’d seen here, the stories she’d been told of children brought in off the streets with sores all over their bodies, half-starving – it was enough to make her weep, yet she also had tremendous satisfaction in seeing those same children sitting down to a decent meal and hearing their laughter and chatter. St Saviour’s was certainly a place of safety and hope, and she wanted to be a part of it all, to stay here and do what she could for the children.

  As yet Angela had seen virtually nothing of Mark Adderbury, though she knew he’d been to the home at least twice since she’d started working there. Once she’d been out shopping, and the second time she’d just caught a glimpse of him with Sister Beatrice. They had been deep in conversation so she hadn’t liked to intrude; she was aware that she felt disappointed that he hadn’t rung her, because she’d thought they might now see more of each other. Mark was such a good friend to her and she wasn’t sure how she would have got through without him, but she mustn’t allow herself to think of him as more than a friend. She still loved John and even to think of putting another man in his place was disloyal.

  Angela was glad that Sister had changed her mind and allowed Alice Cobb to stay on, but she wasn’t sure how much she’d had to do with it. Perhaps Sister had her own reasons for relenting.

  Alice had thanked her for helping her, obviously believing that she’d had some influence with Sister Beatrice. The girl had seemed cheerful that morning, but since then Angela had seen her looking anxious and wondered if Alice was in trouble with Sister again. Perhaps it was a personal problem. With her family that was quite possible, but Angela didn’t yet know her well enough to ask if something was wrong. Michelle was Alice’s special friend and she believed they went out together often. So far, Angela hadn’t made friends here, perhaps because of the perceived social divide, though she didn’t feel as much of an intruder as she had at first.

  THIRTEEN

  ‘I got told off again fer runnin’ in the corridor,’ Billy said to Mary Ellen one morning at breakfast. ‘She says if she catches me again she’ll give me the cane.’

  ‘Sister’s a mean old thing.’ Mary Ellen looked at him uncertainly. ‘I heard she threatened to sack Alice for giving you a clip round the ear – it didn’t hurt, did it?’

  ‘Nah, not a bit. I’ve had worse flea bites. Pa really used to thrash me when he was drunk, but Ma was all right and so was me nanna. I ain’t ’eard a word about her. I wish she’d get better and have me home – and you could come wiv me, Mary Ellen. Nanna’s all right, she wouldn’t turn you away if she could look after us.’

  ‘I wish I could go home to me ma.’ Mary Ellen sighed. ‘I wrote to her and Rose. Sally got me envelopes and stamps, but I haven’t had any letters yet … I miss my mother so bad.’

  ‘Yeah, I know how yer feel,’ Billy said. ‘I missed my ma somethin’ awful when she died. It ain’t bad ’ere sometimes – but others I feel like I’m in prison. All them rules they make us keep; like wearing yer cap whenever yer go out, washin’ every day and havin’ clean clothes all the time, and puttin’ the lights out at half past eight, and not runnin’ anywhere … and puttin’ things away neat in the dorm, and not talkin’ when we’re told to be quiet for mornin’ prayers.’

  Mary Ellen nodded, even though she didn’t mind some of Billy’s long list. ‘I think it’s just that Sister Beatrice. Our Rose said she was sharp with her when she asked for me to come here. I wasn’t supposed to hear that, but I did, because I stood on the stairs and listened. It’s the only way to find out what they’re saying in our house, ’cos they think I’m too young and they tell me lies.’

  ‘Bloomin’ grownups are all the same like that,’ Billy said. ‘Think yer a kid and can’t be trusted if they tell yer the truth.’

  ‘They keep telling me Ma is going to hospital to get better, but she thinks she’s going to die. I heard her making Rose promise to look after me when she’s gone.’ Mary Ellen sniffed hard, struggling against her tears.

  ‘Rotten luck.’ Billy looked sympathetic. ‘I’d better finish my breakfast. I’ve got ter go ter school; it’s football practice and I don’t want to miss that – are you going to school today?’

  ‘I don’t think so, ’cos I’ve had to change schools, but I think I’ll be going with you now the school holidays are over.’ Mary Ellen looked anxious. ‘Nan says I’ll hear about my place this week … and she’s putting me in a dorm with the girls of eight and nine instead of with the older ones.’

  ‘You’ll like that,’ Billy said, finished his glass of orange squash and pushed back his chair. ‘I’d better go. If they send you to school next week we can walk there together.’

  ‘Are you going to attend school regular then?’

  ‘I might, seein’ as you’ll be there,’ he said, grinned at her and dashed off, only to be reprimanded by one of the staff for running in the dining area.

  Billy stuck his head in the air and went off whistling. He had made up his mind to keep a low profile for the moment, because he didn’t want to give Sister a chance to cane him: the mean old crow! But he didn’t want to be late for football practice so he ran to fetch his boots.

  ‘No running in the corridors!’

  Billy saw Sister bearing down on him and made a ferocious face at her. If he’d dared he would have kicked her ankles and told her just what he thought of her rules, but he was here on probation so he’d best keep his mouth shut for a while, or he might find himself in a house of correction. He hadn’t cared at the start whether he stayed or not, but now that Mary Ellen was here he would hate to be sent away …

  Billy was feeling pleased with life when he went home for lunch after football practice. He’d done well and the master in charge had praised him, telling him that he was showing promise and might be selected for the school team. Used to being scolded for being lazy or neglecting his work, Billy had glowed with pride. He couldn’t wait to see Mary Ellen and tell her that he’d scored a goal.

  ‘I thought I told you this morning not to run?’ Sister Beatrice put out a hand and caught hold of Billy’s jacket, forcing him to turn and look at her. ‘Do you not understand that the rules are meant for a reason? If you run you could fall and hurt yourself, but also you could knock into one of the staff and cause them to drop whatever they happen to be carrying. It might be a tray of glass or perhaps sterilised bandages and medicines, which are expensive to replace.’

  ‘Sorry, Sister.’ Billy looked up at her defiantly. He wasn’t doing any harm, but he had to find Mary Ellen and have his lunch before returning to school. He’d been told that his inclusion in the team would depend on his attending regularly. Besides, most of the boys ran when they could get away with it, the Warden just had it in for him. ‘We were late back from football practice and if I don’t hurry I’ll miss lunch and be late this afternoon.’

  ‘You will report to me after school this evening, Billy. I’ve warned you several times and you ought to know the rules by now. As you continue to flout them I shall have to administer punishment.’

  Billy glowered, hanging his head but defiant. If she thought giving him the cane would break him, she was wrong. He didn’t look back so he never saw the anxious way the Sister’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight, before turning away.

  ‘Well, this is your own fault,’ Beatrice said as Billy looked at her with those stubborn eyes of his. ‘I have warned you repeatedly about running in corridors. Please hold out your hands.’

  Billy hesitated, clearly wondering whether he could get away with defying her, then reluctantly held them out. Taking a deep breath, Beatrice gave him three strokes on his left hand and then prepared to repeat the action on his right. The boy held his gasp of pain inside, gritting his teeth fiercely and refusing to let her see it hurt. His bravery only made Beatrice the more angry and s
he decided to teach him his lesson once and for all. She had just brought the thin cane down when the door to her office opened and Angela walked in carrying a sheaf of papers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Angela cried. ‘No, not the cane …’

  Beatrice glared at her and gave Billy two more strokes before dismissing him. Billy had not made a sound and stared at her with proud defiance, as if daring her to hit him again, but she hardly noticed as she turned to her assistant in rising anger. She saw the righteous indignation in Angela’s eyes and held her tongue until the boy had departed, slamming the door after him. No doubt he was already running, defying her to the last.

  ‘How dare you interfere with my punishment of a troublesome boy? How dare you come barging in here and speak to me in that manner?’

  Angela seemed to hesitate, and then raised her head, looking her in the eyes. ‘I dare because I cannot stand by and see a boy beaten …’

  ‘You have no right to interfere with my decision. I am the Warden here, Mrs Morton, and I will thank you to knock before you enter in future.’

  ‘I am perfectly prepared to knock and for that I apologise,’ Angela replied. ‘However, I do have the right to object as a compassionate bystander if nothing more, though of course I should have done so in private. I do not believe in beating a child for small misdemeanours, though of course there are times when it might be necessary – but in my opinion it is time that all corporal punishment for children was banned. You claim to care for the children in your care – how can you inflict it on a child that has in all probability been beaten too often in the past?’

  Beatrice was outraged. How dare this newcomer insinuate that she was given to cruel treatment of her children? All she had ever done was to see they were well fed and cared for, but discipline must be maintained. The Bishop had told her himself that he expected her to maintain strict rules at St Saviour’s.

  ‘I have repeatedly warned the boy not to run in corridors. He chose to ignore me and so I punished him. It was my decision and my word is law here.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Angela informed her quietly. ‘Naturally, it is not my business to interfere in the way you run the home – unless I believe you mistaken in your thinking and in that case I shall speak my mind. The Board has authorised me to suggest changes as and where I see fit. I do not believe in corporal punishment and I think we should try other methods. Withdrawing privileges in extreme cases of bad behaviour is one – but for small things, perhaps an hour in detention or some lines?’

  ‘I think I am the best judge of what is right for my children. I believe that if you spare the rod you spoil the child.’

  ‘Do you not think that a little outdated? Have our children not already suffered enough unkindness and often brutality? To hit them is surely telling them that we are no different to the fathers who beat them. If Billy’s spirit has not been broken by a brutal upbringing, why should a few strokes of the cane teach him to obey the rules? Surely it is better to explain and teach, to show him there are rewards for being a better person? We are moving towards a new and I believe brighter future. Laws will be made to protect children, though they will not come all at once. I may be ahead of popular thinking, but I believe that any form of physical punishment will eventually be forbidden in schools and anywhere that children might be at risk.’

  ‘Indeed? Are you telling me that this rule will apply here?’

  ‘I would hope so …’

  ‘Not while I am the Warden.’

  ‘I do not want to make an unfavourable report on your handling of the children,’ Angela said, still in that quiet tone that Beatrice was beginning to find infuriating, ‘but if I have to I shall speak to the Board myself. I could not lend my authority to an institution that condoned such punishment. I should warn you that I feel strongly about this, Sister.’

  Beatrice was so angry that she could hardly speak, but then she remembered her calling. Had she not been taught that humility was her duty? If God had not wanted Angela here, He would not have sent her. This was meant to be a test of Beatrice’s strength.

  She took a deep steadying breath. ‘Until such time that I am aware of the Board’s wishes in this matter I shall continue to administer the punishment I feel appropriate. Now, was there anything more?’

  ‘You might like to look through this,’ Angela said. ‘It is a preliminary list of suggestions for improving both the building and the running of St Saviour’s. I wanted you to see it before I sent it in. I was asked to suggest anything that needed to be improved, with the buildings themselves and the way St Saviour’s is run – though of course I do not have the authority to change anything unless both you and the Board agree.’

  ‘We may be able to agree on some of it. I will look at it when I have time,’ Beatrice replied. ‘Please leave it on my desk. I am rather busy.’

  With that, she walked past Angela into the hall before she lost her temper again.

  Angela returned to her office, feeling a little shaken by her first real argument with Sister Beatrice. She was not at all certain she’d done the right thing in letting her feelings overrule her head. It would, she reflected, have been better to wait and then tell Sister Beatrice that Mark considered they needed to change considerably if they were to bring St Saviour’s up to the proper standards. She’d been putting it off, waiting for the right moment, but her distress at seeing the Warden caning a young boy had made her act without sufficient thought.

  She would have to apologise, of course, because she ought not to have spoken in front of the boy – and yet could it ever be right to subject a child to such treatment? Angela thought not.

  The telephone on her desk rang at that moment, recalling her thoughts to the present. She picked it up with a little frown. ‘Angela Morton, how may I help you?’

  ‘Angela, it’s Mark. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, managing to sound cheerful. ‘We seem to keep missing each other. How are you?’

  ‘Busy.’ His warm laugh banished her frowns and she remembered how much he’d helped her since John died. ‘Work – and I’ve been helping a friend clear up his late father’s affairs.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Angela said and meant it. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice,’ Mark said. ‘Work has been pretty bloody recently – and I need someone to cheer me up. How about coming out for a drink and a snack this evening? There’s a decent pub I know that does simple meals – how does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect. I could really do with a night out with my best friend.’

  For a moment Mark seemed to catch his breath, then, ‘Am I your best friend, Angela?’

  ‘Surely you know that?’ she murmured huskily because emotion caught at her throat. ‘You’re the only one who understands me, Mark – the only one I feel I can turn to.’

  ‘That sounds a little desperate? Bad day at the office too?’

  ‘You could say that … no, just a little tactical error on my part. I shan’t bore you with the details; in general everything is fine.’

  ‘Shall I pick you up at seven then?’

  ‘Yes, please. I’m so glad you rang me, Mark. I want to help when you need me – just as you’ve helped me.’

  ‘I’ll always be your friend,’ he promised and something in his voice made her heart jolt as the receiver went down at the other end.

  Angela nursed the receiver at her end before hanging up. She’d always thought of Mark as a friend, nothing more. He was much the same age as John, perhaps a year older, and attractive – more sophisticated and serious than her husband had been when she fell in love with him. It had been a whirlwind affair and Angela had been swept off her feet by the handsome Army officer, snatching at happiness even though she knew what might happen. War had changed John, and she’d sensed a new reserve in him, a new resentment that hadn’t previously been there when he came home on leave, and it had felt as if he’d somehow shut her out, even though he’d made lo
ve to her with an almost frantic passion, as if he could never have enough of her – but later, he’d left their bed and gone down to the sitting room, where she’d found him staring out at the night sky.

  ‘What’s wrong, darling?’ she’d asked and gone to him, putting her arms around him and nuzzling the back of his neck. He’d gone stiff and still in her arms, almost as if he rejected her touch. ‘John?’

  ‘Go back to bed, Angela. I need to be alone – please, just do as I ask.’

  Angela had done as he asked and in the morning he brought her flowers, tea and toast and then he made love to her so sweetly that all her fears were banished and she was filled with love for him. But it hadn’t been the end of the sudden tiffs that flared between them … they’d argued over her desire to do something useful with her life, because she wasn’t the kind of woman who could just sit at home and twiddle her fingers.

  Angela dismissed the memory. She’d loved John no matter what the war had done to their perfect relationship and she always would; to even think about loving someone else was a betrayal of the promise she’d made on her wedding day. She could never betray their love; it was unthinkable. Perhaps if they’d had the children they’d both longed for she wouldn’t feel this emptiness inside, but they’d had so little time together because of the demands of war, and it just hadn’t happened.

  Why had she even thought about a new relationship? She was ridiculous to imagine that that soft, deep note in Mark’s voice spoke of a feeling he was afraid of revealing. No, he was content to be her friend, of course he was – and that was all she wanted. If a tiny voice inside her head asked questions about the future, demanding to know if she was content to sleep alone forever, she drove it away.