The coach journey was boring and long, but finally the most wondrous sight I have ever seen came into view: The white cliffs of Dover. I had never seen anything as spectacular, or cliffs as big, in my whole life. I could not pull my eyes away from them. The coach pulled up and we all had to disembark and take our cases along a steep, narrow platform where, at the top, were customs asking for our passports. Oh no this is it! I had no passport, I was not going after all. Looking around anxiously at the other children and feeling like a thief that was going to get caught out at any minute. I sighed a sigh of relief as the teacher leading us pulled out a piece of paper, and unfolding it explained it was a multi passport covering everyone in our party. The passport controller quickly counted us all as we went through customs, then returned the paperwork back to our teacher.
We were told it would take roughly an hour to sail over to France on the ferry, and we were to get some lunch while we were waiting. Jenny and I found a food kiosk selling fast food and sat chatting tucking into our burger and chips. It was strange being on the ferry, even though we were in the middle of the English Channel going at I don’t know how many knots, it did not feel like we were actually moving at all. The ferry soon docked in France and after collecting our luggage we made our way to the train station for the next leg of our journey.
We were informed we would be on the train all night, so to try and get some sleep we had been divided up and put into private carriages that fitted about eight of us. The teacher had flipped the seats up and given us a pillow and a blanket each to help us settle, but no one could sleep, we were all too excited. Every time they came to check on us we were laughing and giggling.
In the dark, through the windows I could make out what appeared to be snow-topped mountains. They looked huge and close enough to nearly reach out and touch. I must have drifted off as the next thing I knew a teacher’s handing out breakfast of a lot of dry buns I had never seen before and a carton of juice, they’re croissants one of the children announced, I didn’t care what they were they tasted of dry cardboard give me weetabix any day.
The train pulled into a small station and we disembarked, luckily this time a teacher took my case. She sighed, probably thinking, Who in their right mind would give a small kid a case this size. The final train had already pulled into the station; it was an open carriage and we sat were we could among the other passengers. Not one of us made a sound on the train, we were all listening to the strange language that was filtering through the carriage. I was looking intently at these foreigners speaking in a different tongue, trying to pick up any words I recognised, or trying to figure out if their conversations were normal or if they were angry etc. But no, there was no telling and no recognition of any of their language. It all felt quite alien to me sat there with all this strange activity going on, looking at my fellow classmates I could tell they were as intrigued as me.
The train was full to bursting and pulling into its next station half a dozen more passengers squeezed on, hanging precariously from the straps attached to the trains ceiling. They were being swung from left to right as the train continued its journey; they were getting quite loud, and in their foreign accent sounded angry and intimidating. It felt like at any moment they would lunge at us. I know it was probably nothing and just their strange accents, but I was relieved when we finally left the train and was on the final coach to our destination.
The coach pulled up outside a large hotel which was straight opposite the beach, we all rushed for the coach windows, trying to get our first glimpse of the sea. We were led into the foyer of the hotel, and split into groups of boys and girls and taken to our rooms. I was put in a room overlooking the beachfront. I was sharing with two other girls who had rushed in ahead of me, mainly because they weren’t hampered with the case from hell, and had claimed their beds and were excitedly unpacking their cases. We exchanged names and were chatting about which outfit to wear first, when the teacher called us down for dinner. We were led into a large dining room and asked to choose between macaroni cheese or spaghetti Bolognese, being told that whatever we chose was our dinner for the whole holiday I wasn’t too sure what macaroni cheese was so I chose spaghetti Bolognese.
After dinner there was a small meeting where the teacher explained the money to us and if we had the full amount what it broke down to each day as spending money. She explained we were on a half board basis which included our breakfast and evening meal each day, the trips we would be taking, one of which was a visit to a glass blowing factory. We were told we were allowed to explore the small area we were staying in but to go around as a group of two or more, and everyone had to be back for their evening meal so everyone was accounted for. It was so good to be in a proper bed that night, after sleeping on the hard train floor the night before. I could hear the boys in the room opposite play fighting and messing in their room but they did not disturb me for long; the lack of sleep, the heat and a comfy bed soon got the better of me.
27
We were woken by a tap on the door by our teacher the following morning announcing breakfast, we all quickly dressed, and made our way into the dining room. Our table was already set with our breakfast, it was the dry bread again, orange juice and either tea or coffee. I managed to eat it this time, as they had provided us with butter and a selection of jams and marmalades to sweeten the croissants and make them more palatable.
After the teacher announced it was a free day with no trips, so it would be nice if we all went on the beach for the day. There were no complaints as we all ran to change into our various swimwear. Stepping out of the hotel the heat hit you, and the sun’s rays were blinding as it rebounded of the bleached white street. The beach was pure white, and the sea was glistening and looked so inviting with the suns heat and light reflecting from it. The girls I shared my room with had gone off to find their mates, but hearing a call of, “Come on, last one in is a ninny.” I happily chased the others into the sea. The water surprised me, I expected to shudder and squeal like I would in the waters of Whitley Bay, but no the sea was warm and I could see the sand below, see my feet in the bottom of the clear water which fascinated me. I was soon up to my waist in the warm sea, swimming and laughing with the others. I spent everyday on the beach and swimming, I loved it – loved the freedom, loved the no restrictions, and loved just being a child, which the holiday allowed me to be.
I never spent much of my holiday money on myself, I never bought lunch, preferring to be on the beach, and just bought the occasional ice cream from the beach kiosk. So when we went on our trip to the glass blowing factory, I had the money to buy my mum a beautiful horse blown from glass. I stood and watched it being created from nothing more than a blob of glass. I was so chuffed with it, and the holiday she had given me, that I could not wait to give it to her on my return as I knew she would be thrilled with it too. What I was not so chuffed with was the hotel meals the same breakfast and dinner every single night. By the time the holiday was over, I was happy to get back, but the whole experience had been amazing and I would not have missed it for anything.
On arriving back to the school our parents were anxiously waiting. I could see my mum waving like crazy when she saw me through the coach window, and she was beaming from ear to ear. As soon as I got off the coach I was bombarded with a thousand questions by my mum: “You been OK?”, “You enjoy it?”, “How was the hotel?”, “How was the weather?” and so on and so on. After reassuring her I was fine and had a great time and thanking them for the holiday. My mum told me they had been away, no where as fancy as me, but they had been away for a week to Mablethorpe. My mum appeared really happy, happier than I had ever seen her and content. Walking back home I held my mum’s hand and Ryan took my other hand and they were swinging me between them, making me laugh as my feet swung through the air.
Arriving back home the house felt calm and safe, and I was not scared anymore. I finally knew Jerry was gone, and he would not be back to hurt me or my mum. Ryan, thou
gh I did not know him, was definitely a better bet than Jerry had ever been, and in the short time I had been with him he had never contradicted or threatened me either physically of verbally. Maybe finally things were going to start to look up, and the holidays were a new start for all of us.
28
No sooner was my case unpacked, than it was repacked for the journey up north to see my grandparents. My mum explained I would be only there a couple of weeks, as on my return we would need to sort my uniform for my new school. We took our usual journey to my grandparents’ house, but when we arrived my grandad was in bed recovering from a heart attack he had suffered a few weeks earlier at work.
My grandma looked tired and worn, she said the doctor had put the cause of his heart attack down to a condition called angina, and he would be on medication for the rest of his life. Plus the chances were he would have more attacks as the attack had caused permanent damage to his heart. He needed quiet and as much rest as possible. I knew I was an inconvenience that my grandparents could do without, but as per-usual my mum was on the next coach out saying as my grandad was ill, two weeks was ample for my visit as if she was doing them a massive favour.
My aunties came every morning to walk Tanya, and take me out from under my grandma’s feet. The strain on my grandma’s face was obvious, she was trying to keep the house immaculate as she always did, plus take care of me and her sick husband. I would take drinks and food up to my grandad who was still bed bound; I would quietly tap on his bedroom door and wait for his weak response to enter the room. My grandma had propped him up on extra pillows, and I would sit talking to him while he slowly drank and ate his food. He looked awful, ashen, weak, but mainly vunerable. I would stay with him until my grandma called me away saying he needed to rest, if he was to make a full recovery.
By the time my mum returned to collect me, he had started to come downstairs in the day in his night clothes and a dressing gown as he had not the strength to dress himself. There was one thing he still managed to do, and it was in his words his only luxury, and that was that he enjoyed a smoke. My grandma would shake her head and frown at him as he slowly placed the cigarette paper in his tin, then added the tobacco, closed the tin; then as if like magic the cigarette would drop out. I had spent hours this holiday watching him roll his cigarettes, I so wanted to have a go, but I knew cigarettes were out of bounds, and I knew he would say no if I had asked. Plus I knew there was no way my grandma would have allowed me to have a go, even though I had no desire to smoke one.
My mum smoked like a chimney, she said they were the strongest on the market Park Drives and they stunk. Her fingers were discoloured with permanent tobacco stains, and no matter how much she scrubbed she could not remove them. Her clothes and hair reeked of stale cigarette smoke; she had purchased a cigarette holder to stop anymore damage to her fingers. It was long and thin and she would sit there smoking a cigarette with the holder majesticaly held in her fingers looking like a hollywood star, all glamourous on the local advertising billboards.
I was sad to leave my grandparents, but mainly my grandad, as I was not sure if I would get to see him again. Maybe he would die before my next visit. It wasn’t fair, why could we not live nearer so I could visit whenever I liked? My mum was also worried about my grandad. Though she never said but I could tell by her eyes, and by the constant whispering between her and my grandma that she was concerned and upset. She was closer to her dad than her mum, she always said my grandma was a nag, and was constantly bullying my grandad who wouldn’t stick up for himself, so my grandma treated him like a doormat. She blamed my grandma for his heart attack saying all the stress had caused it, plus she would never allow him out, if just even for the odd pint with his work mates to unwind after work.
My mum had a telephone connected on our return, so she could keep in touch with how they were both keeping. Apparently he was going back to work in the next couple of weeks. My mum felt he was not ready for that and blamed my grandma for forcing him back to soon saying, “She won’t be happy until she has killed him, for christ sake. Can’t she leave the poor man alone!”
I had turned eleven while at my grandparents’, but this time there had been no fuss. I wasn’t disappointed I understood my grandad was the main priority and if he got well that would be the only gift I needed.
It was two weeks before I started the local secondary school, so my mum took me to the schoolwear shop apparently each school had its own uniform, tie, blazer and badge, and this was the only shop that stocked what I would need. Entering the shop it was small and stuffy; a small man came forward asking what school I would be attending. I told him I was going to Ravensdale School. He disappeared, soon returning loaded down with a huge pile of clothes. “Right she is going to need all these.”
My mum’s face was a picture. “Are you sure? Surely not all those.”
He then did a complete run down. “At the very least, she will need two blouses, two skirts, tie, blazer, badge, shoes, long socks in grey, one physical education skirt, one physical education top, apron for cooking class, 1 physical education shorts for gym mat work and finally a large bag to put everything in, as she will be loaded down with school books and homework. Personally I would suggest a satchel as she is tiny and the weight will be better distributed, saving a bad back. These should all fit.” I could see my mum trying to figure out how much all this attire was going to set her back. “We have a savings scheme, if that will help. I can put some of this away for you, and just pay for what you can today.” My mum looked disgusted at the very idea he would suggest she was unable to pay, and got me trying on everything I needed. Once satisfied she begrudgingly paid.
“The cost of this uniform is ridiculous, you better take good care of it. Why can’t you just go in normal clothes? It would be much easier, not to mention cheaper.” My mum moaned and grumbled all the way home. “Right, Danielle, take those clothes upstairs and hang them up properly. God help you if I find them on your bedroom floor.”
Hanging my new uniform up, it hit me, this was it, I was moving on to pastures new. The uniform smelt fresh and crisp, the school badge was a bright yellow raven’s head, and the tie was a combination of bright yellow and green stripes. I took the uniform back off the hangers, and put it on – checking myself out in my mum’s long bedroom mirror. I looked lost in it, it wasn’t because it was to big, it was a comfortable fit allowing plenty of growing room – I just looked too small to be wearing something so grown up and smart. No matter how I felt I was going to the new school, hopefully everyone would be nice and there would be a few people I knew moving with me.
29
Even though I had been entertained and busy all the school holiday with the trip away to Italy, visiting my grandparents and getting suited and booted for my new school, I still had my mum’s voice ringing in my ear as clear as the day she had said it, hanging over me like a cloud of doom: “You were born in a mental hospital.” The very idea of it made me cringe with revulsion, made me sick to not just my stomach, but to my soul, my entire being, and no matter what, I could not shake off this despair. I wished I could close my eyes and the whole wretched conversation would be extracted from my memory, but no it hung over me, my skeleton in the cupboard leaving me feeling worthless, isolated and alone.
After all who could I trust to share such a huge secret with? If it had shocked me to my inner core, it would no doubt disgust whoever I told, who would no doubt go on to tell others and this was a risk I was not prepared to take. All this hurt and hate I turned on my dad: after all it was his fault he went off with the other woman with four kids, caused my mum to end up in that evil place, and through no fault of her own gave birth to me there and now some how I had to live with the consequences, and try to stay normal, sane and well balanced. It was at these blackest points I wished Dawn had hit me with the house brick she had launched at me, and I had been found bleeding and dead in the passage. At least then I wouldn’t be con
stantly depressed and miserable, I would be at peace. So far my life had been far from peaceful; it just seemed to go from one drama to another. As far as I was concerned my life was a total fuck up.
So it was no surprise that I was apprehensive about the move to my new school. I also could not get my cat Sooty out of my head, had he made it back to our old address safely without getting run over? Is he all right? Or had he starved to death? I needed to go back there and see for myself, but that place, that house, held so many bad memories, I was not sure if I was brave enough to go back. What if Jerry was there? Could I face seeing him again? He could attack me again, and who would stop him? After all no one would know I was there, he could finally drown me in that filthy outside toilet. The idea sent quivers down my spine.
Though then again there was the guilt gnawing away at me, Sooty was a defenceless animal still only really a baby. Christ, what was I going to do? He could be at the old house right this second scared, alone, hungry, vulnerable, crying at the front door like he always did, or Jerry could have hurt him, even killed him, vented his rage on him for my mum’s moonlight flit.
I was eleven years old I shouldn’t have to deal with all this, I should be playing with dolls, skipping, hanging out with friends, and the only worry I should have is the move to a new school. Instead I had to rationalise, consider consequences and risk, analyse, hide my emotions, and be secretive. I felt so much older than my years, in fact I was maturing quickly not only on the outside but emotionally. Everything that had happened to me made me not allow myself to trust anyone, not allow anyone to get to close as to hurt me and then to simply walk out of my life like my dad had. No my barriers were firmly up and they were staying up, no matter what I was told, no matter who I lost from my life I was not going to allow it to affect or hurt me again.
Why? Page 10