Amelia's story

by D. G. Torrens

  We spent as much time as possible outside of the house as being at home was akin to being in a warzone. Mother and Kieran were always fighting, only this time Mother had a boyfriend who gave as good as he got. They would beat each other all around the house without a care in the world for us children, who would be cowering in a corner, observing the violence before us.

  One particular occasion they had an almighty fallout following a drinking session that Kieran had been on alone. He had spent all his wages and had nothing left for food. Our mother was livid and she jumped on him and started punching him in the head with her fists. Kieran immediately responded and we were all screaming in fear. Kieran smashed a glass over our mother’s head, and she fell to the ground. He then ran out of the house. Mother called the police and told them she wanted Kieran formally charged. The police very quickly picked him up and kept in a cell over night. The following day, once he was released, he made his way straight home. Mother would not let him in, so he started banging on the doors, shouting and screaming to be let in.

  Mother locked us all in the living room. Kieran had got into the back garden and he pressed his face against the living room window, shouting that we were all going to die. We all started crying louder. I was calling for our mother and Kieran screamed, “She can’t help you, I’m going to set fire to the house, there’s no way out for any of you now!” He started a small fire. Mother had escaped to a neighbour’s house to use their phone to call the police, and it was not long before the police arrived and arrested Kieran once again. I truly believed we were all going to die that day.

  He was again charged, but for reasons unknown to me, Mother dropped the charges with promises from Kieran that he would change and would no longer drink. It was like they could not function without each other; they seemed to enjoy all the drama they caused around them on a daily basis. Mother tried to convince us that he was a changed man and that he wanted to be a proper father to us all, that he was going to get a new job and all would be well. Jake and I said nothing—there was nothing we could say but go along with her wishes. We knew it wasn’t true; nothing would change, it never did, and things continued to get worse. This was our abyss.

  It was soon to be announced that they were to marry. Mother was trying hard to encourage us to call Kieran “dad,” but this did not sit well with me at all—I didn’t want to call him dad. He was a very strange man with dark hair, big sideburns, and a temper that could match the devil himself. He was still drinking, and although the fights were less frequent, they still fought and when they did it was monumental. Kieran was weary of me. He was not in the least bit happy that I refused to call him dad. I had no intentions of doing so, as he was not worthy of the name dad as far as I was concerned. Mother was on a short-term high as she had found someone to relieve her of some of her daily duties. If she needed to get away or needed a break, we would be left in his care. He was not very good with us, and he often slapped us around or gave us the belt. This very soon formed part of our every day life.

  Mother would often humiliate Kieran and goad him on purpose in public like a madwoman, and he always retaliated with a beating. He would snap in an instant. They were two peas in a pod. She would also give as good as she got and throw pots and pans at him, yelling, screaming, and swearing all the while shouting at us to stand back. She never did this out of our earshot. They sometimes attacked each other with kitchen knives causing minor injuries to one another.

  She always involved us and there were many times when we got caught up in the crossfire. I remember one particular time Jenny ended up in hospital for a few days and we were again thrust into Social Services care. By this time my mother was on a watch list as a person of great concern with the Social Services. The sad thing was that my mother could not be reasoned with at all; she was beyond reason, and if anyone tried to point out where she was going wrong or even dared to advise her on parental issues, she would fly into a maniacal rage beyond anyone’s belief.

  She had lashed out at Social Workers in the past and even the police; no one was above her attacks. It really had to be seen to be believed. I am sure she would have frightened the devil himself. As the oldest of four children, I was the one who faced her wrath often, and even if she thought I looked at her the wrong way, she would jump on me and start hitting me like a madman. The word eggshells just did not cover the ground I had to walk on daily.

  While sleeping one night, we were woken by screaming coming from downstairs. Jenny and Susie were crying in their rooms, and I sneaked out of my room and crawled to Jake’s room. He was awake and banging his head on the pillow in an attempt to block out the screams. I told Jake to come to my room; I gathered Jenny and Susie also.

  Mother and Kieran were having the battle of all battles—he was drunk beyond belief and punching our mother repeatedly. Jake and I went downstairs screaming at him to stop. Mother was swearing back at him, goading him further, but finally Kieran’s temper took a step further and he picked up the heavy yellow telephone and smashed it over our mother’s head. Jake ran toward him to stop him, but Kieran just threw him to the side. We were all crying, and Kieran ran out of the house.

  As he, left the neighbours came in. They immediately rang an ambulance for our mother when they spotted her lying on the floor with blood gushing from her head. Then they phoned the police. Mother’s head was covered in blood; it was everywhere and she was rushed to hospital. Marge, a kind neighbour, took all four of us kids in; she was so lovely and made us all hot milk. We all slept on makeshift beds on the floor that night.

  The following day Mother was released from hospital and came home. We were all very concerned and did everything we could to make her feel comfortable. The police came over to take her statement. Soon afterward, Kieran was arrested and sent to Shrewsbury Remand Centre. I can safely say that we were not at all upset to see the last of him.

  Over the next week, things were relatively calm and Mother was recovering well. She informed us that she would have to go out for the whole day and stated that when we came home from school, we were to go to Marge’s house until she returned. When we returned home from school, Marge made us all a delicious stew for dinner and we all sat down quietly, savouring every last bit of the meal. Once we had all finished our meal we sat down to watch, “Alastair and Crystal Tips” on television. It was getting rather late and our mother had not returned as expected. I noticed Marge and her husband were getting anxious and constantly looking up at the clock on the wall. It was after dark when a knock came at the door. We all jumped up thinking it was our mother, but standing tall at the door were two policemen.

  Marge beckoned for them to enter; we were ushered into the dining room. We waited and waited until the door opened and the two policemen came into the room. They told us that our mother was not coming home that evening as she had been detained at Shrewsbury Remand Centre. They went on to explain that there was a Social Worker on the way and that we were going to have to spend some time at Breeton House again.

  Later on that same evening, the Social Worker arrived and took us on the long journey to Breeton House. We all snuggled together in the back of the car wondering what had happened to our mother this time. We later discovered that she had made her way to Shrewsbury Remand Centre on the pretense that she was visiting her husband Kieran in the hope of reconciliation. She waited for him to be escorted to the visitor’s room, then on sight of him; she pulled out a kitchen carving knife and lunged for him, stabbing him in the arm. She was herself remanded in custody to await trial.

  This was the beginning of a new road for Jake, Jenny, Susie, and I following these events. A Section 11 order was placed on all four of us until the age of sixteen years of age. We were now permanently wards of the state and placed on the “at risk register.” Our mother was deemed an unfit mother not capable of taking care of her children.

  Back to Table of Contents

  Breeton House Children’s Home

  Breeton House was a small children’s
home on the outskirts of Shrewsbury Town. This was my second stay at the home, but my first time here with all of my siblings. We arrived late in the middle of the night. The staff members were pleasant enough, and they had prepared supper for us, which we ate gratefully while standing around a large oak table in the large kitchen, drinking hot milk. Dotty the cook was still there from the last time I was there. A care worker named Gill gave us some nightclothes to change into. I did not remember Gill from my first stay, so assumed she was a new member of staff; she had a kind smile and a gentle persona. Gill then led us to our rooms and said everyone else was asleep; she urged us to be quiet so as not to wake anyone.

  I remember that night as if it was yesterday. I was so scared of being put into a room with four other girls (who were fast asleep). I had a little bed in a corner of the room, which I ran to and buried myself beneath the sheets, crying myself to sleep. When I awoke the next morning I was too scared to leave my bed as I had soaked it during the night. I was ten years old and ashamed of my bedwetting and also scared that the other girls would taunt me, so I waited until they went down for breakfast. Then I took the sheets off my bed and put them in the laundry basket outside the dorm.

  I took a bath, got dressed, and then made my way to the nursery area to see Jenny and Susie, who were having their hair brushed by a member of the nursery staff. They were smiling and seemed undeterred by their new surroundings. I, on the other hand, was much older and very aware why we were there, but for how long I had no idea. I waited with Susie and Jenny until they were ready to go down to the dining hall for breakfast as I did not want to go down alone.

  On entering the large oak doors to the dining hall, I was greeted with a large room full of small tables, which seated up to five children. Nearly all the tables were full except one reserved for us. I had never been so nervous; there were children of all different ages and race ranging from three to fifteen years old. I remember thinking to myself, Why are all these children here? Where are their parents? There were so many more here than the last time I stayed.

  The room was full of chatter and laughter and a few children started to ask my name. I did not recognize any children from my previous visit; I imagine they had all moved on to other homes, foster parents, or even back home in some cases. Some of the children were very curious at our late-night arrival the evening before; I just smiled at them and came over all shy. However, I was starting to sense a friendlier atmosphere, which was a welcome surprise. I was feeling a little less nervous now. I sat down to breakfast and had cornflakes with tea and toast.

  A young girl called Leanne Tabbot took it upon herself to befriend me and show me the ropes! I liked her; she was a tomboy, but as strange as it may sound, I could not help but notice she had very big breasts for someone so young. In fact, she looked liked a boy with boobs! Leanne was funny and well known for running away on a regular basis. There was another girl, Sonia Story, who was very skinny and very shy. Jake and Sonia became very close friends; she was known for telling lies, and when she wasn’t telling lies, she could be found telling tales! These are the two girls I remember the most as we shared a dormitory, but most of all we shared what few clothes we had and even our troubles and thoughts. As children do, we all fell out on a regular basis, but we soon made up again, all smiles, and plotting how we would get into the pantry to sneak a packet of crisps once the kitchen was closed for the day!

  Breeton House was not as bad as children’s homes go. We had three meals a day, we were washed and clothed, and activities were arranged for us at weekends to keep us entertained. The staff were quite pleasant and they did what they could to make Breeton feel more like a home rather than a state residence. They worked on a shift basis and we each had our favourites, of course!

  Schooling was outside of the grounds, unlike many homes where the schooling took place within the perimeters of the compound. I was again placed at Mount Pleasant School for Girls the other side of Shrewsbury Town. I used to walk to school under the supervision of a member of staff (in case I ran away!) My escort would deliver me to the gates and pick me up at the gates.

  Mount Pleasant School for Girls was a decent school by all accounts; I did well and developed my English enormously while there. However, I was the only pupil in my school who came from a children’s home and they all knew it. This was not pleasant as I felt like an outcast surrounded by perfectly turned-out girls. They looked immaculate from my standpoint; they were dropped off by their parents and greeted by them at the end of the school day. I was not, and that hurt a lot, making me feel like I did not belong. I tried very hard but started feeling rebellious, as not knowing where your true home is can be quite bad enough without being surrounded by children with what I classed as picture-perfect lives. I wanted to be noticed and for someone to care about me, and what every child is entitled to, a normal family.

  Jake was enrolled into A. Fleming School for Boys. He liked his new school and was happy there. Our lives had become all about routine, something we were not accustomed to at all, but welcomed with ease. We had to be up at 7:00 a.m. for breakfast at 7:30 a.m., lunch would be 12.30 p.m., and dinner was at 5:00 p.m. Every single day the routine never changed; they had two cooks who were employed to come in and prepare the meals each day, but the clearing of the tables and the washing up after we had all eaten was done by the children.

  Oh my goodness, I remember so well the endless piles of plates that would be stacked high, ready to be washed. Each child was put on a rota and we all took turns two at a time—one child would wash up and another would dry and put away! I hated it, as this particular chore seemed never ending. However, we all had to take our turn.

  Breeton House was a huge Victorian construction. From the outside it looked most impressive, and the entrance boasted a large wooden oak door with a giant black iron knocker on the front. I remember staring up at it in wonder the first time I saw it; I had asked myself what could be waiting for me on the other side. As the large door creaked open, I found myself standing in the atrium of sorts. There was a large curved staircase leading off one way, and there were double doors leading to the enormous living area. I looked to my right and there was a smaller single door leading to the sparse games room and library. The room had a very old pool table and lots of donated books, of which I read many.

  I spent a lot of time curled up in a corner reading the many books and on one such occasion, I came across a biography about the life of Marilyn Monroe (aka Norma Jean). It was all in black and white with beautiful pictures of this sad woman I had never heard of. I read the book from cover to cover and was fascinated with Marilyn because she had spent her childhood in foster homes and had a bad childhood herself. I developed the utmost respect for her, wondering how she had done so well for herself. She had nothing, yet the whole world knew her name, and this to me was truly inspiring.

  From that day forth I made a promise to myself that I too would not become a statistic, that I would make something of myself no matter what. I just had to get through my childhood, and then my destiny would be in my own hands, no one else’s. My goals were set. I never told anyone. I kept them to myself, as I did not want to hear that I would amount to nothing. I had heard that all my life.

  I carried on reading my way through more biographies and I would lose myself in Enid Blyton's adventures! I fell in love with reading and I read just about anything available, The Diary of Anne Frank and so on. This was to be my saviour for many hard years that followed.

  My existence was a futile one at times. I questioned life a lot, and I questioned the finality and peace of death even more. No child should go through their childhood with such thoughts. However, sadly many do and this will always be so. I questioned God so much. I believed in Him, but at the same time I wondered how a God could stand by and do nothing when there was so much sadness and pain in the world. I was ten years old and just could not make sense of it at all.

  During my second time at Breeton House, I found it easier to settl
e in as I had all my siblings with me, which was enough security for all of us for the time being. The thought of us being separated just did not bear thinking about. Unfortunately, we were about to learn that our fate would soon be just that.

  Jenny and Susie were in the nursery one day; they had been dressed in pretty clothes like they were going somewhere. I asked Gill, a female member of staff, “Are Jenny and Susie going somewhere today?” Gill replied, “No, Amelia, they just have some visitors today, a very nice lady and gentleman.”

  My heart sank, as I knew instantly that the translation of this meant that they were going to be fostered. All the young children in Breeton House were never there for very long; they were often given long-term foster parents. We had seen a few of the children leave Breeton House this way. I always found it hard saying goodbye to children we had become fond of and close to, knowing that once they were gone, we would never see them again. I could not believe we had not been prepared for this. After all, Jake and I were their siblings, we were family; did they think we would not notice? Of course we noticed, we were not blind; however, we were children and our opinions and thoughts did not count for much during these harsh times.