Later that morning I waited in the large atrium and sat on an old reproduction monk seat; I wanted to see what was going on. I had also rallied Jake. We were so scared because we knew once we were separated we would never see each other again. This was a very frequent occurrence within the care system for siblings; they would often be split up from one another and that would be that.
The large oak doors opened. I was craning my neck to get a good view of the prospective foster parents; they seemed nice enough, quite normal really and all smiles. They were shown into the nursery where Jenny and Susie were playing together happily, where they remained for at least an hour. Once they had emerged from the nursery, I noticed the big smiles and handshakes with the Head of Breeton House, Gary. He showed them out of the door and made his way to the office.
Right away, Jake and I ran over to him. “Gary, please tell us what is going on. Are they going to take Jenny and Susie home?” I asked.
“Amelia, please come in and sit down, you too, Jake,” urged Gary. He proceeded to tell us that Mr. and Mrs. Bolton were soon to be Jenny and Susie’s new foster parents.
I had suspected as much, but hearing it out loud just broke my heart; we just could not take it all in. Gary went on to explain that Jenny and Susie were the youngest residents at Breeton House and now that they were permanent wards of the state until they reached sixteen years of age, the best route for them was to be fostered into a caring family home, to give them a fighting chance at a normal life.
Jenny and Susie seemed to take to the Bolton family, who visited them regularly for a while; this was standard procedure so they could all get used to each other before the big move. They often brought with them little gifts, which were gratefully received by the girls.
They never acknowledged Jake or me; it was as if we did not exist. I tried to throw a smile their way whenever I caught their eye, but they just looked away. Very odd behaviour, I thought. Why couldn’t they be kind enough to take us all? None of it made sense to me no matter how much it was explained to me. Jake and I hatched a plan; we would not stand by and allow these people to separate us all forever. We were going to do something about it.
Jake was ten years old, and I was eleven, and we had decided to fight for what we believed—that the four of us should not be separated. Jake and I hatched a plan and packed a bag, and all we needed now was the darkness of the night. We had arranged to meet outside at the end of the driveway after lights were out. I crept quietly down the long, winding staircase so not to be heard. I found my way into the games room and left through the window, then ran as fast as I could to the end of the driveway, hiding behind some evergreen bushes to await Jake’s arrival. I was so anxious and kept willing Jake to come running down the drive. I was getting worried, wondering if he had been caught.
It seemed like I was waiting forever. Then I saw him, Jake running as fast as his little legs would carry him! We hugged each other tightly and smiled at each other very proudly as we had made our great escape. Destination was to be Head of Social Services in the center of town. We knew the way as we had been there several times over the years for one reason or another, but this time we were going for a cause: This was Amelia and Jake’s cause. We were going to beg the Social Services not to separate us, that they couldn’t do that, as we all belonged together. We knew all too well that once we were separated we would never see each other ever again. That was the norm, and we had heard so many similar stories, we just did not want to be one of those stories.
We started the long walk to Sears’s Hall. It was dark but thankfully dry and not too cold. We both had our pajamas, slippers, and dressing gowns on because there was no time to change into proper clothes. We got many funny looks from strangers along the way; one or two concerned people stopped and asked if we were okay. We just kept our heads down determined to make it to our destination. If we saw a police car on route we would just duck behind a tree or hedge.
Finally, Sears Hall was in sight and we picked up our pace, linking arms. We reached the car park and stopped to look around. There seemed to be many entrances; the building was lit up, but it was clear that it was all locked up. We were both excited, the adrenalin was coursing through our veins, and we held onto each other very tight while deciding which way to go.
We made our way to what looked like the main entrance, pausing before pressing the buzzer to our right. We waited, and then a voice said, “Hello, how can I help you?” I cleared my throat and said, “My name is Amelia and I want to see the boss urgently.”
We waited for a moment but there was no reply from the man in the box. I tried pressing the buzzer again but still no reply. Then Jake said, “Look, someone’s coming.” And Jake was right; there was a tall man in a uniform walking toward us along the corridor from inside the building.
He unlocked the door and said, “My, oh my, you are very young to be out on your own at this time of night, and in your pajamas too.” I proceeded to tell him our plight and he was gracious enough not to interrupt me. On completion of my story, he beckoned us in and took us up to his office. He assured me that the boss would hear our story; however, he was unavailable at present. The man turned out to be the Security Guard for Sears Hall and he was very polite and very understanding. He called Breeton House to let them know we were there safe and sound, and he called our Social Worker too. While we waited to be picked up, the Security Guard bought us a bag of chips wrapped up in newspaper, and they were delicious! He told us funny stories about the old Sears building and made us laugh.
It was not long before we had to face the reality of what we had done. We were taken back to Breeton House, and our Social Worker, Sarah Golding, explained to us that it would be impossible for all four us to stay together, as they were not able to find foster parents willing to take all four of us together. However, it was decided that this was the best chance Jenny and Susie were going to get.
We were told that it was very hard to place older children in permanent foster care as prospective foster parents were looking for younger children. Jake and I broke down in tears. We were too young to understand why someone would want to separate us, we could not bear the pain we were feeling, and we knew we would never see them again.
I tried to convince my Social Worker that we would be really well behaved and the foster parents would not even know we were there most of the time. I went on to say how good I was at vacuuming and cleaning and that I would be a great help to them. My Social Worker just smiled and said, “Oh, Amelia, you are too young to understand right now, but one day you will see that this really has been the best decision made for Jenny and Susie.” Right there, right then, I knew our battle to stay together was lost . . . that much was easy enough to understand.
It would only be a short while later that we had to say our goodbyes to Jenny and Susie. Our hearts were broken; we all hugged and cried, then hugged some more. Jake and I watched through the games room window as Jenny and Susie were taken to the car with their belongings. I had never felt such despair, such hopelessness, in my entire life. I feared I might never be the same again, and my fears were too right.
We were not allowed any contact with Jenny and Susie. In the weeks that followed, we asked and begged, but it was decided in the best interest of Jenny and Susie to restrict all contact as this might unsettle them. It just would not register with me. I could not understand the reasoning behind the decision to not allow even a phone call.
Jake and I became angry, which led to an even more rebellious personality. We had started running away from Breeton House on a regular basis and lost all faith in the very adults who were taking care of us. Every time we ran away we were always caught, and brought straight back, and subsequently stripped of all privileges. None of that mattered any more as far as we were concerned—we had been stripped of our family and had nothing left to lose.
As stripping our privileges was not acting as a deterrent, it was decided that every time we absconded from Breeton in the future, the pri
vileges of the other children would be taken away as well. This was a very clever decision on their part, as for a while this did make us think twice about running way. We felt like no one understood why we were behaving so badly. We would refuse to do our chores, and we would make our way onto the high rooftop and throw stones off the building. We just wanted to be understood, we needed to be heard. Jake and I refused to go to school and were soon suspended, as we would just walk out of the premises as soon as we had registered our name at assembly. We would then walk into the city center. When lunchtime came round and the hunger kicked in, we would swipe some apples outside the front of the grocer’s shop, running down the street as fast as we could as not to get caught.
Our rebellious and misunderstood behaviour became of great concern to the social workers and the staff at Breeton House. It was decided an urgent meeting was required to discuss our fate going forward. Unknown to us at that time they were planning on separating Jake and I also.
Over the days that followed we were on lockdown. We weren’t allowed to go outside at all, to eat with the other children, and we weren’t even allowed to speak to each other as they had decided to keep Jake and I separated. No one seemed to understand how much we were hurting, no one sat down and asked us if we were okay or how were we feeling about the whole situation, or how we were feeling about the separation from our siblings. It did not seem to occur to anybody that all we wanted was to speak to our sisters; to have a little contact was better than nothing at all.
It felt like we had been punished our whole lives for reasons we did not understand. We began to feel like Jenny and Susie had been wiped off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard from again. Our feelings were overlooked, they were not important; there was just nothingness and we were left with an empty space. How did everybody expect us to react if not sad, angry, and rebellious? I more so than Jake had lost faith in everyone, I no longer trusted the very people who were taking care of us. I saw adults as separate beings to myself, beings that I needed to be wary of at all times and never to be trusted.
It was not long before a decision was made on separating Jake and I, and it was a final one, so no matter what we said or how we promised to change, nothing was going to change the situation. I was to be transferred to yet another unknown place. This felt like a final blow direct into our hearts’ very core. Jake was inconsolable when the news about my transfer was announced. He just could not take it in and broke down. His personality changed dramatically, and he became a shadow of his former self for a while. Soon after the news was announced, I was leaving Breeton House for the final time.
On the day of my transfer, Sarah, my Social Worker, arrived to pick me up. I said goodbye to my friends and then finally hugged Jake as tightly as I could. We were both sobbing so hard we could barely breathe; we literally had to be pried apart. I was escorted to the car and was heading to Maidstone Children’s Home in Shropshire.
I cried all the way and asked Sarah if I would be able to stay in contact with Jake. She said, “I am sure something could be arranged.” I knew she was just appeasing me and that I would never see Jake again, at least not until I reached adulthood. The very thought broke my heart into a million pieces. I just could not imagine my life without Jake in it; we had been through everything together, we kept each other going when things got really tough, and we understood each other. How would Jake manage without me? As far as I was concerned I had been stripped of the last important thing in my life. What did I care what happened to me now? I just wanted to die; I no longer wanted to live any more. Life was far too painful, and there was no joy in living.
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Maidstone Children’s Home
I had not long turned twelve years old when I arrived at Maidstone Children’s Home. This was a small unit within the grounds of the main Maidstone complex, the purpose of which was to determine the best place to send me in the near future, depending on their observation of me.
If they thought you could cope with being sent far away into a large children’s home, which would house at least one hundred children at any one time, then that’s where they would send you as this was best for them financially. If they thought you were not able to deal with such a placement then you would remain at the Maidstone Children’s Home and be transferred to their main unit. However, places were very limited and not often available, so on occasion they had no choice but to send you wherever there was a placement available. Large institutions were rife in the 70s and 80s. These children’s homes were dotted all over the country and they were full of faceless children, who as far as the rest of the world was concerned were under the radar and did not exist.
I was to remain at Maidstone Children’s Home for three months, and I was not sent to school during this period of time while I was being assessed. I was to remain in the confines of the unit; a member of staff had to be present at all times except when you went to the bathroom.
It was at Maidstone Children’s Home when my first period arrived. I woke up one morning crying, and there was blood everywhere. I had no idea what had happened to me. I thought I was seriously ill and started screaming.
Tracy, a member of staff, came running up the stairs calling, “Amelia, what is it, are you okay?” I pulled back my bedclothes and cried. Tracy looked at me with the most genuine smile on her face. She held my hand and went on to explain exactly what had happened to me. My body had made the transition from child to woman over night while I was sleeping. I had never been educated on such things before, so the arrival of this was a total shock and most unexpected. Tracy went and fetched me the necessary toiletries needed on such an important day. She went on to say that I might not feel myself for a few days and that I might have tummy cramps. I did not like this move into womanhood one little bit; it was rather painful to say the least and most inconvenient.
There was not much to do at Maidstone, which gave me ample time to think about Jake, Jenny, and Susie. I was filled with sadness from head to toe. I asked if I could make a phone call to Breeton House to speak to Jake, but my request was denied. I was informed it was in both our interests. I refused to speak to anyone for two days following this denial and could not understand how a simple and understandable request could be denied. What could be the harm in allowing me to speak to my brother Jake? I later found out Jake had made similar requests and was also denied them. Just hearing his voice would have made me feel so much better, maybe given me the lift that I needed to make it easier to deal with the coming days ahead.
I was given a literacy test while I was there and scored above average for my age, coming out at age fourteen years rather than the twelve years that I was. I was also tested on my mathematic skills and again scored above average, which I felt rather proud of. They were very surprised at this considering my upbringing and poor schooling. They were openly amazed at my reading and writing skills and said as much, which was really good to hear. Hearing positive things about myself was not something I was accustomed to.
My mother was always telling me I was no good, and I would never amount to anything. When you hear those words often enough you start to believe them. I was asked many questions such as, “What would you like to do when I grow up? What are your dreams and desires?” My answer was always the same: I just want to survive my childhood. Following my final assessment at the Maidstone Children’s Home, they said they had found a place for me in a boarding school next to a farm. The school worked closely with the farm, and they thought this would be a good move for my education rather than losing me in the system and placing me in another children’s home somewhere in the country.
I had passed the necessary tests to warrant a placement in such a great school. I liked this idea. I was informed that the boarding school was an all girl’s school; the cost would be met by Social Services as they thought I was a perfect candidate and had a lot of potential. This was the first time in my life anyone had taken the trouble to see me, I mean really see me, and
someone actually cared about what happened to me and was trying to do their best by me. Things were looking up, and I was excited about leaving the care system once and for all. I could not wait to start my new school although they could not fix a date until my mother had signed the forms agreeing to all this.
Even though I was a ward of the state, the Social Services still needed my mother’s permission on many decisions made in my life. It was explained to her that this would be good for me, that I could go far in life with the relevant support. These words alone were enough for my mother to refuse her signature. “I don’t want Amelia growing up thinking she is better than me,” were my mother’s exact words. She never signed the relevant documents and so my placement was given to another very lucky girl.
I cried for days. Why would she not sign the forms? Why did she hate me so much? Why was she there with a stopper at every stage in my life? More importantly, why was she allowed to be? I was a ward of the state, so could they do nothing? It seemed as though my mother had made it her life’s mission to ensure that any good thing that came my way to improve my life was hers to take away. The very thought of improvement in my life angered her.
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