Finding Tipperary Mary

by Phyllis Whitsell

  The big wooden door was opened very slowly by Sister Theresa. It made a loud squeaking noise. I took a deep breath and just walked into the office. I could feel my entire body shaking, but for the only time I can recall, Mother Superior was smiling at me. Sitting behind her big wooden polished desk with her hands together, she introduced me to my new mother and father, saying, ‘They are looking for a little sister for their own daughter.’

  Those words stayed with me for such a long time. I asked, ‘Can’t I be their daughter too?’ They all just laughed. They had no idea how hurt I was feeling inside by such an insensitive comment. I wanted a mother and father, and maybe brothers and sisters, but I didn’t want to be a little sister for their daughter.

  The only person I wanted to be a little sister to was Brendan, and that was never going to happen. I felt as if they were coming to buy me from a toy shop, just like a new doll. ‘We want a baby sister for our daughter please.’ Well, at least that is how it made me feel.

  My new father got out of his chair and bent down so he was at my level, which did help me feel less anxious. He gave me a lovely smile, which I will always remember, and took my now sweaty little hand from Sister Theresa’s grasp and said, ‘Hello Phyllis, I hope I can be your new daddy.’

  I was now starting to feel more relaxed. He poured me a drink of orange squash from a specially prepared tray. I remember sipping the drink very slowly, almost trying to hide behind the glass. The lady stayed in her seat and just looked me up and down. She looked so cross, and I was not impressed with my new mother in the slightest. It was as if she was putting on an act trying to be ‘posh’, which I later discovered was what she always did when she was around people she didn’t know. This was especially if she thought they were important and I’m inclined to think that Mother Superior would have been on her ‘important list’.

  After the first meeting, I remember Canon Flynn asking if I liked my new parents. This surprised me, and I replied, ‘I like my daddy but my mummy looked cross.’ I am sure to this day that my opinion didn’t make the slightest bit of difference as nothing else was ever said. They had found a good Catholic family, I would have siblings – in theory it should work.

  The next Sunday they came to visit me again, and this time they brought Carole with them. She had brown curly hair so we looked nothing like sisters as I had straight blonde hair. She was shy at first but did seem a little excited to meet me. We walked into the grounds of the orphanage and played on the swings and slides. My new father pushed me on the swings and I remember calling him Daddy for the very first time. ‘Push me higher, Daddy!’ I shouted. It was lovely and sunny, and I felt so happy. I remember enjoying the day and thinking to myself how lovely it was to have someone to visit me. I would have something to look forward to at the weekends.

  2

  Family Life

  The following week could not come quickly enough and it was then that I met my two brothers, Anthony and Kevin. I was so excited. I remember asking Sister Theresa, ‘How long will it be until they are here?’

  She told me to go upstairs and look out of the bay window, as it overlooked the car park. I would be able to see them all arriving. It was probably only about half an hour, but for a little girl waiting to meet her new family it was an eternity.

  As I saw them walking across the drive I ran downstairs excitedly to meet them all. Sister Theresa held my hand and opened the big wooden double doors at the entrance to the orphanage.

  Again it was a lovely sunny day, and I was so full of anticipation at meeting my whole family that I had a funny feeling in my stomach. Sister Theresa had allowed me to miss breakfast as she knew I was feeling nervous at the thought of meeting them. She was so kind to me and stayed close to give me much-needed moral support.

  The man who was to be my new father gave me a really tight hug. Even now, as I think of that embrace, I have a wonderful warm feeling inside.

  Anthony was walking in front and looked really grumpy, and certainly not too impressed about having a new little sister. I suppose that, as a ten-year-old boy, he would rather have been playing with his friends and climbing trees. Kevin was 13 and appeared much happier, he gave me a big smile. He actually seemed quite happy at the prospect of having a new little sister.

  My new mother was anything but happy and stood stern-faced, holding Carole’s hand. Carole stood shyly behind her mother as if she did not want any contact with me at all. I did manage to get a glimpse of her face – to me, she seemed to be thinking, This is my mummy and I am not going to share her with you.

  I felt like an outsider. All I wanted was for this lady to give some kind of gesture to show that she cared; just a smile or a small embrace would have helped me feel more relaxed and part of this family.

  I was taken with my prospective siblings to play together in the grounds of the orphanage. Kevin took me by the hand and we both ran to the lake. Normally we children would not be allowed to go that far, but as I was with my potential new family I am sure that Sister Theresa felt that I was safe. She went back into the orphanage and left us to it.

  Kevin excitedly showed me the tadpoles in the lake, and told me they would eventually turn into frogs. I remember feeling very happy. Despite the fact that my new mother, sister and other brother Anthony were not what I had hoped for, I liked my new father and brother Kevin. For a little girl of four desperate to have a family of her own, it was enough for now.

  The Prices visited me several times, usually on Sundays. I always enjoyed their visits, even though my new mother never really made me feel she was happy to have me as her daughter. I was aware at the time that she seemed more concerned about Carole accepting me as her sister. I was confused because my adoptive mother was constantly saying that Carole was so pleased to be having a new sister, but to me it seemed as if that was the last thing she wanted.

  One weekend I visited them at their house. I was very excited as I packed a small bag for the overnight stay in a proper family home. Not surprisingly, it was my new father and big brother Kevin who picked me up and took me to their house. We travelled on two buses, which seemed to take ages. I couldn’t remember ever travelling on a bus before. Although not the complete unit I had hoped for, for the first time in my short life I felt like part of a family and I felt that someone cared about me. We stopped on the way and Kevin bought me an ice cream. Perhaps things were going to be all right after all.

  When we arrived at the house, Kevin played in the garden with me, swinging me round and round. I was so dizzy I eventually fell over and grazed my knee. Mum shouted at him, ‘We might not be able to keep Phyllis now because of what you have done.’ That worried me for days, and when I returned to the orphanage I did my best to hide my knee from the nuns. They never noticed, so I was worrying about nothing. I was growing up and it was becoming more difficult to find a suitable family prepared to adopt me, so a small graze on my knee was not going to stop that happening.

  The one person I was going to miss from the orphanage was my favourite nun, Sister Theresa. She helped me pack my few belongings in a small suitcase the night before I left. I remember sobbing my little heart out and tears running down my face.

  She pulled a small handkerchief from the pocket of her long white habit and my tears halted as I noticed my name had been embroidered in the corner. Sister Theresa wiped my face with this very special handkerchief and gave me a loving cuddle.

  ‘Don’t cry, you will soon be with your new family and everything will be just fine,’ she said. She told me that she would pray that I would have a happy childhood.

  She neatly folded the handkerchief she had given to me, which by now was damp with my tears, and put it inside my bag so that I would be able to take it to my new home for a keepsake, in memory of my beloved Sister Theresa. I never did see her again, but I kept the handkerchief under my pillow as I went to sleep at night.

  By the end of July 1960 I had moved in with my new family, and at first it was very exciting. I was to share the
back bedroom with Carole, and we both eagerly ran upstairs.

  Carole quickly jumped onto her bed, which was by the window. There was a selection of dolls and teddies on her bed. My adoptive mother immediately pointed to the other bed, and as I looked over I noticed a new doll sitting there. Without thinking I commented, ‘I’ve only got one doll.’ I’m sure I was just feeling a little insecure in my new environment, but I was told sharply, ‘Your sister is older than you so she will always have more than you.’ I suppose I sounded like a spoilt little girl, they had bought me a brand new doll, but I had been made to feel different immediately.

  It was the next morning when I first saw my adoptive mother’s angry face. In the orphanage we often jumped on each other’s bed. So that first morning I jumped on my sister’s bed, feeling so happy. I looked out of the window and noticed my new mummy hanging washing on the line. I gently waved and smiled. I was finally going to be part of a real family. But her face changed and looked so cross as she shouted, ‘I hope you haven’t woken Carole up, get off her bed immediately.’ I hoped she wasn’t always going to be shouting at me like that.

  My adoptive father was very kind. He baked a cake, and I sat on a stool in the kitchen waiting for it to cool down so I could help him put the icing on the top. He laughed at my impatience and told me it would be a few hours before I could put the icing on.

  They lived in a three-bedroom, semi-detached house in a cul de sac. All the houses looked the same, with white render on the outside walls, so different from the darker bricks of the orphanage. The house was between two parks, it had a fairly big front garden (and a lovely big back garden) and directly across the road there was a grass play area with an embankment and a stream.

  It was a wonderful setting for me to explore in my first few days, under the watchful eye of my adoptive father, with whom I quickly formed a special bond. Dad retrieved an old fishing net from his cramped shed, and my face lit up when I saw the old jam jar he lifted up so gently, as he removed a large cobweb from around the rim. In the stream there were pebbles that looked as if they’d been polished by the clear water. As I watched the fishes swimming between those pebbles I felt the warmth of the sun on my back. I had never done anything like this before.

  We didn’t actually catch any fish on that particular day but I had such fun. Despite holding my father’s hand tightly I lost his grip and slipped on one of those wet pebbles. My socks and sandals were soaking wet.

  Mum shouted at him for not watching what I was doing, ‘She will catch her death of cold!’ I’d only been there a day and I hoped I would live to see another day with the Price family. I very quickly realised that she was the boss of the household.

  While I felt happy to be part of a new family, I also felt confused by my adoptive mother’s behaviour. She seemed annoyed if I ever mentioned the time I had spent at the orphanage. It was as if I was expected to erase over four years of my childhood from my memory. I hoped things would improve and they would eventually love me as their daughter.

  Ten days after arriving, my new parents packed to go to Ireland, and I was thrilled to be going with them! We travelled to Holyhead by train and then took a boat. Even now I find it so exciting travelling on boats; it is a feeling that has always stayed with me. I remember asking my dad, ‘Will I be able to put my hand in the sea?’ – which obviously caused great laughter at my naivety.

  I had little experience of anything other than being in an orphanage but now I had a whole new extended family to meet: uncles, aunts and lots of cousins who were very welcoming. It was the first time I felt like part of the family.

  But my new mother was just putting on a show for her family and friends in Ireland, and treated me differently behind closed doors. When I was in the garden with my cousins, my Auntie Betty said, ‘How lovely that you have two big brothers and a sister.’ I had been told not to say anything about the orphanage, but I forgot and said, ‘I had Brendan, he was going to be my big brother and look after me, but he has a new mummy and daddy.’

  Mum took me to one side, ‘Please don’t say anything about that. How would it make Kevin and Anthony feel – they’re your brothers now.’

  When no one was around, she went into great detail about how I should be grateful because they had taken me out of the orphanage. She said, ‘If it wasn’t for us you would still be in the orphanage and would have spent all your childhood there. I bet people think I want my head looking at, taking on another child, when I already have three children of my own. I suppose I will get my reward in heaven.’ Her cruel words upset me. Instead of letting me have any settling-in time she isolated me from the family, and didn’t seem to think of my feelings.

  I was meant to start school in September, but my mother didn’t want me to go to a non-Catholic school so I stayed at home for a few months in limbo. She said, ‘We will wait until January as there is a new Catholic school opening and it is closer to where we live.’ I actually found myself missing the company of the children in the orphanage.

  I asked why I couldn’t go to the same school as my brothers and sister but Mum just shouted at me, ‘No, that will not happen. People will ask too many questions. Do you want everyone to know you are adopted? You will be different to everyone else. It must be kept a secret. Our family secret. Forget about being adopted, you are now part of this family. Do you want everyone to know you were an orphan?’ But already I felt anything but part of that family, and now I felt ashamed that I had been adopted.

  My mother and I would go on the bus to pick up Carole and Anthony from school. Kevin was at secondary school and was allowed to go home by himself. Mum would always start talking to someone, and they would ask, ‘Why is your little girl not at school today? Is she poorly?’ At first I was keen to go on a bus ride, but now I started to dread them. My mother would say, ‘If anyone asks you your age tell them you are three-and-a-half years old, and then they will not keep asking me why you are not at school.’

  She would do her best to start up a conversation with anyone who was prepared to listen. I always felt very nervous about what questions they’d ask. I often thought to myself, Why can’t she just have a chat with me? One bus journey I remember well. She started chatting to a woman also on her way to pick up her children from school. The woman said to my mother, ‘Are you looking after this little girl for your friend?’

  Mum replied, ‘No, this is my daughter.’

  The woman looked surprised and said, ‘But she looks nothing like your other children.’

  I turned to look out of the window, as by now I was feeling sick and worried about her next question and almost dreading my mother’s reply. I heard her whisper to the woman, as she thought I was not listening, ‘We adopted her from Father Hudson’s Homes, as Carole wanted a little sister.’

  I was hurting so much inside. I felt angry and upset at the same time. Why was I not allowed to tell anyone about my adoption, yet she could tell this woman everything, even though she hardly knew her?

  My feelings didn’t seem to matter. If she needed to remove something from my face, she’d rub fiercely with a spit dampened handkerchief. Carol’s face would be gently wiped, because she was the delicate one. When my mother got angry her whole face changed and she would stare at me for a long time. This was something she didn’t seem to do to her natural children, or at least if she did I never noticed. I think the angry face was saved just for me, and it terrified me. Yes, she did tell her own children off, but the real anger did not seem to be there.

  Perhaps she was worried about the type of person I would turn out to be. Although I knew nothing about my birth mother, of course my adoptive mother would have been told about her drinking and lack of a husband. Maybe she thought some of her traits would come out in me. She may have worried that I would become out of control, that some of my real mother’s ‘bad blood’ would somehow be passed on to me.

  In hindsight, I believe this is the main reason why she was so strict with me. At the time, I just felt like the
cuckoo in the nest. I often thought about the two people who meant the most to me, Brendan and Sister Theresa, and wished I could tell them how much I was hurting inside.

  In November a school inspector had visited the house and asked my mother, ‘Why has Phyllis not started school yet?’ Mum explained that she was waiting for the new Catholic school to open but that would be a few more months. The inspector said that I needed to be educated as soon as possible, and the school around the corner had a vacancy. I was to start the following Monday.

  My mother was horrified at the thought of having to take me to a Church of England school. She made me feel as if I was about to go in front of a firing squad; as if I were going somewhere terrible.

  Most children are a little bit worried about their first day at school and hope they will make new friends – their mothers usually reassure them that they don’t need to worry and they will be fine. I was petrified, and was actually told not to make any friends.

  When I started it was almost Christmas and the end of term so I only went to that school for three weeks, but it seemed a hell of a lot longer. I hated every minute.

  Every day when my mother picked me up she would make it clear that I should not be at a Church of England school. ‘It is not where you belong,’ she would tell me. ‘They are not the same type of people as us.’ I didn’t understand what she meant, so it just made me feel very scared, as if I was going to be damaged in some way by mixing with non-Catholic people. This affected me for a long time and I would worry about talking to people in case they were not Catholics.

  My mother always thought she was right; my poor father just went along with whatever she said. I suppose he did it for a quiet life. She was most certainly the boss and made all the decisions which were to affect me.

  By January 1961 the new school had been built and was ready for all the children to start there at the beginning of the term. This time it was going to be exciting. Carole was also starting at the same school and for once she treated me like her little sister; she actually seemed quite protective towards me.