We put on our new school uniforms. I remember wearing a grey pinafore which had a small zip at the front. It was something that Carole had grown out of but that didn’t bother me. At least my nice red tie was new, and I had a new pair of shiny shoes, so it wasn’t so bad.
I decided to put my very special handkerchief that Sister Theresa had given me in my zipped pocket. As the handkerchief had my name on it, I could show it to the teachers if they forgot my name. Then they would know I was Phyllis. It also made me feel close to Sister Theresa, which was lovely.
Anyway, we set out for our first day at school. I was holding Carole’s hand and we skipped happily as we went along singing a nursery song. (‘This is the way we wash our clothes, wash our clothes, wash our clothes; this is the way we wash our clothes on a cold and frosty morning.’) It was one of the nicest feelings I can ever recall having as a young child. I felt like I belonged to a family and I was so happy.
We walked across the park to get to the school, which was called St Margaret Mary’s. I was thinking to myself that at least I will be allowed to make some new friends because they will also be Catholics, which made me really happy.
Kevin and Anthony had by now started secondary school, and our mother was trying to hide her age. Carole and I were told, ‘Don’t say you have any older brothers as I don’t want the school to know how old I am.’ Yet another secret I had to keep to myself. It never seemed to bother Carole, but I suppose she wasn’t a chatterbox like me so perhaps keeping secrets wasn’t so hard for her.
We had to report to the school office, and our mother held our hands, telling us to be quiet while she spoke to the headmaster, Mr O’Laughlin. Everything seemed so perfect, so normal for a short time, but I’m afraid to say that was to be short-lived.
Mr O’ Laughlin was a very tall man. He asked my mother her daughters’ names, so he could check which class we would be in. My mother started to whisper her reply, forcing the headmaster to bend down so he was in earshot, ‘Carole, who is our own daughter, and Phyllis, who we adopted from Father Hudson’s Homes; but it is best if no one else knows that Phyllis is adopted.’
This immediately made me feel different from all the other children, as if being adopted was something so bad that you should be ashamed of it and nobody should ever know. My mother continued, ‘Phyllis is not a name we would have picked for our own daughter as it does not really go with our surname. Phyllis was only given one name, poor thing, but I suppose we will get used to it.’
Mr O’Laughlin seemed uneasy with my mother’s long explanation. He said, ‘I think it’s a lovely name.’ I told him about my special handkerchief that had my name on it which I could show my teacher, to remind her of my name if she forgot it. He laughed and said I was the only Phyllis in the school, he was sure they would not forget ‘such a lovely name’. He was very kind and gave me a reassuring pat on the head.
With all the confusion I somehow ended up in the wrong classroom. By now all the parents had left and there was a lot of organising to be done by the teachers. I spent the whole morning in Carole’s class but by lunchtime a teacher came into the classroom and said, ‘I think there is a little girl in the wrong class and her name is Phyllis.’ I started to cry as I was sure I would be told off for not listening to what class I should have been in, but she just smiled and took my hand and told me not to worry. I told her I wanted to stay with my sister, she smiled again and said, ‘You are too young to be in this class, but you can play with your sister later.’
I ran eagerly over to Carole in the playground in the afternoon, but by now she had made a new friend called Kathleen and I think she was becoming tired of looking after her little sister. I didn’t make any friends myself that day; I was still thinking about how I felt at the first school, and how making friends had not been such an easy thing to do. Also, I now didn’t relish the thought of having to tell anyone my name in case they made fun of me. I was starting to hate my name, and thought, I wish I was called something else. I even thought of pretending that I was called Brenda, as it reminded me of Brendan, but I knew Carole would have told everyone that I was telling lies and I was sure to be told off for embarrassing her.
Instead I ran around the playground on my own. It was a really windy afternoon so I thought it would be great fun to play with my special handkerchief and remember Sister Theresa and how kind she had always been to me. That would make me feel happy and not so lonely in such a big playground. That lovely comforting feeling did not last for long.
Suddenly there was a great gust of wind and, as I was spinning around, the handkerchief escaped from my grasp and blew away. I ran frantically to try and retrieve it, but the more I ran the quicker it flew. I was so distracted and desperate to find it that I didn’t hear the school bell for the end of playtime.
The bell would ring once and all the children had to stand perfectly still like statues, not moving a muscle. It would not be rung again until all the children were perfectly still, and there was I running frantically around the playground crying and trying to chase my hankie, which was blowing further and further away. All the children were laughing at me running around like a naughty little girl. I knew I was in trouble by the look on the teacher’s face as she shouted at me to get to the front of the queue.
By now I was inconsolable. I had lost the handkerchief that I held at night to help me to go to sleep, that wiped away my tears when I cried, which still smelled of Sister Theresa; and which had gone forever. I will never forget the feeling of emptiness I had. But I feared that, if I had told anyone, they would laugh their heads off for making such a great fuss about a silly hankie.
As the weeks went by I soon settled well into my new school and started to make friends. I always felt sad when I thought of the very special handkerchief I had lost, and would often walk around the playground in the hope that I might be lucky enough to find it again in the long grass. But it had blown away, never to be seen again.
One friend I felt particularly close to was Pauline. We would walk around the playground holding hands, as children do, and say to each other we were best friends. Pauline would often say that, as best friends, you should tell each other all your secrets. Looking back now I think she knew I was adopted, as our mothers would regularly be chatting at the school gate, and I am sure Pauline’s mum would have been told, in a whisper, about my adoption.
Pauline would often say, ‘You look nothing like your sister. Are you sure you really are sisters?’ But I had been told by my mother that under no circumstances must I ever tell anyone that I had been adopted.
Eventually I decided to tell Pauline, stressing that she must never tell anyone. For a few days I felt happy and relieved that I had shared my special secret with my best friend. But children invariably fall out from time to time, and sure enough we had our first squabble, no doubt about something trivial. I don’t really remember, but what I do remember was that we were no longer best friends and she made my time at school hell.
She started to blackmail me. I would have to give her things, like a packet of crisps or my favourite hair band, which I would later be told off for losing. If I didn’t give her what she wanted she would threaten to tell the whole school that I was adopted, and that was the last thing I ever wanted to happen and she knew it. I remember dreading assembly at school, as I always imagined Pauline marching to the front of the hall and announcing, ‘Phyllis is adopted, you know.’ I would even have nightmares about it, but thankfully it never did happen.
Children can be so cruel, and she was a proper bully. It was so wrong and at the time I thought I had nobody I could confide in. When I went to bed at night I often cried myself to sleep wishing I had my special handkerchief from Sister Theresa to wipe away my tears, or Brendan as my big brother to tell her to leave me alone.
I decided that my mother must have been right. Being adopted should be kept a secret and was something to be ashamed of. I certainly knew I would never be able to confide in my mother and tell her how P
auline had treated me. As she always told me never to tell a soul, I knew I would have been in so much trouble for being disobedient. So for the rest of my childhood I kept this secret to myself to ensure that I didn’t have to go through such a dreadful experience again. I never did tell another soul until I got married years later.
Thankfully the bullying did eventually stop, and if any of the children knew about my adoption they never mentioned it to me. By the time I went back to school after the summer break I was in a new school year, and there was now a new reception class, so I was feeling quite grown up, as you do when the younger children arrive and suddenly you are not one of the smallest in the school. I was actually starting to enjoy school and was happy with that part of my life; it was so much better than the previous year.
The same could not be said for my family life. I felt very detached from them, and certainly did not feel as if I belonged to a loving and secure family. Carole often made me feel as though she resented having me as her sister. I sometimes thought she felt it made her life harder by having me around. Financially it was often a struggle, so maybe she felt that because I was now part of the family she had to go without things.
I had been told about their holiday in Skegness the year before I was adopted. One day Carole had walked along the pier when it was extremely windy, and this had made her hair curly and had left her very anxious, which caused her to have ‘sugar diabetes’. This was the reason she was so delicate and, at the time, I understood why she was given more attention. When I found out years later that she had never been diabetic it proved to me how far my mother was prepared to go in order to justify showing more kindness to Carole than me. The reason Carole had all the treats, even having lots of sweets, was that she was their own daughter and I was adopted.
Carole always seemed to be telling tales, hoping to get me into some kind of trouble. She would often scream at the top of her voice, ‘Phyllis has just pinched my arm for no reason.’ I used to think to myself, If I had a reason for pinching your arm would that somehow make it right? Of course it wouldn’t, but often the things Carole said never seemed to make sense, certainly not to me. I think she knew if she cried loudly enough I would get into trouble. My adoptive mother was never prepared to listen to my side of the story; the fact that Carole was crying was enough for her to believe that I had done something wrong and been cruel in some way to her fragile daughter. I would be reprimanded sternly, ‘You know she is delicate.’
Nobody else seemed to see through Carole’s crocodile tears, which at the time was so frustrating. She appeared to fool the whole family and was more than happy with that.
I now realise that my mother was so close-minded that I would never have been able to communicate with her. She believed that what she said and did was always right and was never prepared to listen to other people’s points of view. Well, certainly not her adopted daughter’s.
As a little girl I didn’t stand a chance of explaining to her how I was feeling, or for her to have listened, understood and actually acted upon it. I was the adopted daughter and was always going to be treated as a child they had from the orphanage, not a child that they had conceived together: their natural child.
Sometimes my father tried to treat me in a loving way, as a father should treat his daughter. He would give me an extra hug, which, strangely enough, was never in the presence of my mother. On one occasion when we were sitting in the lounge, the door started to open. Dad was just lifting his arm up to give me a cuddle, but then suddenly he pulled away. As it happens it was only our pet dog, who had managed to open the door with her little wet nose.
I did wonder why my father was so nervous of showing me any affection whenever my mother was about, and realised that it was not normal because of things I heard other children say. I would feel upset and sometimes even angry that he was not allowed to show me the slightest bit of affection in case Carole got jealous. It was just so unfair. He would tell me not to worry, ‘you know we love you as much as her’. But this just made me feel worse as he would never have pulled his arm away from Carole if he was about to give her a cuddle. She could have all the cuddles in the world, which is how it should be.
My adoption was always at the front of my mind because my adoptive mother never seemed to go one day without mentioning it. But my parents never seemed to realise that I noticed that I was treated differently from their own daughter, and how unloved I often felt. I think in their minds they honestly believed they were doing a good job, so things were not going to change.
I was already feeling very insecure, when one morning I woke up and knew something was very wrong. I couldn’t understand what was happening.
The whole family were talking about something very serious but were not including me. I was imagining all sorts of things, but mainly, Are they taking me back to the orphanage? Kevin, Anthony and Carole did not go to school that day, but I did. I didn’t dare question why I was singled out. They had made their decision and that was how it was. Yet again I felt detached from this family.
I was taken to school by a friend of the family who had two younger children, who were not old enough to go to school. He was a Catholic they seemed the only people my mother felt happy to associate with, which was so wrong. Uncle Robert, which is what I was allowed to call him, always seemed a very kind man. He often rode a bicycle across the park to go to church, and I am sure that was how my mother first met him. He allowed me to sit on his handlebars as he took me to school that morning. It was great fun.
My parents were so preoccupied with whatever was going on at home that I don’t think they actually noticed me riding off to school on the handlebars, and for a short time it helped me forget my worries.
Dad was standing at the school gate waiting to pick me up that afternoon. I was worried about what he was about to tell me, hoping desperately he was still going to be my father. It was a lovely surprise to see him and I felt very proud to have a parent at the school gate; I was always worried when my mother picked me up in case she said something embarrassing. Dad was much quieter, and didn’t get into any conversations with other parents. He just kept himself to himself, which made me feel more relaxed. He smiled as I ran down what seemed a long drive and gave me a hug.
‘I couldn’t go to work today. I will tell you the reason when we get home but I thought it would be nice to pick you up from school,’ he said, which was fine by me! He even bought me some sweets on the way home, which was such a lovely treat.
For now I was enjoying some quality time walking through the park with my dad, being allowed to hold his hand all by myself without Carole doing her best to push her hand through the space to separate our hands. I didn’t get told off once, all the way home. I did ask him if I would have to go back to the orphanage. He just laughed and told me not to be so silly. He said, ‘We have adopted you and you will be staying with us forever.’ That was such a great feeling and I replied, ‘Forever and ever?’ and he gave me a hug and said, ‘Yes, forever and ever’. For a short time I felt so happy and secure.
Dad’s whole attitude appeared to change as soon as we got home. Maybe he just did not know how to act under the circumstances. He always tried to please everyone, which is obviously an impossible task, and often his loyalties were torn between his wife and his adopted daughter. In this difficult situation I didn’t stand a chance.
As an adopted child your emotions are often intensified and you have to cling to the happier memories, they help you cope with the more difficult things you may have to face. On this occasion I just kept remembering the lovely embrace Dad gave me when I was first introduced to him as my new father, which gave me some comfort.
As we walked through the front door I knew something was terribly wrong as my mother was sitting in a chair crying. But I was not allowed to put my arms around her to give her some comfort, instead I was told to go to my bedroom. I remember Dad putting his finger over my lips to make sure I did not ask any questions. Yet again I was made to feel as
if I was not allowed to be involved.
Carole had had the whole day with Mum, so she knew exactly what was happening and the reason why our mother was so upset. As I went to leave the room I saw Carole give her a cuddle and reassure her, saying, ‘Don’t cry, Gran will soon be better.’
So I found out what was going on by listening to Carole comforting our mother, while I was just told to go to my bedroom as if I had been a naughty girl. As I was going up the stairs I started to cry, and I am not sure if it was because I had been made to feel so left out or if I was upset that our grandmother was so ill. Nobody seemed to understand how I was feeling. It just appeared as if I was a spoilt little girl, crying for attention because she couldn’t get her own way.
Dad came upstairs and did at last explain that they had received a telegram from Ireland. ‘It tells us that your grandmother has had a stroke and is extremely ill in hospital, so your mother and Carole will be flying to Ireland in the morning.’
It had been arranged for Kevin and Anthony to stay with our next-door neighbours, Mr and Mrs Brewin. They did not have any children of their own and enjoyed looking after them. I asked, ‘Can’t I go to Ireland too, as I will be a really good girl?’
Dad upset me by his reply. He said, ‘Carole has to go with her mother, as she will miss her too much, and the boys will be no trouble staying with the neighbours while I’m at work. Anyway, you have only seen your grandmother once and I am sure she will not even know who you are.’
He was usually kinder to me than that, but since Mum was naturally preoccupied with how ill her own mother was, perhaps he felt he had to take over her role and keep me under control. I was told to pack a few things in my small suitcase; the one I had when I left the orphanage over a year ago. I felt like I was going to be sent back to the orphanage. Maybe Dad had lied when he said I would be staying with the family forever. I really thought they had regretted adopting me.
Finding Tipperary Mary Page 3