When Uncle Boritz was done, he ordered Aunt Mildred to come with him to their sitting room. This was a clear signal to the children present to finish the job. Within seconds Thomas was curled up in a little ball on the floor, covering his face with his hands to protect himself from the repeated blows raining down on him from so many.
It was not too long before Polly felt that she was unable to take any more, but she was unable to save him. Neither could she just stand by and watch. She raced to her bedroom locker in search of something to give him, for she was desperate to let him know that he was worth so much more than a pencil sharpener. He was worth more than the whole wide world to her, and she needed him to know this.
Polly would have given him any and every possession she owned, but all she had were a number of broken, secondhand toys, and most of these were old dolls. Sadly, she had nothing of any value at all. But she still decided that she wanted to give him all that she had, for she loved him so much and felt this was the only way she could show it. Scooping up some of her broken dolls, she went in search of Thomas. She found him in a dark corner, bruised and hiding from everyone. Polly crept up beside him and knelt down.
“Here, Thomas. You can have all of my toys,” she said in little more than a whisper, large tears streaming down her face.
Thomas remained motionless in a ball. Polly could do nothing except curl up beside him, putting one outstretched arm over his shoulder to say she loved him. She felt so helpless and powerless to do anything to take away his pain that day. As she lay curled up beside him, she wept not only for Thomas, but also for the children who had attacked him. For even though she was so young, she knew they were just puppets controlled by their master and willing to do anything he ordered. They too wanted desperately to be loved. In the end, the only difference between them and Polly was that they were prepared to do anything to get it!
This scene would find itself being repeated many times over the years. Polly felt the treatment dished out to her brother far exceeded anything that she had to endure. Thomas, as a result, became a recluse. He preferred his own company to that of others, and as he was rarely invited to join in with the other children, he appeared to accept isolation as his little lot in life. He could often be found sitting down with odd sheets of plain paper drawing the most amazing pictures. Polly would gaze at them for ages, for they seemed utterly magical to her. She realized that her brother was wonderfully gifted.
However, the other children did not see things in the same light, and they wanted it both ways. They excluded him from all activities, complaining bitterly if for some unforeseen reason he had to be involved in an outing or event. However, they also seemed equally annoyed if he was minding his own business and quietly drawing. They saw it as their business to put a stop to it. Sadly, the main offender was Gailey Gobbstopper, who took pure delight in tormenting him just as she did Polly. She would race over and grab hold of his pen, or worse still, rip the piece of paper away from him and tear it into little pieces as she ran as fast as she could from the room. Thomas, now utterly distraught, would leap up from his chair and race after her, desperate to salvage what was left of his drawing and, at the same time, give her or the offender a hard thump.
In Gailey’s case, she would then run to the safety of older children, begging their protection. They would happily oblige, forming a circle around her. Thomas would then be harshly stopped if he dared to come near. All he wanted was his pen and what was left of his picture. He would accept the picture torn or screwed up as long as he could have it back. If the children refused, he would come nearer, determined not to leave without taking back what belonged to him. By this point in their little game, Thomas was usually worked up into an extreme state of agitation. Even seeing Thomas worked up into a terrible frenzy seemed to provoke them into going further still with their spiteful games. As there were far more of them, Thomas always came out worse, as they hounded him like a fox, throwing endless punches with their clenched fists or giving brutally hard kicks. Normally Gailey Gobbstopper held back, watching Thomas receive his beating. Her facial expression conveyed nothing short of pure elation as she watched blow after blow rain down on his bloodied face and body. The severity of these blows was increased if perchance he had managed to catch up with her and hit her before she made it to the safety of older children.
It was not too long before other children copied Gailey in her fun and frivolous antics. Thomas had found there was nowhere he was safe where he could just be left alone to draw to his heart’s content. It became normal for Thomas to receive not only a hard beating from the older children, but also further punishment from Uncle Boritz and Aunt Mildred for fighting. Out came the rod, and Thomas would be on the receiving end of a publicly administered almighty thrashing. All this had over the years become quite routine, leaving Polly in the most agonizing state of distress.
She no longer frantically rocked her head from side to side as she lay on the pillow every night crying out “Mummy, Mummy. I want my Mummy,” for she no longer wished to waste her tears on someone who would never come. Instead, she now hid under the covers crying for her brother Thomas.
The local doctor, Ebeneezer Glumchops, visited once a week, and being a family friend, he always stayed for tea. Just like Uncle Boritz, this man was also very rotund, and his suit, which he always wore on every visit, was at the very least three sizes too small. His jacket, when done up, saw the buttons straining to remain fastened. One big heave and Polly figured they would definitely fly off in all directions. They also shared the same style in glasses and wit. They would sit in Uncle Boritz’s plush sitting room and, over a delicious tea of salmon and cucumber sandwiches, scones and jam, followed by many huge slices of Queen Victoria’s sponge cake, they cheerfully discussed all the things they had in common, which gave them a most united friendship.
Polly was often required to push the tea trolley down the hall and into the room where Dr. Glumchops was entertained. More than once, Polly had the wicked thought of stealing a sandwich or scone while no one was looking. She would stop the trolley outside the sitting room door and, before knocking and waiting to hear if she had permission to enter, her fingers would find themselves lingering most wantonly over the sandwiches and cakes. Luckily, common sense always prevailed, for she knew the punishment would not match the crime if it were to be discovered that she had stolen any delightful morsel from the tea trolley that was clearly intended for their mouths alone. There were never any leftovers from that trolley, and Polly decided that either they had the appetites of elephants or whatever remained untouched made its way up to their private quarters to be polished off by their own family. What was absolutely certain was that none of it ever went back to the general kitchen to find its way into the mouths of the hungry foster children.
As Polly entered the room, Uncle Boritz and Dr. Glumchops were as always sitting like fat cats having just got the cream, their large bellies stuffed full of food and giving each other one compliment after another. If there were a sick child that needed the doctor’s attention, they would then be sent for, but never before the doctor had been fed and watered. If, as happened on a number of occasions, the doctor was unable to pay his weekly visit and a child had the temerity to be unwell, then the child in question had little choice but to wait until Dr. Glumchops was once again available.
Luckily, the doctor was not given to taking long holidays, otherwise a sick child’s condition might become critical, and then what would happen? They either saw Ebeneezer Glumchops or continued to suffer in silence. For dear Ebeneezer was considered by Uncle Boritz, along with many other dignitaries such as Edwood Batty, the headmaster, to be part of his closely knit family. Thomas was regularly called in, but the many pills that were prescribed by Dr. Glumchops did nothing to help his rapidly deteriorating condition. They only made things worse. Therefore Polly believed that the panacea he truly required was not on offer. And what exactly was this? Well, Polly thought they should give up plying him with bright
ly colored pills and instead try plying him with some mercy and tender loving care. For crazy as it may seem, she truly believed that this might work.
Before long, Polly was under a similar medical program as her brother Thomas. She was forced to take all sorts of pills to help her sleep as well as others to help her stay awake and many more besides. All this was to alleviate her sickness that manifested itself with long bouts of the deepest sadness. But no amount of red, green, and yellow medication did anything to combat her worsening malady, and this only served to mystify Aunt Mildred and Uncle Boritz further. They had, after all, done all in their power to find the root cause of her mysterious and deep melancholy. As he often stood over her pondering the enormity of her most peculiar condition, Uncle Boritz believed Polly had totally failed to heed his helpful and very sound words of advice: “Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you cry alone.” If she wouldn’t help herself, then he was at a complete loss as to how to help her any further. She obviously liked having this black cloud hanging over her.
She remembered one occasion when, having been checked over thoroughly by the doctor with the aid of his cold stethoscope, Ebeneezer Glumchops had then sat back on the comfy chair reserved for important visitors and informed Uncle Boritz that Polly had a most irregular heartbeat. He then turned his attention to Polly, casually informing her that if she did not calm down, there was every possibility that she would indeed suffer a fatal heart attack. He then began to chortle loudly, his fat face bloating even further as his laughter gained momentum. Uncle Boritz found it equally funny and could not help but join in the merriment. Polly stood in silence as the two chuckled on, stopping only to continue their discussion as to what other further pills should be administered to prevent such a thing from happening.
Polly wanted no further pills and considered a heart attack might just be the answer she was looking for to get her out of the castle forever. She therefore couldn’t wait for it to happen. Especially as it turned out that not one jolly pill prescribed by Dr. Glumchops had done a thing to save the life of her now-departed brother.
Just like Thomas, Polly was eventually taken to other doctors that specialized in the area of broken hearts. Polly felt like a flea under the microscope as they huddled together, frantically shaking their heads as they pondered and reflected on the possible root cause of her problem. Their language was littered with long words that sounded as though they came from another planet. They offered endless theories concerning her most sad and quickly deteriorating condition.
There came a day when it dawned on Polly that she alone held the solution to her malady. Therefore she could, if allowed, save them time and many hours of hypothesizing, which must cost someone loads of money. She felt strongly that all that was truly required was for her to be allowed to talk with them in private without the presence of her guardians. Polly knew this thought was indeed as outrageous as many of her other ideas, for her guardians always insisted on being involved, believing that their presence was very much needed at every session, because they were so concerned for her welfare.
Also, if she could be allowed to talk, she would need firm guarantees that all she said would remain confidential. On one of the rare occasions Miss Dogsbody visited the castle to see the children, Polly had unwittingly begun to share just how unhappy she really was. The social worker had then gone behind her back and discussed this with her guardians. It resulted in a most terrible family session for Polly, where she had been convicted of gross misconduct and disloyalty to the family. She had vowed there and then never to trust another social worker ever again.
In fact she had no reason to worry, for after that episode she never did see another social worker. They had only ever visited once or twice in the five or six years that she had lived at the castle. In truth their complete absence had no worse impact on her sad life.
However, one social worker did come to the castle regularly, albeit once a year, and her name was Mrs. Oddbodd. Polly often watched Uncle Boritz stand at the window taking pictures of her sitting on the wooden bench in the garden. She presumed that this was because this very ancient lady just loved to get out into the fresh air. She would then peer out of another window to see what it was about this lady that Uncle Boritz thought was so fascinating that he needed to take so many pictures. She was nothing to look at. In fact not only was she old with thinning white hair, but also her face was very shriveled, making her seem very haggard. Polly felt certain that this lady was no glamour queen! So if Uncle Boritz’s pictures were not intended to grace some fashion magazine, it made Polly all the more curious as to what it was that Uncle Boritz saw in her that made her so worthy of all this personal attention.
As Polly gazed down on her from a window, Mrs. Oddbodd would quietly slip her hand into the side pocket of her coat and bring out a small bottle. After a few swigs, she would then return it back into her pocket just as discreetly, but not before Uncle Boritz had got his secret snapshot. Because Polly was so young, she had no idea what any of this truly meant. For he always seemed to be taking pictures of everybody, and most of the time, the object of his photo had no idea whatsoever that they were having their picture taken. All she knew was that photography had become something of a passion for Uncle Boritz, who became so consumed with his new hobby that he had turned one small room into a dark room so he could content himself developing all his rolls of film.
Uncle Boritz continued to remain more than happy for Mrs. Oddbodd to pay her annual visit, welcoming her with open arms whilst others barely got past the front door. And if perchance a social worker were invited into the castle, they would find themselves being led towards his luxurious private sitting room to be privately entertained by this charismatic man, well away from the itching ears of the children.
No social worker had ever ventured into the foster children’s section of the house, and none of them were invited to. Had they done so, Polly wondered what they would make of everything, particularly the large iron bars that segregated Uncle Boritz’s children and their living quarters from that of the foster children’s abysmally bleak section of the house. They only got to see the plush side, with thick pile carpets and enough antiques to keep an auction room in plentiful supply for a very long time. So they left most impressed with the standard of living these wonderful carers were providing for the little outcasts. They therefore need only pay the odd and most brief of visits with Uncle Boritz ushering them out of the door as fast as possible. For without wanting to appear rude, he had so much to do for his little dears.
Polly had long made up her mind that if she ever again became brave enough to disclose how unhappy she truly felt, this could only happen if she could be guaranteed a new identity. She would only feel safe if her face was changed, along with her name and where she lived. She had come to believe that if she were ever given the permission to talk with an honest, open heart, then she would no doubt need protection for the rest of her days.
None of the so-called experts ever ventured to ask Polly, or Thomas for that matter, why they felt so sad and broken-hearted. As the doctors failed to delve into this most obvious and crucial connection between being so unloved and their melancholy, Polly could only leave them to continue serving up multiple prescriptions of colored pills that would supposedly cure the symptoms of heartache. Meanwhile, they also sent letters to one another, suggesting other suitable remedies, such as the possibility of long-term institutionalization.
It seemed that Polly was much wiser than her so-called professional counselors. For she knew more than anyone that broken hearts are rarely diagnosed in one or two sessions and can never be put back together by brightly colored pills. Despite this personal revelation, she was more than happy to leave the orphanage and her guardians for the sanctuary of another institution if it meant nice nurses and a future free of Gailey Gobbstopper’s taunts. For Thomas and Polly, all the observation in the world, as well as the endless medication, was in her eyes a complete waste of time.
As
Polly lay stretched out on the grass in the large field, she watched the poppies swaying in the gentle breeze, and she felt close to Thomas. They had both loved this special field. She felt safe talking Thomas, even though he was not there. As she lay in the sunshine and talked nonstop of her love for him and all her dreams, she felt it was right to share her most private desires and reassure him that he had a permanently special place in her heart. Tears slid down both her cheeks as she thought about their few special times together and how she had longed with all her heart to put things right for him. But now it was too late. That day in the field she told him that she felt she needed his forgiveness for all her failure to get help.
As she continued to lie in the field of long grass with the warmth of the sun caressing and comforting her body, her thoughts went back to the many occasions when all the children were ordered to put on their coats and Wellington boots, for they were going to be taken out for the day on a walk.
The first few times this happened, Polly had been delighted. But eventually, along with many of the other children, she grew sick of these walks. The reason was that they were not allowed to return until evening, and by then their bodies were weak with exhaustion and their little legs wracked with pain. They were also expected to do these walks every day of the holidays, and there was a limit to how many different trails they could wander down. It was a wonder there was no excitement left as their coats were forcibly put on them. They were always hungry, as the carer was only ever given a pack of sausages to cook on his stove and a loaf of bread with which to feed them all.
Polly Brown Page 21