Little Drifters: Part 3 of 4

‘Here, I’ll show you,’ she offered. Then she demonstrated how to lay out the sheets and fold the sides under one by one until the corners were all neat so you couldn’t see any creases.

With Gina’s help we were soon done and after Rosie’s inspection we were finally allowed downstairs for breakfast.

In the kitchen there was a long wooden table lined with plastic chairs. We were given blue plastic bowls and one of the staff ladled out a measly handful of cornflakes while another poured us each a cup of hot, sweet tea from a large silver teapot. I helped myself to a large slosh of milk for my cornflakes.

It was barely enough to fill us up but by now I was used to being hungry and I’d learned to take whatever food I was given, without question. Afterwards we helped to clear up, wash and dry the dishes.

By now most of the other children had set off for school but once again we had to wait to be allocated school places so we spent the day exploring our new home. In the living room there was a TV and two sofas, not enough for the 16 children in our house to sit down.

The ‘good room’ was filled with nice chairs and a coffee table with pretty china ornaments, but the moment I opened the door to peep inside Rosie shouted at me to close it again.

As the morning dragged on we begged to be allowed to go outside, so one of the staff said we could play in the back garden.

She showed us out the back door into the garden behind the house – it was just a large patch of bare grass. No trees, no toys, just nothing.

The front of the house was far more interesting – it had a couple of large trees and you could see the street and all the people passing by.

But when we asked to be let out the front we were told this wasn’t allowed.

By now our mean little bowl of cornflakes was a distant memory and we wandered into the kitchen in search of food. Nothing. There wasn’t a scrap of food in the cupboards and the fridge was empty save for a bottle of milk and a slab of butter.

So we waited it out until lunchtime when all the other children returned from school and we were given lunch of a plate of mash and gravy with a pudding of instant whip.

It was pretty awful. The mash was lumpy and watery at the same time, and the instant whip, which I think was meant to be strawberry flavoured because it was bright pink, was so sweet it made my teeth ache. It didn’t taste of anything else besides sugar.

It was a relief to see the other children again but there was no laughing and shouting like in North Set; everyone behaved perfectly, quickly clearing their plates and bowls away after lunch and helping to wash and clear up.

By mid-afternoon Rosie was fed up with us hanging round.

‘If you two have nothing better to do, I’ve got some jobs for you.’ She smiled nastily. I didn’t like Rosie from the first. She seemed to take real delight in making us suffer and in that first day alone I saw her wallop the heads of four other children.

She set us to work then, cleaning, dusting and polishing the hallway, banisters and staircase. Afterwards she took us to the airing cupboard, a gigantic cupboard next to the kitchen on the ground floor.

It was a complete mess of clothes and sheets.

‘Right, I presume you know how to fold clothes at least,’ she said. ‘Get folding.’

So we spent the rest of the afternoon clambering up and down the wooden-slatted shelves in the cupboard, organising and folding all the children’s clothes in the house.

To be honest, it was nice to have something to do.

Two days later we were informed we would be going to Our Lady School and given uniforms to wear. We each had a blue skirt, a white shirt, a blue-striped tie, navy jumper and blue knee socks. I felt very smart in my new uniform and hopeful for the fresh start.

That morning I asked Rosie for a new pair of knickers. I wanted to be as smart as possible for meeting all the new teachers and children.

‘There’s nothing wrong with what you’ve got now,’ she pronounced. ‘You’ll get a fresh pair of knickers at the beginning of every week, just like everyone else.’

So that morning I stood at the sink in the bathroom and washed my knickers from the day before, squeezing out the water before putting them on still wet so I would have fresh underwear.

The nun walked us to school the first day but after that it would be up to us to get to school every day on time. A couple of miles away, it took half an hour to walk with the nun.

‘Now just you mind not to be diddling and daddling on your way back,’ she warned us before she left us and we nodded obediently, both a little nervous, a little scared at being thrown into yet another new place. Once again we’d be in separate classes since Tara was a year older.

The nun went on: ‘As soon as that bell goes, you move it.’

She snapped her fingers to emphasise her point.

‘No talking with other children, no hanging about. It’s straight back to the house. Got it?’

Our Lady was a convent school and my teacher introduced herself as Sister Teresa. She was a brisk, no-nonsense person, I could see that. There were no lengthy introductions. I was shown to my seat the moment I arrived and told to sit quietly and pay attention. Though I’d been looking forward to starting classes, my first day was just a painful lesson in humiliation.

‘Kathleen!’ Sister Teresa trilled midway through the morning. ‘Come to the front of the class.’

I hadn’t been doing anything naughty. I’d barely got my feet under the desk so I didn’t expect anything bad to happen.

‘Stand there and put your hands out in front of you,’ she instructed. So I did as I was told, not thinking anything of it.

The next thing she took out a metre-long ruler and brought it down hard on both my palms.

After the first hit, I whipped my hands away in shock and pain, grasping them to me.

‘Put them back!’ she ordered. I didn’t know why I was being punished and I felt horrible and humiliated in front of all these other children I didn’t know.

Thwack! The ruler came down again on my stinging palms. And again and again. Tears now pricked behind my eyes and I began to cry silently. I don’t know if it was the pain or the embarrassment.

Even my tears felt shameful and wrong.

She gave me ten slaps in total before ordering me back to my seat.

‘Now mind,’ she said. ‘That’s what you’ll get if you misbehave in my classroom.’

I clasped my swollen red hands together under the desk, desperately trying to keep my tears at bay. I stared straight ahead, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. My palms throbbed. There was nothing I could do. All these children would be going home to their parents at night. I was going back to the nuns and Rosie. For the rest of the afternoon I struggled to hold my pencil as my hands were so swollen.

As it was, I wouldn’t have known what to write anyway. The fact was, at 10 years old I still couldn’t read. I’d missed so much school through years of being shunted about that all the other children were miles ahead of me. I just kept my head down and tried not to attract the teacher’s attention. I was too afraid to ask for help, too ashamed to admit my problems. When the bell rang at 3 p.m. I dashed out of class to meet Tara at the school gate so we could walk home together.

‘How was it?’ she asked as we strolled back along the road we’d come from that morning. Grateful for the chance to just relax and be ourselves again, we filled each other in on our day.

‘The nun beat me,’ I told her and showed her my sore hands.

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Ah, they’re a right load of shites around here,’ Tara said warmly, putting an arm around my shoulder. ‘Next time she picks on you just kick her in the shins!’

I smiled then. It was a relief to have a normal conversation where our every word wasn’t being scrutinised. We chatted all the way back about our daddy and the other kids in the house.

By the time we breezed back into Watersbridge Sister Helen was waiting for us in the hallway, scowling like she was sucking on a lemon.