by Rosie Harris
Adjusting to the strict regime was not easy. The early morning bell sounded at six o’clock and they were allowed twenty minutes in which to wash and dress. Then they had to attend prayers in the chapel before starting their appointed tasks for the day. For some this meant sweeping or scrubbing the floors or the outside steps. For others it was cleaning windows, the dormitories, the kitchens or other rooms throughout the building. All this was before breakfast.
Gladys and Babs had been told to help Winnie to dress each morning, but this didn’t mean they were exempt from other work. Instead, they were told to work alongside Winnie doing more menial tasks like cleaning cutlery, washing dishes, ironing and mending.
Winnie was afraid they would resent her because of this, but instead she found that they both welcomed the chance to avoid some of the harder tasks like having to go outside and scrub the stone steps.
‘You want to try doing that on a cold frosty morning, or when they’re covered with snow,’ Gladys told her. ‘Your hands turn blue and they’re so cold that when you come back indoors they ache for hours afterwards.’
‘Sometimes they’re so numb that you can’t eat your breakfast,’ Babs agreed.
Breakfast was a bowl of grey-looking porridge, served without either milk or sugar. It was accompanied by a wedge of bread which was so hard and dry that the only way to eat it was to dip it into the thin porridge to soften it up.
‘Why is it so stale?’ Winnie asked.
‘Because it’s the throw-outs from all the hotels and restaurants in Liverpool. Two of the nuns go round with a handcart every evening and anything that is too stale to be served to their own customers they send to us. They think of it as their charity offering. Sister Magdalene tells them it will earn them a place in heaven when they die.’
‘They don’t believe that, do they?’
‘Of course they do! They’re all terrible sinners because they overcharge and cheat people, and this helps them to clear their conscience,’ Babs grinned.
After breakfast was over there was a general scurrying round before lessons began. Everyone was expected to help clear away the dishes and make themselves presentable before going to their classrooms.
One of Winnie’s greatest surprises when she had first arrived at the orphanage had been to discover that there were boys there as well as girls. ‘They’re kept separate in their own dormitories at night, and for their meals, but they mix with us the rest of the time. You want to watch out, a lot of them are bullies and they pick on anyone they think is weaker than them,’ Babs had whispered.
There was no mid-morning break like there had been at her other school. At midday they filed through to the refectory and were served a stew consisting of gristly lumps of meat and a mixture of whatever vegetables the nuns had collected from the restaurants.
Afterwards, no matter what the weather, both the girls and boys were turned out into the yard for an hour while the nuns withdrew to the sanctity of their own common room.
‘It’s out of bounds to everyone else,’ Babs warned Winnie.
‘Why? What happens there?’
‘They say they spend the time praying for our souls, but I know different,’ Maisie giggled. ‘A couple of us crept along there and spied on them.’
‘So what were they doing?’
‘Sitting there drinking tea, eating cake and biscuits, and chatting and laughing like it was a mother’s meeting.’
Winnie looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘Didn’t they see you?’
Maisie nodded her head. ‘Yeah! We were caught, but we didn’t care.’
‘Were you punished?’
Maisie pulled a face. ‘Yeah! No supper for the rest of the week and ten Acts of Contrition. It was worth it, though.’
The first time Winnie had gone out into the playground in her wheelchair she had found herself surrounded by boys. They pushed Gladys and Maisie, who had promised to look after her, to one side and grabbed hold of the chair.
They began pushing it very fast, then stopping so suddenly that she was thrown forward and nearly came out of it. Winnie had screamed in terror and pleaded with them to stop. Far from making them do so, this seemed to amuse them and drive them on to new antics. They began swinging the chair round in a circle, first one way and then another. They did it so hard and so fast that the wheels almost lifted off the ground.
This time she screamed, not in fright but because she felt sick. She begged them to stop, but they only jeered and swirled the chair round all the harder.
Gladys and Maisie, seeing how frightened Winnie was, grabbed at the boys to try and stop them. This seemed only to incite them all the more. Winnie was so petrified that she could only screw up her eyes, hold her breath and hope she would survive until they came to a stop.
When she felt she couldn’t stand it another minute because she felt so sick and giddy, the wheelchair suddenly came to a jarring halt. She was flung forward and would have been thrown right out of it but for a strong restraining arm grabbing her and holding her back in the seat.
Slowly she opened her eyes, almost afraid to discover what had happened to save her. A big fair-haired boy was holding her wheelchair steady and looking down at her, concern etched on his square-jawed face.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Winnie nodded. ‘I am now,’ she said shakily. ‘I thought I was going to die.’
‘It won’t happen again, I’ll make sure of that,’ he told her confidently.
She smiled at him gratefully.
‘What happened to your hair?’ he frowned. ‘Lice? I had nits when I came here and they cropped mine right down to my scalp like that.’
She looked at his thatch of short fair hair and smiled timorously.
‘No, I didn’t have lice! I had long black curls and Sister Hortense didn’t approve of them,’ she told him in a small voice.
He nodded understandingly. ‘Don’t worry, it soon grows again,’ he assured her. ‘No one can stop that happening, no matter how many times they cut it.’
Winnie felt reassured and smiled back at him. She hoped he was right, and at least it stopped her feeling quite so sad.
‘I’ve got to go now,’ he told her, and started to move away. Then he paused and, looking back over his shoulder, asked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Winnie. Winnie Malloy.’
He nodded. ‘OK, Winnie. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one will bully you again like that.’
‘Thanks!’ He looked so kind and friendly that she didn’t want him to go. ‘You haven’t told me your name,’ she called after him.
‘It’s Bob. Bob Flowers,’ he turned around and called back.
‘Right. I’ll try and remember it,’ Winnie told him with a smile.
‘You were lucky he was around to spot what was happening,’ Gladys told her after Bob had gone off to join a crowd of older boys. ‘He’ll be the next Head Boy. He doesn’t leave until the summer after next when he’ll be fourteen. By then,’ she added confidently, ‘everyone will be used to you and your chair so no one is likely to bother you any more.’
Bob Flowers meant every word he said, but some of the younger boys were defiant. They resented him intervening and vowed amongst themselves to make Winnie pay for the fact that he had reported them and they’d been punished.
From then on she was the target for their spite. Most of them had been born and brought up in the Scotland Road area so they had learned early on in life how to be cunning.
Remembering Bob’s admonishment, they knew they would be in trouble if he ever again caught them openly teasing Winnie Malloy, so they resorted to much slyer tactics.
Several of them had so-called special friends amongst the girls who were the same age as Winnie, and so with their connivance they began to wage a vendetta against her. Knowing she was confined to her wheelchair, even when queuing up for her meals, they resorted to elbowing her out of line. Several of them would sneak up behind her, and then by moving in front of her, one by one, wo
uld prevent her from making any progress.
If she attempted to move round them they would close up tightly, refusing to let her back in again, completely ignoring her pleas, threats or protests.
When they were outside, one of the more daring boys would run up behind her and give her wheelchair a violent push, sending it skewing all over the place. Often this meant she went hurtling across the yard towards the iron railings.
When she protested they pretended to be deaf.
Once she was caught out by a boy offering to help her when she was having difficulty in propelling her wheelchair because it had been snowing and the ground was slippery. As they were both on their own she accepted gratefully. She only realised something was wrong when he started pushing her quite fast and she found herself being wheeled to a far corner of the yard. Once there, he abandoned her and ran off chortling with glee. She tried to wheel herself back but the wheelchair slipped and skidded.
Completely helpless, she’d shouted herself hoarse until someone had found her and wheeled her back inside the building.
Winnie’s most frightening experience of all was the day she lost her temper with Gerry Heal, a small weedy boy with glasses and a pimply face. Ever since he had arrived at the orphanage he’d been the butt of other people’s jokes because he was so puny, and now finding someone who was worse off physically than himself delighted him. He tormented her mercilessly.
For weeks Winnie suffered his taunts and jibes and practical jokes. Then the day he laughed at her because she hadn’t enough strength in her arms to propel her chair up the incline in the yard infuriated her so much that she swung the chair round and drove it straight at him.
For one moment he stood his ground, his mouth wide open in surprise, then as she hit him he dropped onto the floor right in front of her wheels and stayed there. Winnie screamed with fright.
‘I’ve killed him, I’ve killed him,’ she sobbed as she struggled to move the chair away from where he was lying prone on the floor after she’d collided with him.
A crowd gathered and Bob Flowers came rushing to help her. As he reached her side, Gerry Heal sprang up from the floor, waving his arms and screaming like a banshee.
The shock, combined with the relief at finding that Gerry Heal was unhurt, was too much for Winnie. She collapsed in a sobbing heap, and nothing Bob or Gladys or anyone else could say or do seemed to console her.
Chapter Twelve
BY THE TIME Bob Flowers was approaching fourteen and ready to leave the Holy Cross Orphanage, Winnie Malloy had established herself and had no need to fear anyone.
Because Bob had watched over her and championed her, she had eventually become accepted by everyone there. No one attempted to play tricks on her any more because she was in a wheelchair. Instead there was always someone ready and willing to help her. Whether it was to carry her and her chair up and down stairs or steps, to give her a push up one of the steep slopes, or to manoeuvre her chair around some awkward corner, there was always someone prepared to give her a hand.
At mealtimes, more often than not she had to decline to move straight to the front of the queue.
‘No, thank you, I’ll take my turn like the rest of you have to do,’ she would say with a grateful smile.
With the exception of Sister Hortense, all the nuns had grown to love her and admired the stoical way she dealt with her affliction. She was bright and sharp at lessons and was often chosen to read out loud to the others because of her pleasant voice. She knew her Catechism from start to finish long before she was confirmed.
She was polite and eager to help in whatever way she could, and, as time passed, no one seemed to mind that her wheelchair took up space or that she needed help to get up and down stairs.
Only Sister Hortense found fault with everything she did. She hadn’t liked Winnie from the moment she had first met her. In fact, Winnie reflected, life would be perfect if it wasn’t for Sister Hortense. The nun had never forgotten having to push her all the way to the orphanage in the contraption that Winnie’s father had made. That, coupled with the unfortunate accident involving the commode, had sealed Winnie’s fate for ever in her eyes.
There was also the added irritation about Winnie’s hair. Even though she had originally shorn it so short that Winnie’s scalp looked and felt like a hedgehog’s back, in a matter of a few months her head had once more been covered with lustrous, tight black curls.
If anything, they had made her winsome little face look prettier than ever. The next time, when she had wanted to actually shave Winnie’s head, Sister Theresa had been the one who objected.
‘Leave the poor child alone,’ she had admonished. ‘If the good Lord had wanted her to be bald as a coot then he would have arranged it without any help from you.’
‘A head of curls like that is a distraction to the other children and not seemly,’ Sister Hortense argued.
‘As long as they don’t hang down lower than her ears she is keeping to the rules that have been laid down for us to follow,’ Sister Theresa insisted. ‘It is not for us to question the Holy Mother’s ruling,’ she added as she piously crossed herself.
Sister Hortense knew when she was beaten, but it rankled and she was constantly finding fault with Winnie and her behaviour. ‘She is far too friendly with the boys,’ she complained to the rest of the nuns assembled in the common room. ‘Especially with Bob Flowers. The moment she goes into the yard at midday he is there beside her.’
‘He is only carrying out his duties to see that no one interferes with the child’s chair.’
‘I can understand that might have been necessary when she first arrived here, but not now. Her wheelchair is no longer a novel sight. After the punishments doled out to those who teased her during her first few weeks, everyone else has learned their lesson.’
‘Bob Flowers prides himself on keeping order since he has been made Head Boy,’ Sister Theresa pointed out.
‘He’s over zealous when it comes to protecting Winnie Malloy. I think they both need careful watching,’ Sister Hortense added darkly.
Sister Theresa bristled. It was her responsibility to ensure that a high moral standard was maintained at the orphanage, and she regarded Sister Hortense’s comments as a slur on her ability to do so.
‘Winnie Malloy is never alone with him,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Gladys Wells, Maisie West or Babs Wilson are always close at hand.’
Sister Hortense fingered her rosary. ‘I hope you never live to regret the trust you place in all three of those girls,’ she muttered ominously. ‘I think it is high time they were separated. I also think Bob Flowers should be told not to talk to them.’
‘Another few months and he won’t be able to talk to them,’ Sister Theresa pointed out. ‘He will be fourteen in August and he will have to leave the orphanage whether he wants to do so or not. Surely we can let him enjoy the company of those he likes during his final weeks with us!’
Winnie felt there was a desolate void in her life after Bob Flowers’ last day at the orphanage.
Although she had never wanted to come to Holy Cross, and for the first few months had hated every moment and cried herself to sleep most nights because she was so unhappy, she had gradually accepted her fate. Much of this had been due to Bob Flowers. His intervention when she had been teased or bullied because of her disability had kept her safe. She was deeply grateful and as time passed they talked to each other more and more. In some ways it helped to overcome the loneliness she felt at losing Sandy Coulson’s friendship. He told her about his own background and how he came to be in Holy Cross, and he listened to her story with quiet understanding.
His story was more heartbreaking than her own. He had no idea who his father was and his mother had abandoned him when he was only a few weeks old.
‘She left me on the stone steps outside here, with a note pinned onto my shawl. It said that she couldn’t look after me because she’d been turned out by her parents and had no money.’
‘And
you’ve been here ever since?’
Bob shook his head. ‘No, they found some foster parents to look after me because I was too young for the nuns to take into care.’
‘So why didn’t you stay with them?’
Bob sighed. ‘They fell out with each other, and when I was about six my foster dad bunked off. My foster mam tried to look after me, but when her money got short she went on the game. One night there was a fight and someone was knifed. The police looked into what was going on and said I needed to be taken back into care. Since I’d been farmed out from the Holy Cross Orphanage they brought me back here.’
‘So where will you go when you get out?’
‘I don’t know. They arrange for you to go into a hostel and find you a job, and you’ve got to stay in both for the first six months.’
‘After that?’
He looked thoughtful. ‘Depends on how much I like the job, I suppose,’ he grinned.
‘What do you really want to do?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It will take a while to get used to living in the world again. We’re so shut away here that none of us have any idea what is going on outside.’
‘There was a war on when I came here,’ Winnie said reflectively. ‘My dad was a soldier and he was reported “Missing, presumed dead” after the Battle of the Somme in 1917, but I’ve never believed that he really is dead.’
‘Perhaps he will come for you one day. The war’s been over for ages,’ Bob told her.
Winnie shook her head, her dark curls dancing round her serious face. ‘I think they were probably right; he must be dead or he would have been here for me by now.’
‘He might still be in the army. Would you like me to see if I can find out?’
Her eyes widened. ‘How would you do that?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps start by going to the house where you used to live and ask the people there if they know anything.’
