Amelia's story

by D. G. Torrens

  I was so devastated at the very thought of remaining in a children’s home until I was sixteen. I knew I would be lost in the system like hundreds before me, and I knew my mother had taken away the one and only chance I had of a normal life. She must have felt so much hatred and resentment toward me to keep doing these things.

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  Bryn Tyn

  My fate was sealed, and I was to be transferred to North Wales, Bryn Tyn Children’s Home. I cried like I had never cried before. Yet again on the move to goodness knows where, this time miles away from Shropshire. I was taken out shopping to buy some new clothes to take with me to Bryn Tyn; each child in care was allocated so much money for clothing allowance per year. I had just spent mine; it was nice to have new clothes and go to a proper shop to buy them, and I was like a kid in a candy store. I bought two new skirts, two new tops, a pair of jeans, and a pair of shoes that would have to last me the next twelve months.

  Before I was transferred to Bryn Tyn, my mother had requested a home visit as she told them it would be a long time before she saw me again. I felt nervous and was not happy at all; however, I reluctantly agreed as I wanted to ask her why she had denied me the chance to go to boarding school. I was dropped off at home for one day to be picked up around teatime. My mother seemed really pleased to see me. She was all smiles and hugs, which was very unlike her. She said we were going on a picnic to Thomas Moor Lake, and she wanted to spend one last day with me before I was sent to Bryn Tyn. I believed her and thought maybe she was feeling sorry for denying the state’s request to send me to boarding school. Little did I know she had ulterior motives for wanting to see me.

  When we reached the park it was full of families having picnics with their children. There were very small boats gliding up and down the lake, the sun was shining, and it was a lovely day. I was wearing my new clothes and sporting a new haircut, well a trim, really. After about an hour my mother stood up out of the blue and started to scream her usual insults.

  “You slut, you’re a dirty slut!” she screamed at the top of her voice. Everyone was looking at us. I shouted back at her, “What are you talking about, and why are you saying those things? Mom, please stop this.”

  I did not know this was all a setup by her to aid a complaint she had made against Kieran her husband. She slapped me across the face so hard, then just walked off and left me. I had no idea what had just happened. I was sobbing so hard. I called Maidstone Children’s Home and asked to be picked up from the park as my mother had just walked off and left me.

  On my return to the children’s home, Tracy sat me down and then asked me what had happened. I told her everything. I asked her what I had done wrong. Tracy said, “You have done nothing wrong, Amelia, don’t ever think that all of this is your fault.” That was the first time anyone had ever said that to me. I did not hear any more from my mother for a few days until one morning, the day before I was about to be transferred to Bryn Tyn, I was called into the manager’s office. Sitting there already was my Social Worker and a policewoman.

  I looked around and asked, “What’s happened, is it my brother and sisters? What’s happened to them?” They told me to sit down and the Social Worker started talking first, she said my mother had made a complaint to the police regards her husband Kieran.

  I said, “What does that have to do with me?” The Social Worker went on to explain that my mother had made claims that Kieran had sexually abused me. This came like a bolt of lightning straight through me. I tried to convince them that she was wrong, nothing like that had happened to me, and I would certainly know if it had. However, they said we still needed to go through with an internal examination. That same day I had to go through the awful experience of my first internal. It was painful and humiliating and I cried the whole time. There was a member of staff present throughout the whole process, as well as my Social Worker.

  Following the examination they concluded that I had not been sexually abused recently, like mother had claimed. My mother’s probation officer paid her a visit and asked her about these claims. My mother said no such thing had happened and she retracted her story. She was just angry at her husband and wanted to get back at him. I could not believe she made me suffer like that just to score a point in their endless battles. I was humiliated beyond belief, and she was the reason once again. I was made to feel so small and worthless; I had never felt so ashamed in my whole life. It wasn’t enough for her that she had removed any chance I had at a normal life, but she wanted to take my innocence away too. She knew what I would have to go through following her complaint and that I would have to suffer the humiliation of a thorough internal examination at just twelve years old.

  I will never forget that long journey up the A5 from Shropshire to Wales. I was more frightened than I had ever been. I had heard terrible stories about Bryn Tyn. It was set in the middle of nowhere, and it was a three-mile walk to the nearest shop. Bryn Tyn was set in acres and acres of land surrounded by woodland. It was owned by a man called Jack Aston, who also owned four other children’s homes—three of them were scattered around North Wales, and the fourth one was situated near Shifnal in Shropshire. Nothing but fields could be seen for miles. It was apparently strict beyond belief and housed up to a hundred children at any one time. In short, I could not have been sent to a worse place. Schooling took place on the premises in porta-cabins, and we were taught by teachers who each worked part time, giving their own time up for free. Bryn Tyn was a law unto itself and abided by the laws set by Jack Aston, the owner of the Bryn Tyn community.

  As we were getting nearer to the children’s home there was a large blue-and-white sign indicating a turning on the left to Bryn Tyn. After we had taken that left, there was a dusty track that led to the exceptionally long driveway, leading finally to Bryn Tyn Hall. Nothing could be seen at all, just acres and acres of vast countryside.

  It looked huge, unlike anywhere I had ever been before and I was petrified. It looked so intimidating; the sheer size of the place took my breath away. It was just as people had described to me and it was set in acres of its own land. Nothing could be seen for miles, and my first thought was how on earth does a person escape from here? I was filled with dread, and like so many times before on approaching a new home, the tears just fell from my eyes.

  My Social Worker parked her car in the staff car park, and we both got out and walked to the reception area. We were asked to sit down while someone sent for the head of Brixton House. I was nervously looking around; I could see a group of boys playing football, and there were a couple of Jamaican girls peering through the window taking a curious peek at the new arrival. As Mr. Walsh entered the room he said a brief hello, and then addressed my Social Worker. He said, “I believe you will be here until you’re sixteen years old, so the best thing I would do if I was you would be to just try and make the best of the place. It’s not so bad once you get used it.”

  There were three sections to Bryn Tyn Hall: Brixton House, Lindasfarne Unit, and Ainsley Unit. I was placed in Brixton House, the largest of all the units. This was where all newbies were sent to start with. Lindasfarne was the young boys unit, and Ainsley House was for the older children who had earned a scheme called “trust.” Once you earned your “trust” you earned the right to have your own room in Ainsley unit. That would be a long time away for me.

  I was placed in a dormitory with six other girls. We were not allowed to keep our clothes in our bedrooms; we were assigned a locker where our clothes were kept in the main house. This locker room was run by two ladies, and if we ever needed a pair of knickers or socks, etc., then we had to go to the locker room and sign them out under the supervision of the locker staff. This was something I was not used to at all; it puzzled me and I just could not wrap my head around it at all. We were never allowed to leave the grounds; it was an incredibly large place, bigger than anything I had ever seen.

  There were children from all walks of life, children from Brixton in London,
and Moss Side in Manchester. The children were all admitted for many different reasons, and there were many children in care for their own safety. But there were children who were sent to Bryn Tyn for arson, grievous bodily harm, the use of a weapon with intent, burglary, breaking and entering . . . the list goes on.

  I was scared to death, as there were some frightening characters that I dared not look at directly for fear of reprisal. I was in the wrong place; this was a mistake and I did not belong there. This was my gift from my mother? I decided as soon as it was physically possible I would make my escape.

  I thought if I just kept my head down for a while, they would not watch me so closely if they thought I had settled in well. Then maybe once their guard was down, I could make a break for it. The days that followed were not easy; it was never easy being a new person wherever you are, but being a newbie in a children’s home was hard. For a while you became everyone’s target. You would be tested beyond belief, picked on, bullied; the few personal belongings that you treasured were stolen. It was very hard.

  No matter how much you tried to keep your head down there were always those

  people who just wouldn’t let you be. There were too many bullies vying for top dog position; I was just one of their prey along with many others. I learned very early on that to survive there I needed to get strong and stand my ground, or I was going to get swallowed up. Four more years I had to wait before my destiny would be in my own hands, no one else’s. I told myself that so often, and it was that very thought that kept me going.

  The first week was hard at Bryn Tyn. I was lonely, I was a newbie (this is always hard), and I had no friends. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, which might as well have been another planet, and worst of all my siblings had been torn from my life, just like that, with no thought or care as to how it would affect all our lives in the future. Jenny and Susie I could just about comprehend. Yes, they were right . . . it was far better that they were fostered than have to bear the fate that Jake and I did, but to sever all contact between us still upset me. No, I will never comprehend that decision at all; it was beyond any normal reasoning as far as I could see.

  Then there was Jake. Not only had we been separated, but our contact had been severed also. We had no information on each other’s whereabouts, and we were not given contact details of any kind. For goodness sake, we were family, brother and sister, lost like so many in the care system. They had taken our fundamental right away, our right to be brother and sister, and our right to contact one another. I could not bear to think about it. This was for the best, or at least that’s what the powers that be had told me on a regular basis. “It will only unsettle the pair of you,” we were told when we each requested a phone call.

  Just one little phone call was all I wanted, to speak to Jake, to ask him if he was okay, if he was coping, what was it like where he was placed. I just wanted to know such basic things, but this was denied. I just could not fathom a system that wanted to separate siblings like that, not to even allow them contact of any kind. What had we done so wrong to deserve this? I asked myself that question every single day.

  It was while I was in Bryn Tyn that my grandmother passed away from rheumatoid arthritis. I was called into the office and given the terrible news. This came as such a shock I really was not expecting it. After I had composed myself, my first question was if I could attend my grandma’s funeral. My question had already been anticipated, and my request was denied as they thought this could be unsettling for me. Again I was denied something so precious. I started feeling like life was not worth living, and thoughts of suicide entered my mind—I just did not see the point any more. The big fight just to survive and retain some basic human rights was just proving too much to cope with.

  This made Bryn Tyn even harder to bear at times because I had never felt so alone in my life, and there was no one around me who cared much for how I was feeling either. I realized very early on that I needed to look after myself and make it through each day. I decided to rise above my sadness. It was not too long before I started making a couple of friends. I gained the trust of two girls and they gained my trust in return.

  I was assigned a key worker called Paul. This was a member of staff who was assigned to look after my emotional needs. If I had any problems or concerns I would report to Paul. Each member of staff had a group of children that they were responsible for. Paul was great, but he was not very popular with the other kids. He was nicknamed “Beef,” because he was built like a house and very strong. Mary and Sue, my new best friends, were also unhappy at Bryn Tyn. There were too many bullies making daily life more difficult for everyone, which nobody needed on top of being rejected by their own family and constantly let down by the system.

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  A Dangerous Encounter

  Mary, Sue, and I hatched an escape plan. We each had to sneak some food from the kitchen, hide it under our beds, pack our bags in advance of the great run, and make sure we had warm clothes which we would have to sneak out of the locker room, as it had been snowing outside and it was now turning to slush. This was Wales, and the winters were harsh and very cold.

  Each evening there were two night watchmen who did their rounds every other hour, so it was imperative that we made our move straight after they had checked our dorms. We gathered our bags, wrapped ourselves up in layers and layers of clothing, and one by one we sneaked out of our rooms, mindful not to make any noise at all.

  Once we were out of the building, we had to make it outside of the vast grounds. There were nightlights on everywhere, so we had to duck underneath the lights to make our way across the fields, through the woods, across the stream, and finally over a rather high fence. We were on our way; we knew once the night watchmen set about on their second rounds the alarm would be raised. If they were clever enough, they would realize that our beds were stuffed with pillows!

  The weather was bitter. We all wore socks on our hands to act as gloves and a warm barrier against the bitter cold; we had no idea that the forecast for that night was a severe snow blizzard. At first it was our adrenalin that kept us moving and the sheer excitement of our great escape into the big, wide world. For a while we decided to follow the line of the river so we were out of sight of the traffic over the bank, because the last thing we needed was to be caught.

  We were heading to Manchester to my grandad’s home in Denton. Mary also had family in Manchester, so it seemed like the best option for all of us. On arrival we would reach our destination and state our case, after which we were confident all would be well.

  After several hours of trudging through wet marshland along the river, we were cold and our feet were sodden. We all agreed after much discussion to make our way up to the main road, as this would allow us to increase our speed. Once on the road toward Chester, we started thumbing for a lift. Looking back on it now, I cannot believe we did that, but then again, as three young children riding high on an adrenalin rush, maybe I can! I remember we decided to flag down a lift; there were three of us, so what could possibly happen? Well, it appeared more than we had bargained for.

  It was about an hour later when we realized how very tired and weary we had become and just at that point, a red car pulled over. A scruffy man with long hair rolled down the passenger window and asked us where we were heading. The three of us were so pleased that someone had stopped and we told him our intended destination. His response was, “Well, what are you waiting for? Hop in.”

  We squealed in delight at this good fortune, looked at each other, and all agreed to get in the car. We were thrilled at the prospect of sitting in a warm car to warm our hands and feet.

  Mary and Sue hopped into the back, leaving me to climb in the front, which I was not happy about one bit; however, I really did not have a choice. As I was putting on my seatbelt, the stranger looked at me very oddly, and a cold chill ran down my spine. Something just did not feel right. I had the urge to get out of the car and run, and every instin
ct I had was urging me to just run, but I didn’t.

  The car pulled off and we all sat silently in the car. “Okay ladies, who are you running away from?” asked the strange man.

  Mary and Sue let it all out and told him we had just run away from a children’s home. I sat there very quietly.

  He said, “Oh dear, well I won’t tell anyone, and you are safe with me.”

  He leaned over me and pushed down the lock; that’s when I noticed a large Stanley knife next to the gear stick. The obvious question echoed in my mind, Why would he have a knife in the front of his car? He noticed that I was looking at the Stanley knife and must have read the concern on my face. “Don’t worry, I only keep it there just in case,” the strange man said with a laugh.

  The alarm bells were ringing all around now. Mary, Sue, and I knew we had to act fast or we were going to be in big trouble. I looked back at them and just looked at their doors, indicating to them we needed to make a run for it. They just nodded and understood what I was trying to communicate.