Amelia's story

by D. G. Torrens

  I looked at the man and said, “Would you mind if I just went to the toilet? I’m bursting; I promise I will be quick.”

  He was not too happy at having to stop the car and said it was not a good idea. I pleaded with him, trying not to show any concern at all, just smiling and maintaining an unconcerned look on my face. Eventually he agreed to stop the car and let me out. He reached across and unlocked the passenger door and told me to hurry up.

  The minute I was out of the car, Mary and Sue piled out of the back seats, almost falling over themselves to get away. We ran like we had never run before. We jumped over some evergreen bushes into a farmer’s field and lay down on the ground. The red car circled the road surrounding the field several times, and just when we thought it was safe to get up, the car returned and stopped. He got out of the car and shouted in our direction. We were petrified, and we all got up and started running toward the farm. The man got back in his car and before we knew it, all we could see of him were his taillights in the far distance.

  As we approached the old farmhouse, the security lights came on and the front door to the house opened. A man and woman stood there. We ran up to them, wet and exhausted, telling them that a man was after us, pleading for them to help us. The farm owners were lovely, and they took us in, sat us all down by the fire, and kindly listened to our story. They then called the police and while we were waiting, the lovely couple made us all hot chocolate and warm buttered toast—it was delicious!

  We were so scared that we abandoned all thoughts of running away for now. We told the farmers that we had run away from the children’s home several miles away. They knew which home we were talking about. Apparently, it was well known in North Wales. The farmers called Bryn Tyn to let them know we were there and that the police were on their way following an incident. We had at last started to thaw out; my fingers were tingling because of the warmth coming from the open fire.

  When the police arrived we were taken to the station and interviewed at length regarding the man and the red car in the presence of a member of staff. It turned out that there was a nationwide hunt for a man with long hair in a red car fitting the description of the one who had picked us up, following a murder of a young twelve-year-old girl, the same age as me. He was last seen ten miles up the road near Mould, just before he picked us up. That night it was made very clear that we had had an exceptionally lucky escape. We could not believe it and were just thankful to be alive. The police informed us that they might require further help from us in the future if it turned out that the man in the red car was the same one they were hunting. Someone was definitely watching over us that day, and the alternative outcome was not worth thinking about. This was enough to put any future thoughts of a further escape from our minds.

  On our return to Bryn Tyn, we had the telling off of our lives, and we were stripped of all basic rights. This was the middle of winter and back then it was common to have sub-zero temperatures with snow up to your knees. We were given our punishment: scrubs. This was the punishment for runaways: you were put in a pair of shorts, a pair of Plimsolls without the laces, and a t-shirt. That was all you were allowed to wear every day for seven days. You had your meals alone and were not allowed seconds, which was the biggest punishment of all!

  For a week we would be shoveling snow from the grounds wearing next to nothing, on a daily basis. They knew you would not try to run away wearing the clothes you had to live in for that week, as it was far too cold; this was a big part of the punishment. Toward the end of our punishment week, I had caught the flu and spent the next five days in bed recovering. Had I learned my lesson? Well, yes, for the time being anyway! And all thoughts of running away had been put to the back of my mind.

  Once I had recovered from the flu, I kept my head down for a while and decided to make the best of a very bad situation. I started my schooling within the confines of Bryn Tyn with the determination to do the best I could. The problem was the limited subject options; it was just basic teachings, which I had learned many years before. So instead, I lost myself in books, wrote poems in my journal, which I started when I was just nine years old. I decided to try harder at fitting in at Bryn Tyn and do the best possible. I made more friends and life got a little easier for a while. I was especially close to my key worker, Paul, who would always listen to me whenever I felt down, picked on, or just needed someone to show that they cared. As more new hopeless children entered Bryn Tyn during the months that followed, I had established myself as one of the old residents.

  There were always fights going on between groups of kids. There were various groups within Bryn Tyn and some of which did not get on at all. When a fight broke out it was terrifying and someone always got badly hurt. The male members of staff were mostly well built and tall, probably in place to be able to deal with such situations and eventually got them under control when it suited them. Some of them liked to watch the fighting for a few minutes before intervening.

  Weekends were always quieter at the children’s home due to many children going home for authorized breaks to visit their families. The same few people remained at Bryn Tyn every weekend and during all the holidays. I was always one of them, Christmas included. I preferred Bryn Tyn during these times because it was more fun. There were fewer bullies around and generally life was so much easier for the few of us that remained behind. We were given special treats, like days out in the signature blue-and-white Bryn Tyn van.

  One member of staff called Yvonne was especially lovely. She was quite young herself, only twenty-two years old, and worked part time while studying for her degree. Yvonne was kind, gentle, and empathized with most of the children in Bryn Tyn. She was especially kind to me. She used to go through all the clothes she no longer wanted and bring them in for me; they were such beautiful clothes. I remember a canvas pair of skintight trousers and a cream-ribbed jumper, and as soon as I tried them on, I fell in love with them. Yvonne was so lovely; I really looked forward to her shifts. Sometimes she would take us all for a sauna at the local gym where she was a member in Wrexham. We thought this was pure luxury and we were in heaven. Whenever the holidays were upon us, we knew we were in for a treat when Yvonne was on duty.

  The staff would arrange activities for us like horse riding at a local farm on Sunday mornings. I loved this and was a regular on this activity. They used to take us out for the day to little towns like Llangollen where we would all jump off the bridge in the summer into the river below without a care in the world. The drop was very high but to reiterate, during moments like this, we did not have a care in the world. I also remember many summer days spent at the Welsh slate pools where the water was deep and so crystal clear. We would spend all day swimming in the slate pools and basking in the summer sun, all the while under constant supervision, of course.

  Sometimes on the weekends they used to take us out to the woods after dark in the blue-and-white Bryn Tyn van, and we would play hide and seek. Then we would all climb back into the van and be taken on a journey into the hills while being told ghost stories. There were no lights lining the roads in the hills; they were more like dirt tracks than roads, and the only light was that of the headlights lighting up the road ahead. At the time we thought this was the best thing ever, but now it seems a very strange way to entertain young children, as some were as young as eight years old. But, it did not seem to do us any harm.

  The one thing about Bryn Tyn that seemed very unfair was how the boys were treated better than the girls. The boys were given great presents, and some boys who were particularly favoured had motocross bikes bought for them by Jack Aston, the founder of the Bryn Tyn community. Some boys were also chosen to spend weekends at Jack Aston’s great big house, and the rest of us thought this was unfair. It would be many years later before I found out the real reason why they were chosen, and I was very glad that I was not.

  Some children had televisions in their bedrooms and it seemed to the rest of us that they were always receiving one gift or anothe
r. This brought about jealousy among the other children because everyone wanted what they had. When the boys were in the field with their bikes, some of us girls would walk up and sit on the sidelines watching in awe. One particular day an older lad came up to me and asked me if I wanted to ride his bike. I jumped at the chance and leapt straight onto the bike full of confidence even though I had never driven anything in my life! I was given some basic instruction, then I was off; the trouble was once I was off I could not stop.

  I started screaming, “I can’t stop, help me!”

  Everyone was running after me. I was getting ever closer to the bank at the end of the field, and I did the only thing I could do, which was to tilt the bike to the side and tip it over! I was surrounded by everybody fussing over me, asking me if I was fine.

  “Of course I am fine, that was the best thrill ever,” I replied. Then we all started laughing. That was a great day, and there were many great days, but there were bad ones too.

  There was a Jamaican girl called Julia Jones. She was tall, with a musky odor, and was downright horrible to everyone. If you looked at her the wrong way she would thump you; if you brushed past her by accident, she would thump you; if she was in a bad mood she would thump you. Basically, she was unpredictable and even the female staff were afraid of her.

  At fifteen years old, Julia was unusually tall, very strong, and had an almighty bad temper. Julia was going through a phase of humiliating me at every opportunity. In short, she was making my life hell. She would encourage other children to call me names and because everyone was afraid of her, they would do just as she wanted. It seemed for a while I could not go anywhere without her in my face. If I complained about her I was met with indifference, they were just not interested. However, if they did pay attention and have a word with her, this only fueled her anger and she made me more of a target. I had had enough, but there was nothing I could do.

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  Near Death

  One day I was walking past Julia and for no reason whatsoever she just laid into me, threatening to break my nose while giving me a good beating. No one did anything to help me. I even complained to my key worker and he just advised me to keep out of her way. How do you keep out of the way of someone like that, and what was the point? It was impossible. When she was bored, Julia would seek me out.

  The bad times began to outweigh the good times again, and becoming Julia’s next target took its toll on me. I felt so low, with nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. The day that Julia laid into me was the day I took an overdose of pills, which I spotted in the staff room when complaining earlier about Julia. I do not recall anything until I woke up in hospital sometime later.

  Apparently, I had almost succeeded in taking my own life and was told that I had been unconscious for a while. My mother had been called to the hospital. Brent Shaughnessy from Bryn Tyn had heard about my overdose and made his way to the hospital to see me, against advice given by Jack Aston who had warned Brent to stay away. Why he was advised against visiting me remains a mystery. He was a part-time member of staff at Bryn Tyn, and the rest of the time he was a teacher for a school in Chester.

  As I lifted my head, unsure for a moment where I was, a nurse said, “Hello, Amelia.”

  I said hello and asked her what had happened. I was reminded of what I had done; everyone was looking at me, and I started sobbing as I started to remember just what I had attempted to do. The nurse proceeded to tell me that I had to be revived during the night and that I was a very lucky girl.

  My throat hurt like hell, and my tummy was aching. Brent was so concerned he sat by my side holding my hand asking me why I tried to overdose. I could not speak with anyone at that moment. My mother was standing nearby. She looked at me and smiled, “Well, it’s great to see you’re okay, what was all the drama about?” she hissed. I didn’t reply. I just looked away. My mother popped outside for a cigarette, while the doctor gave me the once over, and I was told I could be discharged later that day.

  When I was left alone for just a minute, I could not stem the flow of tears falling down my face. I was so unhappy and could not believe I was still alive; I was desperate to leave this world. I was no longer feeling strong enough to cope with a further three years at Bryn Tyn. I could not see my way through any more days, let alone years. I felt so hopeless, and now I had to deal with the fallout of what I had done. This was something I had not considered before, as I had not intended on being around. I felt like a trapped bird with broken wings, with nowhere to fly and no one to help me. I was imprisoned and lost in the state care system. What was worse was there was still a long way to go.

  Following my discharge from hospital, I was immediately returned to Bryn Tyn. I said goodbye to my mother who caught the train back home. I sat quietly in the back of the car staring out of the window without a single thought in my head, just blank, totally blank. On arriving at Bryn Tyn I was escorted to the office and was met by my key worker, who had the job of trying to get to the bottom of what I had done and why, but this day I was not one for talking at all. The one person I thought about was Brent and his lovely family. I asked if I could see him to say thank you for coming to see me at the hospital, but my request was denied and I was told that they had dispensed with his services.

  I was utterly shocked and was told it was in the interest of Bryn Tyn. This made no sense to me whatsoever. Brent was one of the nicer members of staff, and he actually cared about the children. I had even spent the previous Christmas with him and his family, and it was a lovely traditional Christmas with turkey, presents, and the Wizard of Oz on the television. I remember Brent and his wife bought me a beautiful makeup set in a beautiful red-and-gold box. It was full of lipstick, blushers, eye shadows, and mascara. This was the best present I had had for many years. They treated me like a member of the family and I was very happy that Christmas. So why was he no longer working at Bryn Tyn? This I never did find out and it always remains a mystery.

  The days following my discharge from the hospital were particularly difficult ones. I had been placed on suicide watch for a while. I had lost weight and was very sad. It was approaching Christmas time again and I had turned thirteen years old, a big age for a child entering the beginnings of their teenage years. Birthdays went by unnoticed for the most part: no big party, no presents, or balloons, and most certainly no cake. You were lucky if you got a card from someone. I was to stay at Bryn Tyn for the Christmas holidays again.

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  A Surprise Christmas

  Just a couple of days before Christmas I was called into the staff room and told to sit down. Paul, my key worker, asked whether, if possible, I would like to spend Christmas day with Mother and Jake. Wow, the feeling I had when he uttered those words was one that I had not felt for some time. I had tears in my eyes and so many emotions built up inside me within seconds of him uttering Jake’s name. I was not expecting that at all, and I was trying to take in the question that had been put before me.

  “Would Jake really be there?” I asked him. And he assured me that Jake would indeed be there.

  Of course I jumped at the chance. It had been nearly two years since I had seen Jake. It was reiterated to me that the visit would be just the one day and I had to return to Bryn Tyn that same night. Truth be told, I did not care if it was only one hour, as long as I was going to see Jake again.

  On Christmas morning I was up at 7:00 a.m. dressed and ready to go! My key worker Paul was to drive me home that morning in the signature blue-and-white Bryn Tyn van. The journey would take approximately an hour and fifteen minutes. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this level of happiness. Paul told me that it had been decided following my overdose that going home for the day and seeing Jake would be good for me. I could not agree more. I could not believe I was going to see Jake again. I wondered if he was coping, and what was his children’s home like. Had he made friends? Were they bullying him? I had so many questions buzzing ar
ound inside my head I thought it might explode right there and then!

  On arrival at Mother’s house, I was both nervous and excited as I didn’t know what sort of reception I was going to receive. However, as it turned out my mother greeted me well and we all went inside. I immediately looked around for Jake. “Mom where’s Jake?” I asked.

  “Jake could not be here today, Amelia,” she replied.

  My whole insides felt like they were sinking. I was devastated. “But why?” I begged.

  “It was decided at the last minute it would be in both your interests.” There were those words again in our interest. I was tired of hearing those words over the years, and what did they know about our interest? Paul sat down and Mother rallied around like the perfect mother, making tea, then out of the blue she invited Paul to stay for dinner. It would be just the three of us.

  I thought this was a bit strange but went along with it anyway. The day wasn’t as bad as I had thought it might be. We had a traditional Christmas dinner, Mother had a few presents under the tree for me, and there were also some presents under the tree for Jake too. My mother made an effort that day. She was pleasant and jovial. Paul and my mother got on extremely well and I noticed a spark between them, which made me feel uncomfortable.