The Cast-Off Kids

by Trisha Merry

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  When he arrived the next morning, it was bedlam when he came in with his mother, and as soon as she was out of the door, it was as if someone had sprinkled angel-dust on him. Again, he was smiley and gleeful all day. Whatever was it that changed him in a flash like that?

  Over the next few weeks, we even had him one day each weekend. We took him swimming, to the park, to the zoo, to all the places the kids wanted to go, and he was never any trouble. Everybody loved him, except Gilroy who was always waiting for the chance . . . so we made sure to keep them apart. Even strangers would come up to us and say what a lovely boy he was, with his blond curls and dimples, and how well behaved he was.

  At first, I assumed his mum was a single mother, but she had a good-looking young man with her one day. ‘This is Max’s dad,’ she said. ‘My husband Mark. He’s a musician.’ He smiled as we shook hands.

  The following Friday evening, when Vanda came to pick up Max, she said, ‘We’ve decided to go on a week’s break to Scotland. It’s a spur-of-the moment trip. Mark’s not keen, because Max is such hard work, but maybe he’ll be better when we’re away from home.’ She paused, looking uncertain. ‘The only trouble is, Max doesn’t want to go. I think you give him such a good time here that he doesn’t want to miss out.’

  ‘Well . . . I’ve got one space, so he could stay here if you like, to let you have some time to yourselves.’

  She wavered for a moment. Then made her mind up. ‘Thank you very much. It does sound tempting, but no. I think we need some time together as a family, the three of us, to bond together.’

  I wondered how Max’s behaviour might affect the family dynamics. I had a suspicion that he had rocked his parents’ relationship. His mother worked during the day, and his father worked mostly in the evenings, so maybe they weren’t able to spend much time together.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I hope you all have a really good, relaxing week. I’m sure Max will appreciate having you both to himself.’

  They went on the Saturday. But on the Tuesday, I had a phone call.

  ‘Trisha, is it possible for Max to come back to you tomorrow?’ Vanda sounded more stressed than I’d heard her before.

  ‘Yes’ I said. ‘But what’s happened? I thought you were going for a week?’

  ‘We hired a caravan, and he’s totally wrecked it. The whole caravan – totally destroyed.’

  ‘Max?’ I gasped, in disbelief, trying to picture this toddler wreaking so much havoc.

  ‘Yes.’ I heard her sharp intake of breath.

  ‘How awful!’ I sympathised.

  ‘Yes, it was. And we’ve been in trouble because of it. We had to leave the site yesterday.’ She burst into tears. ‘Mark is absolutely furious,’ she sobbed. ‘Incandescent with rage.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘It’s been awful, Trisha. Terrible.’

  I didn’t know whether she was talking about Max’s behaviour, the caravan site manager, or her relationship with her husband. Maybe all three.

  ‘Bring Max tomorrow,’ I said, with a soothing voice. ‘It sounds like you’ve got a lot to sort out. He’ll be fine here.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Trisha. You’re a rock. I don’t know what I’d do without you at the moment.’ I could tell she was still crying as she put the phone down.

  Next morning, in walked Max, with a big smile on his face. He was an absolute poppet, all day long. When it was lunchtime, they all had different coloured bowls or plates. So Max would go and get his own bowl and carry it proudly to the table. I couldn’t believe this was the same boy who did so much damage on holiday with his parents.

  For some time I had been worried that our ‘bush-baby’ Laurel, now nearly five, still hadn’t been put forward for adoption; but now at last it was all being sorted out.

  She was a lovely child with a pretty face and a sunny personality, so we weren’t surprised when a young couple came to meet her, along with her social worker, to start to get to know her and to see if they’d be a good fit.

  I could see it working straight away. They were perfect for Laurel and she for them, as they sat on the playroom floor and played with the toys together. Later, they played outdoor games in the garden, all three of them enjoying their growing relationship.

  ‘How long will these visits go on?’ I asked Laurel’s social worker.

  ‘Oh, several weeks of them seeing her here, then a few more when they can take her out during the day if they want to. Then maybe they’ll do a couple of trial home visits, to see how that works out. Even if all goes really well, it would probably be the autumn before all the stages are completed and the adoption can go ahead.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ I said. ‘We are hoping to take all the children on holiday together in the summer. We wouldn’t want to leave Laurel out.’

  ‘That’s a great idea for the children,’ she said, then gave me a look. ‘But you must be mad! It won’t be much of a holiday for you and Mike with all these kids and their different needs!’

  ‘I know, but we’ll love it just as much as they do, playing all day by the sea!’

  ‘What about Gilroy?’ she asked. ‘How will you manage him? Will the children be safe with him there? Remember what he did to Laurel last year, when he pushed her down the stairs?’

  ‘Yes, I know he can be difficult, very up and down, but he’s not been too bad lately, and we’ll keep a close eye on him. He’s part of our family and he deserves a holiday as much as the others.’

  I told Mike about this later.

  ‘Perhaps we should put reins on Gilroy.’ he suggested with a laugh. ‘Like they used to do with toddlers.’

  The summer was approaching and Mike booked two large caravans, adjacent to one another, on our chosen caravan site in Bournemouth for a week. Next, he mapped out the route to get there, with lots of stopping places with facilities on the way. We didn’t have Satnavs in the 1970s – we had to rely on good old road maps.

  As the date grew nearer, I started making lists, of all the things we needed to take, food to buy and all the other jobs we had to do, like getting permissions from Social Services and all the parents who were contactable. I can’t actually remember whether Rocky answered with his permission for Daisy and Paul. But we would have taken the risk and included them anyway.

  We still had just the nine foster-children, aged between four and ten: Ronnie, AJ, Sheena, Daisy, Paul, Gilroy, Laurel, Alfie and Mandy. They were all very excited and the older ones were crossing off the days on their calendars. Even Daisy was quite animated and clearly enjoyed all the build-up.

  ‘You can all choose out of your own things what you want to take on holiday and put them on your beds,’ I told them, ‘so I can see if anything needs washing or ironing.’

  An hour or two later, when they were all outside again, I did a tour of inspection. This was when I discovered that Laurel had put out all her summer dresses, but no knickers. Paul had put out plenty of toys and games on his bed, but no clothes at all and Daisy had put out eight books to read and only one top and shorts. And there were other variations in between.

  ‘You’ve all got to take some outfits of play-about clothes, and one good set of clothes, in case we want to go somewhere special,’ I told them at teatime. ‘And Laurel, you need to take some knickers, too.’ Everyone giggled.

  ‘Paul, you didn’t put out any anything at all to wear. Don’t worry about toys and games. We’ll pack those separately. Just make sure you take some clothes. We don’t want you running around naked!’ More giggling. ‘And Daisy, you won’t be able to carry your case with all those books in it, so take out half of the books and put some more clothes in instead.’

  Next it was time to raid the toybox. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘You can each choose one toy or game. And we’ll take some extra things that everyone can play with.’

  Toddler Max was still coming three or four days a week. He must have felt a bit left out of all the increasing excitement, although I tried to di
stract him onto other things. I asked the others to try not to talk about the holiday in front of him, but I don’t suppose they took much notice and I felt bad that we couldn’t include him.

  ‘Max was looking a bit down in the dumps today,’ said Mike, just a few days before the holiday. ‘It’s not like him – he’s usually such a happy-go-lucky little lad.’

  ‘Not according to his mother,’ I said. ‘And I’ve seen it for myself. He really lays into that poor woman. And I think he’s driven a big, fat wedge between his parents since he trashed that caravan.’

  ‘Good job he’s not coming with us, then!’ Mike laughed. ‘But we’ll miss his cheery smile.’

  ‘Maybe we can take him with us? I thought out loud.

  The next morning I asked Vanda, ‘You know that we’re going on holiday for a week on Saturday?’

  ‘I’m dreading it already!’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with Max. But I hope you all have a great time.’

  ‘If we have enough space,’ I suggested, tentatively, ‘would you like us to take him with us?’

  ‘Oh . . . no, I don’t think it would be possible.’

  That surprised me. ‘Really?’

  ‘We’re still having to pay for all the damage he did when he trashed the caravan we hired on our holiday . . . We can’t afford any more expense at the moment.’

  ‘Oh,’ I assured her, ‘it wouldn’t cost you anything. We’re going anyway, all in the van, so one more wouldn’t make any difference. And the caravans are booked as well, so it’s only a case of squeezing him in. We’ll work that out somehow.’

  So when we set off on the following Saturday, Max came too.

  18

  Taking Ten to Bournemouth

  It was a long journey south from the Midlands to Bournemouth, with all the children in the back, together with all their luggage, potties just in case and some large play equipment for the beach. We had to make toilet stops every forty-five minutes on the way, and a couple of other stops because I get car-sick. I had the map, but luckily Mike had learnt our route, which is just as well because I’m dyslexic.

  I won’t say it was easy taking a barrel of monkeys in the back of a van, crowded round with stuff. ‘Don’t anybody ask me “are we nearly there yet?”,’ I said. ‘Because we won’t be.’

  ‘Not ever?’ asked little Mandy, who was rehearsing to set up the British Logical Thinking Association – as soon as she could spell it.

  ‘OK, Mand. You win. We will get there . . . but not for a very long time.’

  ‘How many hours?’ she persisted.

  ‘Is it a leap year?’ I replied, but fortunately that was lost on her, at that age.

  For our lunch stop, Mike had chosen a place where there was a picnic area with lovely views and a large grassed area for the kids to play an impromptu football match, in between sandwiches, snacks and drinks.

  When we reached the spot, there were lots of family groups of three or four dotted about, and not much space for us. I exchanged looks with Mike.

  He weaved his way around them. ‘We’ll just park here,’ he said, stopping right in the middle.

  I gave one nearby family a smile and we exchanged hellos as I went round to the back of the van and opened the doors. It was like a scattergun explosion. Out poured the ten children, all the picnic things, all the balls and bats and skipping ropes and all the toys . . . and all their pent-up noise and energy.

  ‘Well,’ I said to Mike as people edged further and further away. ‘We cleared this space quicker than a bomb-disposal unit!’

  We had set off at eight in the morning, and it was late afternoon by the time we arrived at the site in Bournemouth.

  We reported at the reception hut, and were told where to go. But there must have been a mix-up, because these two caravans were much smaller than we’d been led to believe they would be. How on earth were we going to fit everyone in?

  ‘Do you think we can manage?’ asked Mike, scratching his head.

  ‘Well, somebody will have to sleep in the broom cupboard,’ I said, opening the door of the narrow space where the cleaning things were kept.

  Ronnie laughed, and they all joined in.

  ‘No, I’m serious. Look,’ I pointed at the beds. ‘We haven’t got enough beds for everybody to sleep in, so you can all take turns, one night each in the broom cupboard.’

  The children all looked at me, then at the cupboard, so I kept my face straight. ‘Right, let’s see who can go first . . . Paul, you come and try it out. You’ll have to stand up, like the brooms.’

  So, slim, wiry Paul squashed himself in sideways as far as he could.

  ‘Yes, that’s it, so you can do tonight. Daisy, you can go next. Then Sheena, Ronnie, AJ and Gilroy, you can do a night each.’ They really believed me!

  There was a double and a single bed in one caravan, and just a double in the other, so we topped and tailed the kids, four in each double and two in the single. And we put the settee bits together for Mike and me to sleep on.

  None of the 1960s caravans on this site had bathrooms or toilets, so we all had to troop across to the wash-house, where the water was usually cold. But the kids had great fun splashing about in the showers.

  The first morning of our holiday, we all trooped down to the beach with our stuff. All the kids, even the little ones, had to carry something. I can remember how excited they all were. Most of them had never seen the sea before, or felt the sand under their feet. Everybody was laughing and even normally quiet Daisy was joining in with the banter.

  We found a good place to settle ourselves. Then we told them all to lie down, and Mike and I tried to bury them in the sand – well, not quite! When I think how dangerous it could have been . . . It wouldn’t be allowed nowadays. But we just gave them a light covering, up to their necks, and they only stayed still for a few minutes, before wriggling free to have a runabout on the beach and down to the sea’s edge.

  We had all the beach toys with us, so they spent the day playing beach games, making sandcastles, having a paddle or a swim and eating ice creams. It was all so new that we didn’t have any trouble. Max was good as gold. AJ didn’t steal anything from anyone (as far as we knew). Even Gilroy, away from home, was a happy child, for the first time in months; carefree, full of smiles and just enjoying himself with the boys.

  At one point Paul became a bit too energetic, as usual. He started throwing handfuls of sand, and the others complained. I was about to tell him off, when suddenly there was a scream from Laurel as she put her hands to her eyes.

  I dashed across, as quickly as the soft sand would let me. ‘What’s the matter? Did you get sand in your eyes?’ I asked, as I sat down to give her a soothing cuddle.

  She leant into me, but carried on screaming, so I left Mike to look after the others and rushed Laurel straight up to the first-aid tent at the top of the beach. The two first-aiders tilted her head and trickled water into her eyes to wash away the sand. Gradually, her screams subsided, reducing to whimpers as the treatment took effect. I carried her back down the beach, where she gave a hard stare to Paul who was lurking by our windbreak, looking suitably crestfallen.

  ‘You hurt my eyes!’ Laurel accused him.

  ‘I know,’ he said in a genuinely sympathetic voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The rest of the morning passed without any major incidents. Most of the children were in and out of the water all day and even Alfie’s elephant got her toes dipped in the sea. But I remember how we had to take turns to carry Mandy down to have a paddle, because she hated to feel the dry sand between her toes. And we had to spread out our largest towel for her to sit on.

  Later in the afternoon, we got out the nets and took them crabbing. They loved that and everyone wanted to be the first to catch a crab. I think Gilroy and Paul both caught one.

  ‘Now you have to put them back,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s a living creature and you’ve got to be kind to it.�
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  ‘Why?’ asked Gilroy.

  ‘Some people must take them, ’cos you can eat crabs,’ added Ronnie.

  ‘Only fishermen,’ I said. ‘It’s against the law to keep them.’ Of course it probably wasn’t, but it’s amazing what you can get away with when the kids don’t know any better. ‘You can take your bucket and you can take some shells, but that’s all.’

  When we finally went back to the caravan site, the older children ran off to the playground for half an hour, and Mike took the little ones for a go on the toddlers’ swings, while I rustled up something to eat. Any cooking had to be very basic on the little stoves we had in caravans in those days – no home cooking, or anything like that. Just tins and packets and lots of fruit, bread and cereals. I’m sure we had more canned soups than were good for us that week.

  The second morning it was raining, so I got out all the bits and pieces I’d brought for them to do. We had a games compendium for the older ones to play with Mike, which kept them occupied for an hour or so, while I helped the little ones to do some colouring, and cutting patterns with the alligator scissors.

  ‘Let’s play hide ’n’ seek,’ suggested Paul when he tired of the sitting-down games. So Ronnie volunteered to go and close his eyes. We had top storage lockers in the caravans, so Paul picked up Max and stuffed him into one of those. Max loved it. ‘Now, don’t fall out,’ said Paul. And he didn’t.

  I know it seems unlikely, but you’d be surprised how many places you can find to hide in a caravan! Everything was fun to them, even in the rain, and they all played well together . . . most of the time.

  Luckily, the weather cleared up by lunchtime, so we packed everything up again and went back down to the beach, which was always their favourite place.

  We didn’t have much money, but we used to allow them all a few pennies every day of the holiday, and they could each decide what they did with their money. Some of them spent it straight away on ice creams, while others saved it for when we went to the fair, which we planned to do on the last day.

  On other days, we went off in the van to a different beach at Poole, or to the cinema and various other places.