The Vanished Child

by M J Lee

  Jayne took a deep breath. It was her turn to talk.

  Chapter Thirteen

  November 11, 1951

  St Michael’s Home, Oldham, England

  They were locked in a small storeroom filled with cleaning liquids and brushes until after breakfast. They could hear the others through the locked door; their grunts as they carried the heavy troughs of porridge into the dining room, Sister Mary’s shouts as she prepared the scrambled eggs for the nuns, and the clashing sound of the pots and pans as they were scrubbed clean by the boys.

  ‘What are they going to do?’

  ‘Cane us, probably,’ said Jack nonchalantly.

  ‘Will it hurt?’

  ‘Of course it bloody hurts, that’s the whole point. But it stops after a couple of days. Georgie will get us some butter to rub into the wounds from the kitchen.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound good…’

  ‘It was worth it though, hey?’ Harry rubbed his tummy. ‘I can still feel the cake inside me and taste the jam on my teeth.’

  They heard the key turn in the lock. Sister Tomasina stood in the doorway.

  ‘You rats,’ she said, looking down her nose at them, ‘you’re going to Sister Mary’s office.’

  They followed her across the lobby, past the parlour and in through the open door of the Mother Superior’s office.

  The Victoria sponge plate was already sitting on her desk. A few crumbs of cake, a smear of jam and a careless blob of cream were all that remained.

  ‘You have stolen from God.’ The Mother Superior sat behind her desk, waving her finger at them. Little Tom was already whimpering. ‘God doesn’t love boys who steal. God is angry at boys who steal.’

  Her hands wrestled with each other as she finished her sentence, the brown spots like dirt marks standing out against her wrinkled knuckles.

  ‘But Sister—’ Jack began to speak.

  ‘BE QUIET,’ shouted Sister Tomasina.

  The Mother Superior carried on speaking, her voice menacing and quiet. ‘What is the seventh commandment?’

  Harry went through the commandments in his head: Thou shalt not have any strange gods before Me… Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain… Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day was the third. Honour thy father and mother was the fourth. Well, he hadn’t met his dad yet, but he still honoured him. The fifth was Thou shalt not kill, and he was certain he’d never killed anybody. He racked his brain. The next one was Thou shalt not commit adultery, whatever that was. He had asked the nun what it meant but she had just ignored him. The seventh was Thou shalt not steal.

  ‘Well, Hopkins?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘You?’ She pointed at Harry.

  ‘Thou shalt not steal.’

  ‘Exactly. You three have broken the rules of God. Obey them and eternal happiness is yours. Disobey them and suffer the consequences.’ She stood up. ‘As the eldest, Hopkins, you will receive twelve strokes from the cane. You two will receive six each. Drop your shorts and bend over the desk.’

  All three boys did as they were told. Little Tom was already whimpering.

  Sister Tomasina handed the Mother Superior a cane. ‘You’re first, Hopkins,’ she said.

  The holy mother raised the cane above her head and waited, increasing the expectation. And then down it came with an audible whoosh across Jack’s bare backside.

  ‘One,’ intoned Sister Tomasina.

  Jack looked across at Harry leaning over the desk beside him and winked.

  Another whoosh, slowed by a sharp thwack.

  ‘Two.’

  Jack winked again, but Harry saw his mouth tighten with pain.

  Again and again the cane struck down on the boy’s bare backside, the slap of the impact reverberating around the small room. Jack no longer winked at Harry. Instead he stared up at the cross of Jesus hanging above the Mother Superior’s desk.

  ‘Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.’

  Still Jack stared at the cross, his eyes fixed on the suffering Jesus. Throughout the punishment, he never cried out once.

  ‘I think he isn’t penitent, Mother Superior.’ It was Sister Tomasina speaking, a sneer in her voice.

  ‘Do you regret your theft, Hopkins? Are you penitent?’

  Jack stayed silent.

  Sister Tomasina had a strange smile on her face. ‘I think another six would make him repent his actions, Mother Superior. After all, the Bible does say “spare the rod and spoil the child”.’

  ‘Are you penitent, Hopkins?’

  Again, Jack didn’t answer.

  The cane came down, swifter and harder now. Jack cried out in pain and then bit down on his tongue.

  Harry heard Sister Tomasina’s voice, gloating, mocking. ‘One.’

  After she reached the count of six again, the Mother Superior stopped.

  ‘Are you penitent, Hopkins?’ asked Sister Tomasina again.

  Jack nodded slowly.

  ‘I can’t hear you.’

  Jack mumbled something.

  ‘I still can’t hear you.’

  The Mother Superior’s cane rose once more above her head.

  ‘I’m… sorry.’

  Harry saw a smile of triumph cross Sister Tomasina’s face.

  ‘Your turn.’ The Mother Superior pointed at Harry.

  He bent over the desk, his head down, waiting for the sound of the cane through the air and the sharp pain of the wood across his backside.

  Nothing.

  He raised his head to look over his shoulder and down it came, the cane cutting through the air and striking the soft flesh of his buttocks.

  For a few seconds there was nothing, and then a stab of pain shot down through his legs and up his spine into his head. Despite himself, he cried out.

  The next one followed quickly afterwards.

  The same swoosh of the cane cutting through the air.

  The same stab of pain.

  The same cry.

  On the wall behind the desk, Jesus was on the cross, drops of blood dripping from a wound in his side and a tired, resigned look on his face.

  He died for our sins.

  ‘Three. Four.’ Sister Tomasina called out the strikes.

  The pain had vanished now for Harry. All that remained was Jesus on the cross, dying for his sins.

  ‘Five. Six.’

  The caning stopped.

  ‘Are you penitent?’

  Harry mumbled a yes.

  ‘Your turn, Livesey.’

  As Little Tom bent over the desk, Harry carefully pulled up his trousers. He glanced at Jack and received a large wink in return.

  The same six strokes were followed by the same question. This time Little Tom answered before he was even asked. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it. I was hungry,’ he screamed.

  ‘That’s no excuse,’ shouted Sister Tomasina.

  When all the punishments were finally completed, they received a long lecture on the importance of the seventh commandment from the Mother Superior.

  For the next week, Harry couldn’t sit down and had to lie on his side when he went to sleep.

  Jack vanished from the home three days later. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.

  Harry never had a chance to say goodbye.

  Chapter Fourteen

  June 18, 2017

  Eyam, Derbyshire, England

  Jayne pulled her laptop out of her bag. ‘Finally, we’re moving on the case.’

  ‘This seems to confirm she had a son called Harry.’

  ‘It does nothing of the sort, Vera,’ exploded Charlie. ‘All it does is tell us she was interested in this child. He could have been a neighbour’s son. Or somebody she knew.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Charlie. She’s a girl in her early twenties, visiting a young boy. Of course it’s her son.’

  Jayne held up her hands, trying to broker peace between the brother and sister. ‘Let’s read the other three letters before we come to conclusions, shall we?’


  Vera nodded. Charlie poured himself another cup of tea without checking if anybody else wanted one.

  Vera picked up the second envelope. The paper was a different quality this time; light blue Basildon Bond notepaper and a matching envelope.

  She peered at the stamp and the post-mark. ‘It’s dated June twentieth, 1950.’

  ‘You’d better read it, love,’ said Robert.

  She pulled out the notepaper and cleared her throat.

  ‘Dear Freda,

  Harry loved your visit last month. He’s been playing and sleeping with the soldier you gave him ever since, never letting it out of his sight. He loves the way it goes squeak when you press its tummy.

  ‘He’s also excited about having a new daddy. He’s a lovely boy and, if you take him back, we will understand. We have been foster parents to a lot of children since we started before the War, but the best place for any child is with his mother. We look forward to meeting yourself and your new husband when you come next time.

  ‘Until then, here’s a kiss from Harry. He drew the X himself.’

  Vera showed the notepaper to Jayne and Robert. A large red X, written in a shaky hand, was at the bottom of the page.

  It was Jayne who spoke first after a long silence. ‘The letter confirms it. She was Harry’s mother.’

  Vera suddenly began scrambling for the envelope, picking up and staring at the date. ‘Why didn’t I realise it before? The date is two weeks after my parents’ wedding. They were married on June sixth, 1950, at St Luke’s in Oldham. I’ve still got the pictures somewhere. She had a white wedding with all the trimmings. Looked lovely, she did.’

  ‘Why can’t you let stuff alone?’ Charlie erupted again, harsher and louder this time. ‘You’re always shoving your nose into other people’s business.’

  Vera was calm and quiet as she answered him. ‘This isn't “other people’s business”, Charlie, this was our mother.’

  ‘Then read the next bloody letter. See what you find out now.’ Once more, he petulantly turned away from them, attacking what was left of the Dundee cake with his fork.

  Vera picked up the third envelope. ‘This is from a year later. September twelfth, 1951.’ She pulled out the note and began to read:

  ‘Dear Freda,

  We’re sorry you couldn’t make it for Harry’s birthday at the end of August but it’s a long way to come from Manchester. I know what it’s like to deal with a young baby on the buses, particularly one only a couple of months old.’

  Vera lifted her head and spoke to nobody in particular. ‘They are talking about me. I was born on April thirteenth, 1951. I must be the baby. Dad was probably working in Manchester at this time.’

  Robert reached over and patted her arm. ‘Don’t worry about it, love, just carry on reading the note.’

  Vera wiped her eyes, swallowed and carried on reading:

  ‘Harry is going to the school at the end of the road with our David now. He loves going there and playing with the other children. In all our years as foster parents, we can’t ever remember having such a happy child in our care.’

  Vera’s voice broke then, but she carried on reading:

  ‘Do let us know what you intend doing about Harry. My husband and I have decided, after much thought, that we will approach the home about adoption. But we won’t do anything until we hear from you. We know how much you love him and will wait until we hear from you before taking this any further.’

  ‘The signature is a lot clearer on this one,’ said Vera. ‘It’s a Mrs Irene Beggs.’

  Jayne began typing on her laptop, trying to get into Findmypast. ‘Do you have Wi-Fi, Mr Atkins?’

  Charlie stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t have truck with that sort of stuff. Haven’t you noticed I don’t even have a television?’

  Jayne checked around the room. An old-fashioned radio sat in one corner, covered by an antimacassar, but there was no sign of any television. ‘No matter, I’m getting a BT Wi-Fi signal.’

  ‘It was my fault,’ said Vera. ‘She didn’t visit him because of me.’

  Robert patted her hand. ‘Don’t think like that, love, you weren’t to know. Harry was obviously happy with the Beggses, they sound like lovely people.’

  ‘Poor Mum, it must have been so difficult for her.’

  ‘And they say in the letter that she loved him, too.’

  ‘Here they are.’ Jayne turned her computer around. ‘I found them on the 1939 register. They were living at number twenty-three, Haggate Lane, Delph.’ She showed them the record, which ended in several blacked-out lines.

  23 Haggate Lane, Delph Lancashire

  Thomas Beggs M 07 Mar 94 M Overseer

  Irene Beggs F 23 Jul 98 M Housewife

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  ‘It’s a small town, more a village really – a lovely place up in the moors.’

  ‘I know it well,’ said Vera. ‘Used to go walking up there when I was young and the legs were still able to carry me for more than ten minutes.’ She pointed to the laptop screen. ‘Jayne, why are the entries beneath those of the Beggses blacked out?’

  ‘The redacted people were probably born after 1917. They keep the records closed for a hundred years. To see them, you have to make a request and show a death certificate.’

  ‘So they might still be alive?’

  Jayne shrugged her shoulders. ‘I suppose so.’

  Vera returned to the letter. ‘It says here they wanted to adopt Harry. Perhaps that’s what happened to him. He was adopted by the Beggses and he still lives in Delph.’

  Charlie had been silent until now, his body still turned away from them. ‘Read the last letter,’ he muttered under his breath, without looking at them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  January 22, 1952

  St Michael’s Home, Oldham, England

  It was just after Christmas when the priest came to the home. The snow lay untouched on the ground surrounding St Michael’s. In the streets of Oldham, it was already turning to an off-grey slush, churned up by pedestrians, bicycles, motor cars, buses and the occasional lorry.

  Harry knew something special was to take place that day. In the morning, after breakfast but before they had begun their work for the day, Sister Tomasina had issued them with new shoes. Harry’s were too big for him, but it didn’t matter. The touch of the soft leather kept his feet warm against the cold wooden floor. He enjoyed sliding down the corridors outside the sisters’ rooms with Little Tom, each one seeing how far they could go.

  After a special lunch of cabbage and boiled bacon, the priest spoke to them in the dining hall. He was young, much younger than the priest at St Mike’s, with a soft, mellow face and a voice like the hot chocolate Mrs Beggs made before bedtime.

  ‘Good afternoon, children,’ he began, clapping his hands together as if applauding their presence. ‘Before we begin today, I’d like to say a quick Our Father. Please say it after me. Our Father…’

  ‘Our Father…’

  ‘Who art in heaven…’

  ‘Who art in heaven…’

  ‘Blessed be the womb of our Lord Jesus…’

  Harry glanced up from his prayer to see the priest staring at Sister Tomasina as he said the words.

  ‘Blessed be the womb of our Lord Jesus…’

  Harry looked down quickly. If the sisters caught him not being respectful during prayers he would get a belt around the ear.

  The prayer carried on, each word faithfully repeated by the children.

  ‘That’s very well done, that is; sure, the sisters have taught you well. Now, I’m just after looking out the window and it looks like it’s beginning to snow again.’

  Harry looked over the priest’s shoulders to the sash window. Flecks of white cotton wool began to stick themselves to the glass before dissolving, only to be followed by more flecks of white.

  ‘This country would freeze the a
rse off a saint.’

  The children laughed. The priest had said the word ‘arse’. Harry half-expected the Mother Superior to give him a clip around the ear.

  ‘Does anybody know a place where it doesn’t snow?’

  Little Tom put his hand up. ‘Heaven.’

  ‘No, you’re right enough. It doesn’t snow in heaven. Or in hell, for that matter, if any of you are thinking of going there.’

  The sisters laughed and so did the children, although none of them knew why what the priest said was funny.

  ‘Anywhere else?’

  ‘London,’ answered Charlie.

  ‘I think it snows there sometimes. Anywhere else? Anywhere you think of that could be hot?’

  Harry remembered a newsreel he had seen with his mother on one of their outings. ‘Australia?’

  The priest smiled. ‘That’s the ticket. You’re a clever fellow. What’s your name?’

  ‘Harry.’

  ‘It’s Harold,’ said Sister Tomasina.

  ‘Well, Harry, you’re right. It’s hot in Australia and it never snows. What else do you know about it?’

  Harry tried to remember the newsreel. It was about a family who had just gone there after the war. The boy rode a bike and the girl was feeding a kangaroo. ‘Well, it’s hot, and there are lots of trees and kangaroos and fruit...’

  ‘You do know a lot, don’t you? Well, children, Harry is right. It’s always sunny and you can pick fruit right off the trees. One of the Fathers I met told me he used to go to the tree in his garden when he needed a lemon. No need to go to the shop, he just picked them for free from his own tree. Now isn’t that amazing?’

  All the children nodded.

  Daisy Moore put up her hand. ‘Is it true the kangaroos keep their babies in their tummies?’

  The priest laughed. ‘I think it is. The young kangaroos are called Joeys, so I’ve been told, and they stay in a pouch on their mother’s stomach. Wouldn’t you all like to see them?’