The Throwaway Children

by Diney Costeloe

  Still, Rita thought, it won’t be for long. When Mum brings baby Richard home from the hospital, she’ll come and find us. While we’re here, decided Rita, I’ll look after Rosie.

  Miss Hopkins had led them away from the familiarity of Capel Street with its elementary school and its park, to the centre of town, bustling with people. The sun was beating down from a clear blue sky and the air was hot and sticky. Rita dragged her feet as she was towed through the streets, and though Rosie skipped along cheerfully enough at first, eager for the promised ride in a car, her legs were soon tired and she, too, dragged her feet, making Miss Hopkins snap, ‘Pick up your feet, child, and come along.’

  When they finally reached a big building in the middle of the town, the piggy-eyed woman had picked up a small suitcase that Rita recognized at once.

  There was no car. Miss Hopkins walked them to a bus stop where they stood in a queue and waited for a bus.

  A number 37 bus came at last and the two girls scrambled aboard, followed by a lumbering Miss Hopkins with the little suitcase in one hand and her capacious handbag in the other. She pushed the two girls into a seat near the back and sat behind them.

  ‘One and two halves to Russell Green,’ she told the conductor as she paid the fares. The bus was a novelty, and Rosie knelt up on the seat, her nose against the window, watching the town pass by.

  Rita looked out of the window too, trying to remember where the bus went, but it was impossible, it drove down unfamiliar streets, over a river and past shops that Rita had never seen before. How far they were going? How far from home and from Mum and Gran?

  When they finally got off the bus Rita watched it trundle away. Number 37. Mum would come to fetch them on a number 37.

  Five minutes’ walk through suburban streets finally brought them to Laurel House. Rita reached for Rosie’s hand as they waited for the front door to open. When it did they were greeted by a pale-faced girl, wearing a black dress and a white cap.

  ‘Miss Hopkins to see Miss Vanstone,’ announced Miss Hopkins, pushing her way into the hall. ‘Please tell her we are here, Betty.’

  ‘Yes, mam.’ The girl bobbed a curtsey, and disappeared. As they waited, Rita looked round the hall. It was painted a dull green and sparsely furnished, with a bench along one wall and a chair opposite. A wide staircase led to a landing above and, standing in the curve below it, a tall grandfather clock ticked solemnly in a corner, ticking-tocking the time away.

  After a few minutes another lady came into the hall. ‘Ah, Miss Hopkins,’ she said, ‘here you are at last.’ She glanced down at the two girls who edged closer together. ‘And you must be Rita and Rose Stevens.’ The girls didn’t reply and she said sharply, ‘Answer when you’re spoken to.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ whispered Rita. This woman was not like the fat, piggy-eyed Miss Hopkins. She was tall and straight, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her eyes were grey and penetrating, drilling into them. Instinctively Rita was afraid.

  ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone,’ said the lady. She looked at Rita expectantly and Rita murmured, ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone.’

  ‘That’s better. Now then, follow me.’ Glancing behind her, she called, ‘Betty, ask Mrs Hawkins to come to my office.’

  Miss Vanstone led them into her office. It was furnished with a large desk and a filing cabinet on either side of a window which looked out onto the front garden. It was sunny outside, but the room was gloomy and rather forbidding. Miss Vanstone sat down behind her desk, waved Miss Hopkins to a chair in front of her and said to the girls, ‘Sit on the floor and cross your legs.’

  Paying them no further attention she addressed Miss Hopkins. ‘You’ve brought the relevant paperwork with you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Miss Vanstone,’ Miss Hopkins replied. ‘It’s all here.’ She delved into her handbag and brought out the papers. ‘All signed. All correct.’

  Miss Vanstone took the papers and began to peruse them. As she was reading there was a knock on the door. Without glancing up she called, ‘Come.’

  The door opened and a small, dark woman came in. ‘You wanted me, Miss Vanstone?’

  Miss Vanstone set the papers aside. ‘Ah, Mrs Hawkins. Yes. Here are Rita and Rose Stevens. They’ve arrived today. I’ll pass them over to you now.’ She looked down at the girls. ‘Now you two, up you get and go with Mrs Hawkins. Do as you’re told, and you’ll do very well here. Disobey, and you will be punished. Do you understand?’

  Rita had scrambled to her feet, pulling Rosie up as well.

  ‘Do you understand?’ Miss Vanstone repeated.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ muttered Rita.

  ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone,’ echoed Rita.

  ‘Rose?’

  Rosie looked across at her. ‘I’m called Rosie,’ she said.

  It was as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Do you understand, Rose?’

  Rita crushed Rosie’s hand in hers and muttered, ‘Say “yes, Miss Vanstone”.’

  Rosie looked at her and then obediently said, ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone.’

  ‘That’s better. Off you go with Mrs Hawkins, now.’

  Mrs Hawkins picked up the small suitcase and they followed her along the passage to a narrow stairway. ‘These are the stairs you use,’ she told them. ‘Not the main staircase.’ When neither girl replied, she looked at them sharply and snapped, ‘You’re to answer when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ murmured Rita.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins,’ corrected the woman.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’

  ‘Everyone here has a name,’ Mrs Hawkins said. ‘Miss won’t do. Now then, let’s see where you’ll sleep.’

  At the top of the stairs was a long landing with doors opening on either side. Halfway along were the main stairs, and at the far end another staircase led up to the tower. Pointing to it, Mrs Hawkins said, ‘That’s the way to my rooms. You are never to go up those stairs unless I have sent for you. Do you understand?’

  Rita had now learned to answer so she said, ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’

  Mrs Hawkins opened a green door and led them into a bedroom. ‘This is Green Dormitory,’ she said, ‘where you’ll be sleeping, Rose.’

  It was a small room with six narrow beds crammed into it, and just enough room to walk between them. Each bed had a stool at the end, a wooden locker beside it, with a metal basin on the top. A wide window looked out onto the garden below, but the view was marred by the black iron bars that crossed it. No child could fall… or escape… through that window. The only thing green about the room was the door.

  Mrs Hawkins pointed to one of the beds and said, ‘This is your bed, Rose, and that is your locker. That is where you’ll keep your things.’ She opened the suitcase and took out the small washbag that contained their toothbrushes and flannels. She opened the locker and put one of each inside.

  ‘Please, miss… Mrs Hawkins,’ Rita corrected herself hastily, ‘that’s my toothbrush. Rosie’s is the pink one.’

  Mrs Hawkins said nothing, simply gave her a long look and closed the locker door.

  ‘Sit on the stool, Rose, and wait here until I come back,’ she instructed. ‘Rita, come with me.’

  She turned and walked out of the room and Rita whispered to Rosie, ‘Sit on the stool and wait, Rosie. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Rosie’s lip began to tremble, but Rita gave her a push and she sat down.

  Rita followed Mrs Hawkins to another room on the opposite side of the landing. Apart from its purple door, it was identical to Green Dormitory.

  ‘You’ll sleep in here, Rita,’ Mrs Hawkins said, and pointed to a bed under the window. ‘That’s your bed.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Hawkins,’ began Rita, and then paused as her courage failed her.

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘Please, Mrs Hawkins, can’t I sleep in the same room as Rosie? She’ll be scared without me.’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ replied Mrs Hawkins calmly. ‘Green Dormitory is the baby dormito
ry, Purple is the under elevens. That’s you.’

  ‘What about our other things?’ asked Rita. She had seen their new dresses in the case, and some pants and vests and socks. They were wearing their school uniforms, but there should be another skirt each and a blouse and a jersey.

  ‘They’ll be put away in the general wardrobe,’ replied Mrs Hawkins. ‘You’ll be given what you need to wear.’

  ‘But we’ve got new dresses—’ began Rita.

  ‘Everything is shared here,’ replied Mrs Hawkins briskly. ‘Some of the girls here have never had a new dress. You’ll wear it when it’s your turn and not before. Now put your satchel into your locker and come along.’

  Rita had been at Laurel House for less than an hour, but she had already learned there was nothing to be gained from arguing, and guessed that there was plenty to be lost. She quickly put her satchel into the locker, her picture of Daddy still safely inside it.

  They collected Rosie who was still sitting on her stool, pink and tearful, and Rita hurriedly put her sister’s satchel into her locker. Knitty was inside it and she was determined that Mrs Hawkins wasn’t going to make Rosie share Knitty with everyone else.

  Mrs Hawkins showed them the bathroom and then led them back downstairs to a large room at the back of the house overlooking the garden. Several girls were sitting in a circle, sewing; others sat round a large table, doing school work. They were all dressed in faded, blue-checked cotton frocks, all wore black plimsolls, all had their hair in plaits or held back with a hair band. They all stood up when Mrs Hawkins came in.

  ‘This is the playroom,’ Mrs Hawkins said. ‘This is where you do your homework after school when you’ve finished your chores. Sheila Nevin!’

  A large girl wearing wire-rimmed spectacles who had been darning a sock put down her work and stood up. ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins?’

  ‘We have two new girls come to join us. Rita and Rose Stevens. I have shown them their dormitories, you’re to make sure they are in the right place for the rest of today. Their names are already on the rota board.’ She waved a hand towards a cork noticeboard on the wall, ‘so you can explain what they have to do. Rita, Rose, listen to what Sheila tells you.’

  The minute the door closed behind her there was a buzz of conversation. Rita and Rosie stood by the door, Rosie still clutching Rita’s hand. They looked round at the sea of faces staring at them. The girl, Sheila, glared across at them. She was older than either of them, about thirteen, with a big round face and dark hair. She peered short-sightedly at her charges, and scowled.

  ‘Why do I always have to do the nannying?’ she moaned. ‘Come here, you two, and let’s have a look at you.’

  When neither child moved Sheila got to her feet and gripped Rosie by the wrist, jerking her forward and making her cry out. ‘I said, come here.’

  ‘Let her go,’ cried Rita, ‘you’re hurting her.’

  ‘And I’ll hurt her some more if she don’t do what I tell her,’ snapped Sheila. Rosie was wailing now and the older girl turned on her. ‘Shut up!’ she hissed. ‘Shut up, you snivelling kid.’

  ‘Let her go!’ Rita shouted, but Sheila simply laughed, tightening her grip.

  ‘Make me!’ she jeered and then gave a screech of pain. Without warning, Rita had bent down and sank her teeth into the bigger girl’s arm. She bit hard and Sheila released Rosie, jerking her arm free. Rita grabbed Rosie and pulled her away. There was a burst of laughter from the girls who were sitting in the mending circle, and Sheila rounded on them, her face flaming with humiliation.

  ‘And you lot can shut up an’ all!’

  ‘Leave the poor kids alone,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Don’t you remember what your first day was like?’

  Rita spun round to see another girl had come into the room. She was older than anyone else in the room, almost grown up. She stood surveying the scene, Rita and Rosie cowering together, Sheila on her feet nursing her arm where the marks of Rita’s teeth stood out, a dark red on her pale skin.

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ growled Sheila. ‘It was tough. Life is tough here and the sooner these kids learn that the better.’

  The newcomer walked over to Rita and said, ‘Hallo, I’m Frances. If you want to know anything you can ask me.’ She bent down to Rosie and taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, wiped the little girl’s eyes and helped her blow her nose. ‘Stop crying,’ she said gently, ‘it’s all right. Now, tell me your names.’

  ‘I’m Rita, and this is my sister Rosie, and she’s only five. I have to look after her.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ agreed Frances, ‘but you don’t have to bite people. I think you should say sorry to Sheila.’

  ‘No,’ Rita said fiercely. ‘She should say sorry to Rosie.’

  For a moment Frances looked from one to the other and then shrugged. ‘I’ve come for the mending,’ she said. ‘Have you finished? I’ve got to take it up to Matron.’

  ‘Nearly,’ came a murmur from the sewing group and the girls returned to their mending.

  ‘Now then, you two,’ Frances said, turning back to Rita and Rosie, ‘let’s have a look at the rota board to see what you should be doing.’ She led them across to the board and looked at the chart.

  ‘Here’s your name, Rita,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow you are on cleaning Purple Dorm in the morning, and helping in the garden when you get home from school. After breakfast you’re on kitchen duty, so go to the kitchen and you’ll be told what to do. Now, let’s find you, Rosie. You have to help clean your dorm, too, and then after breakfast you’ll be helping to feed the chickens and collect the eggs.’ She smiled down at the little girl. ‘You’ll like that, won’t you?’

  Rosie looked back at her, round-eyed. ‘I don’t know where the chickens are,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Frances, ‘someone will show you.’

  ‘Not her.’ Rosie looked back fearfully at Sheila who was now sitting, head bent over her darning. ‘I don’t like her.’

  A bell sounded and at once everyone stood and lined up in pairs at the door.

  ‘Stand in the line with the others,’ Frances said to Rita as she collected up the finished mending. ‘When you get to the dining room you’ll be told where to sit.’ She walked to the door pausing beside the still crimson-faced Sheila. ‘Go easy on them, Sheila, they’re only kids.’

  Frances hurried off to give Matron the mended clothes. She knew it would be tough for the Stevens girls from now on, Rita in particular, for she had made an enemy of Sheila, but they would have to get used to Laurel House, as everyone else had.

  Another bell rang, and the line of girls led down the passage into the dining room. Each of three long wooden tables was laid with ten places. Across the top of the room was a smaller table with six chairs, and in a corner on either side of this were two separate chairs with no table in front of them. As the line of girls filed in, each went to her allotted place. Rita and Rosie hesitated by the door, not knowing where to sit. Sheila went over to them. As she approached, Rosie shrank away from her, but Rita, her heart thudding, held her ground.

  ‘You,’ Sheila pointed at Rosie. ‘You sit at the babies’ table.’ She jerked her thumb towards the table by the door where some much younger girls were standing behind their chairs. Rosie looked across at them and gripped Rita’s hand more tightly, not moving. ‘And you,’ Sheila glared at Rita, ‘you sit over there, at the junior table.’ Having given her instructions she turned away, unconcerned whether the two new girls followed them.

  Rita took Rosie over to the babies’ table and whispered, ‘You got to sit here, Rosie. I’ll come and find you after.’

  Rosie’s eyes immediately filled with tears. ‘But I want to sit with you!’ she wailed. At the sound of her cries everyone turned to look at her.

  ‘Shh, Rosie!’ hissed Rita, turning scarlet as she felt the eyes staring at them. ‘You can’t. I got to sit over there. Stay here.’

  She pulled her hand free and went across to the next table where some girls
she’d not seen before were waiting in silence behind their chairs. She took her place behind an empty one from where she could still see Rosie.

  ‘Not there,’ hissed the girl opposite. ‘That’s Beryl’s chair. Come round here next to me.’

  Rita moved to her new place, listening to Rosie’s continuing wails.

  ‘What is that disgraceful noise?’

  Rita looked over her shoulder and saw that Mrs Hawkins had come into the room. The superintendent strode over to Rosie and with one swift movement, slapped her cheek. The wailing stopped abruptly as Rosie was startled into silence.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Mrs Hawkins. ‘Now, no more of your nonsense.’ And ignoring the subsequent whimpering, she walked to her place at the top table.

  The dining room was full now. Rita saw that there was a senior girl standing at each of the tables. It was with relief that she saw Frances take her place at Rosie’s table. Frances had been kind to them before, surely she would be kind to Rosie now.

  The other senior girls sat at the small, top table from where Mrs Hawkins presided. There was one space at Rita’s table, and another at the table where Sheila and her friends were sitting. Rita was wondering who was missing when two girls were brought in and were led to the chairs standing in the corner. Rita, looking over at them, realized they must be punishment chairs.

  Mrs Hawkins intoned grace, then, with a scraping of chairs, everyone sat down. A creaking sound heralded the arrival of a fat woman in white overalls pushing a trolley. On it were four large dishes, steam pouring from under their lids. Beryl pointed to the girl sitting next to Rita. ‘Daisy,’ she said.

  Daisy got up and went to the trolley and collected one of the dishes. She set it down in front of Beryl and then returned to her place. Beryl picked up a spoon and began dishing food onto the plates piled in front of her and when every girl had her plate, at a signal from Beryl, they all began to eat. All except Rita. She looked at the pale yellow mess on her plate and wondered what it was. The other girls scraped away with their forks, scooping the food into their mouths quickly, as if it might disappear. No one spoke; the only sound in the room was the chink of cutlery on china as everyone ate their cauliflower cheese.