The Throwaway Children

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Eat your tea, Rita,’ Beryl said, her voice sounding very loud in the surrounding silence.

  Rita looked again at the food in front of her. Pieces of cauliflower floated in a pale yellow juice, with occasional lumps of… something. She picked up her knife and fork and cautiously speared a piece of cauli. She put the piece into her mouth and almost gagged. It was warm and soggy, and the sauce tasted of soap. She spat it out again, and heard the intake of breath as the other girls at the table watched to see what would happen.

  ‘Eat your food properly,’ said Beryl.

  ‘You’ve got to eat it,’ murmured Daisy, ‘or you’ll get it again at breakfast.’

  ‘No talking, Daisy,’ snapped Beryl, and Daisy lowered her eyes to the table, but she dug a finger into Rita’s leg to emphasize her point. Rita looked at her plate. If she refused to eat it now, would it really be back for breakfast? She took another forkful forcing herself to swallow it. There was a glass of water beside each place. Rita reached for hers, and by taking a mouthful of water with each mouthful of food, she managed to get it down without being sick. At last it was done. Daisy had collected a plate of bread and marge from the trolley and had put it on the table. Everyone had helped herself, and by the time Rita had finished her cauliflower cheese, there was none left.

  ‘If you had eaten up properly in the first place,’ Beryl told her, ‘you’d have had your bread and marge, but as you didn’t, someone else has had it. You’ll know another time.’

  When the meal was over, Mrs Hawkins got to her feet and so did everyone else.

  ‘Purples on washing up,’ she announced, and then stalked out of the room, leaving the girls to file out after her.

  ‘That’s us,’ Daisy said. ‘We’re Purples. Come on. I’ll show you.’ She led Rita out of the room, and with four others went along a passage to the kitchen. The kitchen maid followed, pushing the loaded trolley, and they were all met by the fat woman in the white overalls.

  ‘Right, you lot,’ she said as they came in, ‘get started. You.’ The cook pointed at Rita. ‘You’re new! Who’re you?’

  ‘Rita Stevens.’

  ‘Well, Rita Stevens, I’m Mrs Smith. You do as you’re told and we’ll get on all right. Isn’t that right, Daisy?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Smith,’ replied Daisy obediently.

  ‘Right. Well, get on with you.’

  Daisy went over to the deep sink and turned on the taps. ‘You bring them plates over,’ she said to Rita. ‘You and I can wash, Dora and Mary can dry and Joan can put away. I’ll do the plates, you do the knives and forks.’

  It took them half an hour to finish the washing up, then they had to wipe down the surfaces in the kitchen and hang the tea towels on the airer over the range before Mrs Smith, having inspected the now tidy kitchen, said, ‘Right, off you go!’

  ‘Come on,’ said Daisy, and scurried off down the passage. ‘We got quarter of an hour before prayers.’

  ‘Prayers?’

  ‘Bedtime prayers, in the playroom. We all got to be there.’

  Rita hurried after her, anxious not to lose her new friend. ‘But I got to find Rosie,’ she panted. ‘I promised.’

  ‘She’ll be going to bed,’ Daisy said.

  ‘I better go and find her,’ Rita replied. ‘Will she be in her dorm?’

  ‘’Spect so, but you can’t go in there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Not allowed. No dorm visiting. They’ll be having dorm prayers in a minute. Babies have bedtime prayers in their dorm.’ She caught hold of Rita’s hand. ‘Come on, we can go in the playroom now.’ But Rita pulled free. She wanted to see Rosie, and check she was all right. She darted back and went upstairs. The door to Green Dorm stood open and she peeped in. Most of the girls were in their nighties. Rosie was sitting, fully dressed, on the stool at the bottom of her bed, tears streaming down her face. Her locker door was open and her satchel was lying on the floor. Knitty was nowhere to be seen.

  Rita marched into the room and said, ‘Who’s got my sister’s teddy?’

  The girls all stared at her, but no one answered.

  ‘Who’s got Knitty?’ she demanded again. Still no answer, so she turned to Rosie. ‘Who’s got him, Rosie?’

  Rosie pointed to a girl with red hair who was sitting on the edge of her bed. ‘Her,’ she whispered.

  Rita crossed the room and grabbed the girl by the wrist. ‘Have you got Rosie’s teddy?’

  The girl stuck her tongue out.

  ‘Susan, that’s the girl what bit Sheila!’ muttered the girl on the next bed.

  ‘An’ I’ll bite you an’ all if you don’t give him back right now!’ hissed Rita, pulling Susan’s arm towards her mouth. Susan gave a squeal and tried to jerk her arm free, but Rita was holding on too tightly. Lowering her mouth to the girl’s arm, Rita repeated, ‘Where’s Knitty?’

  ‘Under her pillow,’ called Rosie.

  With a firm grip on Susan’s arm, Rita reached under the pillow and retrieved Rosie’s beloved toy. She tossed him over to her. ‘You can all remember that I’m the one who bit Sheila, and if any of you touch my sister again, I’ll come back and bite you all over. OK?’

  Her words were greeted by silence. ‘OK?’ she repeated, lowering her mouth towards Susan’s arm again.

  ‘Yes!’ squeaked Susan. ‘OK!’

  Rita let her go and turned back to Rosie who was clutching Knitty to her, tears still streaming down her cheeks. ‘Stop crying, Rosie,’ she said. ‘Come on, you’d better get undressed. Put Knitty under your pillow for now.’ She took the teddy from Rosie and hid him quickly under the pillow. She was just in time, for at that moment the matron came into the room. She paused in the doorway, looking at Rita in surprise.

  ‘And just what do you think you’re doing in here, young lady?’ she demanded.

  ‘I just wanted to say goodnight to Rosie. She’s my sister and—’

  ‘Dormitory visiting is not allowed,’ said the matron, as if Rita hadn’t spoken. ‘Out you go, and no coming back.’ She fixed Rita with a steely eye. ‘You should be in the playroom by now for evening prayers, you’ll be in trouble if you’re late.’

  Outside Rita stood in the passage for a moment, long enough to hear Matron saying, ‘Come along now, Rose, you haven’t even undressed. Susan, I thought I told you to look after Rose and tell her what she has to do.’

  ‘Please, Matron, I did, but she…’ began Susan.

  Rita didn’t wait to hear any more; she daren’t risk Matron catching her again.

  10

  Rita was only just in time for evening prayers. When she walked into the crowded playroom Daisy waved at her, and Rita edged her way round to join her.

  ‘We all have to stand in dorms for prayers,’ Daisy said. ‘Did you find your sister?’

  ‘Yes, but Matron came in and turned me out.’

  ‘The Dragon,’ nodded Daisy. ‘Don’t want to get in her way!’

  The door opened and Mrs Hawkins stalked in. There was a shuffling of feet as all the girls stood up and waited for the evening roll call.

  When the superintendent had finished she said, ‘Step forward, Rita Stevens.’

  Rita could feel the colour flood her cheeks, but at a shove in the back from Daisy, she took one pace forward.

  ‘This is Rita Stevens,’ Mrs Hawkins said to the assembled girls. ‘She and her sister, Rose, have come to live here. It’s up to all of you to teach her how we behave here at Laurel House. Step back, Rita.’

  Rita stepped back, her face still flaming. One or two of the other girls smiled. Everyone knew who Rita Stevens was, the new girl who had bitten Sheila Nevin. She’d already made one enemy.

  ‘Two girls were late getting into croc after school today,’ Mrs Hawkins went on, ‘Joan Cameron and Pamela Wynn. We do not tolerate tardiness here. If anyone is late tomorrow it’ll be dormitory stools on Saturday for everyone.’ She paused and then added, ‘Is that understood?’

  There was an answering chorus of ‘Yes, Mrs Haw
kins.’

  ‘What’s dormitory stools?’ whispered Rita to Daisy, but Daisy stood hard on her foot and she fell silent.

  ‘Ready for prayers, please,’ said Mrs Hawkins, and all the girls put their hands together and closed their eyes. Rita did the same.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ intoned Mrs Hawkins, ‘teach these poor, weak girls a due sense of gratitude for all Your mercies to them; for their good fortune in being in this place where all their wants are supplied. Teach them to be duly grateful for the generosity they are shown in this house. Let them learn to be obedient to those set in authority over them, each to know her place. Teach them to work hard and keep them from the evils of idleness, laziness and the devil’s work that comes with these sins. Punish those who transgress, oh Lord, that they may learn humility and obedience. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ came the murmured response.

  Rita opened her eyes, but on finding Mrs Hawkins glaring at her hastily closed them again.

  ‘Oh Lord, bless our benefactress, Miss Emily Vanstone. Bless her for her kindness to these unfortunate girls, her generosity in taking them from the gutter and providing them with a home and all the comforts of life. Amen.’

  ‘Amen.’

  ‘Our Father…’

  They all joined in. Rita kept her eyes shut until she felt Daisy move beside her and heard a low buzz of conversation. When she dared open them again she found that Mrs Hawkins had left the room, and most of the girls had flopped down on the chairs and sagging sofas.

  ‘We have to go to bed now,’ Daisy said. ‘Juniors go up straight after evening prayers.’

  ‘What’s dormitory stools?’ asked Rita again.

  ‘If someone’s late for croc again, we’ll have to sit on our dormitory stools for three hours on Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘What’s croc?’ asked Rita anxiously.

  Daisy stared at her in amazement. ‘Don’t you know nothing? Croc’s how we walk to school. In twos. We line up in croc and then we all walk to school. Same when we come home. You’ll see tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Go to bed,’ said a harsh voice and Rita looked up to find Sheila standing over her. ‘Or I’ll report you to Matron.’

  ‘We’re just going, Sheila,’ Daisy said hastily. ‘Come on, Rita.’

  The other Purples had already left the room, and Daisy pulled Rita along the passage after them. At the bottom of the stairs they met Frances. Daisy pushed Rita back against the wall to let the senior girl pass, but Frances stopped.

  ‘Daisy,’ she said, ‘you’d better look after Rita. Make sure she’s in the right place at the right time, especially not late for croc.’

  ‘Yes, Frances.’

  ‘And you, Rita, listen to what Daisy tells you, she knows what’s what.’

  ‘Yes, Frances,’ answered Rita meekly.

  Frances nodded. ‘Bed, then,’ she said and walked off down the corridor.

  ‘She’s nice,’ Rita said as she watched Frances disappearing.

  ‘She’s all right,’ conceded Daisy. ‘Better than most of them, anyway. Come on.’

  In the dormitory Daisy showed Rita where to fill her bowl. ‘Hands, face and teeth at night,’ she explained. ‘Strip wash in the morning. Bath night once a week. You have to look at the list to see which is your night.’

  There was supposed to be silence in the dormitory, but the other five girls exchanged whispers as they got ready for bed. Rita watched, doing what they did, but all the time she was fighting a lump in her throat. Tears filled her eyes as she put on the nightie lying on her bed. She blinked fiercely, trying to hold them back. She wanted her own bed in Ship Street, she wanted Mum and Gran, but they didn’t even know where she was. A sob escaped her, and then another.

  Matron came in at that moment with a blue-checked cotton frock like the other girls all wore. ‘Here’s your dress for tomorrow, Rita,’ she said, as she placed it on her stool and gathered up the school dress Rita had been wearing. ‘You get clean knickers and socks on Saturday.’ She saw the tears on Rita’s cheeks and added, ‘And you can stop that snivelling. We don’t want cry-babies here.’

  The lights went out five minutes later, and the six girls in Purple Dorm settled down to sleep. There was an occasional whisper, but before long there was only the sound of regular breathing as one by one they drifted off to sleep. All except Rita. She lay in bed, her face buried in her pillow, trying to stifle her sobs, but homesickness washed over her, filling her with a misery so deep, she even wished she were back with Uncle Jimmy. Everything at Laurel House was so strange, Rita ached for the familiarity of her own home, her own bedroom, of Rosie curled up beside her.

  The thought of Rosie made her tears flow again. Poor little Rosie, alone in her new bed, too. Was she all right? Was she asleep, or was she lying awake as well?

  As the summer light fled the sky, the dormitory was lit with an eerie green light from the street lamp in the road outside. Cautiously Rita stood up on her bed and peered out through the bars. Below the window was the front garden, patterned with dark shadows. A shaft of light from a downstairs window lay across the path, but even as she watched, it disappeared as the light was switched off. For a long time Rita stared out of the window. Her tears were dry now, but she felt a deep and aching loneliness; an emptiness that was beyond tears.

  Laurel House was silent. Very quietly, Rita got off her bed and with her eyes accustomed to the pallid light, crossed to the door. She eased it open and crept along the passage to Green Dorm, its door standing ajar. For a moment she stood outside, listening to the quiet breathing of its inmates; the quiet breathing and the muffled sobs. Rita pushed the door open a little wider and slipped inside. It was darker in here, but she could see enough to creep over to Rosie’s bed. The little girl was curled up into a ball, crying in her sleep. Rita twitched back the blanket and lay down beside her, putting her arm round her and snuggling into shape behind her. Rosie stirred and opened her eyes, muttering.

  ‘It’s all right, Rosie,’ whispered Rita. ‘It’s me, Reet!’ She felt her sister relax against her, and it was only moments before they both fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.

  The clanging of a loud bell shook them awake, and for a moment neither of them knew where they were. Then the events of the previous day crowded back to them, and Rita was filled with rising despair. She was just crawling out of Rosie’s bed when the door was flung open and Frances came in. She was wearing a dressing gown, and her hair stood in a halo round her head.

  ‘Come on, kids,’ she began and then broke off, staring at Rita. ‘What d’you think you’re doing in here?’ she demanded. ‘Get back to your own dorm, and be grateful it was me found you, not Matron. Go on, scoot!’

  Rita scooted.

  ‘Where were you?’ hissed Daisy, when she saw her.

  ‘Went to the toilet,’ lied Rita.

  ‘Well, hurry up and strip your bed,’ said Daisy, who’d folded her bedclothes into a neat pile on her stool. ‘Come on,’ she said, placing her clothes on the bare mattress. ‘You’ve got to fill your bowl and get washed.’ She grabbed her own bowl and scurried out of the room, returning moments later with her bowl full of water. She stared at Rita.

  ‘Come on, Rita,’ she implored. ‘Strip your bed. Look.’ She put her bowl down and showed Rita what to do. ‘Hurry up,’ she scolded as Rita struggled to fold the sheets and blanket. ‘Matron’ll be here in ten minutes, and we have to be dressed, with our beds made and ready for inspection.’

  She turned back to her own preparations, leaving Rita to fill her own bowl. By the time she was dressed, all the other girls in the room had remade their beds, and were waiting for Matron to carry out her inspection. They could hear her voice, loud with disapproval in another dorm, and Daisy grabbed Rita’s bedclothes and swiftly remade the bed.

  ‘Hospital corners,’ she muttered as Rita tried to tuck them in. ‘Like this!’

  ‘You’re very slow this morning, Purples!’ Matron said as she walked in and found Rita struggling with her blanke
t. She looked at her and sniffed. ‘Well, as it’s your first morning, I won’t be putting you on report,’ she said. ‘But you’ll have to learn to be quicker.’

  She looked round the room where the other girls were all standing by their beds, waiting for her approval. Glancing at a notice on the back of the door she said, ‘You’re on dormitory work this morning, Joan. You and Rita. Show her what to do. The rest of you, get off to your chores.’

  They got to the playroom just in time for morning prayers and listened, hands together, eyes closed, as Mrs Hawkins droned out exactly the same prayers as the night before, only adding, ‘Teach these girls to make the most of this day You have given them, to waste not a minute of Your precious time in idleness, but fill each moment with work and praise.’

  Breakfast was porridge and bread and marge. Rita smiled across reassuringly at Rosie, sitting at the babies’ table, but Rosie simply stared down at the plate of cold porridge she’d pushed away. It was still Frances taking her table, and Rita saw her encouraging Rosie to eat. The next time she looked, the plate of porridge was in front of red-headed Susan, and Rosie was left with one piece of dry bread.

  When the meal was over Rita found that it was still the Purples’ turn to wash up, and she followed the rest of her dorm to the kitchen to do so. There were other girls in the kitchen at the same time.

  ‘It’s Orange on veggies today,’ Daisy said as they washed the porridge bowls. ‘It’ll be us tomorrow.’

  There was no time to spare once the clearing up was done.

  ‘Croc in the garden, in five minutes,’ came the call, and Rita followed Daisy to collect her satchel from her locker, ready for school. In a moment when there was no one near her, Rita unbuckled the flap and slipped her hand inside. There, tucked into the pages of her sum book, was her picture of Daddy. Quickly she slipped him inside her pillowcase before she hurried out to join the croc forming up in the garden.

  The crocodile moved off, through the gate into the street beyond. Rita’s partner, Angela, looked at her and said, ‘Did you really bite Sheila?’