Compared with the other three boys, I had seven years of freedom before coming to the Home – seven years of contact with the outside world. Sister had brought up boys for many years, and what they did, how they acted, and in many other ways there had been little change.

One minor thing seemed to bring us into conflict. I was always on the move; when I was out at play whatever I was up to, was always at a rush. Until I arrived at the Home, to help my agility if the weather was reasonably fine, I tended to wear a pair of baseball boots. The advantage over the slip-on type of plimsoll was that they did not fall off, and when compared with the lace up plimsolls, baseball laces were long and strong; broken laces on plimsolls and their unmanageable knots were always an annoyance to me. Originally, when I had arrived at the Home, I did not have my baseball boots with me; given the lack of space several of my preferred items of clothing had been left out of my case. Until my first visit back to London I had managed without them, however Sister did not normally let you use school plimsolls in the grounds unless it was completely dry; in my mind there was a need to bring them to the Home at the first chance I had. On returning from my first visit, I had thought there would be nothing wrong in baseball boots; they were nothing out of the ordinary, simply the standard type that many of my friends and myself had worn for both play and school use. They were only slightly more expensive than a decent pair of plimsolls – certainly only a fraction of the cost of a pair of shoes.

For some reason Sister took a dislike to the boots I had brought back with me. They were neither new nor tatty in any way; possibly, if I had them the other three would soon demand them too. If it was a case of money, then there might be a saving if shoes were not worn out so quickly. All I could seem to find out was that she was cross that I had introduced something new to her flat that she had not chosen herself.

It was never a case of actually being forbidden from wearing them in the grounds, but a rule now seemed to be invented. Before I went outside in them, I had to come to her and ask permission to wear them. This was one of many rules that were invented without any real explanation why they were there. To me it was a waste of time having to find her each time I wanted to go outside to play. On most days in the grounds, I wore wellingtons simply to avoid having to find Sister; it also saved me from having to polish my play shoes. The baseball boots were returned to London on the next visit and were left there. There never was the request from the other three for such items; their choice on most days was football boots.

When Sister ever wanted us to behave, she would tell us how the Home was run when she first arrived. We were told that in those days there was the Girls’ side and the Boys’ side: the two groups did not really mix. The boys had the larger woods to play in and the girls had the smaller woods at the back of their flats; each group did not go into each other’s areas unless they wanted to risk serious punishment. Even today, the woods were still called by their original names. When Sister started, she took on a group of boys; it was only in recent years that our flat became a mixed group. We were told that the large hall that we now used for recreation was where the school was. With everyone leaving at fourteen this school was for ages 5–14; the small nursery school was originally the laundry building.

Any boy that was up to mischief was severely dealt with, either in her flat or would be sent over to the Governor. Most preferred to take what was offered in her flat as punishment rather than risk being sent over for an alternative decision. When Sister first started, it appeared that many minor matters that if committed today would get us a few extra chores, would have originally been punished with either the slipper or a small cane. Once you reached the age of eight the cane was the more regular form of punishment, which she gave to the boys in her flat.

We asked Sister if she could tell us what she would have caned us for, if we had been in the Home when she originally started. A list was soon forthcoming: everything from missing clothes, lying, stealing, taking extra food and even if you wet the bed the staff were instructed to use the cane. There was a comment made, it was that perhaps a few of the old rules might be brought back for us. If this slightly frightened me, it was that I would now be caned if I wet the bed.  

TREATS OUTSIDE THE HOME

Going to Christmas and other parties should have been happy events. It was true that they could be fun, but travelling there and back was always the worst part. Often it was a couple of hours’ journey by coach and to help prevent travel sickness, I made sure that I did not eat anything before the journey. Often we set off early in the afternoon; other than breakfast, if I had eaten lunch I made sure it was only the minimum I could get away with.

On the coach to make it fair, if you had a window seat to the event, the rule was that you would swap with your partner for the return trip. I normally tried to get a seat as near to the front as possible; most of my friends would head to the rear of the coach. There was always the instruction that if any of us felt sick or needed the lavatory, we should come and see the staff at the front of the coach. For anyone that ever had problems, going to the front did little good; we would usually be on roads where it was impossible to stop or almost at the location, and we would be told there was not long to wait. Part way into the journey I would start to feel a little unwell. It was never the case that I felt I was going to be instantly sick. It was made worse if one of the others came to the front announcing they felt ill. With little chance of the coach stopping they would stand perched at the front, slightly swaying in the aisle. This was normally enough to make them sick. If they could only have been sick in the rear seats, the stench and sight would not be affecting any of us that were already suffering from weak stomachs.

The other event would be someone announcing they needed to go for a pee. Again, the coach would not be stopped; they would stand there hopping from one leg to another ready for the coach to eventually stop so they could be the first off. On almost every journey, there was someone unable to wait any longer. The result was a puddle on the floor or on a seat; this would make everyone around also think they desperately needed to go.             

I was in trouble after a party soon after my arrival at the Home. On the return trip, I had sat in a damp seat after someone had an accident on the way to the party. When Sister saw the state of my trousers on my return to the flat, I was blamed for this act; there was no point in arguing the matter, having already found out that arguing with Sister resulted in the slipper. I accepted the punishment of having to wear waterproof pants under my trousers for the next few months on all coach outings, and on a few visits outside the grounds with Sister. At the age of eight, I was rather embarrassed at the demands by Sister. In an odd way I was quite happy, as there was not any fear of an accident occurring, which would have brought teasing from the others, and a possible punishment for causing embarrassment in front of Sister and the rest of the family. 

With the chance of Sister deciding to take me out at weekends, so as to avoid the embarrassment of being told to go and put them on whilst the others were around, I found it easier to put them on first thing in the morning and keep them on until it was time to go to bed.

  Nosebleeds at the Home whilst not actually getting me into trouble could cause a few problems. If I was out at play, I normally found somewhere quiet to sit down, and then would wait until they finished. As I often had two handkerchiefs with me, it was possible to control where the blood actually went. With plenty of experience over past nosebleeds, I knew that it was best to get the handkerchiefs washed out and to get them into salty water to stop the blood staining them. To Sister I was a little bit of a nuisance in having to have such matters dealt with.

If a nosebleed occurred in the flat, I would normally be sent out of the dayroom or the kitchen to sit on the hard chair in the hall, as this was a quiet spot. A nosebleed could easily be over in ten minutes or so, and once any mess was cleaned up, I was free to go back to whatever I was doing before the nosebleed happened. A nosebleed during a meal presented a couple of extra problems. Most of those sat at the table preferred me to leave their presence as soon as possible. With a major nosebleed I could quite accept such a feeling; a minor nosebleed and there was a little reluctance on my part to leave the table. I might be lucky and the remains of the meal could be saved on one side for my return, but on many occasions the best parts of any meal were not available for my later return. Had any adult thought I was having nosebleeds to get attention, missing the best parts of my meals was not something that I would voluntarily do.

Nosebleeds during the night did cause problems. Although I did not normally sleep through a major nosebleed I was reluctant to get out of bed. Often having a handkerchief did solve some of the bloodstains; however normally both my pillow and sheets were often badly stained. I could normally work out how bad a nosebleed was by how fast the drops of blood came out. I found it more comfortable to lie on my side. Trying to block my nose or the like did little good; it might delay the nosebleed for a time but it never actually stopped it. If I had a major nosebleed, I would get out of bed and sit in the hall. If it was late at night or shortly before it was time to get up I would often find some attention from Sister. If she was not around, I was quite happy to sit for half an hour, when normally it would finish completely.

The morning after such a large nosebleed normally did bring a telling off. There might be some spots of blood in the hall; I would have tried to wipe up as much as I could, but with only a dim light and not wanting to bend over, there was always the evidence. My bed was normally the more revolting sight; although it did not frighten the other three, the blood-soaked pillow and sheets first thing in the morning might have been something to wonder at.

A bath first thing on getting up, followed by the encouragement to wash out my pillow case and sheets in the bath once my bath was over, was the only punishment. There was not any scolding over the state of my bed; there was little point in suggesting that I should have knocked on her door during the night. If I was having a nosebleed there was no way it could be quickly stopped. Often I was sent over to see the Nursing Sister, but by then the matter was over and little more could be done.

Having a rubber sheet on my bed kept the mattress from being stained with blood. After a while, my pillow was given a similar treatment. Instead of an inner pillowcase the Sister made up one made out of an old rubber sheet, and when it came time to sorting out my blood-stained sheets and pillowcase, the pillow could easily be cleaned. Others might have been upset over nosebleeds, but having always suffered from them; I did not really take much notice.  

It was quite easy to displease Sister. As many of my journeys to and from school were on rainy days, a raincoat was always needed for the mile walk. My school raincoat was almost new; it had been given to me when I left the boarding school, so unless I suddenly grew by a large amount it would last at least a year or so.

What I was unhappy about on rainy days was putting something on my head. A school cap was almost useless if it rained; once sodden it would take ages to dry out. Sister thought my head should be covered; her solution was to provide me with a waterproof hat that could be tied with a cord under my chin. I have always hated anything under my chin. I did not actually refuse to wear it, but on coming home after school with my hair wet, it was obvious that I had not bothered to put it on. After a couple of complaints from Sister, it was clear to her that I was not going to wear it.

Punishments from Sister could be odd; I was now told that if I did not want to wear the hat, I would be dressed like a girl and have a hood on my coat. In the mind of Sister this would be the worst ever punishment a boy could be given. I did not object; as my play coat was already in the girl’s style with a hood, I had little problem when I was given an almost new navy raincoat with a hood attached. I was not really a sissy, but having to wear some items of girl’s clothes had never been a problem to me, and if they were similar to the design that a boy might wear, I never objected. That the coat buttoned up the wrong way did not matter; I had never learnt to do any coat up the boy’s way. If I ever wore a coat that buttoned up in either direction, I had always found it more natural to do it up in the girl’s fashion, as this was the way I been shown by my mother at an early age. The punishment Sister had given to me was something I was quite happy with, going to and from school, my head kept dry, other boys did not even tease me.

In a way, there were a couple of advantages. As Sister had provided me with girl’s wellingtons, if I wore this coat with the hood up, as I had fairly fine features as well as being tall and thin, it was very easy to mistake me for a girl unless you were very close. Adults would pay little attention to a girl as they were seldom up to any mischief. My original school raincoat was now reserved for Sunday or best use. I had never liked the metal chain that was used to hang the coat up as it could rub on the back of my neck.

I annoyed Sister again over my clothes when it was time for a couple of us to have a new pair of wellingtons. Several of our garments came directly from the main administration building. On occasions, we were taken into the town, if there was nothing of the correct size in the stock at the Home. Sister probably still had a memory of my first objection to the boots I had been provided with on my arrival; if I was thought to be of good behaviour now, it was the treat of me actually getting some choice in what was provided, rather than the standard system of if it was the correct size it was yours. Most of my friends would have chosen the heaviest rugged looking boots available. It might be that at the age of eight or nine they wanted to show they were grown up. That it was impossible to run in the heavy short boots and that walking for any great distance was tiring made little difference to them. With two of us needing to be sorted out, I allowed the older girl to be seen to first; I could bet there would have been a telling off if I had put myself first. When my time came, I requested the same item; even the shop assistant suggested that there were some more rugged styles for boys. I was not put off. My new boots were of a similar design to the girl, but did not have such a pointed toe. That they were knee length and very shiny was to me all that mattered.

One treat was to be allowed to keep the box that the boots came in, although no time was wasted changing back into my shoes; I was allowed to put my shoes in the box to take them back to the Home. I did not mind that the box clearly stated ‘Girls’ and had an illustration of a girl in a raincoat and boots on the outside of the box; that could soon be covered up when I constructed something with the box once we were indoors. There was a comment from Sister on the way back, as to why did I have to be different from all the others; it was something for which a reply was not really required. I stayed silent, simply happy that I had been given a choice and had a good solid box to play with.  

It was easy to be told off for minor matters even if they were not your fault. The cat that lived in the flat took to spending most of its time in our bedroom during the day. As there was little reason for us to be in our bedrooms during the day, it was actually the quietest place in the house. My bed was the usual resting place for the cat. When the cat vacated my bed, there would be an impression on the counterpane of where he had been resting. Sister occasionally inspected our rooms at odd points during the day, and would then find fault with the appearance of my bed. Rather than correcting the slight problem, I would often be called to put the matter right.

The cat seemed to have a quite peaceful life. If there was too much noise there was always the outside if it was necessary to get away from us. Another favourite place to sleep was in the vegetable rack on the floor in the kitchen; even if there were a few potatoes already there, a comfortable position could be made. During one meal, the cat suffered an urgent case of the runs. As the cat headed outside, Sister made the comment that if he did it again, she would be taking him to the vet’s to be put down. This was not really the best conversation topic for mealtimes. Most were quite upset that Sister should have such thoughts on how to treat the cat, but something we could see was not an idle threat.

  WINTER

In the winter our rooms were quite cold; although there were a couple of radiators, the size of the room made it difficult to keep warm. Hot water bottles were available for anyone who wanted them. Just before we went to bed there was the ritual of getting Sister to fill them up, and it was up to you to make sure they were securely fastened.

Most of the bottles had a top that folded over the end. Once secured, they remained sealed until the following morning; the older ones grabbed these first. A few of the bottles were in the traditional style with screw stoppers and no matter how hard you tried to do them up they often leaked slightly. The bottles were in good condition, but the small washers on the stoppers were almost perished.

Part way through the night they would leak. Early in the morning you would wake up slightly damp; kicking or throwing the bottle out of the bed was the only solution. When it was time to get up, Sister often understood that a damp area in your bed was not something to really become cross about; if it was only slight, there was no need to change your sheet, and leaving your bed to air during the day, it was soon dry.

Sister told us that if we did not press on the hot water bottles they would never have leaked, so little was done about any replacements, and if we had damp beds it was our own fault. I preferred to have a damp bed rather than to challenge one of the older boys for a water bottle that would not leak. On the nights I wet my bed, it was not worth mentioning that the hot water bottle leaked. To end the problem of getting a leaking hot water bottle, I brought my own from London. It was much older and made out of metal; when filled it was boiling, but wrapped in an old pillowcase it was fine.

Contuned

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