Little Drifters: Part 3 of 4. Kathleen O’Shea

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СКАЧАТЬ at bay. I stared straight ahead, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. My palms throbbed. There was nothing I could do. All these children would be going home to their parents at night. I was going back to the nuns and Rosie. For the rest of the afternoon I struggled to hold my pencil as my hands were so swollen.

      As it was, I wouldn’t have known what to write anyway. The fact was, at 10 years old I still couldn’t read. I’d missed so much school through years of being shunted about that all the other children were miles ahead of me. I just kept my head down and tried not to attract the teacher’s attention. I was too afraid to ask for help, too ashamed to admit my problems. When the bell rang at 3 p.m. I dashed out of class to meet Tara at the school gate so we could walk home together.

      ‘How was it?’ she asked as we strolled back along the road we’d come from that morning. Grateful for the chance to just relax and be ourselves again, we filled each other in on our day.

      ‘The nun beat me,’ I told her and showed her my sore hands.

      ‘What for?’

      ‘I don’t know!’

      ‘Ah, they’re a right load of shites around here,’ Tara said warmly, putting an arm around my shoulder. ‘Next time she picks on you just kick her in the shins!’

      I smiled then. It was a relief to have a normal conversation where our every word wasn’t being scrutinised. We chatted all the way back about our daddy and the other kids in the house.

      By the time we breezed back into Watersbridge Sister Helen was waiting for us in the hallway, scowling like she was sucking on a lemon.

      ‘Oh Christ,’ Tara whispered under her breath. ‘What now?’

      ‘What time do you call this?’ Sister Helen addressed us shrilly.

      ‘We don’t know, Sister,’ Tara replied. ‘We don’t have any watches.’

      ‘Mind your cheek, madam!’ Sister Helen fixed her with a steely stare. ‘It is now 4 p.m. – you are late!’

      ‘How can we be late?’ I objected. ‘We left as soon as school finished and walked all the way back. We didn’t talk to anybody or stop for nothing.’

      ‘Yeah,’ Tara backed me up. ‘How can we be late?’

      ‘You are late because you walked!’ Sister Helen explained, as if to a five-year-old. ‘You have fifteen minutes to get home every day. If you don’t get back in fifteen minutes by walking then you run. You understand? You run!’

      ‘Yes, Sister,’ we chorused back. It had only been a few days and we were already sick of this place, sick of all the stupid rules, sick of Sister Helen, the staff, their casual insults and boundless cruelty.

      From that very first day we realised the nuns didn’t allow you any time to actually get to and from school. It was just about possible to get up in the morning, say our prayers, dress, wolf down breakfast and clear away before we had to run to school to get there on time.

      If we were late of a morning we’d get a beating from the nuns there. At lunchtime we had to go back to Watersbridge, which meant running two miles again to the house and another two miles back to school afterwards. At the end of the school day we had to run once more to get back in time. The whole day you could stand in one place and just see a bunch of children running backwards and forwards through the town to avoid punishments. It must have looked funny from the outside, all these children zipping about, but it was exhausting for us. And it meant the food we ate barely touched our stomachs – we were constantly hungry for running all the time!

      Once back at Watersbridge we would take off our uniforms, lay them on the end of the bed, ready for the next day, and then put on our play clothes. All the children would then do their homework at the big kitchen table. Once finished we’d be sent into the garden to play until they called tea-time, which was often just some bread with cheese and hot tea. Then we’d be allowed to watch a bit of TV in the living room before bed. I loved this – I’d never watched TV much before so even the boring holy programmes the nuns made us watch were fascinating to me at first. And if we were really lucky we got to see cartoons. Then it was prayers and bedtime.

      A week after we arrived in Watersbridge Lucy and Libby were brought back from the hospital. They looked so much better and we were thrilled to be reunited again. They even put us in the same room at first.

      That night, Libby called out to me after lights out: ‘Kathleen! Kathleen! Can I come in your bed, please?’

      ‘No, Libby. They don’t like that. If we get caught we’ll be in trouble.’

      ‘Please, Kathleen,’ she begged. I could just about make out her silhouette in the darkness, curled up in a ball under the cover, shaking like a leaf. Poor thing! She was only six. Lucy lay on a bed on the other side, sleeping soundly. I reached out to Libby and she jumped into my arms.

      ‘Come on now,’ I soothed, giving her a big hug. There was nothing of her – she was skinny as anything and still shaking.

      ‘Stay for now,’ I said. ‘But in the morning you’ll have to go back to your own bed.’

      So I wrapped her up like that and she quickly fell asleep. I worried that night I wouldn’t wake up in time to get her out of my bed but luckily I woke with the sun that morning and managed to lead her back to her own bed before Sister Helen came round.

      Poor Libby, she was so quiet, so intimidated by everything and everyone. The moment she heard a nun she’d jump and just scurry out of the room, making herself small enough so that nobody would notice her.

      Each morning they called us at 7 a.m. for those who wanted to go to mass. For everyone else we could get up just before breakfast at 8 a.m.

      ‘Why would you want to go to mass anyways?’ I asked Gina one morning.

      ‘They treat you better if you go to mass,’ she whispered. ‘It makes them think you want to be a good person.’

      ‘But it’s too much praying!’ I said. ‘I’ve been praying non-stop since I got here anyway.’

      Nevertheless, I did try it a few times. Anything for a break from the constant beatings. It seemed that no matter what I did, it was never right. Sister Helen and the staff seemed permanently angry with all of us and it was a sheer miracle if I could get through a day without being walloped. I took myself off to mass in the mornings and nearly fell asleep again during all the Latin prayers. I was bored to holy tears! But it worked for a short while. Sister Helen remarked she was glad to see I was turning to the Lord for guidance, and for a few days I didn’t get a beating. It didn’t last. One morning I was late for mass and nearly fell in the convent door in my haste.

      ‘Oh feck!’ I exclaimed. Sister Helen was so appalled she picked me up by the scruff of my neck and marched me all the way back down the road to our house, beating me all the way.

      It was one thing getting beaten myself. But watching my siblings suffer was something I never got used to. And at first, neither Tara or myself could accept it. Although Lucy and Libby had returned to Watersbridge, they were still being treated for their coughs and had to take a medicine every evening before bed.

      The little ones were sent to bed earlier than us but when Tara and I came upstairs one night we saw one of the younger members of staff called Elaine trying to СКАЧАТЬ