The Forgotten Child: A little boy abandoned at birth. His fight for survival. A powerful true story.. R. Gallear

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      As we went down the drive, I turned around to look through the back windows and saw Field House for the last time, receding and getting smaller as we went. Desperate to keep it in view, the tears running down my face, I craned my neck to see the building, my dormitory, the lawn, my friends and everyone I loved all disappearing for ever. Through the gates we went, round the bend and off down the drive towards the lane that led to the outside world. I was miserable – I had left behind everything I knew and loved and had no idea where they were taking me.

      It was a very warm day and soon it became uncomfortably hot and airless in the back of the van. I struggled to keep my balance as we moved along the twisting country lanes. Before we had even reached the main road, my tummy started to feel like collywobbles inside and I began to feel ill – I think it must have been the upset and uncertainty.

      Suddenly I was sick. I vomited all down the front of my clothes and my legs, onto the cushion, the carpet – everywhere. I started to cry in earnest now, as Arnold rammed on the brakes and Pearl turned around with a sympathetic glance.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I said as Arnold pulled into the side of the road, muttering loudly. ‘Sorry,’ I repeated, ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’

      But that was only the start of my troubles. As Pearl whispered soothing words, Arnold yelled, ‘You stupid child!’

      He flung his door open and stomped round to the back of the van. As bad-tempered as he might be, I still thought he was going to clean me up and sort things out.

      But I was wrong.

      He yanked the doors open and with an angry face and staring eyes, dragged me out, down onto the ground. Then, right there on the gravel at the side of the road, he laid into me, fists flailing, blow after blow, shouting at me all the while.

      ‘How dare you make a mess like that, pouring out your filthy insides all over my van! You little brat!’ he shouted. ‘Haven’t they taught you how to behave?’

      ‘I didn’t m-m-mean it,’ I stammered. But he hit me all the harder.

      I could understand why he was cross. I knew I shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t stop myself. Again and again he hit me, as I instinctively curled myself into a ball.

      ‘Sorry,’ I whimpered, again and again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

      There I was, a little boy, not yet five, and he was a big strong man, raining punches on me. He was out of control. I didn’t understand most of the words he said, but I heard Pearl’s protests. The tears were pouring down my face and I could tell from her voice that she was crying too.

      ‘Stop it, Arnold! Stop hitting him!’ she pleaded. ‘That’s enough. Please stop, you’re hurting the poor child. He’s only little, and he couldn’t help it – he was car sick.’

      I was crying, she was crying, and still he hit me a few more times until he’d finally sated his rage. He stood back and Pearl leant down and gently helped me up, dabbing at my tears and washing the worst of the sick off me with some water and a hankie.

      ‘There, there,’ she tried to soothe me. ‘You must be hurting. We’ll sort you out properly and put some cream on your bruises when we get home.’

      ‘Stop feeding the brat that drivel,’ ordered Arnold, ‘we’ve got a long journey to do!’ He tore me away from her, frog-marched me round to the back of the van and this time he more or less threw me in and slammed the doors shut.

      I was in shock, whimpering as quietly as I could, unable to believe or understand what had happened to me. No adult had ever hurt me in any way before, let alone hit me. I had never known fear of anyone. At Field House, I had always been treated with love and care by the wonderful staff, even when I was naughty. Already I missed them so much – I wanted to ask Pearl and Arnold to take me back there, but I didn’t dare.

      Was this how my life would be from now on? Were all mums and dads like this? As we set off again, I nursed my bruised and battered body, but I couldn’t stop crying, even when he shouted at me to shut up. He clearly didn’t want me, yet they had chosen me.

      The journey from Field House to the Gallears’ home in Birmingham was probably only about an hour and a half, but it seemed like for ever to me, in my misery and sickness, which didn’t stop. I was very nearly sick again, but somehow managed to prevent it, fearful of another beating. Worse still, I was trembling with the shock, the pain and humiliation. I did not understand: how could the lovely matron and housemothers let me go away with this evil man? Why did nobody protect me? I was sure they would have stopped him if they’d realised what he was like. If only I could tell them, I knew they would come and rescue me – but how could I let them know?

      From the back of the van, I couldn’t see much of the changing landscape, from rural to urban as we went through the city, though I glimpsed enough to know this was like nothing I’d ever seen before – an alien landscape. The one thing I did notice, as we drove along, towering over everything else, were the huge black windowless buildings in the mid-distance, which I later found out were gas tanks. Finally, we seemed to leave the city behind and travelled down side roads lined with little brick boxes with windows, some of them joined together in rows.

      ‘Here we are,’ announced Pearl as the van slowed down, turned and came to a halt in what seemed to be a dead end (in fact, it was a driveway). ‘Welcome to your new home.’

      From the back of the van, all I could see was a brick wall, so I didn’t reply. But I was highly relieved that the van had stopped and I hoped I wouldn’t feel sick any more. Arnold came round and threw open the back doors. Fresh air at last! But he stood there with a threatening scowl. Highly aware of the awful stench of vomit that covered me and the floor of the van, I desperately wanted to get away from it, to be outside, but I was reluctant to get out with that man standing by the open doors like a predator waiting to clutch his prey.

      ‘Hurry up and get out,’ he barked, ‘and bring your stinking things!’

      I had no choice, so I jumped down in front of him into the afternoon sunshine. It felt as if my stomach leapt after me – I was so afraid. I remember that once I had steadied myself, I was glad of the breeze to waft away some of the smell. Arnold towered over me in a menacing way, the sun glinting sharp rays off his glasses. Pearl was unlocking the front door of a tiny house – well, it seemed tiny to me, attached to another house just the same.

      Having spent all my life so far in Field House, with its huge rooms and wide windows, surrounded by acres of its own land, this was a strange sight.

      ‘Get inside!’ ordered Arnold. ‘You smell disgusting, get those stinking clothes off!’ he sneered.

      I was surprised to see that Pearl looked almost as frightened of him as I was.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ll take him in and sort him out.’

      Arnold went off and she came to help me out.

      ‘You poor boy,’ she said in her soothing voice. ‘You must feel awful in those smelly clothes, we’ll soon clean you up and sort you out.’ She picked up my case and took me by the hand. ‘This is our house,’ she added. ‘It’s your house too now.’

      I suppose I should have said something nice, instead I looked down at the ground and all I could see was concrete. I didn’t know that word, СКАЧАТЬ