Amelia's story Read online

  One of the policemen was really nice; he sympathized with us and seemed to understand why we had runaway. He gave us a few pearls of wisdom and said, “You don’t have too long left in care now, so why don’t you just try and keep your heads down and get through it?”

  We all looked at him and said nothing. Only someone who was not subjected to our life in care could suggest such a thing. Times just got too hard to bear, we were children, and we felt like we had no one or nothing.

  My Social Worker arrived first, and then the other two arrived shortly afterward. It was decided that my Social Worker would drive us all back to Wales. After a briefing at the station, we all left and started the long journey back to Wales. I was scared, as I knew we were really in for it on our return. They would be pleasant enough in front of my Social Worker, but once she had left it would be scrubs for us three once again.

  None of us spoke a word during the whole journey. My Social Worker put on an old radio station that was cranking out country and western songs, and I don’t think any of us heard the songs really. We also knew that we would all be separated on our arrival and that was also part of the punishment—being kept away from your friends. I had that awful sinking feeling again that I had felt so many times before. I dreaded the thought of scrubs and not being able to mix with everyone else. I knew I would have all my privileges stripped once more, but this time I had my bedroom to lose as well. I knew I would probably be put back in a dorm or at the very least a shared room. One thing I did know for sure my “trust” status would have been removed.

  That I did deserve to lose, but if only they had listened to me more often then maybe, just maybe, I could have coped better and not runaway so often. You had to be quite tough to survive in care, and I was just not feeling tough enough. I now hated everything that “trust” represented. This meant we were given a tad more freedom, and I mean a tad. Unlike most teenagers of the same age on the outside, we were hidden away from society under the blanket of the care system. We were unable to roam freely on a Saturday around town with our friends, and we were not allowed outside of the premises unaccompanied by a member of staff. If we had “trust” status this just allowed us an hour of freedom in the small town of Wrexham on a Saturday morning and not totally out of sight from the member of staff in charge. “Trust” to me felt like something a prisoner earned for good behaviour while doing their time to make life a little easier. Not for children in care who were not at fault for the circumstances they were placed in by their parents. “Trust” was just a permanent reminder that we were not free; we were all just caged birds.

  On my return to Bryn Tyn I was punished far harder than before. I had my single room taken from me, which I had expected. I was placed in a room with Josie, and this I did not mind at all. In fact, I was so surprised that they actually considered this a good idea because now we were even closer day and night, which meant more mischief! I was yet again on scrubs for the umpteenth time, and it had become such a regular part of my life it no longer bothered me. I worked my punishment and heeded the advice given to me and kept my head down. I finally came to the conclusion that running away was doing me no good whatsoever. No one listened to my complaints, and no one much cared either. I decided to make the most of a bad situation and finally try to settle down.

  Over the next couple of months I was well behaved. I took part in weekend activities once more and started doing extra chores to earn some money. We all had to do daily chores to keep our units clean. This was unpaid; however, you could volunteer to do special chores which could earn you up to £5.00 per week. More new children were admitted into Bryn Tyn, and older children were released from the care system once they came of age.

  Bryn Tyn was part of a community of children’s homes, and once a year a sports day was organized between the homes and this would usually take place within the Bryn Tyn grounds as this was the largest of all the homes. This was quite a spectacular event and every one took part. The local news station was invited to cover the event. This was a big show to the outside world to give the impression that all was well within these homes. All the children loved sports day; there was so much going on, a pop group was hired to sing for a couple of hours, a lot of local people were invited, and some of the kid’s parents were also invited. A great day would be had by all and no expense was spared. This would appear in the local paper the next day and mentioned on the local news station. The food was always great on sports day, and we all let our hair down and enjoyed a great feast.

  Back to Table of Contents

  Westbrook Hall

  I was approaching my fifteenth birthday; yet another day that would pass me by unrecognized. I started to wonder a lot about what would happen to me as I only had just over twelve months left in the state care system. Where would I go? What would I do? The thought started to scare me. I realized there and then that during all those years spent in care I had actually become institutionalized without realizing it. I was beginning to feel what many children had felt before me. I did not know what it was like to just be able to do things without asking permission. I mean we even needed permission to access our clothes from the locker room or to take a bath. We needed permission for all the things most kids just took for granted, and I could not imagine a world where I made all my own decisions.

  My birthday came and went much like Christmas that year. It was a very harsh and cold winter and some of the staff was snowed-in for a couple of days. This was the middle of winter with snow up to your knees in the middle of North Wales. There were real coal fires situated throughout all the units and plenty of coal stacked high in the bunkers outside. We all wrapped up warm and watched videos chosen for us by the staff until the snow started to melt and cars could once again came in and out of Bryn Tyn.

  By the summer of that year, a case review was held over my future and it was decided that I was to be moved for the last and final time. I was to be sent to Westbrook Hall, one of the homes within the Bryn Tyn community, only this one was situated fifty miles away in Shropshire about ten miles from where my mother lived. The reason for this, I was told, was because I originally came from Shropshire and they thought it would be best for me to end my days in care in familiar surroundings. They would try and help me in the search of gainful employment and try their best to find me a place to live when I turned sixteen, although they advised this was not always possible and they might have to place me in a hostel.

  All I could think about was one more year, twelve months and counting, and then my destiny would be in my own hands. The world would again be free to me. I would again be able to walk down the street without having to look over my shoulder, take a simple walk in the park on a lazy Sunday afternoon, go for a meal in a restaurant, watch the latest film perched in the back row of the cinema . . . all these things I had never experienced before. This seemed so surreal to me, and I would not believe it until it happened.

  About a month later, I said goodbye to Bryn Tyn and sat in the back of my Social Worker’s car for the very last time. On arrival at Westbrook Hall I was greeted by a very stern man called Phil. He was very tall and very wide, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear he did not like children. He pointed in the direction of the office and started walking. Westbrook was an old stately home bought and converted into a children’s home by Jack Aston, the founder of the Bryn Tyn community. It was a white building in acres and acres of land; the driveway itself was half a mile long.

  The children in Westbrook were all a lot older than in Bryn Tyn, the youngest being thirteen years old and the oldest seventeen years old. The average age though was fifteen years. I was given the usual rules and regulations and told to make sure I adhered to them. Again schooling was on the grounds of Westbrook Hall, and I was told I had only a few months left to attend school and then I would be found a suitable placement with a local firm so I could support myself on leaving Westbrook. It all seemed so cold and clinical. There was no real preparation for your entry into the big, wid
e world, no great guide or words of wisdom to prepare you for the pitfalls you may come up against.

  I did not like Westbrook at all. It was full of egotistical men and that was both the staff and the boys residing there. A lot of the boys were hardened to their environment and had come to believe that life had nothing better to offer them. This was evident to me in their attitude on a daily basis. There were few girls at Westbrook, which made things a bit difficult at times, as the place was filled with testosterone. We were all teenagers and the boys thought about sex a bit too much. They were always trying to grab you here and grope you there. It was hard just trying to stay out of their way, and I made sure I was never far away from a member of staff.

  One day a couple of months down the line I was watching TV in the communal area when a group of boys came in looking suspiciously at me. One of the boys closed the door, and I was suddenly jumped on by another. I was being held down with one hand over my mouth, my arms and legs were pinned tight to the floor, and I could not move. I could feel my eyes filling up with tears as my jeans were torn from me, then my knickers. One boy was lifting my top up as another started climbing on top of me. I tried everything I could to wriggle free, but my attempt was in vain. The boy on top of me had unzipped his trousers and was just about to rape me when the door swung open. All the boys jumped up and scampered away, and I was left on the floor scrambling around for my clothes. The staff member told me to get dressed and advised me to stay in my room; he made me feel like I had committed a cardinal sin.

  I was later called into the office and given some strong advice. I was told that no good would come of any complaint I made, that he had spoken to each of the boys and this would not happen again. They had apparently been severely reprimanded, and that was supposed to have been enough. The whole incident was treated like a bunch of silly boys who knew no better. Two of the boys were seventeen years old, very big and strong. I was made to feel worthless. I had my clothes torn from my body, I was violated, but this was to be brushed under the carpet never to be spoken of again. It was clear to me that the girls had a harder time at Westbrook than the boys.

  I settled in as best as I could, and I was to sleep in the cottage with the other girls. It was our private place. We still had to eat in the main dining hall, and if we wanted to watch television we also had to head over to the main building, but our sleeping quarters were in the cottage.

  My sixteenth birthday was upon me finally, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt a lot older than my sixteen years suggested. I was more than ready to take on the challenge of a new era coming soon into my life, but I was also scared to death. My birthday was celebrated in the cottage among the girls with a cake they had baked for me and two lovely cards they took the time to create for me. It was probably the best birthday I had ever had. It meant so much to me that they had taken the time to make me cards and make me feel special for that one day. I felt very humbled by their kindness. I was to spend Christmas a week later in the cottage with two other girls who also had nowhere to go. One of the female members of staff brought us a little Christmas tree for us to put up in the cottage, and we all decided to make each other a Christmas present to put under it so we had something to open on Christmas day. I made memory boxes for each one of them out of old boxes. The other two girls, Louise and Sarah, made little pouches out of felt to act like purses. On Christmas day we were so excited we could not wait to open our presents. There could have been pure gold wrapped up in that Christmas paper the way we jumped and screamed with delight. We were so happy, as we were used to so little.

  Back to Table of Contents

  The Norwegians

  Christmas that year left as quickly as it had approached us. The New Year had arrived and I had only four months remaining at school. The school classes consisted of the usual porta-cabins for the basic teachings that we received. Fortunately for me, I had read every book I could lay my hands on during all the years I had spent in care. Books were donated to almost all children’s homes from various charities, local libraries, and just kind people wanting to do their bit, and for this I was eternally grateful.

  I had a thirst for knowledge I just could not quench at these schools, so I found some other way to do so. I watched documentaries on television when everyone else was watching cartoons or movies. I read many books on all the subjects possible, and I wrote my poetry as often as I could. I had managed to drag that journal of poems with me throughout all the children’s homes I was placed in. That journal meant everything to me; it carried in it my darkest moments, my pain, and reminded me of the few good times I had too.

  One day I was called into the office and the head of Westbrook Hall was sitting there along with my Social Worker. They asked me to take a seat as they wanted to talk to me regarding my future.

  My Social Worker had a couple of ideas she set out before me. “How would you feel about staying with the Norwegian family that lived not far from your mother before she moved, Amelia?”

  I sat quietly for a while and took my time to process the information. I remembered and liked the Norwegian family, and Mrs. Price was especially kind to me on days when my mother would leave me outside all day when I was younger. She would often invite me into her house for a cup of tea and a slice of homemade Norwegian cake, the most sumptuous taste I had ever experienced.

  Mrs. Price was married to an English man and had moved over here many years before. She had two boys named Trond and Segour; I used to play with Trond when I lived on the estate, and we were good friends. Mrs. Price had taken me in a few times when Mother was either drunk or detained. She was so kind, and strangely enough I used to think how lovely it would be if she was my mom. I sat and listened to what they said and thought it would be a great idea and a wonderful chance at some semblance of a normal life, something I had only been able to dream about. I was told that the state care order remained so until I turned eighteen years old. This meant that my mother had no rights over me as such and could not request that I go home to live with her.

  I was also informed that my choices were very limited if I turned down the Norwegian family. They would have no option but to place me in a hostel, an option I detested, having heard about these hostels, and that was not how I envisaged my life starting once my destiny was in my own hands. So I jumped at that chance to start a new life with the Norwegians. This was not to happen straight away. It was decided that I would go and stay with them every other weekend starting from the spring just after I officially left school.

  I was ecstatic; I could not believe something good was actually happening to me. My Social Worker had told me that Mrs. Price had often inquired about my well-being during my time in care, as she was very fond of me. And that’s why they came up with the idea of approaching her about my coming to live with them. Apparently, Mrs. Price was overjoyed and agreed straight way. She had two boys and had always wanted a girl. So my immediate future was set. I knew where I would be living, and I felt better knowing that my mother had moved on to yet another council estate a couple of years previous.

  Spring sneaked up behind me before I knew it, and I had officially left school, if you could call it that. I had a job lined up in a fashion house a few miles away, working from Monday to Friday, 9:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. with thirty minutes for lunch. The company was called Kiss Kiss Fashions and owned by a Jamaican businessman who was a lovely first boss to have. I was taken each day to my job in the signature blue-and-white van sported by all the Bryn Tyn children’s homes including Westbrook. I was of an age where this embarrassed me and I did not want people to know I was in a children’s home now. And this big van with Westbrook Children’s Home sprawled across it did not help matters one single iota.

  My first day at Kiss Kiss was fantastic; I was to start from the bottom and work my way up and was taken to the cutting room. However, I was reminded by the chief cutter that this was actually one of the most important jobs of all. I watched him draw lines with his white chalk
on the beautiful cloth set out on a great huge cutting table. I watched closely as he cut the cloth with a cutting machine and the more delicate edges with special cutting scissors. During my first week I noticed they were making these beautiful white dresses for a department store and I fell in love with them, not able to stop myself from staring at them hanging up on the rails once they were finished.

  One day I took one off the rails and held it up against me. I looked in the tall mirror in front of the mannequins, swishing and twirling around, totally oblivious to the fact that I was being observed by the company owner. He looked at me and said it was a very pretty dress. I had to agree and apologized for taking liberties. He turned to me with an endearing smile on his face and asked me if I would like one. I nearly fell to the floor in shock. He said, “I think you’re at least a size eight” and picked a dress off the rack and handed it to me. Then off he went back into his office and wished me a good evening.

  I could not believe it, this was the most amazing piece of clothing I had ever owned and I loved it. I stood outside waiting for the van to collect me, swaying from side to side holding my beautiful dress.