The Forgotten Child: A little boy abandoned at birth. His fight for survival. A powerful true story.. R. Gallear
The Forgotten Child: A little boy abandoned at birth. His fight for survival. A powerful true story.
November 1958 (aged 4) – Physically very fit. Sturdy. Speech fluent. Making much better progress. Is imaginative in play. Likes to play alone. Still has an occasional temper tantrum.
Field House progress report
Every now and then, we older children had to line up along the lawn. Now four and a half years old, I was aware that, after these line-ups, children sometimes left Field House, so I didn’t want to be in the line, but if I tried to hide, one of the staff would be sure to come and find me.
‘Come along, Richard. There are people coming to see you today,’ explained the housemother. ‘And they could become your mother and father. If they decide they would like you to be part of their family, they’ll be able to take you to live with them in their home. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’
I must have shrugged or shown my indifference in some way. I know she wanted me to be excited, and I should have been, shouldn’t I? Some children were, but not me. I didn’t want anything to change, I wanted to stay at Field House for ever.
But the housemother had to get me into the line, so she took a different approach.
‘It won’t take long, then you can go and play again.’
‘Oh, all right,’ I reluctantly agreed.
So, she encouraged me to change, and dressed in my ‘Sunday best’, mainly charity clothes, I joined the line-up on the lawn outside Field House, my eyes staring at the ground and my insides trembling lest someone should pick me.
Couples arrived and joined one of the housemothers to walk along the line, looking at each of us and whispering to each other as they went by. Occasionally, they would stop and talk to a child, then they might ask to take that child for a walk around the grounds. It was all rather unnerving and I was always highly relieved when nobody picked me and I could indeed run off and play.
On one of these line-up days, a couple did stop and talk to me. I think they just asked me my name, how old I was and what I liked doing best. They seemed happy with my answers and turned to the housemother.
‘Can we take him for a walk and get to know him better?’ asked the woman.
So off we went. I told them I liked cars, so they took me to see their big green car, parked in the drive. It looked a funny shape, like a shiny green bell. The man opened the bonnet and showed me the engine, which was quite exciting.
‘Where else shall we go?’ asked the woman. ‘Is there anything you would like to show us?’
My first idea was the Japanese garden, but I thought they might like that too much and take me away.
‘We could go round the lawn,’ I suggested.
The woman took my hand and I led them to my favourite parts of the garden.
‘This is my tree,’ I explained when we reached the tall cedar tree with its low branches. ‘I like to sit in this tree and eat burnt crusts.’
They exchanged glances.
‘Then I took them down the drive.
‘Sometimes we go for walks down to the lane,’ I said. ‘And up to the hills.’
‘That must be fun,’ said the woman.
‘Yes, we sing songs and eat sandwiches and see a man with a monkey.’
‘A monkey?’ asked the man. ‘A real monkey?’
‘Yes, he sits on the man’s shoulder when we walk past.’
There was a pause as we came to the bramble hedge.
‘This is where we pick blackberries,’ I told them. ‘We have little baskets and pick the fruit to put in a crumble.’
‘That sounds nice,’ the woman said. ‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Steak pie and gravy,’ I said, licking my lips.
They kept on asking me questions, and I tried to be polite, but I wished they would go away and I could get back to playing. Finally, I think they gave up on me.
I was so happy that I ran three times round the lawn before going in for tea.
Although I didn’t want to be picked in these regular line-ups, sometimes, if they didn’t pick me, I would wonder, Why haven’t they chosen me? What’s wrong with me?
I knew that I was getting older and would soon be too old to stay at Field House, but I didn’t want to think about that – I couldn’t quite believe it.
My lovely, kind housemother sat me down one day.
‘Let’s have a talk,’ she said.
‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘No, not at all,’ she reassured me with a smile. ‘But you will soon be five, so it’s nearly time for you to leave Field House and move on,’ she explained. ‘If you don’t have a new mummy and daddy to take you out of the line next week, you will have to move to another house, maybe a house with lots of children, all much bigger and older than you.’
I didn’t like the sound of that.
‘Will you come with me?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be allowed,’ she said in her gentle voice.
I thought about that a lot over the coming days and nights, but I couldn’t quite accept it. This was my home, the only home I had ever known. Why couldn’t I stay here? Finally, on the next line-up day, my housemother gave me some nearly-new clothes to put on.
‘Try and keep clean and tidy,’ she said, grinning. ‘No climbing trees today!’
The Matron herself spoke to me after breakfast: ‘Hello, Richard. I’m glad you are looking so smart today. I’m sure you will be glad to know that we have a couple coming to see you this afternoon, so we won’t have to put you in the line for long. They will come and choose you and then I want you to be a good boy and be polite to them and get to know them while you show them round the gardens. Will you be able to do that?’ She waited expectantly with a half-smile. I’d never seen her smiling even the smallest bit before, so I tried to be brave and smile back.
‘Yes, all right,’ I agreed.
So, we all lined up as usual and I was placed near the beginning this time. My housemother came out of the front door with a couple and they walked straight in my direction. This seemed very strange. They ignored all the other children and homed in on me. I suppose it must have been to do with my age and the fact that the staff wanted me to go to a family home, rather than a larger children’s home, so they thought they were doing this for the right reasons. I thought so too, as I was frightened of the idea of all the big boys there might be at the children’s home.
The couple walked over and stopped in front of me, just as Matron had said.
‘This is Richard,’ said the housemother. ‘He’s a happy boy and likes playing in the garden.’ She turned to me and introduced them. ‘This is Mr and Mrs Gallear,’ she told me. ‘Will you take them for a walk and show them round our gardens? They want to know all about you and the things you like.’
‘All right,’ I nodded uncertainly.
The woman was very short and she had a big smile. She seemed really pleased to be there and to see me. But the man wasn’t smiling. He stood back, towering over her.
‘Come on,’ she said in a friendly voice, taking my hand in hers. ‘My name is Pearl and Mr Gallear is called Arnold. Now, where will you take us first?’
As I walked out of the line, I looked back over my shoulder