Authors: D. G Torrens
Amelia's story (23 page)
I was approach
ing 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.
W
here would I go
? What would I do?
The thought started to scare me.
I realized there an
d
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 ou
r clothes from the locker room
or to take a bath
.
W
e 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 wen
t much like Christmas that year.
I
t was a very harsh and cold winter
and
some of the staff w
as snowed-in for a couple of days.
T
his 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
H
all
,
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.
T
hey would try and help me in the search of gainful employment and try the
ir
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 aga
in 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 cinem
a . . .
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.
H
e was very tall and very wide, and if I didn’t know better I
’d swear he did not like children.
H
e 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 buil
ding 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 w
as on the grounds of Westbrook H
all, 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 supp
ort myself on leaving Westbrook.
It
all seemed so cold and clinical.
T
here was no real preparation for your entry into the big
,
wide world, no great guide or words of wisdom to prepare you for the pitfalls you may come up against.
I d
id 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.
T
his was evident to me in th
eir
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 testoste
rone.
W
e were all teenagers and the boys t
hought about sex a bit too much.
T
hey were always trying to grab you here and grope you there
.
I
t was hard just trying to stay out of the
ir
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 cam
e 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.
O
ne boy was lifting my top up as anothe
r started climbing on top of me.
I tried everything I could to wriggle free
,
but my attempt was in v
a
in. The boy on top of me had unzipped his trousers and was just about to r
ape me when the door swung open.
A
ll 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 offi
ce 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 enoug
h. T
he 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.
W
e 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 s
ixteenth 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 ce
lebrated in the cottage among
the girls with a cake they had baked for me and two lovely cards th
ey 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 the
ir
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 ea
ch one of them out of old boxes.
T
he 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. T
here 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.
Christmas that year left
as
quickly as it had approached us.
T
he New Year had arrived and I had only
four
months remaining at school. The school class
es consisted of the usual porta-c
abins for the basic teachings that we received. Fortunately for me, I had read every book I could lay my hands on during al
l the years I had spent in care.
B
ooks were donated to almost all children’s homes from various charities, local libraries
,
and just kind people wantin
g 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, s
o 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.
M
y 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.
S
he 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.
S
he 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 M
other 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.
T
his 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
.
T
hey would have no optio
n 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.