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Make Believe.
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Bern's Prose. Make Believe.
Mine was a world of make believe. A Psychiatrist would have said I was compensating for the strict, harsh treatment of the homes. The Orphanage was run by the Kent County Council at Chatham in Kent. It was a silent life where speaking was only allowed either at school or when we had finished our work (Each child had one or more chores to perform.) Scrubbing floors, Polishing floors, dusting the rooms and stairs, preparing the vegetables for the midday meal. Making the breakfast tea, buttering the bread and so on. It was a never ending routine the Foster Mother was there to see that discipline was kept and that we were clean and tidy when we left the house for school. Saturday morning after the housework was finished we were allowed out to play.
The routine was up at seven, go down to the washroom to wash and clean one's teeth. Back upstairs dress and make our beds. The mattresses were straw sacks, Very difficult to make a bed with all the counterpanes folded in line one with the other. The beds had to be in a straight line. Nightshirts were folded and like the beds placed in such a way that when looking down the line of beds all were conform. As soon as the beds were made and the dormitory cleaned, that is to say swept and dusted, If necessary the floor was polished with Ronuk a polish that was easy to spread but very difficult to polish into a shiny floor.
The boys responsible were making breakfast, bread and butter and jam or marmalade. In winter Porridge was cooked and served. The table was laid with cutlery, cups saucers and plates. When all was ready and each boy had again washed his hands we stood each boy behind his chair and Grace was said, "Lord for what we are about to receive make us truly thankful, amen. The meal was eaten in strict silence when all had finished we got up from our seats and said the prayer for after a meal. Then the preparation for school the shoes had been cleaned the previous evening by the boy who was responsible. No joke when it was raining the shoes had to shine and wet shoes just will not shine. You might ask why all the fuss just to go to school. Well before school there was a Matron's inspection Two hundred boys and about a hundred girls formed into columns of two and marched down to the road alongside the Matron's office.
The Foster Mothers had to come with us it was more like a military parade than a children's inspection. The Matron in her stiff starched uniform walked down the lines of waiting children and god help the child that was not up to her standards of cleanliness. If one was lucky a misdemeanour meant a quick box to the ears. If the child was unfortunate to have run foul of the Foster Mother beforehand he or she was punished again at midday after school. Punishment was either a smack around the head or a beating with the back of a hairbrush across ones bare buttocks. I myself I have been pushed into a bath of cold water and my head held under until I thought I was going to drown. Also any child that used language not suitable for the homes had his or her mouth scrubbed with carbolic soap applied with a toothbrush.
Another punishment was to lock a child in the gas cupboard under the stairs. I was locked in at midday and only let out the following morning to get ready for school. No meal during the punishment of course. This life made me retire into a shell that no one was allowed to penetrate.
I daydreamed first while I was locked in the gas cupboard under the stairs. My world was full of fantasies I saw and spoke with all kinds of people all were kind and played with me. I was able to be anyone that I wanted to be; I eat in my imagination all kinds of wonderful puddings and ice cream sweets and all of the good things that most of the children craved for in the homes. Pocket money was one penny per week it was enough to buy a few sweets, which we ate as soon as we bought them. I still have this knack of being able to live in my own world. A world of make believe true but there is nothing to disturb my peace of mind.
