Author Information
Am I or Was I to Blame?
Folder:
Bern's Prose. - Am I or Was I to Blame?
- The blow was vicious and fast. My face stung for quite a while. The beauty of it all I had done no wrong. I had finished my jobs of work then the bitch of a woman came out with the words, “That will teach you to swear, you little brat.” My only way out of this was to get out of her way as quickly as I can I turned and ran off shouting, I did not swear you fucking old cow. Her reaction, Wait until dinner time, I’ll teach you to swear at me.
- I hid in the small out door lavatory waiting until the Matron had finished the morning parade. The morning parade all children had to take part both boys and girls. Three lines of children patiently standing in three long rows just like soldiers on Parade Sometimes I think that we should have been given rifles to complete the picture of the harsh discipline of the Homes. I would have been the first to use the rifle.
- Boys strictly separated from the girls what were the Matron and the Foster Mothers afraid of. Was it that we kids might have sex one with the other? If this ways the case then why have boys and girls together in the homes, why were not two separate homes built one for boys, one for the girls. Strict discipline right from the start for every mistake a swipe around the head. If the Foster Mother were cooking one would be hit with a serving spoon or anything that came to her hand. Whether one has been guilty of a crime or not the nearest got hit. For so-called serious crimes one was sent to the Matrons Office here it was, “Drop your trousers, this is going to hurt me more than it will you.” Then the sounds of the bamboo canes being swished through the air until The Matron had found a cane that satisfied her perverse instincts. Then it was six swipes of the cane on ones bare bottom. Pulling up my trousers and underpants, I could not get out of that office quick enough. With tears of pain running down my cheeks I ran out of the main gate. I wandered around the town planning what terrible things I would do to this bitch of a Matron. My choice of a weapon to kill the old cow was practically a piece of everything from stones, knifes, big heavy sticks and of course hitting her to death with her own bamboo canes. I was found late at night by a policeman who took me to the gates of the Homes or Orphanage. He wanted to see me to my cottage. I managed to convince him that I only had to go to my bed. He that kind Policeman left me and I slept the night in the outdoor toilet I was eight years old at the time. The first boys to use the toilets found me and took me into the house. I dropped my trousers and underpants and showed them the nasty looking weal’s covering my backside. The Foster Mother swore that she would never send a child to the Matron’s Office again. Thankfully she kept her word.
- I still ask my self was I to blame for someone else’s use of a swear word. A word that I might say is used in many families. The dangerous word, shit, even damn could get one a couple around the ears. For food and clothing the Homes was great lacking was that other four letter word LOVE. The place was known for its Victorian standards of Discipline. Bern
Felt quite sad after reading this post
My Dear Respected Austromate, The world is different for different individuals. Childhood scars hurt for a lifetime.Scars in the psyche can't be seen mate but they exist thoigh most deny having any scars of younger days.We take parental love for granted until they leave permanently. Oh well .. this is how things are and will be for eons to come ~See you and M on the other side someday~Indimate & Mrs K~
©bishu