1946 1951 Age 2 Years To 7 Years

A Memory of Pantasaph.

I was in St Claire's Orphanage with my two sisters after my father died in 1945.
The Rev Mother Sister Phillomina had been a childhood friend of my mother's. This fact did not give us any added privileges. I remember Sister Anne and was terrified of her. She should never have been allowed to be in charge of children. She used to go into rages and I remember to this day her red distorted face towering above me. She was a bully in the true scene of the word. On one occasion I remember her throwing me against the wall and threatening to squash me, because I had been too near the 'play house' - where they kept the toys. I could have been 4, or 5 or younger. At a certain time we were allowed to get a toy and I had intended to get the new toy sewing machine that an uncle had sent us and that the nuns had been playing with earlier. Needless to say, I never saw it again. Another time I remember her trying to push me down the toilet. I met her years later and could not believe that this tiny fat woman had been the terror of my childhood. We learned young to just get on with things e.g. like being sick. We were not programmed to tell 'Mummy' when things were wrong. I ended up in hospital once because I had a bad leg infection. I remember the nurses used to come whispering and looking at my leg and being amazed that I had not told anyone. Who was there to tell? We were never encouraged to be dependant on adults. I remember feeling so snug and warm in that hospital bed because in the main dormitory we all had to stand at the side of our beds every morning while 2 older nuns went round inspecting the beds. One carried a large stick for anyone who had wet the bed. I used to be terrified of them getting near one certain little girl because she was my sister (I did not know what a sister meant in the true sense of the word, but I know she had something to do with me) then I used to hear her screaming while she was beaten. She could have been 3 or 4. Then she was made to to stand with the wet sheet on her head to teach her a lesson. As there was no heating in the place it must have been freezing in winter as we all stood there. No warm slippers or warm wraps for us. She took her own life at 38 years old. She was a very loving mother of 2 little boys and a loving wife but she could never came to terms with the cruelty she had suffered. It must have been harder for my older sister aged 3 when we got there. She was torn from a normal home to St Claire. She used to scream in the night and I remember having my bed moved to be beside her. They kept telling her that her sister was next to her even though we were strangers like everyone else. One infant teacher was nice but I cannot remember her name. I remember what seemed to be endless holy processions to the grotto dressed in white dresses and veils. Little children being forced to take part in these tedious religious events. I remember the food - my favourite dish was Bread and Gravy which were quite a treat so I would not like to guess what else we were given. Very rarely the children got a cake each donated by a local kind person. That was really something. In retrospect I realise that the education we received was exceptional - we were educated up to the age of 15 at 7 years old. I also realise that we were not taught social skills - you were isolated in a crowd of children who also had no real identity - so interacting was minimal. I learned to survive but sadly my younger sister and older sister did not. My older sister suffered years of depression, I think it was because she was taken there at the tender age of 3. For myself from 2 to 7 I think I learned how to survive in a loveless world. My younger sister from being 1 year to 6 years old was too sensitive to carry the memories. I can only recall one child's name from those years, a little girl called Sally Davies. I can still picture her, brown eyes and dark hair cut in a short bob with a fringe. I don't recall any other names other than Sister Hubert who seemed nice - a teacher. I visited the place 3 years ago and it looked the same from the outside. I tread the white stones once again as I had done years ago in many processions. I remember the crunch sound under my feet, never to be forgotten. I was surprised to see a small cemetery across from St Claire's. They were all there, Sister Anne, Phillamena, Hubert etc. In a strange way it seemed a final peace for me and for the memory of my younger sister. One thing I think very strange is that looking back on these childhood years I don't remember laughter, great joy or forming good friends, nor do I remember a childhood totally shared with my siblings. I am not writing this with sadness, I am just recalling my past without emotion from my perspective. I hope to meet Sally Davies sometime as I do not recall vividly any other child. Sally, if you read this - make contact.