Richard Gallear - The Forgotten Child

There was no build-up like there is today. The first we knew of it being anything different was on Christmas Eve, when fir trees were brought in from somewhere in the grounds. One was placed in the girls’ dormitory, another in the boys’ and one in the dining room too. The tree in our room was almost up to the high ceiling and wide all around. I remember the lovely scent of the fir needles that pervaded the dormitory. The staff came in and decorated it for us while we watched them, our excitement mounting as they adorned the branches with glittery silver and red tinsel, gold-foil wrapped chocolate coins and, right at the top, a large silver star.

‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day,’ explained my housemother as she put me to bed that evening. ‘If you are all good boys, there will be some presents under the tree when you wake up in the morning and a chocolate coin for each of you. We will come in and give them out.’

This was such an exciting prospect that it was hard to get to sleep that evening, but finally, we all did, and sure enough, when we awoke it was Christmas Day and there were presents all around the bottom of the tree. We leapt out of our beds with squeals of delight, but three of the housemothers were already there too, so nobody had the chance to touch the presents until it was time.

‘You can all sit on the ends of your beds and look at the presents. There are enough for everybody and you can all choose one each, but no squabbling. I am sure you will share them with each other,’ said one of the housemothers.

I could hardly contain my excitement. The presents were all sorts of toys and games and cuddly things – none of them wrapped – so I remember casting my eyes across all this bounty to see if anything particularly appealed. We had been so well brought up to share and take turns that none of us were selfish enough to grab something that someone else wanted. If I chose something that another boy had his eyes on, he might say, ‘I would like that’, and I would give it to him.

‘Here you are,’ I would say. ‘I’ll choose something else.’ And the housemothers would smile at me and make sure I kept my next choice.

I remember the Christmas after my fourth birthday, how excited I was when I spotted something straight away that I would ask for as my choice. It was a round metal thing with coloured circles painted round it, a push-down button at the top and a sort of spike underneath. Having never seen one before, I wanted to know how it worked and what it did. I waited as patiently as I could until it was my turn, hoping desperately that nobody else would choose it first. Fortunately, it was still there, so I went and pointed at it.

‘That’s a spinning top,’ said one of the staff. ‘I’ll show you how it works, if you like.’

‘Yes, please!’ I exclaimed.

She came over and pressed down the button on the top, which sent the top spinning on its spike, so that the coloured circles made patterns. When it went fast they seemed to disappear, but when it slowed down it was wobbling about all over the place, which made me laugh. I loved that spinning top. It was the best toy ever and I played with it a lot, but I let the others have goes with it, too, just as I did with my two toy cars.

One of the other boys would say: ‘Please can I play with your red car?’

‘Yes, you can,’ I would reply.

He would play with it for a while, then he would bring it back and park it under my bed alongside my other car. It was the same if I asked to borrow anyone else’s toy. We were all very good at that, we all shared everything.

What I remember best about our wonderful Christmases at Field House was the food. To start with, the smell of roasting turkey wafted through the house. It was so enticing that I found it very hard to have to wait until lunchtime.

Finally, it was time to go into the dining room, where there was another tall Christmas tree, with tinsel and various other decorations hanging on it, including crackers. We jumped up and down to see the tables specially decorated with red tablecloths and strewn down the middle with more crackers. We were so excited to pull those, but we had to wait till after we’d finished eating. It was a lovely, heart-warming occasion and we had a delicious meal, piled up high. Even I felt full after just one plateful!

Later that afternoon, we all stood together and sang carols round the dining-room Christmas tree, with its lights twinkling. It was a magical time. Most of the housemothers were there, including mine, joining in with us as we sang ‘Away in a Manger’, ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, ‘Jingle Bells’and other well-known festive songs.

We all loved the whole, very special Christmas experience, but it didn’t last long. On Boxing Day the trees came down and everything went back to normal again, except we still had our presents to play with. And I loved my top – I enjoyed setting it off and watching it spin, round and round. I soon discovered that I could make it spin faster and longer if I wanted and after that I spent hours with it, perfecting the way I spun it.

Birthdays were celebrated in a low-key way. The staff would tell us ‘This is Richard’s birthday’ or ‘This is David’s birthday’ and at teatime there would be a cake with a single candle in it, whatever the age. The birthday child would blow out the candle and then we all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and that was all – no presents. What I hadn’t yet grasped was that with every birthday, the time when I would have to leave drew nearer. None of the children could stay at Field House beyond their fifth birthdays, so I was now perilously close to that time.

CHAPTER 4

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.