catch up with the older ones. She was a spunky little thing and rarely without a smile or a
giggle. Her thick hair now completely hid the scar from her head injury the day she’d been found. No mother or relative had ever come forward, despite all the publicity, so the police had
closed the case and she was now officially up for adoption.
It was six months since newborn baby Gail had joined us and despite her swollen head, caused by the hydrocephalus, having to be protected so much, she was a gentle and contented child, who loved
watching the activities going on all around her.
We had a slide and a climbing frame with a net in the garden at Sonnington, and various outdoor toys and games. But what I loved watching best was when they were making things up, making
wonderful fun out of very little. Some logs, some string, some old car and tractor tyres, some of which we hung from the trees; old boxes, cardboard tubes for sword-fights, old sheets and sticks to
make tents with. They had three acres to run around and play in and all the fruit trees to climb, so they weren’t hard work when they were outside.
Come rain or shine, the bigger ones would all be out there whenever they could. And on hot days one of the things they loved best was a good water-fight. They loved spraying each other with a
couple of hoses, while the little ones ran and splashed about, screaming with excitement.
The older ones were very caring with the younger children. Most days somebody came running in to tell me ‘Laurel’s fallen over’, or ‘the baby’s just been
sick’. All the kids competed to rush in and do the telling when there was the slightest incident, which they had exaggerated into a major disaster by the time they got to me.
A few days into the new year we were joined by another eighteen-month-old toddler. Alfie was very shy at first and clung on to the cuddly elephant he had brought with him. He took it everywhere
and could rarely be persuaded to let it go – even at bathtime. We had to pretend to wash ‘Ellie’ too.
A few days after Alfie came, we had a call from Social Services and welcomed four-year-old Gilroy, whose mother was something to behold. She told me she had saved Gilroy from a vicious beating
from his father,
‘He’s a brute; he is always attacking us,’ she explained. ‘Only I couldn’t watch him murder my boy.’ She shot a quick glance at her sturdy son, who glared
back at her.
There doesn’t seem much love lost there, I thought. But at least she had protected Gilroy from serious injury, or worse.
‘I ran down to the chippy and rang for the police,’ she said. ‘Fat lot of good they did. Just cautioned the sod. So I had to call Social Services to take Gilroy into
care.’ She paused. ‘It’s a good job we only had one child.’ She raised her voice. ‘And he’s nothing but a pain.’ I glanced at Gilroy, who looked away,
hiding his anguish.
As soon as his mother had left, Gilroy’s mood switched to anger as he ran out to join the gang, though I don’t think they were too keen on the way he muscled in straight away. I
watched him as he went from one child to another, pushing and bullying his way round the garden, until he came to little Alfie, cowering away from him. Gilroy grabbed his elephant and pushed the
toddler into a muddy puddle. Then he threw poor Alfie’s elephant over the fence. Alfie wailed loudly and the other kids came to his aid. Luckily it had landed on the top of a bush, so our
tallest child, Ronnie, piled up some wooden crates, climbed up and just managed to reach it with his long arms. Gilroy kicked Ronnie’s leg and ran off surprisingly fast. Luckily, good-natured
Ronnie just ignored Gilroy after that, protecting the others as much as he could.
That boy was in a permanent strop from the day he arrived. I could see that his traumatic background and difficult mother would haunt him, and probably us as well, for a long time. Gilroy was
the bull in our china
giggle. Her thick hair now completely hid the scar from her head injury the day she’d been found. No mother or relative had ever come forward, despite all the publicity, so the police had
closed the case and she was now officially up for adoption.
It was six months since newborn baby Gail had joined us and despite her swollen head, caused by the hydrocephalus, having to be protected so much, she was a gentle and contented child, who loved
watching the activities going on all around her.
We had a slide and a climbing frame with a net in the garden at Sonnington, and various outdoor toys and games. But what I loved watching best was when they were making things up, making
wonderful fun out of very little. Some logs, some string, some old car and tractor tyres, some of which we hung from the trees; old boxes, cardboard tubes for sword-fights, old sheets and sticks to
make tents with. They had three acres to run around and play in and all the fruit trees to climb, so they weren’t hard work when they were outside.
Come rain or shine, the bigger ones would all be out there whenever they could. And on hot days one of the things they loved best was a good water-fight. They loved spraying each other with a
couple of hoses, while the little ones ran and splashed about, screaming with excitement.
The older ones were very caring with the younger children. Most days somebody came running in to tell me ‘Laurel’s fallen over’, or ‘the baby’s just been
sick’. All the kids competed to rush in and do the telling when there was the slightest incident, which they had exaggerated into a major disaster by the time they got to me.
A few days into the new year we were joined by another eighteen-month-old toddler. Alfie was very shy at first and clung on to the cuddly elephant he had brought with him. He took it everywhere
and could rarely be persuaded to let it go – even at bathtime. We had to pretend to wash ‘Ellie’ too.
A few days after Alfie came, we had a call from Social Services and welcomed four-year-old Gilroy, whose mother was something to behold. She told me she had saved Gilroy from a vicious beating
from his father,
‘He’s a brute; he is always attacking us,’ she explained. ‘Only I couldn’t watch him murder my boy.’ She shot a quick glance at her sturdy son, who glared
back at her.
There doesn’t seem much love lost there, I thought. But at least she had protected Gilroy from serious injury, or worse.
‘I ran down to the chippy and rang for the police,’ she said. ‘Fat lot of good they did. Just cautioned the sod. So I had to call Social Services to take Gilroy into
care.’ She paused. ‘It’s a good job we only had one child.’ She raised her voice. ‘And he’s nothing but a pain.’ I glanced at Gilroy, who looked away,
hiding his anguish.
As soon as his mother had left, Gilroy’s mood switched to anger as he ran out to join the gang, though I don’t think they were too keen on the way he muscled in straight away. I
watched him as he went from one child to another, pushing and bullying his way round the garden, until he came to little Alfie, cowering away from him. Gilroy grabbed his elephant and pushed the
toddler into a muddy puddle. Then he threw poor Alfie’s elephant over the fence. Alfie wailed loudly and the other kids came to his aid. Luckily it had landed on the top of a bush, so our
tallest child, Ronnie, piled up some wooden crates, climbed up and just managed to reach it with his long arms. Gilroy kicked Ronnie’s leg and ran off surprisingly fast. Luckily, good-natured
Ronnie just ignored Gilroy after that, protecting the others as much as he could.
That boy was in a permanent strop from the day he arrived. I could see that his traumatic background and difficult mother would haunt him, and probably us as well, for a long time. Gilroy was
the bull in our china
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