Street Kid: One Child’s Desperate Fight for Survival. Judy Westwater

the ward to the door I’d seen the older kids use when they needed the toilet. I was sitting there when I heard a huge commotion, a high-pitched raised voice and then a loud click-clack of shoes on the floor. A moment later, my door was flung open and the duty nurse stood there, extremely furious.

      ‘What are you doing, you silly, silly girl. Don’t you know you might have died?’

      I stared back at her, feeling shocked. I could have died? It was only at that moment that I realized how severe my injuries had been.

      Later that day, a group of people walked into the ward. As they approached my cot, I realized with a sickening jolt that one of them was my father. He was a head taller than the rest and as our eyes met I felt quite breathless with fear. He fixed me with a look which said, If you so much as utter one word I’ll kill you. Stiffly, he walked over to my bed, accompanied by my doctor, two nurses and a man and woman wearing dark suits. My favourite nurse slid the side of my cot down, untied my hands from the bars and started gently removing the bandages from my head.

      Sensing my alarm, she spoke to me soothingly. ‘Don’t worry, pet. We’re just going to have a little look and see how you’re doing.’

      The other nurse, who was wearing a dark-blue uniform and cap, then spoke. ‘Judy, can you tell us how your head and face got hurt.’ I shot a nervous look at my father and when I saw his cold grey eyes boring into me, I shut my mouth tight.

      Then the man with white hair took a step closer. ‘Do you remember how you hurt your legs, Judy. What happened?’

      I shrank back from him and when I didn’t speak, the man turned to the doctor and said, ‘Can she hear me?’

      The doctor then came closer and bent his head down. ‘Can you remember anything at all, anything about how you got hurt?’ I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

      At that, my father stepped in, looking like he’d had well enough. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ he said. ‘She rode her bike down the hill and crashed into the school railings.’

      I couldn’t tell the others what I knew: that the school wasn’t down a hill, and that I didn’t have a bicycle. But I sensed that the people round my bed didn’t believe his story anyway.

      The white-haired man spoke again, this time to my father. ‘Mr Richardson, I’m afraid that during our investigations your daughter will have to stay here in hospital.’ My father stiffened a little but didn’t say anything.

      Then it was over and they turned to go. My favourite nurse stayed with me and gently put my bandages back and tied my hands again. ‘You’ll see, Judy. We’ll have you as good as new in no time,’ she said with a smile.

      Other than my dad, I didn’t have any visitors for a couple of weeks. Every day, after lunch, there was a queue of people waiting to be let into the ward to visit the kids. We could see them through the window that separated our room from the corridor. They stood there making faces and blowing kisses through the glass. I remember Leonard’s family coming to visit him in the second week. When he spied his parents he stood up in his cot, calling out and waving at them with both hands. Then his mum and dad came in and they swooped Leonard up and gave him a big cuddle. Later, when they’d gone, Leonard showed me two oranges they’d given him, holding them through the bars of his cot. I wished I could have had one.

      Although I wasn’t really expecting anybody to come and see me, I still scanned the queue every day to see if I had any visitors. I’d pretty much given up when one day I saw Uncle George and Auntie Gertie smiling and waving at me through the glass. I felt so warm and happy, it was as if the sun had suddenly poked its head out from between the clouds. I beamed back at them from my cot. By then, my bandages had been taken off so I could sit up.

      ‘How’s my little injun?’ George asked, having settled himself on a chair next to my cot. ‘Feeling better?’

      I told him that I was. Then Auntie Gertie leaned forward. ‘You’ve got a bit of something on your cheek, poppet.’ I’d only recently finished lunch. ‘Here, spit on this.’ She held out a hanky and I spat on it and she rubbed at my face. ‘There, all clean now,’ she said.

      They didn’t stay long and when I saw Uncle George stirring in his chair and glancing at his watch I turned to Auntie Gertie. ‘Can I go home with you?’ I asked. ‘Please!’

      ‘No chuck, not yet. You have to stay here a bit longer.’ She stroked my hand. I saw a look pass between her and George and I knew that my question had upset them both. Feeling too old and powerless to do anything made them feel unnerved and I didn’t think they’d come again to visit. The thought of me, small and vulnerable, in my hospital cot pleading for a home would, I sensed, become a painful memory that they’d want to push away.

      When they left, they blew kisses until they were out of sight. I had an immediate pang of homesickness when they left, but later on I felt comforted by their visit. I’d been sensitive to the fact that the other kids had been wondering what was so wrong with me that no one cared enough to come. Now I’d shown them that I did have friends after all.

      I must have been in hospital another week before Auntie Gertie and Uncle George came again. This time it was to take me home. As I sat on one of the little blue chairs in the ward, I wondered where I would be taken. I hoped I might be going back to the Roberts’ house, but instead we went to the shop. I was relieved that there was no sign of Freda or my father when we got there; and, as the flat was empty, Uncle George and Auntie Gertie stayed over that night to look after me.

      My father and Freda came back late in the afternoon the next day. I slipped quickly to my room and from there heard the row raging downstairs. The Roberts were really angry and I could pick out almost everything the four of them were saying.

      ‘We’ve been horribly deceived by you,’ Uncle George was saying. ‘We thought you were a trustworthy pair but you’re wicked, just wicked.’

      ‘Oh, and I suppose you know everything,’ Freda spat at him. ‘Mrs Craddock makes bloody sure of that.’

      ‘It wasn’t just her, Freda.’ It was Auntie Gertie’s turn. ‘Your fancy man’s wife came round to ours and told us every last detail. That poor little kiddie.’

      My heart turned to ice at Auntie Gertie’s words and my thoughts were spinning round and round, out of control. Mum came. She knew I was here. Why didn’t she take me home with her? I felt my heart breaking. Mum, you must have known how bad it was with him. Why didn’t you save me from them? Don’t you care for me at all?

      Over the next couple of days, a stream of serious-looking visitors came to the house. From under the table I could see men with polished brown shoes and pinstriped trousers pacing the living room, and ladies with court shoes and nylon stockings sitting with their legs crossed, gloves and handbags placed close to their heels. They asked my dad and Freda a lot of questions in serious-sounding voices. At some point, Mrs Craddock was called in for her pennyworth. She used the ‘chicken’ word a lot and clucked her tongue in disgust as she reported how badly Freda had treated me.

      The next thing I remember, I was on my own with Auntie Gertie and she was putting on my shoes and cardigan. The flat was quite empty. My dad and Freda had gone.

      The bell sounded at the shop door. ‘Here she is,’ said Auntie Gertie, taking my hand and ushering me through the shop. A young nun was standing just inside the door. ‘Now Judy, you be a good girl and go with this nice lady.’ She gave me a little hug and patted my back. It never occurred to me that this was a final goodbye and that I wouldn’t be coming back.

       Chapter Four

      I’d been many times to the gardens of St Joseph’s Orphanage. The flowers and trees kept on drawing me back. After a while, the nuns had got used to seeing me there. I never came close and they never bothered me.