Little Drifters: Kathleen’s Story. Kathleen O’Shea
Читать онлайн.| Название | Little Drifters: Kathleen’s Story |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Kathleen O’Shea |
| Жанр | Биографии и Мемуары |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Биографии и Мемуары |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9780007532292 |
Little Drifters is dedicated to Grace, a very special person who was always there in my time of need. Rest in peace.
And to all the survivors in all the institutions and to all those who sadly did not make it. This is for you.
When we were young, wild and free
The happiest times for all to see
Had its moments of sorrow and pain
But I would live them all again
Brothers and sisters sticking together
Mother and father in all kinds of weather
Life can be cruel and often unkind
Now it’s a memory engraved on my mind.
(‘Memories’, Anon.)
Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries.
Without them, humanity cannot survive.
(Dalai Lama XIV)
Contents
Chapter 4: A Birth and a Death
Chapter 5: Needles and Haystacks
Further Reading and Support Groups
I never had any intention of returning to St Beatrice’s Orphanage. And yet here I was, standing in front of the house I had called home for five years. A home filled with misery, cruelty and abuse.
My eyes scanned the large black front door rising up from the path, the heavy wooden gates, the tree in the front garden, and I felt anger swell inside me. It was just a house. From the outside, you would never have guessed the secrets and sadness this place had hidden for so long. Now, nearly 20 years after my escape, it was no longer one of the houses run by the Sisters of Hope from St Beatrice’s Convent. It was no longer Watersbridge, a home for children made wards of the state from myriad different personal tragedies. It was just an ordinary house. You might pass by this house and not look at it twice. It was just like all the others in the road – two storeys, small front garden, large Victorian windows, nothing special. And yet that’s not what I saw.
I saw the children of my past in every part of the grounds, so real I felt I could reach out and touch them. So vivid, I could hear their voices. Here, on the roof, Jake squatted – keeping a watchful eye down the road for Sister Helen