Little Drifters: Part 3 of 4. Kathleen O’Shea

into the local swimming baths for an afternoon of swimming. It was fun – there would be about 60 of us all jumping, splashing, shouting and paddling around. There were no lessons so it took me a little while to learn how to swim. In fact, it was Tara that made me. I’d always be clinging to the edge, terrified of letting go. She’d pull me out to the middle of the pool and then swim away, making me doggy-paddle my way back to the edge. Eventually I stopped screaming in terror every time she did it and realised that I was swimming quite well on my own. From then, we had a grand old time, playing and swimming about.

      But afterwards, in the changing rooms, it was always a desperate struggle to get back into our clothes without being seen by the staff.

      Most of us now were growing and developing and we were embarrassed about our bodies. But there wasn’t a towel for everyone so we’d have to share and Tara and I would hold it up for each other like a wall while the other one changed behind it, sometimes clambering into our clothes still dripping wet. There was one member of staff who looked after another house called Winifred. Winifred was a harsh lady and we all hated her. She’d line up her girls in the changing room every Wednesday and insist they change in front of her. They’d all stand there, naked, shivering, wishing the ground would swallow them up. We tried not to look, afraid of being shouted at by Winifred or making the girls’ humiliation even worse. One poor girl was more developed than the rest – she had proper breasts and hair down there – and it was always torture for her to stand in front of everyone. This one girl always tried cringing behind a little towel but Winifred would whip it away from her.

      ‘What are you hiding yourself for?’ she’d demand to know. ‘What have you got that the rest of us don’t? Eh? Nothing special about you!’

      We were all thankful that Sister Helen and Rosie never felt the need to come into the changing room.

      Once changed, we would all be marched across town, set by set, led by a member of the staff from our house. One Wednesday we were just on our way back and Tara and I had fallen behind the others a little way. We were dawdling and messing about when suddenly Tara stopped dead, her face drained of all colour. I followed the path of her gaze towards a blonde woman across the street. It was Mammy!

      ‘Mammy!’ I shouted, and we both ran towards her. The woman turned round, alarmed, and in that moment I saw the face I’d been dreaming of for years. The face I’d longed to see so very much. But instead of being full of warmth and love, the face was a mask of fear. And then she ran. She ran as fast as she could and we raced after her, dodging in and out through the crowds of people, still shouting: ‘Mammy! Mammy!’

      She was so quick and nimble, we couldn’t keep track of her, and after a little while weaving between people we lost her. Tara and I stopped, looking all around, but we couldn’t see her. Bewildered and hurt, I turned to my sister: ‘She ran! Why did she run?’

      Tara now was cursing our mother to hell.

      ‘Why? Because she’s a stupid bitch! I hate her, Kathleen! I hate the living sight of her. I hate her and I hope that she dies!’

      My sister’s words were harsh – I could see she was hurting but I couldn’t feel the same, I couldn’t hate my mother. I was just devastated and baffled. Our mother had come back to Ireland; she’d even managed to find her way to where all her children had been taken. I didn’t expect her to come back and get us all – I knew we weren’t getting out now till we were 16. There was nothing she could do about that. But she could have stopped to say hello.

      After all these years dreaming of a reunion, silently praying for my mother to come and rescue me, to take me in her arms and tell me that she loved me, she had run away from me. Why had she run?

      That night in bed, Tara and I whispered to each other.

      ‘That was definitely Mammy,’ I told her, as much to reassure myself as her.

      ‘That was definitely her,’ she agreed. ‘If it wasn’t her, she wouldn’t have run away. Can you imagine, Kathleen? Running away from your own flesh and blood? Don’t you just hate her for it? I won’t waste another second thinking or talking about that woman. She’s as good as dead to me now. Our daddy was too good for her.’

      When it came to our father, we knew one thing for sure: he loved us and he would never have run from us, no matter what. In fact, as soon as he was released from hospital he came to see us in Watersbridge. It was the biggest surprise when he just wandered into the kitchen one day, whistling away and beaming from ear to ear. We jumped up and all raced towards him. He picked us all up one by one, swinging us around.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ Rosie said when she came in to investigate the hullabaloo.

      Daddy smiled at her pleasantly: ‘I’ve come to see my little girls, haven’t I?’

      ‘No, you’re not supposed to be here,’ she replied primly, pulling her black woollen cardigan over her gigantic breasts.

      Daddy towered over her.

      ‘And who says I’m not? No reason I can’t see my kids – and take them out to get sweets!’

      And with that me, Tara, Lucy and Libby started cheering enthusiastically.

      ‘Won’t be long!’ he called back to Rosie, now utterly stunned and stammering with unconcealed fury.

      ‘But, but …’

      Daddy plonked Lucy on his shoulders, took Libby by the hand and Tara and I skipped gaily out the front door by his side.

      It was so wonderful to see our father – he looked well again, and all the way to the sweet shop he asked us about our new life.

      ‘Yes, they treat us good, Daddy,’ Tara told him happily.

      ‘We like it here!’ I agreed. ‘There’s nice children and I’m going to school now.’

      None of us told him the truth – what was the point? He couldn’t do anything about it now. We were all wards of the state until we turned 16. It would only have brought him anguish and more guilt.

      ‘We thought we saw our mammy in town,’ Tara confided later as we sat sharing a bag of toffees on the park bench.

      ‘Yes, I heard she was in town too but I ain’t seen her,’ he nodded sadly.

      When he dropped us back at Watersbridge an hour later the police were there, and Rosie was standing next to them, shrieking and pointing at my father: ‘There he is, officer! That’s the man who abducted the children.’

      ‘What seems to be the problem, Officer?’ My Daddy turned on his famous charm. ‘These are my children and surely you won’t begrudge a man coming to visit his kids or taking them out for a toffee once in a while?’

      ‘Mr O’Shea,’ the officer said, nodding respectfully at my father. ‘According to our records you only have a twice-yearly visiting permit for these children. And that’s got to be at appointed visiting times.’

      Rosie’s little head was bobbing along as he spoke.

      ‘That’s right!’ she announced triumphantly, jabbing her fat little finger at my daddy’s chest. ‘Twice yearly. And appointed times. You can’t just swan in here without asking and take the children away.’

      Sister Helen was standing on the other side of Rosie, smiling coldly at us all. I could see she was acting a part to the police officers. The caring, saintly nun. You’d never believe for a moment that this kindly-looking woman, who’d dedicated her life to the Lord, spent most of her day walloping the heads of little children.

      ‘Come along now.’ She put on her posh voice as she bundled us inside. ‘Let the officers sort this out with your father. It’s tea-time.’

      Daddy winked at us all as we looked back at him longingly.

      ‘See you next week!’ he called out after us, and we laughed as Rosie exploded at him again.

      Nothing on this earth would have kept my father from us. It’s