Sweets on a Sunday
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This is the story of my life. At four years old I was the eldest of four children. Our mother, pregnant with her fifth child left us in a Leeds orphanage. From there we were separated, sent to other childrens' homes, and then a series of different foster parents, and finally back to another orphanage. Over the years we never received Birthday or Christmas cards from any of our family, and no one ever came to visit us, we never knew why. We only knew that we were not allowed to be adopted. A lifetime had passed since my unhappy childhood, until just over four years ago, when my sister Pat, trou...
This is the story of my life. At four years old I was the eldest of four children. Our mother, pregnant with her fifth child left us in a Leeds orphanage. From there we were separated, sent to other childrens' homes, and then a series of different foster parents, and finally back to another orphanage. Over the years we never received Birthday or Christmas cards from any of our family, and no one ever came to visit us, we never knew why. We only knew that we were not allowed to be adopted. A lifetime had passed since my unhappy childhood, until just over four years ago, when my sister Pat, troubled by her past wrote to Social Services asking if any records existed on her whilst she had been, 'in care.' We finally gained access to our notes, and subsequently read these only to relive the trauma of our childhood, leaving us drained, both mentally and emotionally. "I could write a book," I said to the social worker. "You must," she replied. "It's a wonderful story." So, I began to write.
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