The Cast-Off Kids (18 page)

As the date grew nearer, I started making lists, of all the things we needed to take, food to buy and all the other jobs we had to do, like getting permissions from Social Services and all the
parents who were contactable. I can’t actually remember whether Rocky answered with his permission for Daisy and Paul. But we would have taken the risk and included them anyway.

We still had just the nine foster-children, aged between four and ten: Ronnie, AJ, Sheena, Daisy, Paul, Gilroy, Laurel, Alfie and Mandy. They were all very excited and the older ones were
crossing off the days on their calendars. Even Daisy was quite animated and clearly enjoyed all the build-up.

‘You can all choose out of your own things what you want to take on holiday and put them on your beds,’ I told them, ‘so I can see if anything needs washing or
ironing.’

An hour or two later, when they were all outside again, I did a tour of inspection. This was when I discovered that Laurel had put out all her summer dresses, but no knickers. Paul had put out
plenty of toys and games on his bed, but no clothes at all and Daisy had put out eight books to read and only one top and shorts. And there were other variations in between.

‘You’ve all got to take some outfits of play-about clothes, and one good set of clothes, in case we want to go somewhere special,’ I told them at teatime. ‘And Laurel,
you need to take some knickers, too.’ Everyone giggled.

‘Paul, you didn’t put out any anything at all to wear. Don’t worry about toys and games. We’ll pack those separately. Just make sure you take some clothes. We don’t
want you running around naked!’ More giggling. ‘And Daisy, you won’t be able to carry your case with all those books in it, so take out half of the books and put some more clothes
in instead.’

Next it was time to raid the toybox. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘You can each choose one toy or game. And we’ll take some extra things that everyone can play with.’

Toddler Max was still coming three or four days a week. He must have felt a bit left out of all the increasing excitement, although I tried to distract him onto other things. I asked the others
to try not to talk about the holiday in front of him, but I don’t suppose they took much notice and I felt bad that we couldn’t include him.

‘Max was looking a bit down in the dumps today,’ said Mike, just a few days before the holiday. ‘It’s not like him – he’s usually such a happy-go-lucky little
lad.’

‘Not according to his mother,’ I said. ‘And I’ve seen it for myself. He really lays into that poor woman. And I think he’s driven a big, fat wedge between his
parents since he trashed that caravan.’

‘Good job he’s not coming with us, then!’ Mike laughed. ‘But we’ll miss his cheery smile.’

‘Maybe we can take him with us? I thought out loud.

The next morning I asked Vanda, ‘You know that we’re going on holiday for a week on Saturday?’

‘I’m dreading it already!’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with Max. But I hope you all have a great time.’

‘If we have enough space,’ I suggested, tentatively, ‘would you like us to take him with us?’

‘Oh . . . no, I don’t think it would be possible.’

That surprised me. ‘Really?’

‘We’re still having to pay for all the damage he did when he trashed the caravan we hired on our holiday . . . We can’t afford any more expense at the moment.’

‘Oh,’ I assured her, ‘it wouldn’t cost you anything. We’re going anyway, all in the van, so one more wouldn’t make any difference. And the caravans are booked
as well, so it’s only a case of squeezing him in. We’ll work that out somehow.’

So when we set off on the following Saturday, Max came too.

I
t was a long journey south from the Midlands to Bournemouth, with all the children in the back, together with all their luggage, potties just in
case and some large play equipment for the beach. We had to make toilet stops every forty-five minutes on the way, and a couple of other stops because I get car-sick. I had the map, but luckily
Mike had learnt our route, which is just as well because I’m dyslexic.

I won’t say it was easy taking a barrel of monkeys in the back of a van, crowded round with stuff. ‘Don’t anybody ask me “are we nearly there yet?”,’ I said.
‘Because we won’t be.’

‘Not ever?’ asked little Mandy, who was rehearsing to set up the British Logical Thinking Association – as soon as she could spell it.

‘OK, Mand. You win. We will get there . . . but not for a very long time.’

‘How many hours?’ she persisted.

‘Is it a leap year?’ I replied, but fortunately that was lost on her, at that age.

For our lunch stop, Mike had chosen a place where there was a picnic area with lovely views and a large grassed area for the kids to play an impromptu football match, in
between sandwiches, snacks and drinks.

When we reached the spot, there were lots of family groups of three or four dotted about, and not much space for us. I exchanged looks with Mike.

He weaved his way around them. ‘We’ll just park here,’ he said, stopping right in the middle.

I gave one nearby family a smile and we exchanged hellos as I went round to the back of the van and opened the doors. It was like a scattergun explosion. Out poured the ten children, all the
picnic things, all the balls and bats and skipping ropes and all the toys . . . and all their pent-up noise and energy.

‘Well,’ I said to Mike as people edged further and further away. ‘We cleared this space quicker than a bomb-disposal unit!’

We had set off at eight in the morning, and it was late afternoon by the time we arrived at the site in Bournemouth.

We reported at the reception hut, and were told where to go. But there must have been a mix-up, because these two caravans were much smaller than we’d been led to believe they would be.
How on earth were we going to fit everyone in?

‘Do you think we can manage?’ asked Mike, scratching his head.

‘Well, somebody will have to sleep in the broom cupboard,’ I said, opening the door of the narrow space where the cleaning things were kept.

Ronnie laughed, and they all joined in.

‘No, I’m serious. Look,’ I pointed at the beds. ‘We haven’t got enough beds for everybody to sleep in, so you can all take turns, one night each in the broom
cupboard.’

The children all looked at me, then at the cupboard, so I kept my face straight. ‘Right, let’s see who can go first . . . Paul, you come and try it out. You’ll have to stand
up, like the brooms.’

So, slim, wiry Paul squashed himself in sideways as far as he could.

‘Yes, that’s it, so you can do tonight. Daisy, you can go next. Then Sheena, Ronnie, AJ and Gilroy, you can do a night each.’ They really believed me!

There was a double and a single bed in one caravan, and just a double in the other, so we topped and tailed the kids, four in each double and two in the single. And we put the settee bits
together for Mike and me to sleep on.

None of the 1960s caravans on this site had bathrooms or toilets, so we all had to troop across to the wash-house, where the water was usually cold. But the kids had great fun splashing about in
the showers.

The first morning of our holiday, we all trooped down to the beach with our stuff. All the kids, even the little ones, had to carry something. I can remember how excited they all were. Most of
them had never seen the sea before, or felt the sand under their feet. Everybody was laughing and even normally quiet Daisy was joining in with the banter.

We found a good place to settle ourselves. Then we told them all to lie down, and Mike and I tried to bury them in the sand – well, not quite! When I think how dangerous it could have been
. . . It wouldn’t be allowed nowadays. But we just gave them a light covering, up to their necks, and they only stayed still for a few minutes, before wriggling free to have a runabout on the
beach and down to the sea’s edge.

We had all the beach toys with us, so they spent the day playing beach games, making sandcastles, having a paddle or a swim and eating ice creams. It was all so new that we didn’t have any
trouble. Max was good as gold. AJ didn’t steal anything from anyone (as far as we knew). Even Gilroy, away from home, was a happy child, for the first time in months; carefree, full of smiles
and just enjoying himself with the boys.

At one point Paul became a bit too energetic, as usual. He started throwing handfuls of sand, and the others complained. I was about to tell him off, when suddenly there was a scream from Laurel
as she put her hands to her eyes.

I dashed across, as quickly as the soft sand would let me. ‘What’s the matter? Did you get sand in your eyes?’ I asked, as I sat down to give her a soothing cuddle.

She leant into me, but carried on screaming, so I left Mike to look after the others and rushed Laurel straight up to the first-aid tent at the top of the beach. The two first-aiders tilted her
head and trickled water into her eyes to wash away the sand. Gradually, her screams subsided, reducing to whimpers as the treatment took effect. I carried her back down the beach, where she gave a
hard stare to Paul who was lurking by our windbreak, looking suitably crestfallen.

‘You hurt my eyes!’ Laurel accused him.

‘I know,’ he said in a genuinely sympathetic voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

The rest of the morning passed without any major incidents. Most of the children were in and out of the water all day and even Alfie’s elephant got her toes dipped in the sea. But I
remember how we had to take turns to carry Mandy down to have a paddle, because she hated to feel the dry sand between her toes. And we had to spread out our largest towel for her to sit on.

Later in the afternoon, we got out the nets and took them crabbing. They loved that and everyone wanted to be the first to catch a crab. I think Gilroy and Paul both caught one.

‘Now you have to put them back,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s a living creature and you’ve got to be kind to it.’

‘Why?’ asked Gilroy.

‘Some people must take them, ’cos you can eat crabs,’ added Ronnie.

‘Only fishermen,’ I said. ‘It’s against the law to keep them.’ Of course it probably wasn’t, but it’s amazing what you can get away with when the kids
don’t know any better. ‘You can take your bucket and you can take some shells, but that’s all.’

When we finally went back to the caravan site, the older children ran off to the playground for half an hour, and Mike took the little ones for a go on the toddlers’
swings, while I rustled up something to eat. Any cooking had to be very basic on the little stoves we had in caravans in those days – no home cooking, or anything like that. Just tins and
packets and lots of fruit, bread and cereals. I’m sure we had more canned soups than were good for us that week.

The second morning it was raining, so I got out all the bits and pieces I’d brought for them to do. We had a games compendium for the older ones to play with Mike, which kept them occupied
for an hour or so, while I helped the little ones to do some colouring, and cutting patterns with the alligator scissors.

‘Let’s play hide ’n’ seek,’ suggested Paul when he tired of the sitting-down games. So Ronnie volunteered to go and close his eyes. We had top storage lockers in
the caravans, so Paul picked up Max and stuffed him into one of those. Max loved it. ‘Now, don’t fall out,’ said Paul. And he didn’t.

I know it seems unlikely, but you’d be surprised how many places you can find to hide in a caravan! Everything was fun to them, even in the rain, and they all played well together . . .
most of the time.

Luckily, the weather cleared up by lunchtime, so we packed everything up again and went back down to the beach, which was always their favourite place.

We didn’t have much money, but we used to allow them all a few pennies every day of the holiday, and they could each decide what they did with their money. Some of them spent it straight
away on ice creams, while others saved it for when we went to the fair, which we planned to do on the last day.

On other days, we went off in the van to a different beach at Poole, or to the cinema and various other places.

The scary thing about taking so many foster children on holiday like that was the responsibility. Somehow it’s worse when it’s other people’s children. We always worried and I
had to try and watch them all, wherever we were, checking that they were all still there, and being over-protective. What if one of the kids had an accident, or we lost one of them? We were so far
away from our local authority. And we had no way of contacting anybody ourselves. We didn’t have mobile phones then. If anything had gone wrong, we would have been hauled over the coals, so
we had to watch them all the time.

The caravan site was near the end of the cliffs at Bournemouth. It was a beautiful spot, with views out to sea. When we came back from an outing one afternoon, Mike and I were unpacking the
picnic stuff from the van when Daisy asked, ‘Where’s Mandy?’

‘Isn’t she with you?’

‘No, she was with us, but now I can’t see her.’

‘Oh my God!’ I panicked.

‘Daisy, you and Sheena go and look for her in the toilet block. Ronnie and Paul, can you check inside and underneath our caravans please, in case she’s hiding.’ Everybody had
somewhere to look, and I took seven-year-old Gilroy off with me to search around the far end of the site, while Mike took the little ones, meandering round the area near the caravans, to look for
her and to ask if anyone had seen her.

I was getting frantic. Mandy was only four. There was no gate security or anything like that, so anyone could be roaming around, perhaps preying on little children. The longer she was out of our
sight, the more desperate I felt. And Gilroy didn’t help.

‘She’s gone for good,’ he announced triumphantly. ‘She’s probably fallen off the cliff and into the sea. She’s drowned. She’s dead and washed out to
sea!’ He was enjoying this. ‘I bet you she’s dead. Let’s go and see.’ He tried to pull me towards the cliff edge, but I was too terrified to look.