Heaps of Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page B

Doctor,” said one of the nuns, “we couldn’t possibly allow that, the Reverend Mother would not be at all happy. All we want you to do is to give us some medication and we will look after her back at the orphanage.” “This little girl is going to St Vincent’s hospital,” Dillon told them in no uncertain terms as he called an ambulance.’
    The mother just sat there staring up at him as he finished the whiskey and refilled his glass.
    â€˜Of course they refused point-blank to leave her alone at any time in my office, in case the little girl said anything to us, and as soon as the ambulance arrived the two of them climbed into the back with her. And do you know what? They had the cheek to say to me when they were leaving,’ and his voice began to rise again, ‘“We’ll say a prayer for you and the good doctor.” Can you imagine that? The bloody murdering twisters were going to say a prayer for us, while the two-faced feckers are killing little children behind closed doors and, what’s more, being paid by the government to do so. Well, first thing in the morning, I’m going to report the lot of them to the RSPCC.
    â€˜Emily, do you know what Dillon told me after they had left?’ And, not even waiting for the mother to respond, he continued, ‘That he’s up there, nearly every week, treating the poor children for some mishap or other. Broken limbs, bruising, scalding and every other bit of misery the nuns can inflict on them. That fucking bastard has known what they have been doing to the orphans for years, and do you know what he had the gall to say to me?
    â€˜â€œRon,” he said, “you are wasting your time thinking that you can change anything. The nuns will justify their actions on the grounds that since the majority of the orphans were born out of wedlock, they are in fact the devil’s incarnation, which has to be beaten out of them at all costs.” Can you believe that, Emily? And that statement came from one who I thought was an educated man?’
    â€˜He’s right, Ron,’ the mother answered quietly, stunning him into silence. ‘Who will believe you? It will be your word against theirs and the church will always win out in the end. All you will do is make us the laughing stock of the neighbourhood. Also you have to think of your son: what do you think will happen to him?’
    â€˜I can’t believe it, my own wife as well. Are you so afraid of the power of the church that you would remain silent rather than do something about it? Well the hell with the lot of you, I’m going expose this barbaric conduct.’
    â€˜No, you are not, and if you do I will leave you and take your son with me.’
    That was the end of that conversation, because from there it exploded into a fully-fledged row and I slipped out of the kitchen while they were engrossed in shouting at each other. One thing I was certain about: whatever was happening up there, I couldn’t believe that it involved Sister Charlotte, since she was nice. As for Sister Ann, well, that was a different matter entirely.
    The schoolroom in which I was to spend the next three years was the first in a line of four. The left wall of my classroom ran alongside the street and had a door that led directly out onto the footpath. Sister Charlotte presided over us from a desk that was situated to the left of the large blackboard and was elevated about 3 feet above the floor, so she had a bird’s eye view of the whole class. From day one she eliminated any thoughts of misbehaviour, for she could move like lightning. As soon as she spotted and identified any potential troublemaker, she would swoop down from her perch like a black bird of prey and, with a swish of her long ruler, quell even the most troublesome child. The nuns’ main role in life, while attempting to bash the three R’s into us, was to prepare us for our first confession and Holy