King's Cross Kid Read Online Free PDF Page B

imagine the sense of loneliness when the visitors failed to appear, which often happened, because it was impossible for most of the families to afford the fare to travel to and from the home.
    Although I missed my mum, at the same time I felt a strange sense of security and wellbeing. Then, one day, I was called to the front of the class and told to report to the headmaster’s room. One of the older boys escorted me to his office and left me alone there, wondering what fate had in store for me. The head came in and told me that the next morning I had to hand in all my washing and cleaning kit because my parents were coming to collect me. As a parting shot he said: ‘We’re sorry to lose you, Victor. We think you would have been a pride to the British navy.’ That’s what the man said. I remember it as if it was yesterday.
    The next morning everything carried on as normal – up, wash, breakfast, into the first class of the day, and then the second, and on into the dining room for lunch. By now I was almost in tears; my mum wasn’t coming after all. Finally, I was marched into the headmaster’s office where I found my gran and the ever faithful Uncle Joe sitting down, finishing some refreshments that the head had laid on.
    The head told me to go to Matron and put on the clothes I’d arrived in, which were all done up in a parcel. No matter how hard I tried, none of the clothes would fit me, they were all too small and tight. Eventually it was decided that I should keep the clothes I was wearing, all except the hats. My gran was pleased about my sailor’s outfit as it saved having to buy me new clothes.
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    I remember being reunited with Mum. She was crying and laughing at the same time, hugging me to her and showing the love that only a mother can give. Later in life I learnt that my going away had driven Mum into a complete mental breakdown. Gran decided that things had gone too far and that she had to get me back. She and Granddad decided that they would have brother John to live with them, which took a load off my mum’s shoulders. When I arrived home and John was no longer there, the place seemed empty. My stay at the Shaftesbury Home was history. Mother never mentioned it and I sensed the hurt it must have caused her, and never raised the subject myself.

8
    Mean Streets
    My time away from home must have done me some good. I had grown skywards and Mother decided that I was getting too big to sleep in the same room with two women, so she decided to move my bed into the kitchen. It finished up in a space between the gas cooker and the kitchen sink and, despite all Mum’s efforts to keep the place clean, as soon as darkness fell a cracking and rustling announced the arrival of an advance guard of cockroaches and our resident family of mice. Mother had a way of her own as far as the mice were concerned. She used to set a bucket half filled with water in the centre of the room. Then she fixed up a small length of wood to the side of the bucket, like a child’s seesaw. On the end of the strip of wood she put a lump of evil-smelling cheese. The unsuspecting rodents smelt the cheese and ran along the piece of wood, causing the wood to dip down, flinging the mouse and any of his mates who were with him into the water. Sometimes a dozen or so of the mice finished up in this watery grave. In the morning the bucket went straight down the toilet, and a good flush made sure we were mouse-free for at least a couple of days.
    We soon got back into a routine. After breakfast Mum took Emmy off to our gran’s, then went on her way to work leaving me to find my own way to school. All except Wednesday mornings when it was my job to take the ‘bag wash’ round to the Sunlight laundry. This meant cramming all our dirty clothes into a large canvas bag which was held closed with a big brass clasp complete with padlock. Each clasp had a number stamped into it as a means of identification. I had to