If you\u2019ve got an ounce of sense, you lie low in a Children\u2019s Home, for trouble\u2019s never far away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
So I feared the worst one morning after breakfast, when I was called out into the entrance hall. I\u2019d seen kids come back in tears from there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That time it must have been a weekend, most likely a Saturday, because we hadn\u2019t gone to school and it involved the postman. The Auntie in charge of my family group had called me out, and in that corridor stood Mrs Jones, the Warden\u2019s wife; and the Cook<\/em>, of all people. Now I liked Cook Barbara because you could get round her dead easy. If you followed her trolley back to the kitchen after mealtimes, she would give you a third helping of cold sponge and custard if you were lucky. And I usually was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So why am I out here?<\/em> I was wondering. I couldn\u2019t think of anything I\u2019d been up to that they would have known about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – There\u2019s a parcel for you, says Mrs Jones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Holding out a small white box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – For me? I don\u2019t know anyone who sends parcels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One doesn\u2019t get much post when life has put you in an institution.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – Oh but it\u2019s got your name on it. Here. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Passing over the box. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Sure enough, my name is on it, and the address is right. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ll have that stamp<\/em> I think on taking a closer look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – Well, open it up then, says Barbara. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She must have had things to be getting on with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I liked the look of the box, it was so neat. A white square with a deep lid that was a bit of a struggle to get off. Inside were two flaps of paper cut out like lace, folded one over on top of the other and, underneath, a slice of fruit cake, with icing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n – It\u2019s Christmas cake, I say. At Easter\u2026 <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m bright: the daffs were out in the grounds. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Uncertain about what is going on, I looked up. Mrs Jones is beaming. You never liked it when adults beamed at you, that meant they were going to treat you like a baby. <\/p>\n\n\n\n – It\u2019s wedding cake dear!<\/p>\n\n\n\n A stifled ripple of laughter. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Stung, I answer back – which is usually not advisable:<\/p>\n\n\n\n – How do you know? It looks like Christmas cake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – Because it came in a white box. That\u2019s what they put it in when someone sends you a slice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I still don\u2019t get it, I’m only nine years old. These women are being mysterious and I\u2019m not convinced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – Well it can\u2019t be for me, because I don\u2019t know anyone who got married.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Let\u2019s face it, I had a very restricted circle. End of story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – It\u2019ll be on the card.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – What card?<\/p>\n\n\n\n – The one in the box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I look, and there was indeed a white card, if greasy from the cake and stained by the dried fruit. \u201cLove from Mum\u201d it says, with three kisses. In her handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I secretly recognised it. Weird or what?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not good at social work, Cook blurts out:<\/p>\n\n\n\n – Fancy getting wedding cake from your own mother!<\/p>\n\n\n\n I agree, I felt odd in myself. Why would my Mum be sending me wedding cake?<\/p>\n\n\n\n – She must have got married again, says Auntie, putting her arm around me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I shrink like a snail when you pick it up. Damage limitation: I always recognised it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n – I don\u2019t think she can have, she never told me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Which came out in a small voice. That’s me holding myself in, bottom lip trembling maybe, but that\u2019s all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Auntie helped me replace the lid, I remember.<\/p>\n\n\n\n – That\u2019s yours, she said, folding the box away and patting it. You keep it safe and you can eat it when you like, no one need know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And somehow she pulled me back into the here and now.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" If you\u2019ve got an ounce of sense, you lie low in a Children\u2019s Home, for trouble\u2019s never far away. So I feared the worst one morning after breakfast, when I was called out into the entrance hall. I\u2019d seen kids come back in tears from there. That time it must have been a weekend, most […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[44,33,26,45],"class_list":["post-80","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-event","tag-destruction","tag-disorientation","tag-my-mothers","tag-the-self"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=80"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":86,"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/80\/revisions\/86"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=80"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=80"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.colinhicks.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=80"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}