Chapter 5
I heard a lot of people coming up the stairs, there was a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and my nappy rash was particularly severe and very irritating. I clutched Flopsy close to me and rose to my knees in my cot. The weight of my nappy caused it to sag so that I could feel it resting on the back of my calves. I was suc-king my dummy furiously and my bib that was already very wet from my dribbling became saturated.
My mother was remonstrating with a man outside the door telling him that everything was alright and that there was no need for him to be there. Another woman chimed in and said that they had to investigate every complaint where children were involved. Miss Tranter, my lovely Miss Tranter, said that she believed that I was being abused.
In walked a policeman, a woman with a clipboard, Miss Tranter and my mother. They all looked at an eight-year-old boy kneeling in his cot in wet nappies dressed as a little baby. There was a positive intake of breath and astonishment.
“Tommy” greeted Miss Tranter clearly distressed at the sight of me crying and in such a humiliating position.
“Miss Tranter” I said with no sign of a lisp or any other baby talk, no longer would I have to say “Mith Twanter.” I was going to be a proper boy from now on, now I knew my nanny had gone.
“I am Mrs Wainsworth” said the rather stern looking middle-aged lady with the official looking board and black briefcase. “I am from Social Services, and I have come to see how you are keeping. There is nothing to worry about, we are going to make sure that you are safe sweetheart.”
The policeman who was wearing his big helmet said “and I am Constable Barker. There’s no need to be afraid, you haven’t done anything wrong. I had to come and see you as well because we heard all about you at the police station.”
“Look at you” said my mother lowering the side rail of my cot. “What a mess you are in silly boy. Look at the state of you and look at your bedtime nappies that you must wear because you are a bed wetter.” She pulled down my nappies and plastic pants as I kneeled there and encourage me to stand as she slid them off my feet one foot at a time. My blazing soreness was evident for all to see. The great thump my wet nappies made as they hit the floor was evidence as to how long I had been left in them. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into your underwear.”
I looked a bit surprised. Miss Tranter looked even more surprised. “You keep him in nappies all the time” she said looking at my mother in disbelief.
“No, he’s far to big to be kept in nappies, he’s eight years old for goodness’ sake” she retorted. “My goodness how you have grown recently” she said struggling to put on a pair of infantile pants that I hadn’t worn in three years, and they were terry towelling training pants that were badly stained at that. She struggled to find any clothes that weren’t for a baby girl and opted for a big baby grow with the snaps hanging down, over which she put some pink stretch towelling shorts. She plucked out my dummy and threw it into my bed. “You must stop suc-king that binkie, how old are you? I must be a bit tougher on you and make you grow up.”
Constable Barker and Mrs Wainsworth were not looking very impressed by this performance. I looked like a baby and clearly had no clothes befitting my age. Miss Tranter stated the obvious “look at his bed, they replaced his bed with a cot. He eats his meals in a big high chair. She and nanny forced him to wear a bib and speak like a baby. This poor boy is broken.”
“Shut up Miss Tranter” barked my mother “you don’t know anything.” She helped me out of my cot, but I almost stumbled, because my legs were so weak from not walking but crawling everywhere.
“Look, he can barely walk, because he was made to crawl about on his hands and knees like a baby. Do you think his knees would look so sore if he had been walking?” Miss Tranter was boiling with emotion. How I loved her at this moment. “They forced him to stay in nappies for so long that I doubt he has any control left now.”
As if on cue, I felt the front of my rather small and insufficient underwear grow warm as I wet myself profusely. I dripped onto the linoleum of my nursery floor.
“Need I say more?” asked Miss Tranter
Mrs Wainsworth sprang into action and in a trice had me lying on my back on my changing table as she took off all me wet clothing and with professional efficiency had me cleaned up with baby wipes and dressed in clean nappies and protected with my plastic baby pants. I looked towards my dummy but she shook her head “Time to be a big boy now Tommy” she said firmly but kindly.
She grabbed my hand and took me downstairs with everybody in procession. The constable was speaking to my mother and writing things down in his notebook. Miss Tranter was asked to look after me while Mrs Wainsworth filled out several forms she had on her clipboard. She handed the forms to my mother and took me outside. I seem to have been sold or exchanged for paperwork. We got into the back of the police car and waited for the constable to join us.
We set off with nobody saying anything for quite a long time. “Your mummy is in a lot of trouble Tommy and she needs to sort things out. In the meantime, I am taking you to a special place full of boys and girls just like you. You will be able to grow up and be a proper big boy again.”
The sign outside the dark spooky building said “The Orphanage of the Blessed Sister Mary”. I did not feel that this latest part of my life was going to be a picnic. As we walked up the driveway, having waved Constable Barker goodbye, the overall impression was one of quietness and austerity. On one side, surrounded by a tall wall was a kitchen garden. On the other side was a large grassy area that had three enormous washing lines that ran the length of the garden. One had maybe four or five dozen nappies and twenty pairs of plastic pants fluttering in the breeze. Another was full of institutional grey dresses and grey shorts. The last was hung with aprons, tabards, bibs and other protective wear.
The door was opened by a nun in her full habit, all in black, all very depressing and sombre. A couple of girls all dressed in grey with grey protective smocks, were working with a large tin of polish with rags and dusters to buff the floor to a rich shine. They looked about my age, they looked sad, subjugated, and subservient. The nun pointed at a corner “There!” The two souls rushed to apply new polish and vigour.
We entered a dull office that smelled of polish, indeed, the whole atmosphere was of polish and incense. The furniture was dark, heavy with massive curtains allowing the smallest chink of light to fall on the massive desk before me. There were two chairs facing the window in front of the desk and we sat. We were left alone.
A matronly woman entered; it was the Mother Superior. “You! Stand outside the door and face the wall and do not move.”
Topic: Tommy's Story (Read 21485 times)
