After bouncing around a few temporary placements, I ended up in The Children’s Home.
I really didn’t know what to expect, other than it was likely I wouldn’t have my own room. I’d probably be forced to share with other kids, and having my own space wasn’t going to happen. So many ideas swam in my mind as images from films floated in and out. It really couldn’t be any worse than my current situation, though… could it?
I arrived with my belongings, and as we pulled into a small gate with a sign hiding the name of the place, as if it was trying to fit in with the road and not draw attention to itself. It was a huge box of a building, painted pale yellow with a flat roof — the kind of place that looked like it could have been a school or an office block. There were gardens on either side and from the outside, it really didn’t look like the grim place I had been warned about.
Inside, I was led to a kitchen first, where a cook was making some food. She greeted me warmly before I was taken on a tour. There was a dining room, a games/TV room, a staff room for their meetings, and a lounge that didn’t seem to get used much. There were no other children around because it was mid-morning and they were all off at school. I’d meet them later in the day.
I was told the next stop would be upstairs, so I was led up a flight of stairs to the bedrooms. At the top, a hallway stretched left and right. To the left were some of the other children’s rooms and a cosy upstairs TV room. I was shown a room that had just one bed in it, freshly made with clean furniture and the best view of the viaduct and beach at the bottom of the hill. A beach? I’d never lived near one before.
I was left to it, and I took it all in. It wasn’t as bad as the films made out. In fact, compared to what I’d seen before, this was really quite nice. I unpacked and took in my new surroundings, allowing my brain to breathe — a rare moment. Were there really other children here? I couldn’t wait to meet them after so long being ignored in my previous placement.
It wasn’t long before the sound of other kids broke the silence. I nervously went to meet them. There was a girl, slightly older than me, and another girl and her brothers who had been placed together. It felt kind of warm that they were allowed to stay together. I didn’t even realise that was an option — it made me think of my brothers, who were now in a different children’s home.
The other kids were actually really nice. We all had our moments, of course, but no one was treated differently. We were all ‘foster kids’ — and for once, we were all treated the same.
We had trips to the beach on sunny weekends, sometimes with pocket money to spend. As long as our rooms were in some kind of order. We could watch Sky TV (which was a big deal then — no more just four channels and waiting for kids’ shows at 3.30pm). It felt like freedom.
I started school nearby and liked it, though I still struggled with behaviour. I really tried to keep my head down and do well, but that streak of mischief always crept in. I didn’t understand why school couldn’t meet me halfway — why being ‘clever’ only seemed to earn me more work instead of support. After a while, it wore me down.
But I liked this place. The routine helped. Staff changed throughout the day and night, but no one was treated better than anyone else. For once, it felt like I belonged.
We even went on a real holiday — to Butlins in Minehead. It was my first proper holiday. We were given rucksacks with goodies inside: a towel, sweets, and toys for the journey. They’d been donated by a charity that supported kids like us. It was the sort of thing you never forget.
Back home, I enjoyed the rest of the summer holiday. We built dens, had freedom to swim, went to youth club and the tiny public library at the top of the hill. I’d learn anything I could in that little building. It was the most settled I’d ever felt.
I’d not really enjoyed living away from home until this point, this place would be my first taste of exploring what it was to be me, but sadly
Sadly, school was still hard. I worked quickly and got bored. I wasn’t being difficult — I just needed something different. It wasn’t long before I was told I’d be going to a new school — a ‘Boarding School’. I wouldn’t live there full-time, just during the week. I’d return to the children’s home at weekends.
I didn’t know how to feel about it. I was glad I wasn’t being pushed into another foster home, but also unsure what to expect. At least this new school might help me with my learning struggles. I hoped so.
It wasn’t long before I found out.
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Unwearing the Mercury 