In this extract from I Am, Michelle Scally Clarkes remembers the day she left the children's home and moved in with her new adpopted family, the Scallys.
I know bareness. I know the blueness of corridors. I know coldness. I know the taste of Coca-Cola ice cubes. This is how I remember. I know the children’s home. I know me at five and six years old. Those early years, paramount to the person I have become, I was placed in the system’s belly. The system holds my facts, dates, figures, testaments. I remember in a haze, like I’m looking into a mirror with a bright light shining in. Blurred images, people who I knew were mine, who I have sought to find, to define my way.
I remember Aunty Carmel most of all. She was my first mother-figure, my carer. She ran the home. I was her favourite, the baby, she made it possible for me to love, to feel. The others didn’t like our relationship. She was more than a carer. She had grey hair and sparkling eyes that gave her warmth. She had yellow fingers. I can see her smoking like a trooper. Aunty Carmel used to dress me up. I remember a red top, a red quilt skirt, red three band shoes with Bay City Roller socks pulled all the way to the knee. I remember a white sailor’s jumper with a gold hoop and a blue bottom. My son had one as a baby. In hard reality, the people who looked after me were paid, took holidays and moaned. They dreaded coming to work, to my home; the children’s home. But life is never without its silver lining and I was blessed to have the love and security of Aunty Carmel. I can remember the darkness, in the dormitory, when Aunty Carmel wasn’t there.
I remember Sean, blond hair, blue eyes. My first sibling, the second youngest in the home, two years older than me. This was our first secure place, we felt love and protection. We used to play. If Sean was naughty and was slippered or hit with the belt, I used to cry for him. If it was me being hit, in public, in front of the others, he would cry. Sean was taken away, I remember him being adopted. I went to see him in his new home, all neat and orderly. I remember his room was blue and he had a train set. He’d been transformed, he didn’t want to play with a girl anymore, didn’t want to be my brother.
At six I had learnt to mistrust people. I learnt from myself that I knew God. I don’t remember being introduced but I do remember him being my best friend. I had a drawing of girl who was praying. This and a battered red ballerina suitcase were my only possessions. I remember talking to God. Nobody can be the comfort of God; my light to survive.
I remember happiness. When the box of Orange Clubs had come from Jacobs. On pancake day when we had pancakes, served in quarters on a saucer and we could have them covered with strawberry jam or lemon juice and sugar. Going to Ireland on the boat with Aunty Carmel and playing with identical twins. Sean was there. Going on day trips to Scarborough. At Christmas time when the presents came, loads of presents. By the afternoon, they had all gone, no trace of any presents. We didn’t know what it was to keep things, what toys were. My concept of toys was being chased by a space hopper, orange with big ears and a painted on face. That was toys. I remember marbles, digging out the dirt in the floor to play marbles.
I remember a dark-skinned girl. She was also Michelle and was like my big sister. I knew what was Black and white. I knew what N****r was. People would be coming and going quickly. I remember having a big hug with Michelle and then she was gone. I can remember Maria, she had a big scar on her face that her father had done.
I knew what fanny meant. I knew how to make babies, ‘stick it up, stick it up’. We played Mummies and Daddies. I knew very dark times. I remember feeling neglected. I remember being abused. Don’t let me disturb you, a sharp mind, an elephant’s memory, was induced by primal fear. I knew fear and survival and now I am on the walk back to me. Walking and healing myself as I give all I perceive to motherhood, to my children. I heal my past through my future. I lay the seeds of my family with love, nourishment and dignity to walk forward.
I remember being visited by blood brothers and sisters. I don’t remember their faces but one sister had blue, blue eyes. They walked me to the shop and bought me blackcurrant Chewits, then took me back to the home. We knew when visitors were coming because we were dressed up. I remember the day the Scallys first came to the home. They were sat in the front room and took up a lot of space. I was in awe of my would-be mother, beautiful-looking, with hair down to her waist. Rebecca and Annie, my future sisters, had drawn me a picture and baked me a cake.
I have strong memories of the day I moved in to the Scally household. I was taken by Aunty Carmel and a social worker. My mother looked at my ballerina suitcase and little picture and wondered where the rest of my things were. Aunty Carmel had put some money in a savings account for me and my mother took it and said I should share it with my brothers and sisters. To me it was a fortune.
I can see Aunty Carmel standing in the doorway saying, ‘I’ll see you later Michelle.’ I didn’t understand. ‘You’ll be staying here for now.’ I didn’t realise I would never see Aunty Carmel again.
My little sister Clare knew something was going on. She grabbed me by a tuft of my hair and dragged me along the floor to the door where Aunty Carmel was leaving. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ she said.
