the witch

In this story I will refer to my mom as mom.

Her name was Joyce Thompson and she was sent to an orphanage (the orphanage may have been in Ipswich) after her mother (Grandma Florence) died.  Mom was 9 years old at the time.  I don’t know how long she was in the orphanage, a few months I think.  People would come through the orphanage and look at the kids to see who they wanted to foster into their homes.  One day mom was selected.  Aunt Iris was there too but she wasn’t picked because she looked “sickly”.  She was just getting over the flu or some other childhood illness so she looked pale and weak.

So mom got a home. You would think this may have been a bright light for our mom, getting out of the orphanage with its strict discipline and harsh routine.  But it was not to be.  This new family lived in Pidley.  Pidley is a small village in south eastern England about 20 miles southeast of Peterborough, mom’s hometown.  The family, I think their last name was Davis, consisted of a women whom mom called the “witch” and I will refer to her as that (with no capitalization, please), and her husband “who was weird and drank homemade beer” and their daughter, a spoiled brat according to mom.  I think the daughter was a little older than mom.

Mom arrived as a scared little 9 year old still griefing over the death of her mother.  She possessed one small suitcase with clothes and shoes provided by the orphanage and a few little personal possession, including a doll. The moment mom arrived, the “witch” took away all her personal possessions and gave them to her own daughter. Mom was left with the clothes and shoes provided by the orphanage.  The “witch” even took the suitcase.

Mom settled in to learning the rules of the new household.  There was a foster boy there too.  I don’t know his name or how long he was there, but the foster kids could only play in the back garden.  They had to sit on a bench and play.  The couldn’t run, skip or jump because that would wear out their shoes and the “witch” was not going to buy them any new shoes.  The privileged daughter didn’t live by the same rules.  She got to do whatever she wanted.  She always had new shoes and she had mom’s doll.

There were times when the foster children were allowed to go pick berries.  Mom and the foster boy would take their buckets and go off walking to the berry patch.  But as soon as they were out of sight of the house, they were off running, skipping and jumping finding freedom to just be kids.  Those were treasured and happy moments for mom, away from the “witch” and her rules.  But the “witch” would always check their shoes when they got home to see if they had been skipping and running.

Mom stayed with this family until she turned 14 (five long years).  At that time, as did a lot of girls in England, she was sent to a home to be a mother’s helper.  When she left, she left with nothing but the clothes on her back.  The “witch” was suppose to provide her with two sets of clothes and a suitcase when she left.  The “witch” was given a monthly stipend for 5 years for mom’s care.  But this was an exciting and happy day for mom…to be away from this “witch” and hopefully into a better circumstance.  But it turned into a very sad day.  The car pulled up to take her to her new home and a new foster kid was getting out of the car.  The “witch” said “your sister, Avis is coming to stay with us.”  The “witch”  said they could not speak to each other, they couldn’t embrace…they could only pass each other on the sidewalk and move on.  It was heartbreaking.  As it turned out even more tragic as that was the last time mom ever saw Avis.  Avis died in the “witches” care under “mysterious” circumstances.  Shortly after Avis’ death, the “witch” family left the village in a hurry.  (See note below).

Note:  mom knew Avis had died in the care of this foster family and could never figure out how or why.  When mom and I went to England in 1986, we went to the little village of Pidley.  Mom wanted to see if she could find a gravesite for Avis at the village church and cemetary.  We could not.  We found out later, because Avis was a ward of the state, she would have been buried somewhere else.  We never found out where.  But the Davis house where mom was fostered was still there.  It was empty and boarded up, but we were able to get into the back garden.  Mom relived those years explaining how her and the foster boy would sit on the bench and play games.  We went to the house next door and knocked.  This lovely lady came to the door and we told her the story and that we were looking for any information on the family that lived there and what happened to them.  She invited us in for tea.  She told us that from what she’d heard the family had left Pidley in a hurry after some “mysterious” event right after Avis’ death.  She believed that the “witch” was caught pocketing the funds that she was given to take care of these children.  And that neglect may have been the cause of Avis’ death.