I had a much happier post for the letter G but after watching the documentary on t.v. last night about Christine Buckley and her time spent in the orphanage I was so upset, I just had to share my memories which were so much happier than Christine’s.
I used to go to ballroom dance classes once a week with my sisters in the convent hall. As we glided around the room somewhat ungracefully to the viennese waltz, the nuns would smile and clap in time to the music. We thought they were so nice. We each got a lollipop from the jar offered by one of the nuns on our way home.
As we left, we often saw some of the orphans walking in pairs through the wooden door. We’d wave and smile at them but they never smiled or waved back. They were obviously afraid to for fear of being beaten by the nuns. The innocence of us back then. We thought it would be such fun to share a dormitory with our friends. Whispering and sharing secrets during the night, eating together at the big scrubbed tables every day, and no parents telling us what to do. If only we’d known the horrors of what really happened behind those wooden doors we would have been shocked and appalled.
Suffer little children
Smiles that never reached their eyes
No one heard their cries at night;
Calling for a mother they never knew
A father who knew nothing of their existence
Who probably couldn’t care less
Left in the care of the sisters of mercy
They showed no mercy
Brides of Christ
With hearts of ice
Who made the little children suffer
For the sins of their mothers
Slaves in hob nailed boots
With no roots, no family,
No one to call their own
So alone, looking for love,
A kind word, a smile, a hug
Someone to hear their cries at night
Someone to make everything alright.