My earliest memories of childhood included me and my sister going on 'holidays' to complete strangers, living with families for periods of two to four weeks. It didn't seem strange at the time, yet as I grew up I began to wonder what was going on. The penny finally dropped when I returned to my mothers one say to find a strange woman sat in the frontroom (Jean, a social worker). She explained that she had come to take my sister away...and within minutes she was packed and gone. I realised that she had been taken away permanently for the reason of my mother being unable to cope. At the time we were living on a council estate and my dad had left her a few years previously. We were difficult to control. I can remember me perched In a tree in the front garden, and my sister passing me stones so that I could throw them at passing pensioners. I can recall tying string to a neighbours doorknocker, hiding around a corner and pulling it. Further still we spent one night in hospital after drinking some form of engine oil. Whilst kids get up to all sorts I can begin to understand why my mother struggled.

Maybe a few weeks had passed and I had got used to my sister not being around. I arrived home from school, watched He Man and Monkey Magic (two of my favourite programme's) ate my tea (Cheese potato pie) and relaxed. A knock at the door saw Jean (the social worker) appear in the front room, and I immediately knew that she had come for me. My mother, and I, were in tears, but Jean explained that I had to go as me and my sister could not be split up. My last memory of that day was climbing into her car and looking out of the rear window, waving at my mother. The reality of the day had not quite sunk in...that is until I arrived at 'the home,' a bland, brown large building that to me looked like a prison (see top of page). I arrived with my bag of belongings and was shown to a little bedroom that I was told would be mine for the forseable future. I instinctively looked for my sister, and found her playing with some other kids...and so began my time at the local children's home.

Following the infrequency of seeing my mother it was around this time that my father came onto the scene. He had just re married and moved into his new flat in a neighbouring village. He would pick us up for the weekend and both me and my sister would stay at our grand parents house. It had barely been a matter of months since our arrival at the children's home, yet I had learned that a lot of our fellow residents were not able to visit family, simply because they had no one to visit or their families were uninterested in them. The children's home was situated in a typical town street, with a primary school on one side, houses on the other and lots of warehouses behind it. Despite the fact that it was one building, surprisingly enough it was actually split into two separate children's homes. The were even numbered XX and XX, yet each contained children that had no identifiable differences. To be quiet honest we never even had much of a chance to interact as a fence separated us in the vast back gardens. This was to be remedied during my stay, whereby common sense prevailed and the two homes were joined. I had to get used to having set meals at set times, and perhaps most importantly for my survival I had to obey the rules that were in place.

Usually there would be two members of staff at any one time, and it did not take me or my sister long to work out the positive and negative aspects of each member of staff. However before describing staff members I feel that it is important to briefly discuss the hierarchy. From the top we had the manager of the establishment, whom we shall call Judy. She was supported by her assistant manager, Wendy. Within their office there was also a financial administrator. Within the adjoining home there were a set of residential staff, male and female, who were expected to work day and night shifts. There were also two cleaners and one cook.