Full Circle

By Diane Wild

At the age of ninety-four, Louise is left with only her memories and plenty of time to reflect on her life. She sits in her chair and her mind drifts back to 1816, when she was only seven years old. As a child, Louise knew that her mother did her best to protect the children from her father’s violent rages. She did not always succeed. And when her drunken father suddenly dies, the penniless family is cast into the streets. Taking with them only what they can carry, Louise and her mother, Clare, and her young brother, Freddy, take to the roads, seeking help and work wherever Clare might find it. Fate intervenes when Clare finds a job at the Old Manor, home to Dr. John Bower, a prominent country physician. Louise believes that life will be pleasant and secure from then on. It is, until Dr. Bower’s reprehensible cousin, Thomas, arrives, changing Louise’s world forever. Thrust into a nightmare from which there is no escape, Louise’s life spirals out of control. Sent away to boarding school, she finally returns home, an embittered and impulsive young woman. Determined to have her way in all things, her plans are suddenly and violently interrupted when she is mistaken for someone else.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Wild
• Release date: Aug 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781927626665

Diane Wild

Diane Wild was born in a council house in Birmingham, England. She emigrated to Canada with her husband Barry in 1967, where she continued her trade as a hairstylist until she retired in 2004. She began writing with the story based on her mother’s life as a child of Barnardo’s Homes, entitled Forsaken Trust. Diane Wild is the mother of two and grandmother of four. 

Book preview

Chapter One

England 1910

Louise sighed as she rested her head against soft, plump cushions and glanced around the cozy room. She appreciated the restful colours and smiled when she reminded herself that she now owned this place. She wriggled her toes and pushed them against the plush carpet, relishing how luxurious it felt beneath her feet. She remembered when as a child she had arrived at this beautiful old manor house. Her life had not always been this comfortable...Oh no, she thought, gently shaking her head.

Now at the grand age of ninety-four, she felt her body start to relax and settled into the well-used, overstuffed chair, knowing that she must allow the memories to flood her mind as they so often did these days.

Suddenly, she was transported back to a time when she had been only seven years old, sitting on the front step of the home where she had been born, Number One, Finchley Road. She had loved to brag of her address to her many friends, thinking it made her extra special somehow, that she had lived in the first house on her street.

Louise remembered how her friends had laughed at her, giving her an affectionate shove and jeering, Who do you think you are Louise...Lady Muck? Then they ran around holding their fingers under their noses pretending to be posh. Louise knew that their teasing had usually been in good fun and only served to let her know she was accepted in their group. This pleased her and made her feel important. Even though these things had happened so many years ago, they had stayed fresh in her mind.

She thought about her family: her brother, Freddy, her younger sister, Sarah, her mother, Clare, and her father, Stanley.

Louise felt a familiar tightening in her chest when a sharp piercing pain made her gasp for air. The pictures in her mind changed, becoming sharper...angrier. She clutched at her chest and tried to ease the pain, commanding herself to relax. This was not the first time she had experienced such pains, and she thought that maybe her life might end this night. Please not now, she prayed. I need more time to remember this life’s journey, and my story from the beginning.

She took a deep breath, hoping to calm her heart and strangely, was reminded of the time when her mother’s old friend and neighbour had suffered similar dreadful pains. She had passed away from a massive heart attack. Louise murmured a silent prayer. Lord, please give me this night so that I may remember my friends this last time. Then she was comforted in the knowledge that she would most likely be seeing them again soon.

Images of the women that had lived on her street became clear. How hard they had worked, constantly scrubbing and sweeping as they tried to keep their homes clean. She could still hear the friendly banter go back and forth as neighbours greeted each other over the dividing walls.

Mornin’ love, one would call. Do you need anything from the shops? I’m on my way to do some of my errands.

No, it’s all right, ducky. I will need to go out myself later. Thanks anyway. Come round for a cuppa when you get back.

It was 1823. Times were difficult and money usually in short supply. Her mother sometimes sat down, wringing her hands with worry, and told Louise she had no money to pay the rent that was owed. There was no food to feed them. What will we do if we are turned out? she sobbed. Reaching for Louise, she would rock back and forth, trying to find comfort.

Louise sighed and shrugged as she thought how hard it must have been for her mother in those times.

Her heart palpitations now stable, she felt comfortable once more and thankful that she might be given a little extra time. Her mind returned to her past. She remembered the strong bond that existed amongst the resilient women in each small community and how they had been more than willing to help each other in times of need. Somehow, they managed to muddle through. This had been especially so for her mother; her need had been greater than most. Louise felt humbled and grateful to have grown up amongst such a loving, caring women.

The neighbours usually managed a smile and a kind word for her and her friends—that was until one would get in their way or into mischief, and then the warnings would be loud and clear. Watch out, you bloody nuisance, or Stop that and clear off, they would yell, followed by a clout around the ear or the backside. Punishments were swift and could be painful.

Louise’s brother, Freddy, often came running home holding his ears and grizzling, Ma, Mrs. Crosby smacked me across the head. It’s not fair; I didn’t do anything. He hoped his mom would tell their neighbour off, but he never got any sympathy. Neighbours supported each other, always, and it did not matter whose child they were scolding, the discipline was the same. They were treated as their own. But somehow the children seemed to understand and respect this unwritten law, and did not bear resentment.

The employment situation in the community had been grim for a long time. Louise’s father, along with many other men out of work, lined up at the docks early in a morning, desperately hoping to be singled out for a day’s employment. The foreman came out and stood on a little box to choose the few lucky ones to be hired that day. Animosity could be fierce amongst the men not chosen, causing vicious fights within the group. Louise could remember how the best of friends sometimes turned against each other. The fact that they were friends did not seem to matter.

Surprisingly, the ones chosen to work who had toiled all day were now happy to spend their pay and treat their friends to a drink or two in the nearest alehouse. All previous fighting and swearing was soon forgotten. Consequently, it was a rare treat for the wives of these men to see any money find its way home. Such was life for the people of Kirkdale.

Suddenly, a different, comical memory appeared clearly before Louise’s eyes. It was of her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Crosby, dragging her daughter, Louise’s best friend, Katie, back to their house. She smacked her on the bum and then across the back of her head, and yelled, I’m forever telling you over and over, our Katie, not to go off the street but you keep on doing it. What is wrong with you? I’m sick of you and your rough ways. Wait until I get you inside, young lady...

Oh dear, Louise had thought, Katie’s in for it tonight. How sorry she had felt for her friend! They were never quite sure why their parents or the neighbours struck out at them so often and so harshly. But now, at the age of ninety-four, she finally understood.

The children in those times had to learn, and quickly, to become nimble in order to dodge the many harsh punishments. Louise figured that she and her friend Katie were about the fastest two around when it came to getting out of the way. But this time, Katie must have slipped up somehow. The slums of Kirkdale were desperate places for those unlucky enough to live there.

Louise’s father had not been a nice man. He had been a mean drunk, constantly in and out of work. He had only a few friends due to his arrogant brashness and fighting ways. At home he lashed out, hitting and punching her mother for no reason other than she happened to be there.

Her brother Freddy had been five years old at the time. He had tearful outbursts, and had been so terrified of his father that his daytime fears often visited him at night while he was sleeping. As a result he wet the bed, then felt so ashamed, he cried even more and tried to hide. Mother had tried to comfort him, telling him not to worry. Louise heard her deep sighs as she pulled the rank sheets from the bed. More washing for her to do the next day.

Thinking back over these times seemed to start and intensify the strong pains in Louise’s chest once again. She closed her eyes. She must relax and breathe deeply until the pain eased a little. These pains were happening more often now, and left her exhausted. She gently rubbed her chest until they started to ease. Louise knew that her time was getting short, but she was not afraid.

She closed her eyes again and thought of Sarah, her two-year-old sister. By then she already wore a frightened, haunted look. She had been such a pretty baby and reminded Louise of a beautiful china doll she had seen in a shop window. So timid about everything, she had clung to her mother’s skirt, or close to Louise. Like the rest, she was terrified of their father. Strangely enough, he had never hit her. In her later years, Louise had wondered if this might have been because Sarah was so tiny and delicate. Maybe he had been a little fearful of her fragility. This, at least, had served Sarah well.

Louise remembered how she had begged her mother to let her take Sarah out for a walk in the old hand me down pram. She loved pushing her along and singing familiar songs. Sarah clapped her little hands, her eyes shining, and begged for more. Neighbours stopped what they were doing to make a fuss and pat Sarah’s blonde curls, exclaiming what a beautiful child she was. Louise loved her little sister so much she felt that her heart would burst with pride just to be seen out with her. Meanwhile Sarah, who seemed oblivious to so much attention, sucked her thumb and fluttered her long eyelashes, charming everyone.

Louise’s throat tightened and a small sob escaped. Sarah had followed her everywhere, happy as long as her big sister was nearby and she was safe.

Mother’s efforts to protect the children from their father’s rages were usually fruitless. Louise knew that being the eldest she must try to protect her mother as best as she was able. When he started to beat her mother Louise would step in pushing him away, sobbing and shouting. Leave my mom alone...don’t hurt her! She pleaded with him to stop. But he was so drunk his temper only got worse until finally, exhausted, he would fall to the floor in a stupor, sometimes vomiting and lying there in his own filth for hours.

That’s when the children scampered away, thankful that for now at least the violence was over. They hated and feared their father, almost as much as Louise’s mother had.

Louise remembered a rare happy moment when her mother had sat down, bringing Louise close to her as she showed her a faded photograph. She told her that it had been taken on her wedding day. When Louise looked at the picture she had been surprised to see how beautiful her mother had been. Even her father had looked young and happy, quite handsome. She hardly recognized them, and wondered why things had gone so wrong.

After the many years of her father’s abuse and all the hard work, her mother, who had been that carefree, pretty young woman in the picture, had disappeared. Like so many of the women on her street, she had been left gaunt and tired.

Earlier on, her mother had taken in washing from the wealthy owners of shipping lines, or coalmines up on the hill, to help make ends meet. She had struggled to push the pram up the steep hills, not trusting her husband to be alone with the children; she must take them with her for their safety.

All tradespeople and local help were expected to use the back entrances of the big houses. Her mother tapped timidly on each door and humbly asked if there were any clothes to be washed. It had made Louise cringe to see how subservient her mother behaved even towards the lowly servants in these homes. Once large cloth washing bags were handed over, mother would plop them onto the pram. Poor Sarah had to peep out around them, as Louise played peek-a-boo with her. She giggled, clapping her hands shouting again, again as they lumbered on their way home. A small smile played on her mother’s lips.

Freddy grizzled and moaned, I’m tired. I don’t want to walk anymore. With a sigh Louise would lift him onto her hip and carry him part of the way home.

Now at the age of ninety-four, Louise could relate to her poor mother. She thought, I wish I could sit down with her now and let her know how brave and strong she had been, and how much I admired her.

There were a few happy times back then. One day after a morning of boiling the wash, wringing, and shaking it out Freddy, who had tried to help, ended up covered in soapsuds. He chased Louise and Sarah around the yard pretending to be a monster. Sarah screamed, crying, He is going to eat me! She ran from the soapy monster and clung to Louise.

What Louise would give to go back in time and hold these precious people once again!

In the summer, it had been fun to hang the washing outside. But in winter, stringing washing lines across the living room, her mother would bank up the fire with coal and slack to dry sheets, towels, and shirts. The house looked like a laundry, and the wet clothes made the walls damp and mouldy. Even as it had turned colder, her mother continued hang the wash outside, but it would soon freeze and become as stiff like boards. They all had to rush around taking the clothes down from the washing lines to bring it back inside.

The little ones, with fingers numb from the cold, ran around the yard trying to help. Freddy once again snivelled and blew on his hands, whining, It’s too cold. I don’t want to.

Sarah, bless her, could not reach the clothes, but begged for the pegs to put in the basket. Louise tried to make them all laugh as she danced around the yard with a shirt; its sleeves sticking out like a drunken sailor, then gradually going limp. It made her happy to see the smiles and the sparkle in their eyes. The happy childhood memories that she cherished were rare.

Her mother’s meagre earnings had never been enough, so she began to take orders for sewing, requested by the owner of a dress shop in town. Her mother, who was an excellent seamstress, told Louise, At one time I lived a privileged life. I defied my parents to marry your father. Because of my background, I was schooled in many skills, such as sewing and even how to run a household.  She then added bitterly, If only I’d had the sense to listen to them.

Word soon travelled around town of her excellent sewing and alterations, and she kept busy and was able to supplement their income. She tried to teach Louise how to sew, hoping that she would be able help her. It was difficult in the evenings, trying to sew by lamplight but they had managed.

Louise remembered with fondness those evenings, her mother’s gentle teachings. When her father was away from the house, mother was a different person. She found, to her surprise, that she enjoyed sewing, and was soon able to manage most of the hemming, and then eventually more detailed work. Louise knew it must have been so difficult for her mother to live the way they did, especially with