Residential School

I was eight years old when they first took me

my brothers and my wee sister Jean

We didn’t know why we’d been taken

but they told us not to scream.

Bundled into a strange van, all four of us

all we could do was huddle tight

being the oldest, I had to be tough

strong, to resist the urge to fight.

We entered the big house, which smelled of cakes

the cook had been baking a sponge with jam

A hard-faced woman led us to the showers

and scoured our bodies, not giving a dam.

She tore at our hair with a steel-toothed comb

looking to see if we had nits or lice

Remember it was in the 1960’s

some of these homes were not very nice.

I couldn’t eat meat, it made me feel sick

but I was told “Eat it or go hungry”

Our family was poor and hadn’t seen liver,

and kidneys fried; made me giddy.

At night; when everyone was asleep

I sneaked on down to the pantry

That sponge cake on the shelf

became my source of energy.

My mum was ill and we had no dad

so, we had to go into care sometimes

The authorities took us from our home

I’ll never forget those awful times.

Neither did my mum, who blamed herself for being ill…God, rest her Soul.