Street Kid by Judy Westwater Read Free Book Online

orphanage rules and never ceased trying to act independently – always the lone wolf. That often gotme into trouble with the nuns, especially Sister Bridget, who was a bitter woman and often very cruel.
    Every item of clothing had to be put on the chair beside our beds in a certain way, with our cardigans neatly wrapped round the back. If I got so much as the smallest detail wrong I would be hit with Sister Bridget’s cane. Then there were the kitchen duties: washing and putting away the dishes, laying the table, peeling the vegetables, sweeping the floor; and the cleaning of the bathroom and toilets. If you so much as put a spoon back in a kitchen drawer the wrong way round you’d be for it. At five years old, it was impossible to get every tiny thing right.
    Many of the rules at St Joseph’s seemed pointless. When I heard Sister Bridget locking the door to the toilets outside in the corridor, after we’d gone to bed, I thought, What on earth is the point of that? What if someone needs to go to the toilet in the middle of the night?
    One morning, Sister Bridget heard one of the new girls in our dormitory crying. She went over to her, said something, then stripped the sheet and blanket from her bed.
    ‘Look at this wet bed!’ she said. ‘There’s only one way to make disobedient little girls learn the rules. Hold out your hand.’ She took a small cane out of her habit and whacked the girl’s hand.
    As soon as Sister Bridget had left the room, a couple of the older girls came over to comfort the girl.
    ‘Don’t worry. If it happens again we’ll nick you another sheet from the cupboard,’ one of them said, kindly. ‘We can smuggle the wet one out under our clothes and dump it in the canal. We’ve done it before!’ This produced a trembling smile from the girl.
    ‘In the boy’s dormitory they do it in their boots and tip it out of the window!’ the older girl’s friend said.
    Something made me rejoice in this piece of rebellion. It was refreshing to find that not everybody obeyed the nuns like sheep. I resolved then never to let them beat me down. I sensed that a child could easily lose the sense of who they were in a place like this.

Chapter Five
    M ealtimes would often be difficult at the orphanage. Sister Bridget always broke out in a rash of irritation with me at my refusal to eat anything milky and slimy, a hatred which must have stemmed from Mrs Epplestone’s force-feeding me porridge. One lunchtime, I sat with my bowl of rice pudding in front of me, nervously moving it around with my spoon. I’d tried to get some of it down, but it was no good. Every time I put some in my mouth I began to retch, so I’d had to give up. Sister Bridget was sitting next to me, watching me like a hawk.
    ‘Judith, will you stop this nonsense this minute,’ she said. ‘I won’t have you wasting the good Lord’s food.’
    I tried again but couldn’t help gagging.
    ‘Eat it now! We will not have waste here.’
    She watched me a moment then snatched the spoon out of my hand. ‘Open your mouth!’
    She shoved the spoon in my mouth. I felt immediate and violent panic and had an instant and terrifying flashback to the time Mrs Epplestone had held my head back by the hair and almost suffocated me shovelling porridge down my throat.
    I began to choke violently, my eyes streaming. Then I gave one mighty heave and threw up all over Sister Bridget’s arm. There was a moment of absolute quiet in the hall. You could have heard a pin drop. The children sat, frozen in horror. Then Sister Bridget stood up sharply, breaking the silence, and grabbed me by the hair.
    ‘Look what you’ve done, you filthy child!’ Her voice was almost a scream. ‘What have you to say?’
    I had absolutely no idea what I had to say and couldn’t speak anyway as I was still gasping for air.
    Sister Bridget then repeated, ‘What are you going to say?’ and tugged my hair.
    I shook my head and this seemed to make her anger boil over even