PAM WEAVER
Bath Times and Nursery Rhymes
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
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First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Pamela Weaver 2013
Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Source ISBN-13: 9780007488445
Ebook Edition © January 2013 ISBN: 9780007488452
Version 2017-05-04
FIRST EDITION
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With the exception of my parents and my husband, the real names of the people in this story have been disguised or changed completely. I have altered the gender of some of the children to protect their identity and all of the names of both children and staff have been changed. I have also refrained from giving the exact location of each nursery, hospital or private home where I worked for the same reason.
The stories are true to the best of my memory.
I should like to thank Ann Webb and Sylvia Dennis (Denny) for jogging my memory and for a fantastic weekend together when we all walked down memory lane. I should also like to thank Wendy Germaney, who took the time to write down some of her memories which have been included in this book.
To all the children who were in my care at some time or other, I thank you for the wonderful times we shared together and I hope and pray that you’ve had a good life despite some of your difficult circumstances. To those who worked with me, thanks for the memories.
This book is dedicated to Jacob and Sophia Sullivan with lots of love from Granny.
Table of Contents
Extract from Better Days Will Come
Chapter 1
‘After you’ve had your supper, wake the night nurse, and then come to the main hall. The person on “Lates” does the mending.’
Miss Carter, the small ginger-haired nursery warden, barked her instructions at me and left the room. I was doing my first ‘Lates’ duty in a children’s residential nursery run by Surrey County Council. The year was 1961. Yuri Gagarin had become the first man to go into outer space, The Beatles were at the start of their phenomenal success, you could buy a house for two thousand pounds and I was just sixteen.
I had arrived from my village home in Dorset a week before; my only possession, a small brown suitcase and my one ambition, to get a qualification with letters after my name. Adopted at birth, I had grown up as the daughter of my natural mother’s best friend in a small village on the Hampshire-Dorset border. My father had been an American GI, who came to this country for the D-Day landings in France and most likely perished there. He was obviously a person of colour because I have an olive skin and at that time, tight curly hair. I had left school in July and began my working life in Woolworths on the broken biscuit counter. I had no real idea of what I wanted in life but it certainly didn’t include broken biscuits or a promotion to the ladies’ personal items counter, which was on offer as soon as I’d done three months’ probation. Selling ‘bunnies’ (the name we gave sanitary towels because of the loop at each end which you fastened to the belt) didn’t really do it for me. The