"But did you not also swear that your children would never be in those circ.u.mstances?" I asked. "You worked hard to rise above the awful place you grew up. You educated yourself, got a job and clawed your way to the top. You were lucky enough to marry an Irish girl whose family is well off, and you are now a man of means. Even if you lost your job in the morning, if by some ill fortune you had to sell your house and get a smaller one, if you ended up on social welfare if all of that happened, Tony, and it would be terrible, you will never be dest.i.tute again. Milandra will never have to live rough or fight for sc.r.a.ps with other street children."
His eyes were huge. "I love my daughter," he said.
"I know you do."
"I have wronged her."
"You made a mistake," I said. "It"s not too late to fix it."
He looked out of the window at the village street. Spring was coming in. It was still bright. "You should not leave Little Scamps," he said.
"I have another job," I said. "I was on loan."
He stood. "I am going to try and persuade my wife to have me back," he said.
I held out my hand, and he shook it this time. "Good luck," I said.
"What will you do?" he asked.
"I think I might have another cup of coffee," I said.
I watched him walk across the road to where his car was parked, then pull out into the narrow road and drive away. I knew I should go home, but it was warm and friendly in Kate"s. The cook laughed behind the long counter, and a waitress smiled and winked at me as she went past. I suddenly felt very alone. Lonnie and Tush would be sitting around the little table in his kitchen, by then, probably having an early-evening drink. I didn"t feel like going home to sit in an empty house.
I finished my second cup of coffee and went to my old Austin, got in and drove until the dull reverberations of the road numbed me, and I went home to my dog.
Afterword.
I came to early-years work with pre-school-aged children in creches and playschools with a lot of prejudice. Like many people, I was guilty of a.s.sociating the hugely important work carried out in our childcare facilities with babysitting, and failed to recognize the wealth of knowledge and research done by committed and courageous staff in such settings. Much of this knowledge forms the basis of the academic texts I had studied while training to be a child-protection worker. I now understand just how vital a part of the social-care pantheon early-years work is, and am proud to have been a part of it.
The Girl Who Couldn"t Smile does not feature any s.e.xual or physical abuse. None of the parents I describe in its pages are really bad people they are often doing their best with the hand Fate has dealt them, trying to cope with the legacy of their own childhoods. They are not wilfully neglectful of their children they usually don"t know any better.
The types of stories I recount here are, in reality, the sort most creche workers deal with on a daily basis. The things the children say, the games they play, the activities they engage in are characteristic of those carried out in creches and pre-schools all over Ireland, the UK and further afield. For instance, we really did make that giant map of the village, and the children really did use it to explain their activities over the weekend to one another. Interestingly, I recently ran into Rufus, who is now a happy, healthy young man in his late teens. He no longer lives anywhere near Brony, and told me that, when he thinks of the village and the time he spent there growing up, it is that map he sees in his mind"s eye. It came to symbolize his time at Little Scamps.
Many of the children I worked with in those days I never saw again. I would love to know what happened to Julie and Ross. I often think of Gus and his magic crayon, and hope the pair of them are doing well.
I did come across Mitzi several years later, although I scarcely recognized her. She was singing with a folk group at a concert to raise money for a local Irish language school, and was remarkably slim and lithe. She seemed to be well liked by her peers, and performed a solo that was heart-meltingly lovely.
Jeffrey left a year after I did to go on to a mainstream primary school where, with a cla.s.sroom a.s.sistant to help him, he still struggled academically. His mother told me he was happy, though. I lost track of him after that.
Gilbert remained in special-care settings for the rest of his childhood, and is still in one, as far as I know. His particular difficulties made it impossible for him to adjust to life in "normal" society. His parents employed an army of psychologists and therapists to try to "cure" him, but to no avail.
Arga continued to have behavioural problems for several years, and remained at Little Scamps until she was eight, but eventually managed to make the transition to mainstream school. By then she was speaking English fluently and could read and write very well. She will be doing her Leaving Certificate this year.
Milandra left Little Scamps that September as planned, and excelled in her new school. Felicity and Tony were reunited and are still together. A teacher who had worked with Milandra informed me that she had rarely worked with a child who demonstrated such empathy with and compa.s.sion for others.
Dale and Kylie really did try to build a relationship with Tammy, and while the path was a rocky one, they made some progress. While Tammy never did go to a school for children with exceptional ability, she did go to one of the better local primaries, where a special subsidy helped pay for her books and other educational equipment. Sadly, Tammy was always attracted to trouble, and was excluded, then taken back but excluded again (this time for good) before she was twelve. I believe her educational career was patchy after that.
I heard from a social worker two years ago that she had come across Tammy in a unit for young offenders. She was involved in an educational programme there and was amazing her teachers. Unfortunately, she ran away consistently before they had a chance to get her through her exams. Some behaviours are very hard to change.
As I wrote of my friend Lonnie in Little Boy Lost, he died of a heart attack a year after the events of this book.
Tush was with him to the end.
About the Author.
Shane Dunphy lives in Wexford, Ireland, and is a writer, musician, sociologist and lecturer. He is the author of several books about his experiences as a child protection worker. He is a freelance journalist, writing mostly for the Irish Independent. Shane is a regular contributor to television and radio, and has produced several doc.u.mentaries. He teaches Child Development and Social Studies at Waterford College of Further Education.
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