Hidden Lives Revealed. A virtual archive - children in care 1881-1981 * Image of handwritten text


Photograph that inspired this poem or story

Waif boy

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Cold, freezing dirty night,
I'm still alone the streets bare
The wind piercing my old clothes
Nothing but a rug and one boot to live in,
This life is wearing me down I can't go on
No more. The world is turning its face on me
I think to myself do I even exist, does
anyone see me, hear me, feel me.
Peering through windows Christmas trees
Lighting the room, the family opening the
Presents together warm and cosy around
The fire, memories of my Granddad flooding
Back sitting on the sofa my granddad on
his rocking chair, lighting up his pipe,
going on about his childhood, if only he
could see me now. What have I made of
myself, not even a penny to live on nor a
family to call my own, though this hell
may one day stp, my dreams will always
live on.

by a pupil at The Charter School

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