I have no knowledge of who drove me or how long the journey was although now I know they are less than 10 kilometres apart. I don’t recall anyone telling me where I was going or why, nor do I remember how I got to the children’s section. I was terrified, but no reassurance was given.

I sat in a chair in the concert room for what appeared to be an age. People, children coming to talk to me, my not knowing what they were saying, my mind was in total shut down. So, they let me be… Suddenly a very prettily dressed little girl came up to me, she looked like a princess and was carrying an equally pretty doll. Both the girl and the doll had long blonde hair and she put the doll in my hand and ran away. I clung to that doll as if my life depended on it. I thought it was a gift - the first and only time I had ever had a doll or toy of my own, but no it was only a loan for an hour or two. It did the trick though - I stopped crying.

When she asked for it back, I reluctantly gave it to her, but over the next few weeks she frequently would allow me to hold it. Then one day she was gone never to be seen by me again, vanished. I missed her, her and her doll, they were so kind and so pretty. I was to learn that she was one of the short stay children who would come and go very quickly, maybe stay three to six months because of temporary family problems. She was the first vanishing.

That is how I learnt to look at them. But over the years they were frequent occurrence, one day they were there, the next day gone. Sometimes, some of the girls returned three or four times and then they, too, finally vanished for good. I don’t recall ever being told they were going, no chance of a farewell, just gone, vanished from sight and sound and all too frequently never heard of again.

I do not recall anyone mentioning the vanished girls again, once they were gone. It was like a total denial of their existence… the reality of an orphan’s life.

Nazareth House was a large building running through three to four blocks on Brougham St, Sydenham in Christchurch. It was three stories high and the children’s section on the west side took up a third of the building with a big orchard on the east side.

It was run by the Poor Sisters of Nazareth, a Roman Catholic apostolic congregation of religious sisters of pontifical right, based in England. Members live in "Nazareth Houses" in English-speaking countries around the world: the UK, Ireland, United States, Australia, South Africa and of course New Zealand.

The Nazareth House in Christchurch was home to children, old men, old women, a nunnery, and a chapel. On the west side was a large grassed area swimming pool, tennis courts and basketball courts. Looking back in my later years, my nursing experience tells me it was a place where we were all well housed and provided with the basic necessities. However, it was a cold place without love or affection.

The children had two upper floors, to our bedrooms, bathrooms and toilets and the lower level was for daytime activities. Upstairs contained a separate room where one of the nuns slept and was on call. The middle section was second floor for the women, third floor for the men. The chapel, nunnery took up the remainder. The reception was on the ground floor, middle section. Children were allowed there only when they were walking through to chapel or taken because someone had paid them a visit.

On the ground floor close to the outside play area was a large dining room with a pantry, a sluice, and a room for washing up. There was a doorway to a large kitchen where everyone’s food was cooked.

After each meal all children had chores to do according to their age and ability. The meals were plain but edible, except the porridge! The tables were reset for the next meal then us children were free to play until school time. We had a routine and it was kept to religiously: we got up at 5:30 am to attend a 6:00 am church service, walking from one end of the building to the other end.

Breakfast was straight after church, then cleaning up, making beds and changing sheets on appropriate days. Some ex-schoolgirls took the lead in this department – working as maids to assist the old ladies, men, or children, doing laundry, ironing, mending and kitchen duties. Some vanished back to their parents but most stayed until they were seventeen or eighteen and the nuns got them jobs.

On the right side of the building there was a large room that was a concert room at times, playroom mostly when it was dark or raining. A corridor ran between the large playroom and the smaller dining room with large glass doors at the end of the corridor that were normally kept open. To the right the stairwell to upstairs, to the left another corridor to the classrooms which we only went into at school times.

Next to the dining room was a mattress storage room then the cloak room. The cloak room had open lockers built around the room, we were allocated one locker each for “our things” though they mostly remained empty. I mentioned the boring layout because incidences occurred, and I wanted you to get clearer picture.

The nuns would set up buckets full of disinfected water and one by one we would have to dip our heads in for five minutes - I take it this was when lice were found though no one ever explained. It is an adult’s summation and it was frequent enough to mention. We also had hair washing days weekly.

We put on choirs, concerts, plays twice a year, or watch movies twice a month. I had the lead role in one of our plays and fell off the stage to everyone’s consternation because I wouldn’t, couldn’t finish the play. I was never offered any part again, no matter how small.

Morning and afternoon teas were at 10:00am and 3:00pm consisting of bread and butter and spread with jam or hundreds and thousands for special occasions plus milk. 12 Midday was lunch, 5:00pm benediction and church service which us children had to attend every day. Dinner was at 5:30pm then clean up and reset the tables and if lucky some playtime. At 7:00pm we went upstairs for the evening pre-bed activities: washes, teeth cleaning etc. then into bed and lights out at 8:30pm. We were only allowed upstairs during this bed-time routine and for cleaning up in the morning after breakfast.

Shoes and clothes were hand me downs, even underwear. The older girls put out fresh clothes every week then we put our soils into a bin, and they were washed for us.

I forgot to mention there were about fifteen nuns managing Nazareth House in addition to some who were old and infirmed. Three nuns were allocated to look after the children section, two of these were young and nice, one was older and she dished out the punishment as she thought appropriate and although I got a whacked bottom occasionally I was never seriously hurt and crying was a no no!

Outside play was without supervision and what do children do when left alone - fight and gang warfare! This could be tough and frightening at times, fighting, biting, kicking, hair pulling, punching, eye gouging. It was a total loss of control. One day you would be best friends, the next day deadly enemies. I learnt to hold my own!!

Years later at Sacred Heart Boarding School I had a fight with one of the other girls. It was the first and as it turns out, the only fight I had there. I was determined not to lose but then a thought came into my head to stop, let it be; I did after a mental struggle. I simply stopped fighting… just lying there allowing her to attack me, without responding. I do know that I did not give her the satisfaction of crying. I lost the fight but gained some self-respect. I was growing up.

But that was much later, and up to that episode there was no way that I would have allowed that to happen - I would’ve fought tooth and nail to get in the last punch. As children we were frequently angry and our own worst enemy.

To the older girls, we young ones were very cheeky, would mouth off and run away. This was a fun game and we mostly got away with it. One day I came up against nineteen-year-old, by the name of Helen. She had a reputation of having an explosive personality. She chased me but I was quicker than her and ducked into a cloak room. I hid in the left corner locker where hide and seek had taught us that we could hide without being seen except if the person came all the way up the room.

She was furious and stood at the door, looking around then left and came back a few minutes later. I hadn’t moved so she left again but I stayed in there for a very long time. I was dragged out by a nun for dinner.

Helen was vanished soon after. No notice, no goodbyes, no explanation given, good riddance expressed by us children. Just vanished although I did see her again sometime later…

On that occasion (I had not learnt my lesson the first time) I was running away from another older girl and ran down the long corridor. The big glass doors were closed but I didn’t notice and ran full speed into them breaking the glass with my left wrist (I still have the scar there today). I remember nothing more until I woke up in the hospital.

My stay in hospital was very short and blurred. Afterwards one of the girls had to take me to the ophthalmologists and on the way home she stopped at Helen‘s place for afternoon tea. Helen was a perfect hostess and made no mention of prior events. All was well, I wasn’t in for a belting. Helen had just got engaged and they talked about things too boring and uninteresting to me. Then she vanished from sight after this.

The result of the visit to the specialist arrived and a nun put them on my nose without explanation except that I had to wear them all the time. Oh, they were so ugly; a pair of glasses with a grey patch over the left eye. Every time I was found without them on, I was in trouble, but worse was the teasing I got. I was the butt of many jokes and cruel name-calling. My life just got worse and my fighting days more intense! Eventually I managed to throw the ugly glasses in the bin and never mentioned them to anyone again.

We had a haircut two to three times a year by one of the big girls under the supervision of a hairdresser. They were all short cut as if a bowl had been placed on our heads. Believe me nothing to rave about. The exception was for the new short stay girls who had parents, who for some reason or another were unable to care for their kids. Hospitalization was a frequent reason, the birth of another child, break up a family for various reasons, father out of a job etc.

Those girls were allowed long hair. I didn’t care. I was not into beauty standards at that time. A dentist came once a year for about three months at a time. We all had our teeth checked and cleaned. Some of the children helped in the surgery and although I was never asked, I remember one time being told that I was going out to the beach with the nurse. This was her way of thanking her helpers.

I didn’t know the reason why I was picked, and I just obeyed as it was my very first outing! When I came back, I was in trouble with another girl, her name was also Frances, she was older than me and had done the work without the reward! She was furious but didn’t hit me.

Our nightly washing of our bodies and cleaning teeth were problematic. We had a bath on allotted days (about weekly) and when it was our turn, we all tried to be first because all the kids used the same water. The nun on duty timed us in the bath and told us when to get out if we weren’t quick enough. On the other days we stood at the basin to wash our body and clean our teeth.

But here within lies the problem of carrying out that order… at Christmas we were given a gift comprising of soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, baby powder and comb. We received them yearly and they were never replaced in between. One had to be on one’s guard otherwise they were stolen right under your nose.

I found out later that the orphanage relied heavily on donations from the church, businesses, and government. I just hated being without soap and toothpaste. Sometimes we used salt for cleaning teeth but not often as it was not within our reach. I suppose we went around with smelly, dirty bodies and putrid mouth. I grew to love long, lingering baths, reading a book and topping up with hot water. What a waste but I did enjoy it!

Unfortunately, I am unable to enjoy it now as I may not be able to get out of the bath without help. Good for the economy of the household and less wastage of water but sad for me!

Once a year there was a celebration for all of the seven-year-old childrens’ holy communion and for the ten-year-old childrens’ confirmation. If it was our turn, we were dressed in white and wore veils over our heads. We walked to mass as normal, but the service was much longer as it was appropriate for celebrations. Each participating child was given a Mass Book for themselves - a gift.

After the service the white clothes were removed, I don’t know if they were washed - we only wore them for two hours so adult hindsight says probably not. Normal clothes were donned then normal breakfast, but celebrations commenced with morning and afternoon teas - cake and biscuits. Lollies after lunch and dinner.

Did we suffer a sugar rush? I don’t know but it was a happy day. The white clothes were stored in the storage/ironing room until next required. On this day there was no fighting. We felt important for the day. Special, having achieved something then back to the normal routine.

These celebrations were held for Christmas, Easter and occasionally a Saint being celebrated that year. Birthdays were not much mentioned or celebrated so I did not ever really know my age. I was apparently seven years old when I was called by a nun and taken to the parlour, the first and only time I was important enough. What a bore it turned out to be.

A white-headed lady (I didn’t know her age) and one of the nuns were sitting talking when I went in. I said hello in reply to the same. She gave me a large bag of lollies, and I was told to sit down. I thanked her for the lollies and sat. I suppose the lady did talk to me on occasions, but I don’t remember. What I do know is I had my eyes on my lollies and couldn’t wait to eat them so didn’t hear a word they said as they yakked to each other about me. I didn’t know why and all I wanted was to be out of there.

I was there for about ten to thirty minutes I guess before the meeting was called to a close. Did she hug me? Give me a kiss? I don’t remember… all I know is the lollies were taken from me and shared amongst all the children! They vanished into everybody’s tummies and I only received the same as everyone else - unfair. Many years later I found out that this woman was my mother.

When older our delight was to work in the big kitchen, scrubbing pots and pans and cleaning the sluice drain. It was a yukky poo job, but our reward was the cake and biscuits (few and far between occasions) and in season fruit how wonderful. But the best job was actually picking the fruit off the vine and trees and eating as you went so long as our allocated baskets ended up full to overflowing, we could eat until we burst.

We had three nuns to look after us, rotating shifts but at church time they would all vanish for half an hour or so. If it was not our church time, then we were in the charge of the older girls. The earliest church service mass was 6:00am, we were woken and had to walk down to the chapel every morning come what may.

As I was walking on my way to church one morning, I was unwell and fell over. I was taken to the sick clinic and it was found that I had a raging temperature, so I was put to bed. I mostly slept for the next two and half days and had my meals in bed served by the clinic sister. On the third day I was better and bored; after lunch I investigated all the wardrobes, it was the only time I have ever been in that room and never again.

To my delight I found a new box of chocolates unopened. My, Oh my! I was so excited I dug in and ate most of them! I was young and though I’m not sure of my age there are no excuses - I knew they were not for me and stole them. I put the near empty box back in the cupboard, got back into bed and went off to sleep. I was woken up and asked if I knew about the chocolate. I admitted that I had eaten them all but a few which I put back from whence I got them. I was punished with whacks on the bottom and I did not cry but I learnt my lesson, or did I?

I certainly was not thinking about possible punishments when I got into another fight with one of the older girls. I hated her and was only thinking of revenge when out of the blue I found a packet of pins! Maybe one of the older girls left them out, I don’t know, and I don’t care. An idea had formed in my mind and I did not hesitate! I carefully and patiently put the pins into the blanket of her bed, all pointy end inwards hoping that she would get lots of prickles. She sure did Ha Ha. She yelled and I was so happy!

I’m not sure how they found out it was me… Maybe the nuns asked us, and I just owned up (lying wasn’t one of my sins and I would own up proudly to my misdemeanours) or it may be one of the other girls knew it was me and dobbed. It might just have been that my laughter, too quick and too loud, gave me away. I don’t recall which, but in the end, I did admit to the crime and was punished with a whacked bottom. Of course, I gave no satisfaction to the onlookers by crying.

I was in so many of these scrapes and the nuns must have thought that I needed correction by means other than words which had obviously not been effective. In my experience the whacks on the bottom were not very hard and most of the time I understood the reason for it and knew that I had done wrong. That was not always the case however…

Our contact with the elderly at Nazareth House was mainly limited to when they went through the children’s garden area on their daily walks to maintain their mobility. On one occasion, for some reason one of the gentlemen thought that I was cheeky to him or had said something very offensive, because he reported me to the nuns. Normally I kept away from them and I have no idea why I was talking with him on that day or what I said but it got me in trouble. Not only was he given permission to smack my face but once again I got whacked on the bottom by the nuns. I didn’t cry on either occasion.

I mentioned crying frequently. Crying was the biggest mortal sin that you could commit in Nazareth House. If you cried you were considered by all to be weak and beneath contempt, easy prey just asking for it and get it you did. From hurtful words to actual physical assault. These assaults were a daily occurrence amongst us girls though some suffered much more frequently than others… The numbers fluctuated up and down mostly due to the short stay girls, sometimes there were around ten to twelve short stay girls, sometimes just a few and occasionally there were none.

Dobbing was the second biggest sin amongst the girls and for this crime words were the appropriate action. That was not enough for the person who got dobbed on, but quick retaliation was not always possible as they were already in trouble for their own crime. Afterwards they were always watching for an opportunity to get even. Be on the lookout and so it goes on. But enough, I no longer take glory from violence. Those lessons were learned big time. It is the natural order of simply growing up with support around in my later years.

Over the years I would peak back on my life but rarely dwell for long, only now I am taking a good long look as I write this, and more memories come to mind. I would have been about ten years old I think when an ex-school girl who I have only seen in passing, worked in the old woman’s place came up to me and taking me by the hand took me into the mattress storage room and started kissing me.

I estimate her age to be around sixteen or seventeen years old and I offered no resistance. In fact, I think I was rather enjoying the experience, although I can’t swear to that as it was rather bewildering, my mind was in a haze. She took off my blouse and kissed my upper body. Then suddenly, no reason that I can recall, she stopped abruptly and left the room. From my adult years I wonder if she was using me to practice her kissing techniques on as I have seen some girls do over the years. Sexual rites were never mentioned to us children, ever, so we were ignorant of the practice and to my knowledge this was my first time to receive a kiss.

Were we caught? I don’t know. No one mentioned anything to me, but she vanished from sight and sound never to be seen by me again. We were frequently left in the older girls care and then one by one each of them was vanished. Logic tells me these vanishings were likely well planned in advance rather than spur of the moment decisions, but we were never told beforehand. We only found out when someone would notice and ask where “so and so” was then we were told they had left and that was that.

As for the above I never witnessed or heard of any other like happening while I was there, and no other such incidents occurred any time in my life. Let’s face it communications, explanations, conversations were very poor and such incidents shouldn’t, but did happen to us children. I did however continue to get into trouble periodically for minor infringements, but nothing serious.

I was picked for the outside basketball team and we were proving to be good, after all, we had learnt the rough and tumble all our lives. Believe me for our age group we were good and possibly for the first time ever collectively we were cooperative and proud of our achievements on the court. We become a good team and it felt like we had future potential.

Once a year the DIC department store (something like Myers here in Australia) would invite all us orphans to have lunch in the store restaurant. It was the one and only outing for all the children together in the year. I seem to recall it was the same every year, pies, chips, peas followed by jelly and ice cream then lollies and popcorn to take home with us. We had lemonade to drink – the only time we ever got it, so every drop was guarded carefully and drunk quickly so no one would pinch it whilst you were not looking!

It always occurred around Christmas and the restaurant was closed to the generally public at this time. As we all went there would be an increase in the number of nuns escorting us as we walked there and back. I remember one terrible year there was a mix-up in the arrangement and we turned up on the wrong day. We had to walk home without our party food and were just given a jam sandwich to eat and milk to drink. Where was our popcorn? Where was our lemonade? Oh, we were all so broken hearted!

We weren’t invited back that year but the following year it was all back to normal - all was well for the run up to Christmas and we got our feast! This was my last year because unbeknownst to me the nuns were getting ready to vanish me into the big wide world.

My overview as an adult was that we received adequate, basic care, good housing and fed adequately. Could it have been better? Definitely, yes definitely! We received no individual attention from the nuns, there was no praise or interest for the individual but as a collective there was some minor encouragement and accolades. The nuns were mostly the untouchable, cold, Godly people with good intentions, but that made them way above our station in life, the poor, the unwanted, the crippled, the infirmed. It didn’t matter that they were out of our league by a long shot.

Emotions did not come into it. If the nuns saw us fighting, we were told off. There was no display of love, affection by any of them on any child that I can recall. The policy of “treat all as equal - show no sign of favouritism”, would be my guess. The worst in my estimation was that they showed a total lack of liking or disliking, therefore there was no actual guidance to the better behaviour. Even when one was hurt physically, I do not recall any child getting a show of sympathy or affection, no “there, there, it will be alright” hug. Just no interest. But, then, what you had never gotten you didn’t miss.

Our only hope, to get through the day without suffering an even greater lowering of the bar, was by winning the current fight. I suffered no depression and no desire to change the situation that I found myself in. I was a complete ignoramus and my thought processes did not run deep – I just had a total acceptance of the state of play as being normal, a fight for life. I assumed that everybody in the world had to do the same – perfectly normal.

Some of the nuns remained nameless throughout my years, they were only seen in church or maybe at our concerts. They remain total strangers. Come to think about it, some who come to the concerts may have been there to escort the old men and women who came to watch the event. They did not socialise with the children at all. After the show suddenly everyone would disappear very quickly. Clapping quickly followed by exiting is how I remember it. Did the audience enjoy it? I really can’t say.

As I write this, I am not asking for pity, that too was frowned on. It was considered a very demeaning attitude, and no-one wanted to be pitied. Our opinions of ourselves were already so low, we didn’t need it to be made any lower and fighting was our only way to big-note ourselves. No, my life really is not to be pitied. Millions of people have suffered so much worse, died through starvation, war, hatred.

My reason in writing this is positive, I remember frequently avoiding answering questions about my early life. My excuse was that you were all “too young to know the ways of the world”. Regardless of whether or not that was true then I wanted now to make sure I answer those questions and let you all know you were always loved even if I could not always show it how you would have liked.