On the long journey back to Ireland, by train and boat, Michael and I did have some fun with the other passengers. But try as we might, we could not get Aunt Kathleen to join in.

She was afraid of everything, including us: Looking listless and frail with milky-white skin, her straw red hair was held together under an old hat that looked like a yellow paged book that might just fall to dust when turned. When we tried to touch her or playfully pull at her clothes, she reacted as if she was in danger for her very life. I just hoped I would never end up looking like her. As the journey wore on, we just stayed out of her way as best we could.

The three of us eventually arrived at Athlone, Co. Westmeath, Railway Station where Kathleen had her car parked. She put our two small suitcases in the boot and we drove off into the night under a dark and rainy sky. I was too tired to notice much of anything and the vibrations of the car soon sent me to sleep. The next thing I knew, Kathleen was shaking me awake, almost violently. Before Michael or I had a chance to wipe the sleep from our eyes we were frog-marched to what looked like the door of a chapel. Kathleen read the address again on the crumpled piece of paper. For a long minute we stood in the rain. Once more she banged the brass door knocker against the arched door, only this time more firmly. I thought the car had broken down and that Kathleen was getting help. At last the door opened.

A young woman in a strange dress was looking down at me and then became locked in whispered conversation with Kathleen. After a few minutes they tiptoed away together. They were soon back with a much older woman with stern features. She was dressed for authority and carried it too. Despite all the confusion around me, she began to fascinate me for no particular reason.

More whispered conversations, which saw Michael and me ushered into a huge tiled hallway. The older woman and Aunt Kathleen continued talking in a way that simply didn't acknowledge children in their presence. At one point Kathleen looked down at us as if she had been interrupted, while we looked up to her like happy puppies, unaware that we were being sent to the pound, permanently. She had guilt written all over her face with the hint of a tear in her eye. It would prove to be a crocodile tear for she was soon running away towards her car. I felt confused, but reassured myself that she would be back a little later. Michael's frightened look didn't help though. But gone she was, this weak and fragile woman who was the messenger sent forth to abandon us at this forbidding place. We were left alone in this cold hallway that began to scare me.

Slowly the penny dropped, and I swallowed a spit. Michael and I had a sense that we were cut adrift in a wilderness, a sense that was rising to terrifying proportions in my heart.

I clutched his hand and followed the animated and gesturing older woman into this whale of a building designed to humble all before it. That night, we were given a bedroom in some corner of these old and damp walls. Weak and over-tired, sleep would not come to either of us for a long time. The young woman that first appeared at the chapel door unpacked our lives along with our clothes, made us undress and change into our pajamas. Her reassuring chatter helped but when she left the room, our fears came back. She returned after a long while and told us gently to get some sleep as she turned out the light. The door locked behind on her leaving, a move that completed our imprisonment as two fawn deer caught in a snare.

Much later in the wee hours of the morning I turned to Michael who was in the bed beside me, "Will we see Mummy and Daddy soon?" "I don't think so," Michael replied.

After a little while, I started to cry softly, "Are we going to go home?" "No, Barry," Michael said a bit more firmly.

"I want to go home," I said, crying harder now.

"Go to sleep Barry," Michael said with some authority from a six year old.

I cried for a long time and Michael just lay there quietly and never said a word. At last I went to sleep to the sound of someone else crying in the distance, not knowing whether it was real or imagined. As the cries died away so did our childhood.

Too many years would pass before we would find our parents again to ask why they had abandoned us at this forbidding place. For now, survival itself would be enough of an answer.

The next morning we were both awakened early by the young woman and brought breakfast in bed. In my world, this meant things were looking up already, if albeit only a sliver of light. My own natural defense system was to try and adapt to any given situation as quickly as possible. I ate my breakfast, but Michael did not. He sat on his bed in silent protest, lost in deep thought. I peeked out the window with a little optimism and found grim and grey looking buildings staring back instead. These new surroundings were so different to me that they created completely alien feelings of absolute isolation. An umbrella of dark clouds started to gather in the distance, portending doom and wrapped in a promise of bad things to come. Suddenly it was all too much. By the afternoon I waved my flag of surrender at my fears; a severe depression had begun.

After a day in this place, I still was not sure where I was. Old women dressed like penguins seemed to run the place, at least in the area where we had landed. Several young girls would come to look at us now and then, always with a penguin in tow. It looked like we were quite a catch. Outside, other girls voices buzzed but I could not see them, adding to the isolation that made me feel more sullen and withdrawn. My energy had gone and my smile with it, not sure whether I was captive or prey. I still half expected that I would soon be rescued by my father. By the third day my expectations were reduced to a whimper, and then finally, nothing. At week's end my depression was slowly mutating into a virus. The penguins I now knew as nuns were alarmed, while their resident nurse/nun was equally confused by my state. She pasted a white, hot and foul-smelling lotion over every part of my body in a vain hope of relieving my sickness. The only thing it did was make me look like Casper the Friendly Ghost. By early morning my condition had worsened and I was rushed to another room called an infirmary. This was staffed by the same and only nurse who had pasted me earlier. Despite the fever, sheer exhaustion drove me into a deep sleep.

The next morning I woke to the sounds of giggling girls who had surrounded my bed. Pointing at my face, one of them produced a mirror and gave it to me. As I peered at my reflection, I did not see me staring back. My mouth had become completely lopsided on my face. I laughed a nervous laugh. When the girls were shooed away by the nuns and when left alone, I started to cry and could not stop. A panic started in the infirmary and an ambulance quickly arrived. I was rushed to the hospital suffering from a form of paralysis brought on by the shock of thinking I had been abandoned by my family completely. The worse thing now was, I knew it was true.

Arriving at the emergency entrance, I was met by a small team of friendly and concerned nurses. Their soothing tones reassured this captive bird that I would fly again.

My fears mellowed as I put my trust in them. After several days in the hospital with lots of tender loving care, I started to recover. I got so much attention that I started to believe it normal. Over the next fortnight my mouth started to remember where it came from and a little voice echoed my soul again. The old legs came back and I started to become a familiar figure among the nearby wards. My recovery became a transition of sorts, as if awakening from a deep sleep to an acceptance of all things new, even if not good. During my life I have often found this in scarred people, and in the life of wild and free animals that are broken and tamed even though their life goes on.

After a few days the nurses wheeled somebody new into the corridor near my bed.

He was not a patient even though I almost made him one. It was a real live parrot with a very wise look about him. We became good mates, even though I almost sent him into parrot heaven. It soon was my habit to feed him with newspaper scraps and he seemed to be enjoying it. He did look a little off after a couple of days, not to mention a bit pregnant in appearance due to the rotting paper in his stomach. But he kept eating it with relish, and I did not notice anything wrong with him. The ward nurse noticed something though, and after a few inquiries, figured out I was the culprit. She verbally scolded me while trying not to laugh, and removed the parrot to a different ward, where he made a full recovery. Not so for a sick man whose bed was across from where the parrot had been hanging out.

This man was in hysterics watching my antics with the parrot along with other pantomimes. When I knew he was looking at me I turned up the performances. I loved his audience and I noticed that no one ever came to visit him, so after a while I would sit with him and keep him company. Sometimes he had me fetching and carrying his drinks and newspapers, but most of the time he just liked me near him. His face had an unnatural tan with eyes rimmed in a sickly blue and a voice that never rose above a whisper. He was aged about fifty and knew he was dying. In the last days of his life, I was his only friend and companion. On the last night of it, he asked the nurse if I could be allowed to stay in the bed next to his.

As the night rolled on we chatted away and he lived with me in my children's world.

At last he fell asleep, and soon after I did too. Only one of us awoke the next morning. He would not wake again, ever. He had passed on during the night. The ward nurse told me so and that he had gone to heaven as well. I accepted the truth of that answer as if I had been told he had just been sent away on vacation. So I was happy for him and I went on my merry way wondering if I would ever get the chance of getting there too. It turned out I did not have much chance at all.

The rest of the time at the hospital was boring and I even got tired of being the centre of attention, which was a bit of a stretch for me. A nun had been coming to visit me every other day and I liked her. Her visits made me happy overall despite the boredom, but any change would have made a welcome and long overdue event, besides, I was starting to miss my brother.

After about two months I was well again and ready to go back to the nunnery. A different nun arrived to take charge of me. She led me outside to a waiting car with a group of nurses hot on our heels. The next thing I knew, they were showering me with presents of sweets and toys. As the car sped away, I waved back at the nurses feeling renewed. I was also looking forward to meeting Michael.

At the nunnery, I was met by Michael at the main door. He seemed very down in himself, but he brightened when he saw me. We were soon back to "happy companions." We had not seen each other for almost two months and that time apart had badly shaken him.

His confidence had waned, and for a little time, our roles were starting to slowly reverse.

He began to depend on me. This may not have been the best idea for a mature six year old, depending on a slightly immature five year old with mischief written all over him.

Turns out this place was not a nunnery at all, but an Industrial /Reformatory School for Girls nestled in the suburbs of Athlone town, somewhat deceptively called Summer Hill.

A new reality began to dawn on me, the same one that dawned on Michael two months before.

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