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cane in front of all these other children.
     
    I could tell from the start Mother Dorothy didn’t like me. I watched her smile at other children all the time, asking politely after their parents. ‘I saw your daddy on television last night,’ I’d hear her say to one of the rich kids. ‘What wonderful work he’s doing! Please send him my regards. Has your mother got a new car? How lovely!’
     
    But she seemed only ever to scowl at me, and before long she was giving out steam to me all the time.
     
    ‘You stupid child! What are you wearing? You’ll catch pneumonia! ’ she barked one day. I didn’t have a coat, it was lashing down with rain, and Mammy had ordered me to wear a pair of old sandals with no socks instead of my Wellington boots. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t argue. Sometimes Mammy made up funny rules like that. If I argued I knew Mammy would go mad and hit me, so I did as I was told.
     
    My toes felt like little icicles, and I was frozen to the bone, but I didn’t think Mother Dorothy really cared about how I felt, because every time she spoke to me she always made me feel worse. ‘I’m real sorry, Reverend Mother, truly I am,’ I said, pleading for forgiveness with my eyes and not knowing what else to say.
     
    Mammy didn’t like me telling anyone our business, so I couldn’t say I didn’t have any socks or shoes at home. ‘I promise faithfully I won’t do it again,’ I said, not knowing if Mammy would let me wear the Wellingtons the next day or not.
     
    ‘Make quite sure you don’t, you stupid girl,’ said Mother Dorothy. ‘Or you will have me to answer to.’
     
    However much I tried to be invisible, she always found a reason to pick on me, and her criticisms just got worse.
     
    I knew whenever she was gunning for me. Her dark eyes would narrow as she lowered her forehead and directed her steely glare straight between my eyes. I always started to quiver like a little leaf, knowing I was in for another shameful telling-off.
     
    ‘Cynthia Murphy, come to the front of the class now!’ she demanded one day.
     
    Cheeks glowing bright red, I trooped up and stood there, squirming inside, wondering what I had done this time. I wanted the ground to swallow me up, and I felt like bolting for the door, but I stood rooted to the spot, burning with shame, as everybody stared at me once more.
     
    ‘Why are you wearing that filthy jumper again? I told you last time to smarten yourself up, young lady. Look at your hair! Have you never brushed it? Class, will you look at this dirty girl? What a terrible child!’
     
    I was absolutely devastated every time she picked on me. I wanted to learn, not be told off. Mammy and Daddy didn’t have enough money to buy me new clothes to make me look smart like the other children. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t fair.
     
    It didn’t take long before I started to feel cross with Mother Dorothy. There was nothing I could do about the way I looked. Mammy was always telling me how very poor we were. That’s why wealthier people from the neighbourhood left charity bags on our doorstep. I picked out the nicest things I could from under the stairs, but they were never good enough. I didn’t have shampoo or a hairbrush, so I couldn’t wash or brush my hair, and we never had any toothpaste or a flannel, so I couldn’t help having dirty teeth and a grubby face.
     
    One day, instead of calling out my name, Mother Dorothy marched over to my desk, grabbed hold of my shoulders and pulled me violently out of my chair.
     
    I gasped in shock, and my brain started whirling as I tried to work out what I had done wrong. It must be something really bad, because she looked madder than ever before.
     
    I’d been at school a few years by now, and Mother Dorothy had started to tell me off for not having the copy books and pencils Mammy and Daddy were meant to provide, and for not doing my homework.
     
    I couldn’t tell her that Mammy wouldn’t give me any