One Man’s Trash

I’m currently having a big clearout of my flat, so that The Architect has some space in which to put his things when he moves in at the weekend. This is more difficult than I first thought, as I keep finding stuff that I haven’t seen in a while and skipping off on a trip down memory lane.

My most sentimental find so far has been a couple of home-made christmas cards, scrappily coloured in and written on in childish hands: ‘love from Ross’, Happy Christmas from Alex’ etc. To someone who didn’t know the story they would be nothing special. However, I placed them carefully back in the drawer, unable to bring myself to throw them in the bin.

It was Christmas 2000 and I had my first touring job, playing Mother Goose in schools and nursing homes in and around the Oxford area. One of the story lines in the show centred around my character Mother Goose, an ugly but kind woman, jumping into the magic pool and coming out young and beautiful. However, Mother Goose’s son Billy didn’t recognise his mum in her new, improved form and got very upset when told the truth, running off stage with the parting line, ‘You’re not my mother! You’ll never be my mother – never, never, never!’

One day we went to a school for children with difficult home lives or special needs of one sort or another. Many of them were fostered or semi-lost in the social services system. The school was the only constant that some of these children had in their lives. Not that we realised this until we had finished the show and gone off to get changed. Before we could do so, however, the Head came in to the changing room and asked if I could stay in costume and go and visit the babies’ class, as they had been very affected by the Billy/Mother Goose storyline, particularly one little boy who had been through about 3 different foster homes in the previous couple of months and was about to be moved on and end up in limbo again, just in time for Christmas. So off I went, a little nervously, not quite knowing what to expect.

When I walked into the room there were about 8 small boys, all busy making Christmas cards. As I entered, their little faces turned towards me in awe. At first they were struck dumb with shyness, but then one of them thrust his carefully coloured home-made card in my direction. ‘Will you be my mum?’ he asked. And once he had broken the ice, suddenly they all wanted to come and hold my hand, talk to me, sit on my lap, have their picture taken with the lady in the sparkly tiara and pink ball dress who just might be their next mum. I honestly don’t know how I got out of that room without completely losing it – it was one of the most emotional half-hours I’ve ever spent.

The day may come when I find those cards at the back of a drawer and feel nothing, but until that day comes, I will keep them to remember Alex and Ross and all their friends and hope that they have found a safe place where they are happy and loved, just as they desperately wanted and needed that first Christmas of the new Millennium.

(Originally published June 2005)