The Two Angels

The Two Angels

by Eamonn Gosney

It is said that until you meet an Angel, your life will be 'poorer' for it.
So what happens when Two Angels meet?

The government official opened the door, walked over to the large mahogany desk and passed the papers to the man sitting behind it. “Here's the report Mr Premier, basically they want compensation for what happened to them.”

“Is that so? Well, we can't have that happening then, can we,” snapped Premier Marcus, as he grabbed the papers handed to him, scrunched them into a tight ball and slam-dunkedly filed them in the trash can on the floor. “We need to put an end to these orphans causing trouble for us once and for all.”

“We could always pass legislation to stop them...” offered the official—somewhat timidly.

Peter Marcus gracefully slid the manicured fingers of his right hand through his newly-cut ginger hair, momentarily resting them at the back of his head. He gave the situation two seconds thought. “Then, that is what we must do,” he announced—in a sudden climactic outburst (while at the same time, amazed at his own mental acuity and genius-like propensity for continually coming up with mind-boggingly brilliant ideas): “Enact legislation immediately, forbidding these orphans from suing the government. Offer them $300 each to keep their mouths shut, and tell them that if they don't accept this, then they will get 'nothing' at all.”

And so that is what happened, those Darplo Asylum Orphans who were still alive, each were sent $300 in order to shut them up and keep them out of circulation. For this they were required to sign a document which would effectively mean forfeiture of even this money, if they ever mentioned anything more about their ordeal.

Catherine was bitter when she received her cheque in the mail six weeks later. She had been a little disgusted with herself at first, for agreeing to accepting the payment. She felt it was wrong. Such a paltry sum for what she had been through. But what could she do?

As Catherine sat down at the kitchen table she thought about the terrible struggle over the last 55 years to finally get recognized for what had occurred to her when she was a child. Even after all this time she still carried the painful emotional scars and found it very difficult to distance herself from the horror of it all. What she found most upsetting was that she had been an innocent victim in the whole matter.

She recalled how Sister Silvia had taken her and the other 680 orphans aside that winter morning and said to them that from now on, “You are all loonies," and how the orphanage had then become a “hospital”—a “mental hospital”. And how soon after this, all the nuns began wearing white habits, rather than black, because they were now "nurses”.

The truth was that the majority of the children were, in fact, not orphans at all. The only crime for many of them was to have been born out of wedlock. Priests had found this 'wicked sin' despicable, and this is how many of the poor urchins ended up in the orphanage—before their 'inconvenient presence' could blemish good God-fearing folk in the neighborhood. The parents of these “orphans” didn't really mind that much. They already had too many pesky brats running around the place as it was, and were not overly keen to have more of the little blighters to clothe and feed.

There was a knock at the door. It was Loraine, a friend of Catherine's. Loraine had come over to visit. “Oh hi Lori,” said Catherine, and ushered her in.

Loraine Bernard was a Darplo survivor too. She had found Catherine forty-four years earlier and now they were good friends and enjoyed each others' company. Loraine would call round and visit Catherine every Sunday morning and they would—usually for the whole day—drink cups of tea and sit and talk about the dreadful experiences they had been through. Having someone to talk to had been much needed therapy for the two women.

“Did you get your compensation?” asked Loraine.

“Yes, I got the lousy $300 they sent me.”

Loraine smiled. She knew Catherine as a lady who spoke her mind. Over the years she had appreciated having someone so strong to share painful memories with. It really helped that she was able to talk to another person who had been there and understood. She felt really comfortable around this woman: Catherine—her angel, had been there for her all these years.

And it wasn't only Loraine who had been helped, gradually both women had been able to open up about the awful things. How they had been wrongly labeled as mental patients. About the frightful "treatments". The debilitating electroshock; the stupefying medication; the being strapped into straitjackets; the detainment in cells; the ice-water baths... and other abuses. Even with all they had been through though, they both considered themselves very lucky, as quite a few of the other youngsters had been subjected to lobotomies, and those that hadn't died from this had ended up as total vegetables.

What had happened was that church-run orphanages were getting a subsidy from the government of 53 cents per-child-per-day to look after wards of the state. Then church authorities discovered that there was $2.46 to be made for looking after the mentally ill, so virtually overnight, orphanages were converted into “mental institutions”. Having an extra few million dollars in funds available was one thing, but the arrangement also entailed that the children receive psychiatric treatment. There was no problem there though, as psychiatrists were 'more than willing', having no qualms about the extra fees they would be entitled to with these additional “patients” on their books. And so thousands of children were declared 'mentally deficient', and in need of urgent treatment.

“What do you plan on doing with your money,” asked Catherine.

“I'm not sure Catherine, I haven't really given that much thought.”

Catherine sat her tea-cup down and looked across at the weather-beaten and cragged face of her friend. The woman drinking tea with her was 67 years old, she had never married and had lived a hard life. “Well Lori, I do know one thing, I won't be putting any of my money on the collection plate.”

Loraine Bernard had the cup to her lips and ended up spluttering tea all over her freshly-ironed mauve blouse. She sat back on the chair laughing her head off. Collection plate! she thought to herself, after she had settled down, hardly any chance of that—seeing that neither she nor her friend had ever been inside a church in their lives.

 

THE END

Image credit: Microsoft
Copyright © 2003  Eamonn Martin Gosney — All Rights Reserved


 

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