Carla Lane - Someday Ill Find Me: Her Frank and Captivating Autobigraphy

Someday Ill Find Me

To my wonderful family, my sons Carl and Nigel, my Sister Marna, Leonard, my Brother Ramon and my beautiful Grandchildren.
To Doreen, a dear friend.
To Chrisy my tolerant typist.
To Candi, our office guru, always there for Animaline.
To Anne, who runs our Animal Shop.
To Ian, Yvonne and Mark, my comrades in the fight against live animal exports.
To Lyndsey de Paul for goading me to write this book.
To all those who work at Broadhurst Manor and in the Sanctuary. To all other animal people.
And to Norman, the big black spider in my bath!

I came into the world with important advantages: my mother, Ivy Amelia Foran, who was eighteen, and my father, DeVinci Barrack, who was nineteen and in the Merchant Navy. They loved each other noticeably until he died when he was fifty-one years old. So I was brought up in a happy family world with my brother Ramon and my sister Marna. I was not a beautiful child my two front teeth were crossed and my hair was totally disobedient but in my bedroom I was anything I wanted to be.

My father brought many things home from sea; among them were a tambourine and a silk Chinese gown. I used to drape the gown over my head, pretending that it was long and that I had curl-laden hair and smouldering eyes. I would tap the tambourine with the back of my hand the way Jean Kent did in the film Madonna Of The Seven Moons, and I saw in the mirror what I wanted to be.

My father was a romantic man, so I was able to confide in him the fact that soon I would be running off to Spain to be a dancing gypsy. He smiled and ruffled my hair. Thats fine, he said, as long as you dont mind emptying the cockroaches out of your shoes each morning. So ended my dream.

I never joined in the laughter and child-like screeching which so often came from our garden. My brother and our friends playing leapfrog, and pushing each other into the paddling pool was not right for me. Instead, I sat on the back-door step rescuing the earwigs which kept falling into the dogs drinking dish. Every time I fished one out with a leaf a little shudder ran through me, I didnt like the way they sneakily raised their pincers over their backs nor the strange malformed shape of their body, but I just could not turn myself away from their struggle. Looking back, I now know so clearly that this is the way I began my life and that it will be how I end it.

I began my school life in a Liverpool convent. My father, who was not a religious man was still at sea and my Catholic mother took advantage of the fact that the convent was just across the road.

Each morning, after prayers, the child who had said their prayers with eyes closed tight and hands clasped, were chosen to wear a little silver medal with the Virgin Mary engraved on it. My greatest childhood wish was to wear that medal, my eyes and fingers hurt as I kept to the rules and, each morning, somebody else was chosen.

One day, during playtime, when everybody was occupied outside, I crept along the endless stone corridor, with its carved angels and plaques bearing the names of those deceased, flowers and burning candles. I came to the largest statue of Our Lady. She stood on a huge marble shelf, with her hands together in prayer and her head slightly bent forwards so that you felt that she was truly listening to you. I was just about to tell her about my need to wear the medal when a hand clutched my wrist. It was Sister Maria. What are you doing? she asked harshly.

I... I... I...

You are not of our religion, she said. You have no right to be talking to Our Lady.

She dragged me along the corridor towards the nuns staff room and then she said, I am going to cut off your hands.

When we arrived at Sister Teresas office, I was sobbing and struggling. Shes going to cut off my hands, I shouted.

Sister Teresa sat motionless for a moment, and then in her quiet, gentle voice said,

Will you please go, Sister, I will attend to this.

I remember her gentleness, but I forget exactly what she said. Soon afterwards, she took me back to the classroom and there were a few whispered words between her and the teacher, Sister Josephine. Then she left. After all this, the teacher and the rest of the class were particularly nice to me.

A few days later, we were saying our morning prayers when my father, just a few hours home from sea, came busting into the classroom. I recall the astonishment on Sister Josephines face as he took my hand and dragged me towards the door. He didnt speak a word, but on the way out he swept everything off Sister Josephines desk the inkwell, the Bible, everything. Outside, he hugged me. Youll never go back there, sweetheart, he said.

Next, I went to the village school. It was a small building made of great Welsh stones. It was about a mile away, and each morning, together with lots of others, I would walk straight along the road that led to the village and the school. I can see it now: little groups of children with satchels, bright scarves and bobble hats, laughing and pushing each other and, at the gates of the school, Freddie, the cocky Watchman as we called him small, frail and very, very brown. He had hardly any teeth and wild black hair. He would greet each one of us at the gate of the school, touching each shoulder and saying Thats you in, thats you in.

After we arrived, Assembly took place in the schoolyard; each class stood separately with its own teacher ours was Miss Trumpet. We eventually stopped laughing at her name as we grew accustomed to it. She was exceedingly fat and wore a brightly coloured silk coat over her other clothes. Even her hair was wild and bush like. She was a harsh but fair-minded lady. She noticed right away how the boys giggled at my chest during PT, and she would command the whole boys class to move to the other side of the yard.

School was full of fear for me. I was aware of my scholarly shortcomings and my inability to take the whole business of learning seriously, but the thread of something, which turned out to be words, was manifesting itself. Each year, the entire school held a special day when the pupils were asked to contribute something which they had made or designed. It was always mostly knitting, dressmaking or embroidery. I, of course, ignored the whole thing until the day the Lady Mayoress arrived to judge our efforts. The whole of Class Room 4 had been turned into a display place for all the contributions. There were some beautiful things there knitted garments with fine, satin bows, embroidered tray cloths and cushion covers, linen tablecloths with lace edges and sometimes flowers and animals embroidered on them. I was panic stricken I went into the cloakroom and wrote a one-verse poem. I do not remember the words properly, but I know it was about the red leaves which gathered round the outside toilets. This I knew much about because, while the teacher was giving a lecture, I would turn my face to the window and watch these autumn leaves springing, gathering in little piles here and there and then dispersing again. I attached this grubby piece of paper to one of the boards next to a rather lovely little knitted matinee coat. Suddenly, I heard my name I received a five-shilling prize I could not believe it and neither could anybody else.

When I was just nine years old, a most frightening thing happened. Grandmas bungalow was on the banks of the River Dee, which was a tidal river. One summers day when my father was home, he, my mother and my grandma decided to take a walk across the sand dunes while the tide was out, and I pleaded to go with them. We walked for over a mile, until we came to the deep, cool pools that the tide used to leave behind when it went out, and Daddy and I spent ages pushing each other in and playing around. While they were setting up a picnic, I walked over a mound of wet sand and I noticed there was water all around us. I ran back and told my father, not thinking that it was at all serious. Immediately, the picnic was abandoned. My grandma began to cry, saying Oh Vinci, Vinci, were trapped. My mother was silent. Daddy ushered us all over the mound and he knelt down in front of me. He said, I want you to be a brave girl I want you to stay here while I take Mummy and Grandma across. Ill be very quick and you mustnt be frightened because I will come back for you.