3. Matron

Webb & Dodds, that’s what we call the two Matrons. They remind me of Chaplin’s Stan and Laurel, except that they are not remotely funny. I wonder if they were deliberately recruited for their unrivalled capacity to be uncaring, even cruel. There are no housemothers or pastoral staff at Oakdene. Webb & Dodds are all we have. I wonder now if I am exaggerating their inhumanity, it seems unbelievable that my parents would leave me in the care of these brutal, sadistic women.

Sometimes I think Dodds could be kind if she dared, but they are a team, and she won’t let the side down. Webb is a true battle-axe. Think of Miss Trunchbull from Matilda and there she is. Maybe that’s who she modelled herself on.

One night, not long into my first term, my tummy aches terribly. I can’t sleep as I toss and turn in my uncomfortable bed. I feel like crying but I won’t let myself. I think the rest of the dorm is fast asleep and I feel deeply alone. Eventually, I get out of bed and make my way gingerly out of Barrie. I tiptoe through Kennedy and try to open the creaky door onto the landing as quietly as I can. As I pad down the corridor I can see Matron’s office light is on through the glass panel in the door, I knock, softly.

Webb is sitting at the little desk, my heart sinks. I wish it were Dodds. “Mrs Webb” I say meekly “I’ve got a really bad tummy ache, I can’t sleep”

She looks at me with pursed lips and says nothing. I long for a moment of tenderness, an arm around my shoulder, a kind word, a caring look. Instead, she huffs “A tummy ache eh, too many sweets no doubt. Sit down” She nods at the chair next to her desk. As she turns her back to me I feel a pang in my chest, I wish I had stayed in bed, I glance at the door wondering if I can get out before she turns around.

Beore I have time to move, she’s coming towards me holding a brown medicine bottle in one hand and a large plastic dosing spoon in the other. “This should do the trick”, she crows, pouring the thick pale pink, milky liquid onto the spoon. “Here we go,” she says between gritted teeth, “Come on, open wide”. I feel cold and clammy, I don’t want to open my mouth. I don’t want this medicine but I know better than to argue. I open my mouth and she shoves in the spoon. I swallow and retch. I have tasted my first dose of Milk of Magnesium. The flavour defies description it’s so hideous, but I’ll do my best: notes of mint and fish with the texture of liquid chalk. I‘m shivering now and desperate to get out of her sight. “Off you go” she snaps as she turns to put the bottle away and I slip out without saying a word.

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As an adult I am what you would call self reliant. I have learned not to need anyone. I look after myself and don’t expect or even allow anyone to look after me. It's not an easy way to live. Over the years I have practiced asking for help, I have allowed myself to acknowledge when I just can’t do it alone, whatever it is. Asking for help, care, support, love… it always feels risky. And I am more and more willing to take the risk, because while being self reliant has meant that I have achieved many good things in my life, it is also lonely and exhausting. By being willing to take more risks, I have experienced more and more true connection with the people I love.