Sherrie time

Well my lovely Yours family,

As the new year looms with great hope and optimism, it brought to mind a magical meeting from a long time ago... I once lived in a Georgian house in Old Gloucester Place, Holborn, London. It was about 1972 so these glorious houses hadn’t suffered the refurbishment that would come in later years. The road was narrow and cobbled and the houses still had iron railings, which was unusual, as most had been ripped out for the war effort. The front door was solid black and shiny with a large polished brass knocker and opened onto a resplendent hallway. Downstairs was where my friend Pat lived. The next two floors had my bedroom, then the top floor and another bedroom that nobody ventured into.

One New Year’s Eve, we had a few people in for drinks and fish and chips, which was our budget at the time. We saw midnight in and all had a bit too much to drink. The last person left at about 1am and Pat and I sat in the kitchen with our feet up and a nightcap.

We had acted together in the theatre production of Dracula, and were laughing about the silly photos of us both with fangs, when I realised I had a stack of photos in my room so said I would go upstairs to find them.

As I was walking up the stairs, I heard a sniffle. I walked up the next flight of stairs and the sniffles got louder. I stopped, and the sniffles stopped. The air was damp and I heard a sweet voice very quietly singing, ‘Silent Night, Holy Night’. As I reached the bedroom door I felt a sadness, and opening the door there was a little girl sitting on the bed. She stopped singing and stared at me. Her hair was thin and she was very scrawny. ‘Hello’ was all I could manage. She smiled at me but didn’t speak. ‘You look cold,’ I said, noticing she was wrapped in a blanket. ‘Come with me, it’s warmer downstairs,’ But she curled up into her blanket and closed her eyes.

I was furious that Pat or one of our guests had left this poor girl up here all alone while we’d been downstairs having a party. I hurried to the kitchen to confront Pat. ‘What little girl?’ she asked. So we both went up to the top of the house, but the room was completely empty. I subsequently learned that the house had previously been a ‘poor house’ and many children had lived there. Some survived the cold and hunger, others didn’t. I had met a lost soul who remained in the house long after her passing.

We are so lucky that we live now and have the NHS – sometimes it’s good to remind ourselves of that! All these years later, I still cry when I hear children singing ‘Silent Night’. Happy New Year everybody.

‘I learned that the house had been a poor house and many children lived there’