For the last time, Paula Townsend, steely, pale, 101, stared up at the circular stained-glass window. “Suffer Little Children To Come Unto Me,” it read.
“Was this the dining room?” she asked. The memories inched back. “We were always hungry, we didn’t care what they gave us . . . I don’t remember what dessert was. Maybe an apple?”
Comments
This story brings back memories when I lived at the New England Home for Little Wanderers for about six months in 1959. As stated, it had an institutional look, but a warm staff who seemed to truly care about us kids. I lived in foster homes before and after the Little Wanderers and none compared with the compassion the South Huntington center staff demonstrated for me and the other children.
Great read!
LOVED this article. Great read!
Brings back memories of more than 50 years ago. Somehow, we English majors at Tufts (then Jackson College) were recruited to conduct writing classes for the young female residents at The Home for Little Wanderers. Guess it was a kind of Practice Teaching where we encouraged the girls to keep journals. Always remember it as a place where there was a lot of respect and love along with discipline and order. Thanks for sharing this.