The Story of Rachel Don't

 For those of you old enough to have watched the old TV comedy series Drop the Dead Donkey you might remember a character (the news presenter) who talked often of how she was abused by her grandmother.

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I cannot understand how grandmothers could be evil, but then there are mothers who are evil, too.

I was on the bus home from the university and feeling tired. As usual I whipped out my phone to read another instalment of the book on my phone. But there was a voice shouting, "Me want Mummy! Me want sit wif Mummy!"

Where was "Mummy"? After faffing about for several minutes while the bus was stopped, she had proceeded to the back of the bus, sitting just behind me, facing towards the back of the bus.

As "Me want Mummy" got louder and more persistent I looked up to observe that a girl, quite a big girl, about three years of age, was strapped to a push-chair at the front of the bus, in the care of her grandmother. Behind me set the girl's mum with her bulbous headphone stuck on her ears, oblivious to her daughter's shouts.

Little girl: "Me want Mummy!

Grandma: "She's not interested. She's got her headphones on. She does not want you!"

Mummy: [oblivious]

Me: [in shock]

There is another person involved: little girl's brother, perhaps about 8 to 10 years of age, sitting right at the back, facing forward, trying to look indifferent.

"Me want Mummy!" the shouts got louder and louder. Other passengers at the front tried to pacify her by smiling and distracting her.

"Me want Mummy!"

In the end I had to tap "Mummy" on the shoulders, "I think your daughter needs you."

She whipped her headphones off, went to the front to grab her daughter. There was a seat at the front reserved for the elderly and disabled, "I'm not going to sit there!" and took the girl to the back.

Wow! Peace? 

No. From what I could hear -- I refused to turn round -- the little girl then started to chat with "Mummy", but soon little girl was "chatting up" another passenger at the back of the bus. 

What troubled me was her laughter. It was not the natural laughter of a young child having fun and enjoying some play. It was a very contrived laughter, mechanical it seemed, and I just felt that this little girl was "performing".

She knew that her laughter would get her something: a smile, a hug, a kiss, or maybe a treat. And she continued to try to engage the attention of another male passenger who soon tired of responding to her squeaks and squawks.

Meanwhile, at some point, big brother tried to distract her. Lily, he called her, and what a lovely big brother he was.

"Rachel Don't" is the name I gave a "Rachel" at a toddler group I used to attend with my toddler son. She attended with her grandmother who sat far, far away from her. When she saw Rachel doing something she shouldn't have, a voice would ring out across the hall, "Rachel, don't ...." And this would happen several times over the sessions.

Rachel's grandma also sometimes disappeared to the Weight Watchers group in the hall downstairs to be weighed. I don't know if she even bothered to ask someone else to keep an eye on Rachel. Once Rachel was crying, distraught, and I had to go downstairs to fetch her grandma. And grandma muttered, "But I'm only gone a few minutes."

I don't know which is worse: being told "Rachel, don't ...." every few minutes. or being told, "Your Mummy doesn't want you."

What hope has Lily got? I pray Lily's brother, who spoke the best English, would become a force of good for himself, his sister, and the family.