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Authors: Trisha Merry
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them.’
She looked a bit surprised, shrugged and that was that. I’m not even sure she understood what I was saying. But I always had to be careful, because all these words were presumably the
normal conversation they had grown up with, till now, and if I’d been too disapproving of them, it would have been a slur on their parents, and I couldn’t do that.
I had to just say: ‘We don’t say that when other people are around.’ Or: ‘Please don’t use that language when we’re in the supermarket, because it’s not
acceptable there.’ ‘If you want to use those words,’ I used to tell the children, ‘if you’re angry about something, go upstairs and use them in your
bedroom.’
They used their wide vocabulary of swear words all the time, whether they were angry with each other, or pleased with something they’d done. If Anita had completed a puzzle, it was:
‘Fucking Hell. I’ve done it!’
I talked to Hamish one time when he shouted out a string of swear words at his sisters. ‘That isn’t a very nice way to speak,’ I said.
I remember the way he looked at me. He was such a beautiful boy and he looked at me with his great big, brown eyes.
‘Sorry. What did I say wrong?’
One day I sat them all down and told them that we were going to have a new chart.
‘Right. These are all your names and this is our stop-swearing chart,’ I explained. ‘And this is the tricky bit. You know about wiping bums and washing hands – the things
that you should be doing?’
‘Yes,’ chorused the eldest three, nodding.
‘Well, this is about something you should
not
do – swearing. All the words you must try not to say. We don’t want to hear them any more.’
‘How do we know what words we can’t say?’ asked Hamish.
‘Good question,’ I nodded. ‘Let’s make a list of them around the chart so that you can try and remember
not
to say them. What word do you think I should write
first?’
‘Cunt!’ yelled out Anita.
I turned away to hide my smile and listed all the swear words they told me, plus some others I had also heard them use. Then I got out four big jam jars, labelled them with their names and I put
a few 1ps and 2ps in the bottom of each jar.
‘What are they for?’ asked Hamish.
‘These are for your rewards.’
‘Rewards?’ Caroline tried to repeat the word as a question.
‘Yes, for when you manage not to swear.’ They all smiled and listened, so I carried on. ‘Right, we’re going to start with an hour at a time,’ I explained. ‘If
any of you can manage a whole hour without saying any of these words, I will put a big tick under your name and 2p in your jar.’
I think I was expecting them to protest a bit, but they all seemed keen on the idea, so off we went. It certainly seemed to work to begin with, though of course they slipped up quite often in
between. In fact, it worked so well that soon we made it 3p for two hours, then upped it to 5p for half a day.
Shopping and eating continued to be their number one obsessions, dominating our lives. But Caroline’s continuous diarrhoea was my greatest concern. She had it when she
came to us and it hadn’t got any better. It was getting worse. No matter how often I changed her nappies, every one was badly soiled and the smell was repulsive.
One day, when it was particularly bad, I took her down to the hospital, with all the others in tow as well. It was a nightmare wait, trying to keep the older two from terrorising the other
patients with their shouting and rushing around. It was like trying to make fish stop swimming, but worse. I think this may have worked in our favour, because it wasn’t long before we were
called through to be seen. I told the young man in a blue top why we had come.
‘What do you think it could be?’ I asked him, though he looked so young that I wondered whether he might not have done that part of the course yet.
‘Well, I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about,’ he said with
She looked a bit surprised, shrugged and that was that. I’m not even sure she understood what I was saying. But I always had to be careful, because all these words were presumably the
normal conversation they had grown up with, till now, and if I’d been too disapproving of them, it would have been a slur on their parents, and I couldn’t do that.
I had to just say: ‘We don’t say that when other people are around.’ Or: ‘Please don’t use that language when we’re in the supermarket, because it’s not
acceptable there.’ ‘If you want to use those words,’ I used to tell the children, ‘if you’re angry about something, go upstairs and use them in your
bedroom.’
They used their wide vocabulary of swear words all the time, whether they were angry with each other, or pleased with something they’d done. If Anita had completed a puzzle, it was:
‘Fucking Hell. I’ve done it!’
I talked to Hamish one time when he shouted out a string of swear words at his sisters. ‘That isn’t a very nice way to speak,’ I said.
I remember the way he looked at me. He was such a beautiful boy and he looked at me with his great big, brown eyes.
‘Sorry. What did I say wrong?’
One day I sat them all down and told them that we were going to have a new chart.
‘Right. These are all your names and this is our stop-swearing chart,’ I explained. ‘And this is the tricky bit. You know about wiping bums and washing hands – the things
that you should be doing?’
‘Yes,’ chorused the eldest three, nodding.
‘Well, this is about something you should
not
do – swearing. All the words you must try not to say. We don’t want to hear them any more.’
‘How do we know what words we can’t say?’ asked Hamish.
‘Good question,’ I nodded. ‘Let’s make a list of them around the chart so that you can try and remember
not
to say them. What word do you think I should write
first?’
‘Cunt!’ yelled out Anita.
I turned away to hide my smile and listed all the swear words they told me, plus some others I had also heard them use. Then I got out four big jam jars, labelled them with their names and I put
a few 1ps and 2ps in the bottom of each jar.
‘What are they for?’ asked Hamish.
‘These are for your rewards.’
‘Rewards?’ Caroline tried to repeat the word as a question.
‘Yes, for when you manage not to swear.’ They all smiled and listened, so I carried on. ‘Right, we’re going to start with an hour at a time,’ I explained. ‘If
any of you can manage a whole hour without saying any of these words, I will put a big tick under your name and 2p in your jar.’
I think I was expecting them to protest a bit, but they all seemed keen on the idea, so off we went. It certainly seemed to work to begin with, though of course they slipped up quite often in
between. In fact, it worked so well that soon we made it 3p for two hours, then upped it to 5p for half a day.
Shopping and eating continued to be their number one obsessions, dominating our lives. But Caroline’s continuous diarrhoea was my greatest concern. She had it when she
came to us and it hadn’t got any better. It was getting worse. No matter how often I changed her nappies, every one was badly soiled and the smell was repulsive.
One day, when it was particularly bad, I took her down to the hospital, with all the others in tow as well. It was a nightmare wait, trying to keep the older two from terrorising the other
patients with their shouting and rushing around. It was like trying to make fish stop swimming, but worse. I think this may have worked in our favour, because it wasn’t long before we were
called through to be seen. I told the young man in a blue top why we had come.
‘What do you think it could be?’ I asked him, though he looked so young that I wondered whether he might not have done that part of the course yet.
‘Well, I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about,’ he said with
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