It was a time when children were seen and not heard. It was a time when boys were boys and girls were girls and none of them wet the bed. But if you were orphaned and stuck in a home, you didn’t get adopted. No one wanted a bedwetter when they could get a clean and dry child.
And what happened when you turned sixteen and you were turfed out of the orphanage and left to look after your own affairs? You couldn’t get a room to live in – because you wet the bed. You couldn’t get a job because you couldn’t get a room. And you couldn’t eat if you didn’t have a job.
There was one place though. Word filtered through the ranks of the older bedwetters in the orphanage of a place where wet sheets weren’t punished and where you could live and eat as well as work.
But was it all the rumours said? Was Mildred’s Home for Wayward Bedwetters heaven or hell? Or some bizarre combination of both?
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