"On leaving our home, our front door closed tightly behind us; little did we know we would never return to live permanently under my dad's roof. Suddenly we were in a gloomy arch-shaped alcove, standing at a weather-beaten brown door. We had arrived at the now infamous Nazareth House Convent. Run by the Religious Orders. This large institution on the outskirts of Belfast housed elderly people, young toddlers, and older people up to the age of fifteen who had been placed into their care. All are situated in separate wings of the Home... as the ancient door slowly creaked open, we were faced with frightening, scowling, shadowing figures that appeared at the front entrance, beckoning us to get in. Obviously, they were expecting us, by the look on their faces, most probably thinking, heavens above... not more waifs and strays for us to look after!"