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Confession.

This is not going to throw you off of your feet I am going to make a confession about something that happened long, long ago. I was young but not so young that I did not know what I was doing. There was no excuse for what I actually done but it has remained with me all these years.

It was in the middle of the weeks before Christmas. I was an inmate of an Orphanage in Kent. Southern England. The Foster Mothers in each house were preparing for the approaching Yuletide. All kinds of small cakes and tarts were made and locked away in the Larder. The foster mother thought that there was only one key to the larder. She also thought that all of the good things to eat were quite safe from thieving hands of small boys. This is where she was totally wrong. I had tried the key to the back door and to my surprise and joy the back door key also fitted the larder door’s lock.

Late at night I silently went down he stairs, took the key from the back door and opened the door to the larder. I took one cake or tart each night. Yes at that tender age I had become a criminal. I had no twinges of conscience. I like all of the children, both boys and girls went every Sunday, to Sunday school. I too was taught about the good Saviour Jesus and all about the bad things that one would have to answer for when one did something naughty. I must say this was for my childish mind too high brow. I knew only one real thing at that time. I must not get caught. I took only one cake or tartlet each night. The Christmas cake, I did not touch at all, for that was covered with marzipan and Icing. It would have been a give away.

No one knew that I had become a thief, a young thief perhaps but after all a thief and for many years I regretted having stolen from my fellow orphans. The worse part was I could not make it up to the other boys. If I had started giving my one-penny pocket money away, too many questions would have been asked. Questions that I would have to tell lies to stop it getting out that I had stolen cakes and tarts and I might as well own up sugar and raisins and currants, in fact any sweet substance that was kept in a larder catering for seventeen boys and the Foster Mother.

Why am I telling you all of this, in a way I am trying to save myself from punishment not here on this earth, it is much too late for that but what about when I pass on into the next sphere. Will pointing fingers be my lot? Will tongues call me for what I am a thief? I hope not but one never knows. What will be my punishment? Stealing is a crime and I stole from my fellow Orphans. That I think will not be kindly taken to when I sit before the Heavenly Judges. There is no excuse, the fact that I was only about seven or perhaps six years of age is no excuse and warrants no kindness. I will leave this world no longer innocent but guilty of one of the worse crimes. Stealing from my own comrades.