"Why did you say 'bum'," the woman had demanded.

"I didn't," Bobbie said, "I didn't."

Bobbie said she didn't even know the word.

"Don't tell me lies," the woman responded.

That was it. Bobbie knew she was in trouble.

Innocence of a crime was no excuse in Nazareth House.

If they said you had done something, you had done it. End of story. And if they said you had not done something, especially something you were supposed to have done, and you had
in fact done it, you really hadn't done it at all ... if they said you hadn't. No argument.

So Bobbie had said "bum" - because the woman said she had. That was all there was to it.
And saying a word like "bum" meant trouble.

Bobbie knew she was in for it. And she was right.

Torture. Straight out torture. From the textbook.

If the nation's enemies had treated our soldiers in the war the way they treated the kids of Nazareth there would have been war crimes trials.

Bobbie has not forgotten the day she didn't say "bum".

There were five villains in all. Bobbie plus, for some reason, four others.

They were assembled in a room off the dormitory and the treatment begun.

Kneel on the tiles. Hands on your heads. Elbows straight out. Heads up. Eyes closed.
And stay there.

A senior girl was brought in as supervisor.

The kids had been through it all before and had learned some survival skills - how to shift their weight from aching knee to aching knee to give each in turn a rest. They had had plenty of practice.

So minutes turned to hours. If they couldn't maintain their pose and toppled over they would be made to get back into position immediately.

The girl had a bowl of fruit in front of her.

The five never saw fruit. Bobbie ate only one orange in all the years she was there. They all thought bananas came black. Until one of them went to hospital and discovered they were yellow.

Eventually the girl asked if anyone was hungry.

Bobbie said she was.

The girl told her to keep her eyes closed and to open her mouth.

She rubbed the kid's mouth and eyes with cut-up chilli.

The burning was excruciating.

But the child had to remain on her knees and keep her hands on her head.

Later, when the rest of the place went to church the five were sent to get their mattresses. Sometime that night they were allowed to sleep.

Next day the torture was repeated.

Kneeling, hands on heads, backs straight, eyes closed and chilli rubbed into their lips and mouth and eyes.

And the next day.

By the time the chilli treatment stopped after five days, Bobbie's eyes were swollen shut. Her protruding tongue was so swollen and dry she could not draw it back into her mouth. It simply wouldn't fit.

The kneeling torture itself lasted seven days.

All because a member of the Congregation of the Poor Sisters of Nazareth, a nun, a woman of God, reckoned she had said "bum".

Bobbie remembers it all. She sometimes wonders about the girl who supervised them. She had no option, of course.

One day Bobbie was told her grandparents were coming to take her away.

She was so excited. It was to be on Sunday.

She was ready and waiting to be collected.

The hours dragged by. No one came.

Three o'clock.

Four o'clock.

No one.

After Benediction one of the nuns came out and said "Where do you think you're going"?

"I'm leaving today, Sister," Bobbie replied.

"You're not going anywhere," the nun said.

"Your grandfather died last night."

Bobbie cried.

Her grandfather was dead and what's more she would not be leaving.

The nun said they would have to get something to catch "those crocodile tears".

She hung one of those heavy buckets with a wringer attachment around her neck and Bobbie had to wear it.

She wore it for three days.

She even had to wear it to bed.

Finally one of the other Sisters saw her in bed with a bucket around her neck. Bobbie remembers the nun finding her on the third night.

She was shocked, sat Bobbie up, and removed the bucket.

There is little doubt the nuns clinically devised more and more elaborate forms of torment.

Bobbie overheard them one day making their plans.

But even without Bobbie's account of what she heard, the evidence is clear.

When the children survived a particular torture, the bar was lifted a little bit higher.

They moved it all up another notch.

Bobbie knows only too well. She was the victim of the most elaborate case of psychological torture one could imagine.

In the afternoons one of the nuns took the children for a walk.

One afternoon they met a soldier riding a motorcycle.

He stopped and spoke to the nun for a short while, then rode off.

The nun told Bobbie the man was a soldier and he was going to kill her. He didn't have his gun with him today, but he would bring it one day and shoot her.

Each day they went for their walk Bobbie was afraid this day would be her last.

She was particularly afraid when they took the turning that led to the route the soldier always took.

Each time he arrived on his motorbike Bobbie thought this might be it. Would he kill her today? What would happen? What was it like to die?

And each time after he rode away the nun told her it wasn't today but it would be soon.

The torment went on for years.

Finally one day the nun told her it would be today.

Today the soldier would be bringing his gun and he would shoot her that afternoon.

They set off on their walk. Bobbie was terrified.

They arrived at the spot where they met the soldier and Bobbie hid behind a tree. Scared stiff.

The soldier arrived. He and the nun talked for a while and the nun pointed toward Bobbie's tree.

The two began to walk toward the spot where Bobbie, now petrified with fear, was hiding.

As they neared the spot Bobbie simply fainted out of fear.

She remembers coming to and the nun shouting at her.

She remembers being an absolute mess.

She remembers she was grateful when it was time to go to bed.

Sometime later she woke up. In the distance there was shooting. Gunfire. Lots of it. All around.
Bobbie went berserk.

She screamed at the others.

In every face she saw a soldier.

She screamed and lunged at them.

"The soldiers are coming", she screamed in her terror.

"The soldiers are coming".

The dormitory was in turmoil.

The shooting went on.

It was November 5. Guy Fawkes night.

In the world outside all the locals were letting off their fireworks.

Eventually they calmed Bobbie down and put her back to bed.

She curled up in a ball - which was against the rules.

But she didn't care.

She had had enough.

She just wanted it all to end.

No more. Please, no more.

She knew she was going crazy and wanted out.

She was 12 years old.

But the nun was apparently satisfied.

Bobbie had been driven to the brink of madness at least.

The torment stopped.

She never saw the soldier again.

Bobbie still does not like soldiers.