1-3 | charliechaplinbio

"I was hardly aware of a crisis because we lived in a continual crisis; and, being a boy, I dismissed our troubles with gracious forgetfulness."

– Chaplin on his childhood

1897

It feels lonely without mom and Sydney. There are a lot of people here, but I still feel lonely, and I most certainly am not the only one. Every single person looks lonely and sad. I feel an urge to make them feel happy, I don’t know why. Their frowns just make me even sadder, and I don’t want to be sad anymore. I wish they’d laugh more. They say that this is a school, but I don’t believe them. The schools I saw in pictures always have happy students and caring teachers. I can’t see any. Maybe it is because of the name. Central London District School for Paupers is not exactly a cheery name. Poor people aren’t happy most of the time after all. I too am a pauper, I should know. It is a forlorn existence, but it is all I have. I’m glad I have my mother and brother. I wouldn’t be able to do it without them.

Today is a beautiful day. Even though mom has gone to work to not bring any food. Even though in an hour I’ll have to work with my brother Sydney in a workhouse until we collapse from fatigue and hunger. Today still is a beautiful day. I don’t blame mom though, for what we have to go through every day. I know she also is working with all her might at the music hall. Maybe you know who she is, if you too live in our neighborhood. Her name is Hannah, but she goes by Lily Harley when she goes on stage, don’t ask me I don’t know why. Maybe it is because she wants to forget her life, and be someone else. I think it is okay unless she forgets us as well. Currently I am 7 years 5 months old, so I am almost an adult now, though Sydney is even older. My friends ask where dad is, but all, mom says is that he is traveling far far away. She says that he will definitely come back to us, but a voice tells me he won’t. It’s the voice of the neighbors. The sound of the neighbors when they think nobody else can hear them talk.

1898

I want to get out. I want to get out. I want to get out. It has been only two weeks since we started to live with dad, but I don’t know if I can take it any longer. I’d never really met my father before. Mom said he had work to do so he couldn’t come to see us, but dad is rarely out of the house. I wonder if his job is drinking. He seems to drink a lot. When dad drinks his “special juice”, which we are not allowed to drink, he starts to make weird noises and gestures. One day I asked why he acted like that when he drank it, the only thing he said was that it made him happy. I wanted to ask him why he hits us when he drinks if it made him happy, but knowing he might get angry and get his belt out again, I felt too afraid to do so.
I hope mom is alright. It would be so much better if she was here but Sydney said she is in the hospital and will come to get us when she feels better. I wonder if it is a cold, but I think she’d come to take us already if it was. I miss the time I spend with her. If she were here, she’d take me with her to the salon with her, and we’d make funny stories about the audiences. Guess I’ll have to make them on my own for now.