Paid Servant (15 page)

“Doesn't really matter, but my girls might prefer to have brother; too many women in the family already.”

We chatted around and I asked if I might come up to their home, on my return, to meet her husband and children and discuss the matter further after she'd had some time to think it over.

“Good. I'm returning home tomorrow. Could you come up in the evening? It's the only time you'd be able to see us together.”

“That's a date.”

“Have you some children in mind?”

“One in particular, at the moment,” I replied, and, acting on impulse, I told her about Roddy.

“Sounds a lovely chap,” she said, “I'm sure John will agree to having him. That's my husband.”

At this point we introduced ourselves and she gave me her address near Wealdstone in Middlesex.

The twins slept throughout the ride. It struck me as odd that not once had either of them made any sound, from the moment I walked into the room in Kennington until now. The fears I had half-entertained of squalling infants were, happily, unfulfilled.

At Brighton, Mrs Tamerlane, my travelling companion, helped me with the children, and I quickly found a taxi to take me to the Nursery. I think the Matron was rather surprised that I, a man, had undertaken to bring the twins all the way from London. I mentioned that I thought they had not been fed all day, and left them with her, relieved by the knowledge that they were in good, capable hands.

Next morning I went to St Saviour's Hospital to see Miss Bruce, the mother of the twins. She looked tired, but cheered up appreciably when I told her that the girls were safe at a residential nursery on the south coast where they would be well cared for until she was able to have them home again.

“What is it this time?” I asked.

“A boy.” She seemed absurdly young, eighteen or nineteen I guessed. “Were they all right—in the room, I mean?” she asked.

“They were fine.”

“I must remember to thank Mrs Sawyer when I go home.”

Thank her very much for nothing, I thought, and let it go at that. No point in telling her about the state in which I found the children.

“By the way, Miss Bruce, would you tell me where I can get in touch with the twins' father? We'll have to inform him that the children have been taken into care, as he will be expected to make some contribution to their maintenance.”

“I don't know where he is,” she replied, “he stopped coming to see me when I told him I was pregnant again. I went around to where he lived in Brixton, but they told me he'd moved away, gone up North somewhere. He hasn't written me or anything.” As she spoke the tears slipped in a steady stream down the side of her face.

“So how have you been making out?”

“The people from Dr Barnardo's have been helping me. They send me some money each week. And the Moral Welfare people too, but they say I must take out a summons against him for maintenance. But how can I? I don't know where he is.”

God, what a mess. Three young children and nothing to hold on to.

“I don't know if the landlord will let me have the room when I leave here. He used to fuss about me having the twins in the room. Said he didn't want children in the place. So I know what he'll say about the baby. Then there's the rent.”

A passing nurse noticed the tears and came over to her.

“Now, now, Miss Bruce, what's this? Crying again? Now, we don't want to upset ourselves, do we?” Then to me, “Something wrong?”

“She's worried about her room at Kennington,” I said.

“Now, now, not to worry,” she comforted her. “I'll ask the Almoner to come up and discuss it with her later on. She'll know what to do.”

I left soon afterwards. In my report, I'd recommend that the twins remain at the nursery as long as possible after Miss Bruce left hospital, to give her an opportunity to sort things out, probably with the help of one of the voluntary organizations with which she was already in touch. On the way out I chatted briefly with the Almoner and learned that Miss Bruce had arrived in England from Jamaica eighteen months ago. Probably the need for companionship in a strange country had precipitated this chain of unfortunate events; now, with three small children and herself to support, the future seemed bleak indeed.

“She's a charming, attractive girl,” the Almoner said, “but rather soft, I should imagine. I hope the next man to come along will stick by her.”

That evening I went to see the Tamerlanes. Theirs was a semi-detached, two-storeyed house in a pleasant tree-lined street a short distance from the centre of town. When he opened the door, Mr Tamerlane tried to welcome me and at the same time restrain a large, shaggy dog which seemed bent on reaching up to lick my face. Standing behind him were his wife and two chubby, fair-haired girls who looked startlingly alike, although one was somewhat taller than the other. They came forward to shake hands and immediately unleashed a barrage of questions about the new “brother Mummy had said would be coming to stay with them”.

From the very first moment there was no pretence at formality, and I thought it would be a wonderful thing if Roddy were introduced into this easy, friendly atmosphere. Apparently Mrs Tamerlane had already discussed the matter with her family. My first reaction was quick annoyance that she had jumped the gun, but I soon realized that this family operated as a unit, and anything as important as an addition to it would require general discussion, especially as the girls would eventually be the ones upon whom the success or failure of the matter would depend.

The family had just finished their evening meal, but I was invited to share a cup of tea with them. Jacqueline, the elder of the two girls, asked me:

“What's your name?”

“Ricky Braithwaite.”

“Uncle Ricky, is he like you, our new brother?”

“Not quite, but near enough, I suppose.” The question had caught me off balance.

“What's his name?”

“Roddy. Roddy Williams.”

“How old is he?”

“Just five, I think.”

“Then he'll go to the Infants' like Junie.” I later learned that the schools the girls attended consisted of a single building for the Infants' and Junior sections.

“Oh goody, goody,” from Junie. “Can we go to see him?”

“I suppose so, as soon as it can be arranged.”

Mrs Tamerlane intervened and suggested that the girls go and play with their dolls and let the grown-ups have an opportunity to talk in peace; they complied immediately, but I noticed that they brought their dolls to a spot well within earshot of us. Mr Tamerlane set the ball rolling.

“Ella has told me of the conversation she had with you while travelling to Brighton, and I gather that she has more or less committed us to fostering one of your youngsters.”

“We chatted in very general terms, Mr Tamerlane; I don't think she committed you in any way.”

“Maybe so, but she is very enthusiastic about it, and as you may have noticed,” he slanted his head towards his daughters, “she's thoroughly infected the rest of us.”

“However, she and I have discussed it together; as you can see, we have quite enough room—I'll show you over the house before you leave—so there would be no problem about accommodation. The only difficulty which could arise would be financial. If it were possible, we'd be happy to have the boy in our family without any thought of assistance from your Council, but in our present circumstances, that isn't possible. Again, we think it would be unfair to June and Jackie to take on anything which would mean their having to do without the few amenities they now have. If the boy joins our family, we'd like to continue in the same way, with him as an additional member, no less. Ella and I are in agreement that in the child's interests it would be necessary for her to give up her part-time work, in order to give him as much attention as possible, especially during the first months when he's likely to find family life very strange, and school a new and disturbing experience.”

“One thing you did not mention, darling,” his wife interrupted, “we also agreed that it would be a good thing to have another man around the house; this one is becoming terribly spoiled with three women fussing over him, and anyway, it would be fine for the girls to have a brother to take care of.”

“Did you have any definite figure in mind?”

Mrs Tamerlane told me how much she earned from her part-time job. I thought of what it cost the Council each week to maintain a child in one of its Homes or Nurseries, and suggested that she consider a figure somewhat in excess of the amount she mentioned, but considerably less than the weekly
per
capita
cost to the Council; the small overlap would prove useful in view of the ‘extra mouth'.

That settled, I was shown over the house, with the whole family and the dog in attendance. On the upper floor were separate bathroom and toilet facilities, and three bedrooms; a small ante-room or box-room was sandwiched between two of the bedrooms. They were all comfortably furnished; the girls each occupied a bedroom.

“I think it would be best for him to share Junie's bedroom,” Mrs Tamerlane said. “It's big enough for two beds, and with someone near he'd settle down more easily; we could always make other arrangements later on.”

This started June and Jacqueline off on an excited discussion of how best to rearrange June's room, and they remained behind when we continued downstairs. On the lower floor was a large sitting-room, dining-room and spacious kitchen, from which a door led out to a pleasant grassy backyard, dominated by a patient looking oak-tree, which showed signs of having been well climbed. From its lowest limb two slim chains supported a swing seat. A thick privet hedge separated this backyard from a stretch of common meadow, and I noticed in one or two places the unmistakable signs that a small body could gain easy access to and from the meadow.

The more I saw of this home and its occupants, the more it seemed the right place for Roddy, and I resolved to spare no effort to bring them together. I promised to keep in close touch with the Tamerlanes; I'd arrange for them to visit Roddy as soon as I had cleared the lines with my Chief.

Next morning I made an appointment with her, and prepared a short résumé of my meeting with Mrs Tamerlane and my visit to her home. I realized I had been precipitate in making an offer for maintenance to the Tamerlanes which was much larger than that usually paid to foster-parents, but argued with myself that the special circumstances dictated special measures and hoped that the Supervisor would take the same view, although as the time for our meeting approached the likelihood of her agreement dwindled.

In her office I gave her the facts briefly and clearly; upon reflection it seems to me that I stated them somewhat aggressively, probably in anticipation of a fight with her over the financial issues involved. She seemed to take an unreasonably long time before replying, then, “I think we'll have quite a fight on our hands.”

There was more than the hint of a smile around her mouth, and I had the feeling that she knew I expected a refusal.

“This sounds like a nice family,” she continued, “but now we have the problem of it's being located in foreign territory, so to speak. County Councils do not take a very favourable view of others who poach on their preserves, and foster-parents are in such short supply that Middlesex may well feel they have prior claim to the Tamerlanes. However, that is not our main problem. The maintenance figure you suggest is several times greater than that generally paid to foster-parents, either by us or by Middlesex, and that may well prove to be our most difficult hurdle. We cannot simply barge into another Council's territory and dispense maintenance grants more attractive than theirs. Rightly or wrongly, we would lay ourselves open to all kinds of criticism and, furthermore, run the grave risk of disrupting the very useful co-operation which exists. If word got around, and it very likely would, that a certain family was receiving special maintenance rates, other foster-parents might consider themselves similarly entitled, and with justification. So, you see, we are on what might be called a very sticky wicket.”

There was no arguing with her clear reasonableness; as I listened, my enthusiasm was slipping lower and lower, and I could see another door slowly closing. It was also becoming increasingly clear that there was a great deal I had to learn about this business. She must have observed the dismay reflected in my face, for she said:

“However, let's not lose heart before we begin. Our best plan is to proceed normally and deal with each issue as it arises. Get the Tamerlanes to make formal application as foster-parents, and attach your recommendation for special maintenance. Naturally, before I endorse it, either Miss Whitney or I will have to pay a visit to the Tamerlanes.”

Remembering what happened with the Rosenbergs, I said:

“I'd like to follow through with this case.”

“Of course,” she replied.

“One other thing. From what you have said of the difficulties we may run into, could it be arranged that Roddy remain where he is for the time being? He is due to be transferred to a children's home in a week or two; and that would present a further problem especially if he is sent off some distance from London.”

“I think that's reasonable, I'll have a word with the Matron, but I'd prefer that you make no attempt to introduce the Tamerlanes to the boy until after I've seen them.”

Immediately after leaving her office I sent the application forms to John and Ella Tamerlane, then telephoned the Matron at Roddy's nursery to bring her up to date on the situation; I knew that in her I had a very strong ally.

“What about your friend?” she asked. I guessed she meant Olga.

“She's fine, I expect she'll be coming out there now and then, whenever she can. Lucky for her she has a car. She's tickled at the idea of being someone's aunt, next best thing to being someone's mother, I suppose.”