The Throwaway Children (29 page)

‘Follow me,’ she instructed, ‘and make sure you wipe your feet!’

The exhausted group did as they were told, anxious to get out of the keen wind. Inside they found themselves in a concrete-floored cloakroom. There were pegs on the wall and a line of wooden benches, with wire lockers underneath, ran down the middle. Most of the lockers contained a pair of shoes, and there were coats hanging on some of the pegs. It was hardly warmer than it had been outside.

‘D’you think we take our coats off? whispered Daisy, looking round.

‘Dunno,’ replied Rita, ‘but I ain’t going to. It’s too cold.’ She reached over to Rosie who was starting to unbutton her coat. ‘Keep your coat on, Rosie, it’s cold.’

For a moment they all stood there, wondering what they were supposed to do, then Mrs Manton reappeared, calling them through into a large room, empty except for a table at one end.

‘Sit!’ she instructed.

They sat down on the wooden floor and waited. Mrs Manton picked up a clipboard from the table and ran her eye down a list.

‘Now then, answer your names.’ When this was done, she said, ‘Good, we haven’t lost anyone. Now, here at Laurel Farm we all live in cottages. You’ll each be assigned to a cottage, and that’s where you’ll eat and sleep. Your cottage is your home. There is a house-mother to look after you, so each cottage is one big happy family.’

Her words were greeted with silence, as no one knew if they were expected to speak. She peered at them over her spectacles. ‘Now, I’ll tell you which cottage you’re in, then you’ll be taken there and you can get settled in.’ She consulted her list. ‘Sheila Nevin, you’ll be in Ash Cottage. That’s the senior girls’ cottage. Angela Gardner, Dora French and Mary Shannon, in Elm. Daisy Smart and Rita Stevens, Oak. Sylvia Brown and Susan Hart, Pine, and Joan Cameron and Rose Stevens, Larch.’

She looked up again and said, ‘Everyone know where they’re going?’

‘Please, Miss…’ began Rita. She’d seen the look of fear on Rosie’s face when she heard she was not going to be in the same cottage as Rita.

‘Mrs Manton,’ corrected the superintendent. ‘Well?’

‘Mrs Manton. Please. Mrs Manton, couldn’t I go into Larch with Rosie instead of Joan? Then Rosie and me’d be in the same cottage. We’re sisters.’

‘Rita, is it? Well, Rita, you’re all sisters here, and you, Joan and Rose will live where you’re told… just like everyone else.’ She paused, and when Rita said nothing she added, ‘Is that understood?’

Rita was whispering, ‘Yes, Mrs Manton,’ when Rosie began to wail. ‘I want to be with Rita. Reet, I want to be with you.’

‘Be silent, child!’ snapped the superintendent. ‘What a disgraceful noise. Another sound from you and you’ll get six of the best.’

Not knowing what six of the best was, Rosie continued to wail, until Rita grabbed her, pulling her sister against her, so that her cries were muffled. She hissed in her ear, ‘Shut up, Rosie, or she’s going to spank you!’

Rosie’s wails subsided, but her shoulders continued to heave with dry, shaking sobs.

‘Now then, where was I?’ continued Mrs Manton. ‘Oh yes. Colin has left your luggage in the yard, so you must pick up your own suitcase on the way to your cottage. You’ll be fetched in the next few minutes.’

Even as she spoke, there was a knock at the door, and a girl came in. Her dark hair was cut straight and short about her ears, she wore a grey checked dress and no shoes.

‘Good, here’s the first of our guides. This is Jane, she’s in Elm. Dora, Angela and Mary, go with her. She’ll take you to your cottage.’ As the three girls hesitated Mrs Manton snapped, ‘Look lively! We haven’t got all day!’ And with anxious glances at the others, the three girls stood up and followed their guide from the room.

Moments later there was another knock and a second girl appeared, dressed identically to the first, pudding basin haircut, grey dress and no shoes. Gradually all the girls were taken to their cottages. When Louise arrived to take Joan and Rosie to Larch, Joan stood up, but Rosie continued to cling to Rita.

‘Come on, Rosie,’ Rita encouraged, softly. ‘Go with Joan and I’ll come and find you later, when we’re all settled in.’ She stood up, pulling Rosie up with her, and then disengaged the child’s fingers from her arms and gave her a little push. ‘Go on, Rosie,’ she urged, ‘go with Joan. I’ll find you later, I promise you.’ Rita could see Rosie was about to start crying again, and she gave a beseeching look to Joan, who reached out, took Rosie’s hand and saying, ‘Come
on
, Rosie,’ almost dragged her away. Audrey from Oak arrived as Rosie and Joan disappeared and moments later Rita and Daisy were out in the yard where their suitcases awaited them.

When she had dismissed the English girls to their various cottages Daphne Manton went through to the house she shared with her husband, Joe. He was sitting in front of a smouldering fire, reading a newspaper.

‘Everything go all right?’ he asked as his wife came in.

Daphne flopped into a chair on the other side of the fireplace and kicked off her shoes, holding her cold toes to the warmth.

‘Yes,’ she said wearily. ‘All present and correct.’ She glanced down at the clipboard she still carried, with its list of names and assigned cottages. ‘Don’t know how they’ll fit in, though.’

Daphne had been dismayed when she’d received a letter from her cousin Emily some weeks ago saying that she was sending children out from Laurel House. There had been no migrant children since before the war, and the girls who now inhabited Laurel Farm were nearly all Australian-born, children left orphaned or deserted by their families, cast upon the charity of strangers. One or two of the senior girls had vague recollections of coming over on a ship, but most of the earlier migrant children had moved on now and as always, newcomers would be regarded with mistrust.

Well, Daphne had thought at the time, she’ll send them whatever I say, so they’ll just have to muck in with the others.

Emily had enclosed a typed list with her letter, naming the children she would be sending, and three of the names had handwritten comments beside them.

Rita and Rose Stevens. Sisters. These girls should be separated. Rita is a difficult child and a bad influence on her sister. Rose is very babyish… time she grew up.

She’d done as Emily had advised when assigning the new arrivals to their various cottages, and separated the sisters, but that was only a short-term solution; she had other plans for Rosie, which, if they came to fruition, would deal with the situation on a permanent basis.

Sheila Nevin. Can be a trouble-maker, but usually comes to heel.

That comment didn’t worry Daphne either. She was used to the odd trouble-maker, and was well able to deal with those.

Rita and Sheila. Now she had met them, and already had a run-in with Rita, she would, Daphne decided, keep a sharp eye on those two.

‘Emily’s sent me a whole pile of paperwork,’ she told Joe with a sigh. ‘It’s so long since we had any kids from England, I’d forgotten how much was involved. And I bet there’s a long letter, too. You know Emily.’

‘Why not wait till you’ve eaten?’ suggested Joe. ‘Irene’s come over to cook your breakfast. She’s waiting in the kitchen to know what you want.’

‘Scrambled egg and bacon,’ said Daphne, ‘and some toast and tea.’

‘I’ll go and tell her,’ and Joe went in search of the senior girl, Irene, whose job it was to cook for the superintendent and her husband.

Daphne leaned forward and poked the fire, so that the smouldering log blazed with welcome warmth. It was an extravagance, having a fire in the daytime, and one she would never have countenanced in any of the cottages, but she was grateful for its heat today after the long and chilly train journey.

‘Be ready in ten minutes,’ Joe said, looking round the door. ‘Told her to bring it in on a tray so’s you can stay by the fire. I’m off out to the chooks.’

Daphne decided Joe was right to suggest that she leave the letter from Emily until she’d eaten. After all it had taken six weeks to get here, another half hour wasn’t going to hurt, so she sat back, relaxing into her armchair, her feet to the fire, to wait for Irene.

When she’d eaten her breakfast, she poured herself another cup of tea and finally turned her attention to the foolscap envelope. Inside there was the expected letter from Emily, and all the personal records of the ten girls who had arrived that day. She tackled the letter first.

Dear Daphne,

Well, here they are. Quite a mixed bunch, but all of them children who, for various reasons, needed both a change from Laurel House and a completely fresh start. They’re all used to living in a home like yours so they should settle in with you quickly provided you stand no nonsense. I do suggest you keep an eye on Rita Stevens. I think I mentioned her before.

‘Yes, you did Emily,’ muttered Daphne, ‘and I did what you told me.’

Sheila Nevin is a bit of a bully, but like all such she’s also a coward, so I suggest you take an extremely firm line with her right from the start.

Things are changing here quite a bit, and the trend is to foster children in families rather than keep them in institutions like ours. The Labour government has rewritten the rule book with lots of socialist twaddle, meaning that society as we’ve known it is being turned on its head. Of course, we here at Laurel House are working hard to maintain our standards, and would urge you to do the same. It is vital that children such as ours should know their place in the world and keep to it. Too much education can only make them dissatisfied, leading to unhappiness and discontent. I am sure you’ll agree with me.

I am arranging for further funds to maintain these children and plan to send another group out to join you in the near future.

Daphne raised her eyes to heaven when she read this. Where did Emily think she was going to put more children? She’d had to squeeze in the ones who’d arrived today.

I know it isn’t easy to make ends meet, but I’m sure there are economies you can make. Have you considered you might keep a pig? Could Joe build a sty?

Could Joe build a sty? Daphne almost exploded. Joe was going to have to build another bloody cottage, if Emily was determined to keep sending more children from England. And she was certainly going to have to send more money. Economies indeed! How Emily thought they could all live on the funds provided in such tough financial times, Daphne couldn’t imagine. Of course, it was no problem to her and Joe. They had their comfortable house, adjoining the central block, from where she could keep her finger on the pulse of the place. She just took money whenever she needed to. A little work on the books made the deception easy and they lived in comparative comfort, but the rest of the place was run on a shoestring. The five house-mothers lacked any qualifications; they were women grateful to find employment of any kind, and would never query the difference in salary. Daphne was, after all, the superintendent, Joe was the outdoor manager, both very responsible jobs. It was only right that they should earn considerably more than a house-mother, a gardener or an odd-job boy.

Now she scrutinized the details in front of her. The only two she was worried about were the Stevens girls. Attached to their documents was a handwritten note in Emily’s writing.

These girls come from a dysfunctional family. The widowed mother is feckless. She has remarried and has had another child. There is no room for them in the new family, and the stepfather is thought to be violent and abusive. Watch Rita, she’s already absconded from Laurel House, taking Rosie with her. Rosie is a submissive child, biddable enough once out of Rita’s influence.

I certainly will be watching that Rita, thought Daphne. The last thing we want is girls running away from here.

Attached to each girl’s report was her birth certificate, family details, and the legal guardianship document signing her over to EVER-Care. The immigration authorities would have the names of the girls who arrived, but they wouldn’t have the more intimate details.

Occasionally Daphne Manton was approached by adoption agencies, representing couples wishing to adopt. Most of them wanted babies, which she couldn’t provide, but she had placed one or two of her charges in families. She had no idea if those adoptions had been successful, but she’d never been asked to return the adoption fee, and none of the children had been sent back.

Recently she’d been approached by a couple, older than usual, who wanted a daughter. Gerald and Edna Waters had come to her on a recommendation from the minister at the Methodist church they attended in Fryford, just up the coast from Sydney. He had heard that Laurel Farm was an orphanage run by a Methodist charity, and they had made an appointment to visit. When they arrived, Mrs Manton had sat them down in her sitting room and discussed in detail what they were looking for. With luck, she’d thought, there should be a good-sized fee.

The Waters were both in their forties, but had only been married for a year or so, and wanted to adopt a little girl of four or five.

‘Need to have her house-trained,’ said Gerald Waters with a bark of laughter. ‘Too old to cope with nappies and potty training, aren’t we, dear?’

He turned to his wife for corroboration. Edna Waters was a small, whey-faced woman, standing little more than five feet, beside her husband’s six feet four.

She glanced up at him with a half-smile and said, ‘We’d like a daughter, and Gerald’s right, we don’t want a baby, but we do want a child young enough to become our own. You know,’ she went on earnestly, ‘a little girl young enough to forget her early life, whatever it has been, who can truly belong to us.’

‘I doubt if any of the children here are the sort you’re looking for,’ Daphne Manton had said, ‘they’ve been in care too long,’ adding as she saw the disappointment on the Waters’ faces, ‘but there are some children arriving from England in the next few weeks, and one or two of them are the right age. Of course I haven’t met any of them yet, but I’d be happy for you to meet them when they get here and see what you think.’