Читать книгу Marjorie Too Afraid to Cry - Patricia Skidmore - Страница 9

Winifred’s Children

Winifred’s children

Screaming — they came

Into this world

One after the other

She loved them all

September 21, 1936

“Mum, Mum, can I have a half penny? I want a half penny! I won’t go to school until I get one!” Marjorie put one foot down and gave herself a push. The screeching worsened with every swing of the gate. The back door to their brownstone house remained closed. Her mum peeked through the hole in the curtain. Marjorie persisted, her voice becoming hoarse.

It was no use. She would not get a half penny, not even today. What to do? Her school friends expected her to have money for her birthday. She pictured herself walking into the shop after school and picking out a tasty sweet. Her first choice would be a bag of lucky tatties[1] — just like the other kids bought. The taste of the powdered cinnamon sugar as it melted on your tongue was divine. Each one had a prize in it. What would her prize be?

A sudden gust grabbed her demands and sent them scuttling up the lane with the other bits of debris. The gate’s old rusty hinges creaked once again as the school bell rang. Marjorie jumped off and ran across the lane to the schoolyard. She thought of going to the beach instead of to her classroom, but she had on her new birthday dress. A new dress was something to show off. With a quickened step, she headed for the girls’ entrance.

Marjorie is standing in front of the John Street brownstone house in Whitley Bay in 2007. The Cullercoats School that Marjorie attended in 1936, now demolished, was across the alley from the house.

Photo by Patricia Skidmore.

The second bell rang out. Oh no! She should be sitting in her desk. Marjorie tore across the rest of the deserted yard, running like the wind. Seagulls circled overhead, playing in the incessant breeze. Their raucous cries seemed to mock her: “Late again! Late again!”

Why should she care if she was late today? It was her tenth birthday — double digits! She stopped to smooth the dress her mum gave her that morning. It was wrapped up and sitting by her feet when she awoke. It had a pocket that would be perfect to keep a half penny safe until after school. Sadness came over her when she realized that she would not be able to show everyone the treasure in her pocket. Her friends might ask to see her money. What can she say — that she lost it? No, she would say she already spent it. Yes, yes, that would be better. She would say how the tasty sweets melted in her mouth. That was why she was late this morning. Yes! She went to the shop before school.

Winifred Arnison sighed as she watched her daughter cross the schoolyard. The fall term was still new at the Cullercoats Primary School. Her children were finally settling in. Moving so often was not easy for them, and moving schools only added to their distress. And it distressed her because she didn’t know how to explain to them why she was not able to provide them with any security. And now she would have to tell the children that they would be moving yet again. She would try her best to stay in this school district, but she knew she could not promise anything. They all needed some stability in their lives, but there had been no word from her husband for a long while.

Marjorie grabbed at the old brass door handle with two hands as she skidded up to the girl’s entrance at the school. She swung it open and flew in. There were other times when she snuck into her desk after the bell and avoided punishment. Would today be a lucky day too? She dashed down the hallway. Almost safe. Then, yelling out in surprise, she found herself flying head-first down onto the freshly polished floor. Her teacher was about to close the door when the noise in the hallway caught her attention. Marjorie grinned up at her.

“Marjorie! Get up. You are late again! Go to your desk!” The teacher was not impressed. But, really, she thought, what was the use? There was no one to encourage the children in this family to come to school. What can you expect? Many families were in the same boat. It is not the children’s fault. In these troubled times many of the men had left the area to look for work elsewhere. The council had informed the school that Marjorie’s father had deserted this family. Maybe they were better off without him.

She wanted to help these families. Their children were so thin and they had a hungry look about them. She watched Marjorie slip her slight frame into the desk. There was a pleased manner about the girl today. Was it because she avoided the strap? The girl had on a different dress, but her feet were bare and her straight dark hair could use a good brushing.

The front cover of a six-page Child Emigration Society (Fairbridge Society) pamphlet, dated December 1912, which appears to be among the first appeals for money made by the Society. The need “To Safeguard the Empire” is stressed throughout. According to the pamphlet, Britain’s poor and orphaned children are the little soldiers for the job.

University of Liverpool Archives, Special Collections Branch, Fairbridge Archives, D296.F1.

As Marjorie’s teacher, she had taken it upon herself to contact the local attendance officer during the first week of the fall term — something had to be done — but not a word had come back to her yet. She wondered whether it would be appropriate to approach him again. The pamphlets sent to the school by the outfit called the Fairbridge Society[2] intrigued her. Their emigration scheme was very compelling. With the backing of the Royal Family, it had to be a sound program. The Fairbridge Society was one of the many sending agencies emigrating England’s poor children overseas to a better life in the colonies, and the Tyneside area was a good place to gather up children. The high rate of unemployment in the area had taken its toll on many families. Imagine the luck for these children — the opportunity to begin a new life in the colonies, away from their poverty-stricken parents and their bad habits. The Fairbridge farm school scheme was a good one, too. It would give the boys a good education in basic farming and teach the girls all they would need to know about domestic duties.

She had attended the meeting held in Newcastle last September,[3] and believed them when they said that Britain’s big cities were overpopulated, but Whitley Bay certainly was not. However, it rang true when the society’s representatives talked about the devastation of the high unemployment for the area. They argued that Empire migration was the only solution to this unemployment crisis. The Fairbridge Society brochures showed photographs of the already emigrated children living happily in their new countries. Once she saw the pictures, she was certain that it was the right thing to do. She was satisfied that without this type of scheme, some of these Tyneside children would never find a chance to break free from their backgrounds and get out of the slums. Since the Fairbridge Society could accept only those children of good mental and physical standing, they requested the help of the teachers because of their unique position of being able to identify the brighter children of the poor and bring them to the attention of the local council authorities.

Looking down at Marjorie, she felt sure that the children in this family would do just fine if they could get one or two square meals a day and a proper routine. The family moved too often, which simply was not good for the children. When she spoke to the attendance officer, she had assured him that there was nothing wrong with the minds of the children in this family. And, with a good diet and a healthy environment, such as the colonies could offer them, she was certain they would simply flourish. She heard that the families rarely gave up their children on their own — at least, not without a lot of encouragement. Really, she thought, it was the right thing to do. It was her duty to report these children. It did seem like a drastic step though, removing children not only from their families, but from their communities and their country as well. Still, she hoped that she had done the right thing.

Marjorie’s bare feet convinced her. It was the right thing. Winter was coming fast, and barefoot children had a harder time getting to school. She turned to the class and said, “Children, if you have any extra wellies at home, can you please bring them in?”

Marjorie’s cheeks flushed and she felt everyone looked at her, and then at her big sister. It was the first time that she noticed Joyce in the back of the classroom. She tried to hide her feet. Audrey and Kenny were in the infant classes and she expected they would all be teased about their bare feet at recess. It never occurred to Marjorie, however, that her family was not the only one with bare feet or that many of the children with shoes had cardboard placed carefully to cover the worn-out soles.

All too soon, the bell rang to signal the end of recess. Marjorie and Joyce looked at each other. They dropped the skip rope and instead of running to the classroom, they tore down John Street, past their house, hoping their mother wouldn’t see them, and made a beeline to the beach to spend the rest of the day. It was Marjorie’s birthday and they needed to celebrate it properly.

February 2, 1937

Marjorie hung around the school after her detention. She did not feel like going home just yet. She sat on the brick fence and tossed her schoolbook on the ground, still hopping mad because the teacher refused to believe that her mum threw away her homework. Well, she tried. That story often worked at her last school, and that was another thing that she did not like about this new school. Her teacher made her stay after school and finish her work. Her Cullercoats teacher had never made her finish her work. She looked up at her new school. Rockcliffe School was quite a large brick building. It looked so solid and strong. Her mother had told them all to come straight home after school, but she was already late from her detention so she didn’t worry about dawdling now.

A group of older girls pranced out of the girls’ entrance and stopped to play jump rope. They were the smart girls who never got into any trouble and they were the teacher’s favourites. Their proper shoes and socks and their neatly plaited hair, tied with pretty ribbons, caused a bad feeling to surface in Marjorie’s stomach. Sometimes she hated her family for being so poor.

She remembered their leaving the John Street brownstone house; her family snuck out in the middle of the night. They went out by the side garden, and in the quiet of the night its squeaky gate seemed loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood. Marjorie, roused from her sleep by a sudden noise, heard her mum tell her big sister Phyllis to hurry and get the younger ones dressed.

“What are we doing? What is going on?” She heard her sister whisper.

Her mum’s voice was low. “The landlord is coming in the morning to kick us out if we don’t have the rent money and I don’t have the money, so I am going to save him the trouble. Now, will you please help me?”

That move brought them to this Rockcliffe School, but they missed days and days of school. Marjorie had crossed her fingers and imagined really hard that they could stay at their Cullercoats School or even go back to their Whitley Park School, but it wasn’t to be. Her mum had left them all with different neighbours and friends while she looked for somewhere else to live. She finally found a place on Victoria Avenue, but it meant changing schools. Marjorie didn’t care too much by then, as she hated having to be away from her mum and all that was important was that they were all back together again. She told her mum to never leave her again.

Rockcliffe School looked the same in 2010 as it did when Marjorie attended in 1936–37.

Photo by Patricia Skidmore.

The children had been at the Rockcliffe School since the beginning of November, and, just after Christmas, they had to move again, this time to Whitley Road. Marjorie wanted to stay at their house on Victoria Avenue. It was easy to skip school from there. They would just walk down Victoria Avenue to the promenade and then, instead of turning right and going on to their school, they would run down the path to the beach. She and Joyce or Kenny and whoever else skipped school with them would stay on the beach the entire day. Playing down on the beach was so much nicer than sitting in school. No matter what they played at, they would always keep their eyes open for lost money and other pickings.

Marjorie was happiest at the beach. Sometimes they would walk all the way to St. Mary’s Lighthouse and if they found a low tide, they would walk over to the island and explore around the lighthouse. Her big brother Norman went over one day, and he forgot to pay attention to the tides so he had to stay overnight until the tide was low again the next morning.

The beach was the best place in the world. No matter where they moved to in the area, Whitley Bay or Cullercoats or Monkseaton, they always stayed close to the beach. Sometimes they would build sandcastles, and at other times they played pirates. They would climb on the cliffs, even though their mother said they would get a whipping for even thinking of going near the cliffs. Kenny slipped once and tumbled down almost to the bottom. Terrified, Marjorie had scrambled down to get him. What if he was dead? By the time she reached him, blood covered his face. She dragged him home, watching his face, and hoping that he would not die. When they got to the door, her mother had a fit. Kenny wailed when he heard his mother’s voice.

“What happened here? Where were you two?” she yelled at Marjorie. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“We were up on the cliffs at the sands and Kenny slipped,” Marjorie blurted, even though she was afraid of a whipping. Her mother grabbed a cloth. She wiped the blood away from his face. Marjorie could see that it was just a large scrape above his forehead. None of his brain stuck out. He would probably live.

Her mother was more sad than mad. She scolded them for climbing on the cliffs and warned them again to stay away from that part of the beach because of the danger. She asked them what would they do if the tide was in and he fell in the water and drowned. Marjorie and Kenny did not have an answer. They just shrugged their shoulders. She gave Kenny a clean rag to hold on his cut and when it stopped bleeding she told them to go outside and play, as it was too late to go back to school. She told Marjorie to take the two little ones and look after them and reminded them to be careful, since they could not afford the doctor.

Marjorie and her sister Joyce are standing by 106 Whitley Road. The upstairs flat, located above the brick wall, is where Marjorie was living in February 1937. From there, it was just a quick run down to the beach.

Photo by Patricia Skidmore.

That had happened at their Victoria Avenue house. Or, was it at the Victoria Terrace house? Their many moves made it difficult to remember which house was which. She liked the Victoria Avenue house because it was much bigger than the flat they lived in now. They didn’t have much furniture to put in it but that gave them lots of room to play. Her mum pawned most of their things just so they could get by.

It was cold at their old Victoria Avenue house though, especially when the winter wind blew off the ocean. The inside of their house never seemed much warmer than the outside. They had to plug money in the gas meter to keep warm, but they rarely had any coins. Once when the meter man came by to collect the money, Marjorie heard him mutter that they must have found a way to get the gas heater to work without money. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that they just put all their clothes on and tried to keep warm by running through the rooms playing tag or hide and seek. The worst part though, was when they had to go to the outhouse in the back corner of the yard, especially when the wind was blowing and it was teeming with rain.

The main room of their new flat, above the butcher’s shop on Whitley Road, was warmer because the front of the building faced away from the ocean. There were good things about living here. Sometimes the butcher gave their mum some bones for soups and a couple of times there were bits of meat left on the bones. Whitley Road was a busy road and there were always exciting things happening along it. The best part was they did not have to change schools with this move. Now they lived closer to Rockcliffe School, and it was easier to get to school on time.

“Hey!”

Marjorie jumped down from the fence. The fancy girls were walking towards her.

“Why are you just sitting there? Are you staring at us? What are you looking at?” The biggest girl glared down at Marjorie.

Before Marjorie could answer, a pretty girl, her long plaits swinging from side to side, sneered at her, “Ooh, let’s get out of here, my mom said her brothers are in jail. We don’t want to talk to her!” She made a horrible face, turned up her nose, and walked away. The other two tossed their ribbon-clad heads and followed her.

Marjorie stared after them. “They are not! They are at a different school. It’s not fair. You are horrible!” She hissed at the girls and quickly ran off.

The clouds flying overhead caught her attention. They blotted out the light and made the sky black. They were so low that she felt she could reach up and touch them. The ever-present gulls swooped and played in the wind. They seemed to be touching the clouds. Oh, she would love to fly like the birds. The gulls never seemed to mind the weather, except when it really blew. Even then, Marjorie thought they seemed to enjoy visiting with each other all lined up along the rooftops or when they huddled together in their nests along the rock wall by the promenade or hobnobbing down on the shoreline.

The beach was the best when it was windy. Marjorie could sit all day in the shelter of the rocks or up on the lower promenade by the paddling pool if the tide was high and watch the huge waves as they came crashing in on the beach. She liked to watch the gulls while they hung around on the protected bits. Sometimes she would run and break up their little party. They would all fly up, but not very high and then they would settle down again a few feet away, screaming at her. She watched the way the young gulls followed their mothers squawking for food. It amused her that these big birds still expected their mothers to look after them.

“When I get bigger,” she yelled up to them, “I will always be a helper. I will not cry after my mum to feed me all the time!”

The sky was darkening as she headed up Edwards Road. There was a chill in the air. When she arrived at her flat, she hesitated on the stoop for a bit. She had no desire to go upstairs. She wished her father sent her mum more money, but he never did, so she knew they would have very little for their tea today. She was hungry but there was no reason to hurry inside.

As she sat down, she grimaced. Her boots were already getting too small and she would have to pass them down to one of the younger ones very soon. She would probably have blisters after running from those rotten girls. Pulling her boot off, sure enough, the skin had rubbed off her left heel. She would not complain though, because it was too cold to go barefoot now. Dropping her boots beside her, she groaned and realized that in her hurry to get away from those girls, she forgot her schoolbook. She stood up to go back, but changed her mind and sat down again.

People hurried past her on the sidewalk. A tram rumbled by. She leaned against the door and watched. Her father popped into her mind. She tried to picture his face, but she could not remember what he looked like at all. She wished he would come home. Maybe they would not have to move so much if he stopped at home. She wished for the hundredth time that her big brothers, Norman and Fred, hadn’t been sent away. She felt safer when they were at home. They were the family’s protection. When their mother couldn’t put food on the table, they could. They never let them down. And her mum was happier when Norman and Fred were at home. Her brothers were really good at finding ways of making money. Norman and Fred would sometimes sell firewood to people and also gather mushrooms and sell them at the local grocers. Norman also helped a farmer down at Dalton Fields. The farmer had several donkeys and, during the summer months, he would hire Norman to give donkey rides to the tourists down on the north end of the Whitley Bay sands. Even her sister Joyce helped with the donkeys.

Her brothers had been doing other things too. Marjorie had secretly followed them a few times and she saw them pinch beer bottles behind the local pubs, and then walk boldly through the front door of another pub and dump the bottles down on the floor as if they had carried them all the way from home. She wanted to help too, but they told her, “Nah, girls can’t help with this.” Sometimes she got so frustrated about that. She wanted to make her mum happy too.

Norman and Fred spent a lot of time at the Spanish City fun grounds near the north end of town. Marjorie often looked for them before she went to the beach to play, but her brothers usually headed straight for the gaming machines. Marjorie wondered how they found the money to play. Once, when she and Kenny were on their way down to the beach to pick winkles for their supper, she saw Norman standing nervously by the gaming section. She sent Kenny on ahead and told him to get started. She promised that she would catch up with him in a minute as she handed him her pail and told him to scoot.

Marjorie snuck up on Norman. “Boo!” She hollered as she grabbed onto his back. He did not even flinch. He calmly asked her to get lost. He refused to talk to her, so she threatened to tell her mum about how he nips the bottles.

Norman turned to his sister and warned her that if she told, she was really going to get it. He made her cross her heart and spit and told her that he was serious. He warned her that if she told anyone that he would lock her under the cupboard again and Jack the Ripper would get her this time for sure. The memory made Marjorie wince. Fred and Norman were minding her and Kenny one day when they suggested playing hide and seek. The kitchen cupboard was the best hiding place. Marjorie and Kenny both got to the cupboard at the same moment and scampered inside, closing the door behind them. When the latch slipped across, they knew they had been tricked. Kenny started to kick at the door, but Norman’s threat of Jack the Ripper stopped him, and they both remained still until their mother returned and let them out. Marjorie shuddered at the memory and agreed not to say anything. She crossed her heart and spit.

Norman shook his head and called his little sister a pest. He looked around, and lowered his voice. He told her that there was a little hut in the centre of the gaming section. He stopped, his eyes darting around.

“I know that,” Marjorie said, thinking he was going to try to get out of telling her.

“Gor blimey. Will you quit yer yammering and just listen!” He said that a man sits in the hut and if people want a shilling’s worth of coins to play the machines that is where they have to go. The man changes your money for tokens and they work in the slot machines. He told her that he has seen rich people take a pound worth of tokens at one time. Norman paused, anxiously looking behind him. He told her that Fred saw that this man heads out for lunch at the same time every day and he comes back at the same time. Fred found out how to get in there and he fills his pockets with tokens.

Marjorie’s eyes grew wide and she sucked in her breath. “Really? For true?”

“Don’t look so gobsmacked, Marjorie. We’re only doing what we can.” Norman gave her a little push.

Marjorie’s stunned face suddenly beamed with the pride that she felt for her two big brothers. They were so brave and clever. Norman told her that he was the lookout for Fred and that he makes a whistling sound if he sees any trouble. He told her that they only use the tokens and never bet with any of their winnings. That was the way they could sometimes bring home as much as five shillings or maybe even more.

Marjorie asked if they kept any for themselves and Norman looked crossly at her and told her that wouldn’t be right. He assured her that they bring it all to their mum. He told her she could stay and watch, but she better not get in the way, or let Fred know she was here. She stood in the shadows watching her brothers go round to the machines and play with the nipped tokens. She jumped and had to cover her mouth to stop her excitement from coming out when they won and the money clanked down. They both carefully slid the coins into their pockets. Those were the best nights. They would all head to the store and pick out some fresh bread, and sometimes they would even buy some meat and have money left over for treats and sweets.

Fred and Norman were leaving the gaming area, so she scampered off towards the beach. She noticed that Fred was wearing her favourite Sunbeam[4] tunic as a shirt again. She had told him a hundred times not to wear her tunic. But it was hard to stay mad at Fred. She looked up to both her big brothers and would do anything for them.

She thought about her Sunbeam meetings. They always sang the Sunbeam song together. Sometimes she could remember all of it. As she skipped along she tried:

See the Sunbeams march along

Listen to our Rally Song.

Every girl of eight or nine

Come with us and learn to shine

Marjorie tried to remember the rest of the song but gave up when she noticed Kenny playing in the shallows, totally engrossed in making a large sand castle. His pail was filled with sand, and her pail was empty, lying on its side. She yelled at him and told him that it was getting late and they’d better hurry and fill their pails with winkles or they were going to get into trouble and have nothing for their tea.

Kenny reluctantly dumped the sand out of his pail and slowly walked to the water’s edge to give it a wash so the winkles wouldn’t be sandy. Marjorie called him to follow as she ran down the beach towards the rockier parts where she knew the winkles liked to hang on. As she picked, she noticed a small corner of something sticking out of the sand just below the surface of the water. She quickly grabbed it. It was a half penny from 1926, the year she was born. What a lucky day! She would give it to her mother, then she could be a helper too. She quickly tucked it safely into her pocket.

“Come with us and learn to shine,” she sang happily while she filled her pail. As the winkles plunked in the bottom of her pail Marjorie thought about the dinner they would have that night. She loved to sit around the pot of cooked winkles, digging out the meaty parts with a pin. They were best with some butter, but it had been a long time since they had butter. But with Norman and Fred’s winnings and her half penny they just might have some that night.

Courtesy of the University of Liverpool Archives, Special Collections Branch, Fairbridge Archives, Special Collections, D296.E1 .

The Fairbridge Society wrote “This is a consent” across the letter received from Thomas Frederick Arnison, Marjorie’s father, thus sealing her fate.

Marjorie leaned back against the door on the stoop. She rubbed absently at her blistered heel. Her feet were getting cold. Oh, the feast they had for tea that day, she could almost taste it. Their pails were filled to the brim with winkles. Norman and Fred waltzed in with some bread and butter and some chocolate. Her tummy growled in remembrance. Maybe she should run down to the beach now to look for winkles. No, it was too late as it would be dark soon.

An odd noise from their flat distracted her, but she tried to ignore it. It kept getting in the way of her remembering the better times. It was the same feeling she had when she woke out of a nice dream and tried to go back to it, but couldn’t because whatever woke her up was too noisy and demanding.

Numbly, Winifred clutched the letter. She watched one of the men as he questioned Joyce, while the other, a medical examiner, she was told, took Kenny aside. She thought of her two older sons. Where had she gone wrong? They were good sons. They really helped out with the family. But when Fred got caught stealing they sent him away to Borstal.[5] He doesn’t belong in a boy’s detention home, she thought. Her son was only trying to help her. She had argued with the man who took him away, but to no avail. The officer left her with a bad taste and a sense that she, too, was “bad” for depending on her older children. But all the families hereabouts did the same, especially the ones who had lost their husbands — through death, or desertion, or like her husband, who left to look for work elsewhere. Really, it wasn’t their fault that there was no work here. It was difficult to survive. They couldn’t just sit by and starve.

Deep down, though, Winifred blamed herself for not stopping her sons. She knew she encouraged the two of them by taking the money they brought home. She never asked where it came from. She did not ask and they did not tell. It was their silent agreement. What else could she do? Without their help she would have given up long ago. There was no steady work for her boys. They had to do whatever they could. There was no way she was able to feed her nine children, keep clothes on their backs, and put a roof over their heads with the little money her husband sent home. The daily shame was hateful. She had to lie about the number of children she had before a landlord would even consider renting to her.

The last move had been the hardest. She was at a breaking point. It was just after Christmas — what had happened to the charitable Christmas spirit? No one would rent to her. She was desperate and so swore to the owner of this flat that she only had three children. She recalled one other time that she had to send Fred, Norman, Phyllis, Joyce, and Marjorie away, with strict instructions to wait until after dark before sneaking back to their new home. She could always count on Fred and Norman to take care of the younger ones in those times. It was harder to expect the girls to do things like that. It was a sad day when they took her older boys away.

Winifred could not imagine what that was like for Fred. Norman was sent away shortly after Fred. Norman was sent to a farm school. It was better than being put in Borstal. They took him down to Castle Howard,[6] near York. That was not too far away, maybe only about a hundred miles, but it might as well be at the other end of the earth. She knew that she would never be able to find the money to visit him.

Norman sent a letter home right away saying that Castle Howard was like a huge beautiful palace. Imagine, they gave him all new clothes and boots — nice new working clothes and a new suit for Sundays. He wrote that he was enjoying learning about farming. She had a difficult time believing him though since Norman was always trying to make everybody happy. She could tell that he missed his family, and she missed both her boys, more than anyone would ever know.

Winifred’s worst fears had come true, and a shudder went through her when she thought of how she had lied to the landlord about having only three children. Was this God’s way of punishing her? Could her lies have anything to do with making it come true? How could this be happening? Losing six of her children in just under a fortnight. It wasn’t fair. She simply could not make ends meet with Fred and Norman gone. It pained her to see her children’s hungry faces, their bare feet and their ragged clothes. Something had to be done, but what could she do? Nothing. Not by herself at any rate. She needed help, but they were offering her the wrong kind of help. Maybe her children would be better off, but it did not seem right.

“Okay, Audrey, come over here, it’s your turn.” The man’s voice showed his impatience as he turned to Winifred, “Where is your other daughter? Marjorie, isn’t it?”

Winifred sighed, “Yes. She should be along any minute.”

“Well, for your sake, she better be,” he snapped at her, flaunting his authority. “I told you to have them all here! The medical examiner has taken out time from his busy schedule.”

Winifred’s voice cracked as she assured this nasty man that she told her children to come straight home after school. She turned and asked Joyce to run along and see if she could find her sister. Joyce started to get up, but stopped when she heard the door. Winifred looked down and saw Marjorie standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Marjorie had been sitting on the stoop, unaware of what was going on in her flat. Something was different about this day, though. It was hard to place at first and then she realized — it was too quiet. Lawrence and Jean were usually playing noisily, running up and down the stairs to the flat, shrieking with laughter, happy that school was out and everyone was coming home. Kenny often played on the sidewalk or in the back alley with some of the neighbourhood boys. But no one was around today. She turned the door handle, expecting the little ones to charge down to greet her; instead, as she stepped over the sill, the sound of strange men’s voices startled her.

Maybe it was her father! She could hardly remember the last time she saw him. It was years ago, she was probably only six or seven. A funny feeling erupted in her stomach and made her head spin a bit. Would she like her father? Would he like her? She could barely remember him. Would he recognize her? She did not recognize the strange voices. Maybe this was not her father. Maybe it was the landlord and they have to move again. She liked it here now and the possibility of changing schools again made her mad. As Marjorie closed the door and stepped inside, she thought of turning around and running away and hiding until the coast was clear. She could see her mum at the top of the stairs. Lawrence and Jean were clinging to her skirt. Her mum’s face told her that something was terribly wrong. Marjorie reached for the door handle.

Marjorie’s Commonwealth emigration form. Note Marjorie’s own signature on the bottom of the sheet.

University of Liverpool Archives, Special Collections Branch, Fairbridge Archives, Arnison Family Records, D296.E1.

“Is that Marjorie?” The strange voice filtered down to her.

“Yes, it is,” Winifred replied. “Marjorie, come up here will you?” Her mum’s tone left no room for argument. Marjorie slowly climbed the stairs. The tension in the room was familiar yet it held something different.

“Marjorie, come over here.” The speaker’s gaze made her nervous. “I need to ask you some questions.”

Marjorie slowly walked over towards the man, but stopped a few feet away from him and dropped her boots. Nervously, she demanded to know what he wanted. She looked around the room. Joyce and Phyllis were sitting on the mattress. Kenny was lying on his stomach on the floor, rolling a marble against the wall. Back and forth it went, over and over again. Audrey sat quietly in the corner on the orange box, hugging her ragdoll. She was talking to a second strange man. He had a black bag beside him. Lawrence and Jean quietly clung to their mum’s skirt. For a brief moment, the only noise in the room was the sound of the marble.

“Well, come over here!” The man’s voice made Marjorie jump, and she walked over to him. “Do you wear eye glasses?” he asked her.

“Well, you can see for yourself that I don’t.” Marjorie was having trouble understanding what he wanted.

“Marjorie!” her mum snapped. “You don’t need to be rude. Just answer his questions.”

“What is your school standing?” he continued. Marjorie noticed that he was writing her answers down on a long form.

She told him it was 4C and asked again why he was asking her these questions. Puzzled, Marjorie wondered if he going to make them move to another school. She shouldn’t have yelled at those girls at her school. He looked at her and continued his questions. Marjorie bravely approached him and glanced at the long form in front of him.

She could see her name and birth date at the top of the page. She immediately told him that he had her birthday wrong. That it should be 1926, not 1925. She looked at her mum for reassurance, and told him that she was ten on her last birthday and that she would not be eleven until September.

Again, he did not answer her but kept on writing on the forms. Marjorie started to remind him that her birthdate needed fixing, but he told her to go over and see the doctor. When the doctor finished, he asked Marjorie if she could sign her name. She told him that of course she could, she was not a little kid. He handed her a fancy fountain pen and urged her to do a good job and not to smudge the ink. The pen had little bands on it that looked like gold. She had never touched such a beautiful pen before.

Marjorie’s Fairbridge farm school emigration form. Marjorie’s mother was forced to “hereby hand over the child Marjorie” and thus had to give up her custody of her daughter.

University of Liverpool Archives, Special Collections Branch, Fairbridge Archives. Arnison Family Records, D296.E1.

The doctor passed the four medical forms over to his associate, who then walked over to Winifred, shuffling his papers, “Just your signature now and I’ll be gone. Can you sign your name?” He handed the papers over.

“Of course I can. I may be poor, but I am not stupid.” Marjorie was alarmed by the change in her mother’s face.

“Where?” Winifred’s voice cracked as she blindly looked at the pages.

“Here, and on the bottom of all four — in the same place.” He grabbed up each paper as she finished. He told her that was all he needed for now. He bid them all good day and warned Winifred to make certain that she put the children on the train on Monday morning. He told her that a sister would meet them under the main clock in Newcastle’s Central Station. He tossed an envelope at her as he left the room.

He took the stairs two at a time. The doctor quickly followed. The children charged after them. Marjorie ran onto the sidewalk. She could see them walking quickly up Whitley Road, their heads together looking at the papers. Kenny flew out behind her trying to get a better look, but ran into a shopper and knocked her grocery bag out of her arms. Kenny said he was sorry as he bent down to help her, but she was angry and just yelled at him to watch where he was going. She told him to get away from her and that she would pick up her own things. She called him a “little heathen” and shooed him away and threatened to call the police. Kenny glared at her and said he was sorry again. People stopped and stared at the children. Marjorie asked them what they were looking at. She hated the look in their eyes. Well, she did not care today. She just wanted to get back inside.

Malcolm Jackson whistled as he looked through the Arnison applications. It had been a good day. He was lucky to get the medical examiner on such short notice. Now, he could write to Gordon Green at the Fairbridge Society’s headquarters in London as soon as he got back to his office and tell him — mission accomplished — four more youngsters for Fairbridge. It was not a moment too soon, as far as he was concerned. He was happy that headquarters listened to his letter recommending they let him remove the children as quickly as possible. He smiled to himself. He liked rescuing the area from the children of Tyneside.