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The Last Tea Party

Sent o’er vast shores

A pocket full of promises

Hush-a, hush-a,

We are Brits no more!

September 8–9, 1937

The little Brits stepped over the grand entrance and into the Canada House foyer. Instinct made them look up. They were gobsmacked. The magnificent room was lined with several columns, large chandeliers with lights sparkling like diamonds hung from the high ceiling. Someone whispered that they must be in a palace. Another boy said that this must be the King’s house. With his eyes on the splendour and not where he was going, he bumped into the boy in front of him, who shoved him back and told him not to be so daft, that the King’s house was much bigger.

“Mind your manners. Stand quietly along the wall,” growled the master as he walked over to talk to a man sitting behind a nearby desk.

The two men glanced over at the weary group as they talked. The children tried to stand quietly, but the day had been long and difficult. Two of the younger boys slid down the wall, landing on their bottoms with a plop. Nervous giggles filled the hall. Nurse quickly grabbed the little mutineers by their collars and yanked them up, warning them to stand still. Master walked over and told Nurse to make certain that the children behave and that he would be back shortly. The two men disappeared down the hallway.

Keeping order was almost impossible. The day had been such an ordeal, yet the next several days would test the children’s endurance. That day’s travel was nothing compared to the challenges they would face before they settled in their new home. As she waited, Nurse struggled with the pros and cons of child emigration. Not all accepted the country’s policy of sending poor children off to the colonies, without their parents and sometimes even separating them from their siblings. Well — there were Marjorie and Kenny for example. It would be very difficult for their sister Joyce to cope with this loss. She had overheard a conversation between the headmaster and the doctor representing the Canadian Immigration Officials while she was standing in the hallway. The headmaster had argued fiercely against the rejection of so many children. She had not planned to eavesdrop, but it couldn’t be avoided. The last word belonged to the doctor, so there was little anyone at the home could do about it.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor’s voice rose. “It is all I can do. I have my guidelines. This group will have to go through one more set of tests at Canada House when they get their inoculations. If I let any riff-raff through, that will be the end of my reputation with the Canadian Immigration Department. And bear in mind that the Fairbridge Society is very strict regarding the age limit of the children.”

“Yes, but what about the children with younger brothers and sisters going? It is not fair to separate them,” the nurse had burst in, unable to contain her frustration any longer.

The doctor had simply said that in a perfect world that wouldn’t happen, but unfortunately, accommodating all the children and their needs just was not possible. To approve older children who would likely be rejected once they were in London would not be a feasible situation. He had promised the Canadian officials to send sound stock only, and that was what he planned to do. Sound stock and the right age group were his two main criteria. With British Columbia already having expressed fears of becoming a dumping ground for England’s street urchins, it was important to keep the bigger picture in mind. The society had plans to open farm schools in every province of Canada, so making a good impression at that time was very important.[1] If the “material”[2] arrived in London in anything less than a perfect state, the authorities at Canada House would simply reject the child then and there and send them back at the Fairbridge Society’s expense. “My hands are tied. I don’t make the rules. Now, please let me get on with my job, as I do not have all day.” And he dismissed her.

Nurse looked over at Marjorie. She had not moved an inch. The child’s eyes looked wary as she kept track of her younger brother. She looked up and down the line of children. They were all so young — some were really just babies.

The master marched back, with a third man leading the way. The man at the desk had busied himself with some papers. Nurse stared at them, looking for signs that all had gone as planned. It would not do to take any back to Birmingham. One nurse nearly lost her job over that. It was with a sigh of relief she heard the man say, “Everything is in order.” The master spoke to the children and told them that the people at Canada House would take very good care of them. As he and the nurse were about to leave, he warned them to be good boys and girls, mind their manners, and, above all, mind their benefactors. He took the nurse’s arm, moved towards the door, and said, “Goodbye, God speed, and good farming!” All eyes were on the door. A few children murmured half-hearted goodbyes and big fat tears streamed the cheeks of some of the younger children.

“Please, take me back with you. I have to see Joyce and Audrey,” Marjorie wailed at the closing door. “They will be wondering where I am.” She swallowed the escaping sob as the door slammed shut.

Their new Canadian host surveyed his charges. He thought it was a pitiful looking group, but that had become routine behaviour for him. He needed to act quickly to stop the impending mutiny. “Well, well, well! What have we here! Welcome to Canada House! Why are you just standing there? Come along with me. Are you hungry? Yes! Well, I am sure you are. We have a special tea all arranged for you. Just one last short journey for today.”

He turned and headed down the hallway. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back. Not one child followed him. They stood, glued to the floor, their eyes still locked on the closed door. He urged them to come along and assured them that there was nothing to be worried about. A few of the braver boys stepped forward and the others soon followed. Instinct told them it was very important to stay together.

As he walked down the long hallway, the man spoke in a soft voice telling them about the wonderful hostel that had been set up in a beautiful old mansion called Creagh House on Holland Villas Road. They would all be very comfortable while getting ready for their big trip. The house could put up as many as fifty children while they waited for their boat to be ready to take them to Canada or to Australia, and it had a beautiful large playroom with a shiny polished floor and lots of toys and books for them to play with. The children were to spend a night or two at Creagh House before going back to Canada House to prepare for their departure to Liverpool.

“All right now.” His voice suddenly became booming and cheerful. “Here are the ladies who will take you on your bus ride. Okay, boys and girls, have a good trip and good luck with your new life.”

He wiped his brow as he shut the door after them. England and the colonies were doing the right thing, blast it! Even the Prince of Wales was behind this scheme. He had attended a meeting a couple of years ago at Grocer’s Hall, where he listened to the prince himself state that child emigration was the only “completely successful form of migration”[3] during those present difficult economic times. England had a surplus of slum children and Canada had a surplus of space just waiting for them. The Prince of Wales himself put down the first £1,000 to get the Canadian farm school going. Everyone knew how important it was to maintain the supply of good British stock going into Canada to keep it within the British Empire. Someone else would fill Canada’s empty spaces if the British failed to fill them first.

The Prince of Wales donated his own money to assist the fundraising goals of the Child Emigration Society, to help establish three more farm schools based on the 1912 Fairbridge model in Western Australia. The Prince of Wales Fairbridge Farm School was the first of this next group of farm schools.

The Times, Thursday, June 21, 1934.

The meeting stressed that child emigration was not a charity, but an Imperial investment. As a reminder, he had kept the article written about the meeting from the London Times: “Farm Schools for the Empire.”[4] He had read it several times and could see no flaw in the argument. There had been many heated discussions with his colleagues as to whether a country’s needs were more important than the children’s needs, but really he was certain they were doing the right thing. Child emigration was a sound scheme. The fact was indisputable that the poor and unemployed simply overcrowded England. Someone had to do something. The country could not just sit back and ignore this situation. Yes, they were doing the right thing, he assured himself. Still, the lost and frightened looks on many of the children’s faces haunted his sleep.

Marjorie sat on the edge of her seat on the bus. She did not want a new life! She wanted to get away. Oh, where was her mum? Her father might be in London. Could she find him? She would run up to him and beg him to take her home. Back home with her mum, not back to the Middlemore Home. She looked at the faces of all the men as they walked along the sidewalks. She looked at each man who boarded the bus. Her search was hopeless. How could she find her father in London when she could not even remember what he looked like?

After a short ride the children got off the bus and walked up the stairs of Creagh House. An assortment of strangers greeted them, including another group of fifteen children who would be travelling with them to Canada. One of the women introduced the children to a man who was the acting agent-general for British Columbia and told them that he was a very important man.

William McAdam turned to the children, “How do you do? My, my! What a fine looking bunch of children you are! I am so sure that you will all be happy in your new home. When you get there, you will see how very lucky you are because the Fairbridge people have found one of the most beautiful little valleys in the world for your farm school. I am sure you will all grow up to reflect credit on Fairbridge and become good citizens of British Columbia.”[5] The adults all cheered, but suspicion crossed over the children’s faces. A few, however, thought that this might be their opportunity to get some answers.

A bold boy piped up, “Can you tell us about Canada and about the Fairbridge farm school? Where is the school and when are we going?”

A chorus of questions followed:

“Are there really cowboys and Indians?”

“Is it a long way?”

“Is it across the ocean?”

“Why are we being sent away?”

“Where is Liverpool?”

“When do we go?”

“Is Canada a really big country?”

“Children! Children! Not so noisy! One question at a time,” one of the men responded. “What an inquisitive group you are! That is a very good sign. I like to see that in children. Well, sit down and I will tell you about the Fairbridge farm school in Canada. First, I must tell that we have a marvellous telegram sent especially for you lot. It is from Prince Henry, the Duke of Gloucester. He is the president of the Fairbridge Society. He wants all of you to know that he is glad you are getting a special farewell party and he sends his very “best wishes for a good journey and all possible success in the future.”[6] It is quite wonderful of him to take time out from his busy schedule to send a telegram. Now, I will tell you about another very special man named Kingsley Fairbridge. He had a great vision when he was a young man.” He sat back and grinned at the children.

“Are we going to meet Kingsley Fairbridge?” Marjorie asked.

“No, my dear, unfortunately he died a few years back, but his name lives on in the farm school scheme that he founded.” He smiled broadly at the children before continuing. He told them that Kingsley Fairbridge had the great vision to take poor little children out of the crowded cities of England and set them up on beautiful farm schools where they could learn the skills to live a happy life in the colonies. He opened his first farm school almost twenty-five years ago in 1912 near Perth, in Western Australia, and it has been so successful that the Fairbridge Society now wants to set up farm schools in every man-hungry corner of the Empire.[7] He sat back in his chair and beamed at the children. Puzzled stares looked back at him.

One of the boys stood up, “What do you mean hungry men? We don’t want to go to Canada if there’s no food.” He held a deep mistrust of these adults. Were these Fairbridge people going to send him across the ocean to starve?

“My son, I said ‘man-hungry.’ What I meant by that is that Britain’s colonies are vast, and there is so much land that it needs many men to fill them up. I meant that the land is hungry to have you bright little British boys, and you girls too, over there to take advantage of all that it can offer. Both Australia and Canada have a bounty of beautiful farmland just waiting to be cultivated. And at your Canadian farm school, you will be taught all you need to know to survive in your new homeland.” The man sat back and smiled again at the children. The children stared back, quiet, for a moment.

He continued, telling the children that the first group of children had been sent over to the Canadian farm school two years ago, in September 1935. “You are the fourth group of fortunate children to go to this wonderful Fairbridge farm school. There are ninety-eight children there now, and, with your group, that will make a total of 126 children.”

He smiled again and told them that he wished that he could have been so lucky. “Your new home is on a beautiful island on the very west coast of Canada. That part of Canada will remind you of England and you will not be homesick at all. There are several attractive cottages set up for you to live in and each cottage houses twelve to fourteen children. There are separate cottages for the boys and for the girls, and in each cottage you have your very own special cottage mother to look after you. Kingsley Fairbridge wanted the farm schools set up as cottages because he thought it would be more like a real home, rather than everyone staying in a huge dormitory such as the one at the Middlemore Home. The Prince of Wales thinks your farm school is a grand idea too, so he gave some of his very own money and encouraged others to give as well to ensure your school had enough money to get started. Your new farm school’s official name is the Prince of Wales Fairbridge Farm School, therefore you can see it is a special place.” He finished his speech by telling the children that they will be doing their duty to their country and their King.

The children struggled to understand all that they had been told. Marjorie puzzled over what had been said about the Fairbridge man taking children from the crowded cites of England. London seemed crowded, as did Birmingham, and even Newcastle, but her Whitley Bay was not crowded, except maybe on a beautiful sunny day when everyone headed down to the beach. Why did they have to take her and Kenny away? Marjorie wanted to say that if everything was so beautiful in Canada, then you big people should go and live there. Why did she have to go? She was just a kid. She would rather stay with her mum. She tried to tell them, but her voice was stuck.

“Why couldn’t we bring my sisters?” asked Kenny.

“If Canada has so much space, why don’t you move there? And why couldn’t we bring my whole family? I already have a mum, and I don’t want a new mum.” Marjorie surprised herself with this outburst, tears were close, but the talk of new mums upset her, especially since she had a perfectly good one already.

“Now that’s a good question. But, you see, your farm school is designed just for children.” He cleared his throat as he answered, and, turning to the whole group, told them that Kingsley Fairbridge was a visionary, a man who saw that the colonies needed farmers. “You cannot be farmers without training and Fairbridge felt that properly trained children would make the best farmers. Fairbridge knew that full-grown unemployed men and women failed when taken out as labour to the colonies.”[8] He finished by saying that Kingsley Fairbridge set up the farm school system for lucky boys and girls just like you.

“Well, I want to be a nurse when I grow up, not a farmer!” a little girl shouted out.

Someone chuckled, then turned to the little girl and told her that she would likely be a farmer’s wife when she grows up. “You will see, once you get there, you will become used to the farming life and because you will grow up farming, you will understand it and come to love it. I bet each young girl here will find herself a handsome farmer to marry when she gets older, how would you like that?”

Displeasure quickly filtered through the girls, and Marjorie was about to complain when a bell rang, announcing tea time. With no more time for questions, it was suggested that they should just enjoy their meal, and, since every little detail of their journey had been arranged, they need not worry about a thing. The children stood up, but were first directed over to a spot for a group photograph, before being taken to the other room for tea. The man with the camera took a few more photos while they ate. It was all a little overwhelming: the special tea, the flashes from the camera, the happy adults. The children had no choice but to do as they were told.

The September 1937 group of children were photographed at a final farewell tea party given for the children at the Fairbridge Hostel in Kensington, London, on September 9, 1937. Kenny is sitting on the floor in the front row, second boy from right, with Marjorie behind him to the left, her hand on his shoulder.

University of Liverpool Archives, Special Collections Branch, Fairbridge Archives, D296.F4.

The next morning the children were hurried through breakfast. There was much to do before leaving for Liverpool. First on the list was for everyone to pack a suitcase,[9] according to a checklist set up to make sure that each child had all the necessary items for the journey (see Appendix A). Then they needed to take the bus back to Canada House and have a final visit with a Canadian doctor.

“Okay, now. What is your name?” Marjorie did not realize at first that she was being addressed. “Child, your name please,” she repeated.

Marjorie pointed to herself, “Me?” she asked as she choked out a whisper. The woman nodded. “My name is Marjorie.”

“Well, Marjorie. Come along with me. Let’s get your suitcase packed.”

“My very own suitcase?”

“Yes, now, let me see. What size would you be? Stand up here and let me take some measurements.” Marjorie relaxed with her soothing gentle voice. Soon the suitcase snapped shut. She told Marjorie that she was all set and she should take her case and line it up with all the rest. Marjorie looked down at the case. Her case! It had her name on it and everything. She wondered, would she get to keep this suitcase for her very own or would she have to give it back after she got to Canada?

The twenty-eight children were marched out to board the bus back to Canada House. One by one they went in for their final shots and inspections. The first boy walked in boldly enough, but soon his howls created a panic. He came out a short while later, red-faced.

The suitcase belonging to Kenny, Marjorie’s brother, was stored in the attic at a former Fairbridge house until 2006. The tattered labels show the departure port of Canadian Pier Head, Liverpool; the steamship, Duchess of Atholl, date of departure, September 10, 1937, landing port, Montreal; and the final destination, Cowichan, British Columbia.

Photo by Patricia Skidmore.

“Gor’ blimey, they jabbed me full of needles. Look at this, will ya!” he pulled up his sleeve to show his arm. As he saw the look on the other kid’s faces, his distress turned to a sense of pride and he quickly displayed his poke holes. “Just wait until they get you in there. The needles are gigantic. Ow, that’s me sore arm,” he cried out as a nurse whisked him away before he totally frightened the rest of the children.

Marjorie was the second to last to go in. The waiting made her so tense that her breakfast was in danger of coming back up. Why were they doing this? She nearly fainted as the nurse jabbed and stuck her with the needles, but her tears stayed stuck behind her eyes. The doctor prodded, poked, and looked down her throat and then in her ears, asking questions all the while, and then the ordeal was over. The last girl in line looked at Marjorie’s face as she came out, “Oh, Marjorie, was it really awful?” Marjorie was unable to answer and she simply nodded her head.

Restlessness was in the air as the morning dragged on. It was hard for the children to sit patiently and wait. Marjorie saw Kenny slumped in a corner. He looked sad and it was obvious that he was trying not to cry.

“Leave him alone,” she warned a group of boys who had been bullying him. But they asked her what was she going to do about it. Marjorie felt powerless as she stuck out her tongue at them. She knew that Kenny would have to put up with the bullying. It was impossible for her to protect him. How had Joyce managed so easily? She worried that she would not be as good as her big sister at looking out for Kenny, but she would try to do her best.

A nurse walked into the waiting room and clapped her hands. She announced that everyone should be all set to go now. They would be leaving shortly but first they would have an early lunch, and she passed around sandwiches and a bottle of milk for each one.

Four adults were to travel with the children. Mr. E.S. Healy, headmaster of the Fairbridge farm school in Western Australia, and Mrs. Healy, who were returning to Australia via Canada, would accompany the children to Vancouver, British Columbia. Two other specially trained women would also travel as chaperones for the children until they reached Montreal. Once they landed in Montreal, two new chaperones would travel with them across Canada to their final destination.

As they left Canada House, the children could once more see the tall statue at Trafalgar Square. A coolness in the air made them shiver and droplets of rain formed little dark spots on their cases. The walk back across Trafalgar Square differed from the previous walk such a short time ago. Now, at twenty-eight children, their numbers had more than doubled from the thirteen sent down from the Middlemore Home. Each child carried a suitcase. Twenty-eight arms ached from their jabs. No one climbed on the lions today. There was no happy chatter. The “little soldiers” solemnly marched across the square and headed for the Underground. This train would take them to Euston Station, where they would catch the train to Liverpool. A few appeared eager for the journey, but Marjorie was not one of them. She longed to be with her sisters. No one asked her if she wanted to go away. She felt afraid. She wanted Joyce.