“I hope you find it in your heart to make the right decision Miriam. Good Luck.”
With that they shook hands and Miriam left the office. She found her way back down the various corridors, back to reception. The receptionist looked up and noticed her clutching the letter of referral to her chest. Her eyes rolled slightly as she fidgeted about her desk.
“That will be £50 please.”
Miriam opened her purse and took out the notes. That would leave her with £450, unless Len was prepared to lend her more.
“Do you require a receipt?”
“No thanks.” Miriam said.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow and proceeded to buzz open the front door for her. Outside, it was raining quite hard now. She took a small umbrella out from her handbag and put it up to shield her hair and clothes from the rain. Taxis raced by splashing her shoes as she hurried towards the train station. Oh sod it, she thought, this has been a hard day, so she hailed a cab to the tube.
Back at the flat in Danvers Road, Miriam started to prepare the tea for when Orla came home. She had bought some gammon from the butchers on the way back from the tube station and had decided to make one of their favourites, roast gammon with parsley sauce and colcannon potatoes, pure Irish comfort food. The television was on in the background with the news.
“The US spacecraft Surveyor 3 which was launched this month, soft lands on the moon today, where it conducts sampling experiments on lunar soil.”
The front door slammed and she heard Orla come up the stairs. She had Charlotte on her hips and was soaking wet from the rain.
“How was it today sis?” She said slightly out of breath.
“Oh, so so.”
Orla put Charlotte down in the baby chair and glanced at the television. The smell of gammon was starting to permeate through the flat.
“Good God, they’ll be landing people on the moon next.”
“Fancy a drink sis, I was just about to open a bottle of wine?”
“Sure, make mine a large one.”
Miriam knew she shouldn’t be drinking in her condition, but somehow, if she carried on drinking and smoking, maybe the decision would be made for her and she would naturally miscarry. In any event, most of their family had drunk through their pregnancies. They figured if their ancestors had existed on ale alone, they hadn’t come to much harm as a result of it. She just wasn’t prepared to make any sacrifices just yet. The enormity of carrying a child inside of her and the stress of seeing beautiful Charlotte sat before her was too much to bear. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and opened it. She then poured them two large glasses.
“Patrick has gone to the pub. Don’t think he will be back until late.”
“I hope he doesn’t feel squeezed out by me being here. I don’t want to come between you two you know. You have enough to cope with as it is with the little un.”
“Oh no sis, we wouldn’t be without you. You’re my sis. If you save him some tea, you’ll win his heart. You can always get to a man through his stomach as mum would say. Listen, I’m going to feed Charlotte and then I’ll put her down for her sleep. Then we can have a good old chat.”
Orla picked up Charlotte and took her to her bedroom to feed her, where it was quieter. Miriam checked on the gammon to see that it was roasting nicely and then plonked herself in front of the television. The rain was still pelting outside. It felt cosy in that flat. There was something on the news about “All you need is love” being the greatest song of all time. Apparently the Beatles had released a new album called “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”. How she longed to go out and do all the things they used to do like going to night clubs.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my cigarettes anywhere? Oh there they are.” She sat down next to Miriam and lit a cigarette.
“It is such a relief when you finally get time to yourself. They are so dependent on you at this age, it is exhausting. To be honest, it is taking its’ toll on Patrick. I’m going to have to get some work soon.”
“I don’t mind looking after Charlotte, if you want to go back to work sis.”
“You can’t possibly in your condition. You’ve got too much on your mind at the moment sis.”
“I’d like to.”
“What brought this on?”
“I went to see that Harley Street doctor today, you know, the one your friend recommended. I just don’t know sis, whether I can go through with all this? I know I don’t want to be a single mother, but I don’t think I can bear to be responsible for killing a child.”
“It’s not a child at the moment, Miriam, it’s just a foetus.”
“That’s what the doctor kept referring to, but when he listened to its’ heartbeat, he referred to it as a baby and me a mother. Don’t I owe this child a responsibility now that I have made it? Good God I would like nothing better than for Len to come back to me and say, sorry, all is forgiven. Surely he wouldn’t want me to go through an abortion with what I’ve heard today. There is a risk, that if I go through with it that I might not be able to have any more children. I have heard some horrific stories that women can even die from these back street abortions.”
“I thought if you had the money, they weren’t back street.”
“Oh you pay the money to legalize it, but it is still back street.”
The more and more Miriam thought about it, the more she realized the risk she was taking. She hadn’t spoken to Len, not properly, her pride had stood in the way of all that. Maybe he was just testing her, seeing if she would go through with it and abort her own child. As if reading her own thoughts, Orla suggested.
“Maybe you should call him? Let him know how you feel. Maybe he will come round.”
Miriam put her head in to her hands. She didn’t even know, if Len was still in Ireland. For all she knew he had gone back to South Africa or may be he was in London. She couldn’t bear to go chasing him around to find out where he was. She’d left no forwarding address or number. He probably thought she no longer cared.
“What sort of mess have I got myself in to sis? I don’t know where to start.”
Her sister said she would look after the tea and that Miriam should go down to the phone box and phone him. Someone was bound to know where he was. She couldn’t make any rational decisions until she’d spoken to him. She put on her shoes and coat and took an umbrella. The street was awash with water as she hurried along to the telephone box. She could see all the lights on in the houses and flats as she passed. Families having supper with their children after a long day at work, getting ready for the new start the next day. When she got to the phone box, she inserted the coins and began dialing the only number she had for Len in Ireland. The phone rang a number of times and to her surprise a woman answered.
“Could I speak to Leonard Jackson please?”
“Just one moment, Len!” she could hear her shouting “There is a lady on the phone wanting to speak to you.” She then asked Miriam to hold on while he picked up the phone in his study. The phone clicked and Len came on the line.
“How are you?” she said after a pause. She did not know whether this other woman was listening in on the telephone line.
“I’m fine and you?”
“OK.” But she wasn’t OK, she was far from OK. Didn’t he realize how difficult it was for her to make this call? She wanted him to say he missed her, that he loved her and that he was sorry that he had hurt her.
“I can’t go through with this.”
“Well that is up to you. You know my decision.”
“Does everything have to be so final with you? Don’t you have an ounce of care in you? I’ve done as you asked. I went to see somebody. I just can’t do it.”
“I love you Miriam, very, very much. I don’t have room for two of you.”
The phone pips went beep, beep, beep, asking her to put more money in. She scrambled round in the dark, but couldn’t find any more change and the phone just went dead. She dropped the rece
iver leaving it hanging by its’ wire and banged the phone with her fist.
“Damn you Len, damn you.” She started to sob. It was no use phoning again. She would get David to speak to him next time. It was time to start making her own decisions, for her and her baby. She slowly walked back to the flat. Orla was laying the table when Miriam got back.
“Any luck sis?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come and sit down and have something to eat.”
“You eat sis. I’m not hungry. I’ll keep you company though.”
Finally Miriam told her about her conversation with Len and the fact he didn’t want to know. Part of her was consumed with jealousy over the fact that a woman had answered the phone. Her sister said that they couldn’t resolve these issues until they’d seen each other and talked it through. If Len was made to understand how dangerous abortion was then may be he would reconsider things. After dinner they sat down on the sofa and poured themselves another couple of glasses of wine.
“What will you do if you decide to keep the baby?” Her sister asked.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t afford to bring it up without working and I don’t agree with the idea of a working mother. No offence to you sis, but we have different views on the matter. In any event mum and dad would never speak to me again.”
“How about we consider if I should have it?”
“Sis, I couldn’t do that to you. The child would end up growing up with you and calling you “Mummy” and I couldn’t bear that. How could we explain it all to mum and dad and everybody. It just doesn’t feel right.”
There was a short silence, whilst they both paused in thought. If abortion and being a single mother was not an option, then what was? Neither of them wanted to discuss that option.
“You could always consider putting the baby up for adoption.”
And with that and a heavy heart they said their “goodnights” and went to bed.
MARJORIE 1967
LONDON
NOW ARTHUR AND Marjorie had decided that their only option was to adopt a baby, they started to make tentative enquiries. The Local Borough Council suggested they contact, The National Adoption Society, The Church of England Children’s Society, The National Children’s Adoption Association, The National Children’s Home and Dr Barnado’s to name a few.
The National Adoption Society asked if they had been divorced as this might require a special interview. In fact they never got to the interview stage.
“Thank you for your letter. I am afraid, however, that we cannot help you as we only place very young babies for adoption and, because of this, have an age limit of forty for adopters. I would suggest that you apply to one of the large children’s homes to adopt a toddler or slightly older child.”
“I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed to Arthur over breakfast that morning.
“What allows them to make the assumption that once you are over forty you are past it to look after children?”
“Calm down love. They have to make some rules.”
“Yes, but with you being in your fifties we have no hope.”
“I doubt very much they care about my age, as long as I bring in the income.”
Marjorie started to riffle through the various leaflets that she had collected from the library. She had assumed that adoption would be easy for them. They were married and lived in a three bedroom, two reception roomed house with all the modern cons and a garden and a garage. Arthur earned £2500 a year before tax as a chemical engineer. They were nothing short of ideal parents.
She slowly scanned the leaflet from Dr Barnado’s whilst sipping on her cup of coffee. Arthur was tucking in to a slice of toast.
“It says here that Dr Barnado’s aim is to choose adopters, who will be good parents, who will bestow upon the child such love and care as will ensure its normal development, physically, mentally and spiritually, and who will by their example and teaching help the child grow up as a Christian. Arthur I know we can be all these things to a baby, our baby.”
“Yes darling, I am sure we can, but what are the prohibitive criteria.”
“Well, let me see. It says they will only consider married couples who are between the ages of the 25 and 40 if they wish to adopt a YOUNG baby. So we could always adopt an older baby. Oh no wait, it says here that couples wishing to adopt older children should not be more than forty years older than the children they wish to adopt.”
“Well I can’t see how we are going to get round this one. List me some more criteria, just the prohibitive ones.”
“Married couples with a marked difference in age. Does the fact that I’m 44 and you are 54 count as a marked age difference?”
“Go on.”
“Married couples who have a poor health record. Well neither of us have that, and lastly members of the Roman Catholic Church, because they make there own arrangements for adoption. May be we should approach the Catholic Church?”
“How many children do Dr Barnado’s homes have?”
“It says here that they have about 7,000 children in the care of the homes, but very few of these are admitted for adoption. Many are in care for temporary periods only; others will ultimately be restored to their families; some are happily in close touch with various members of their own family; some are severely handicapped.”
“Who initiates the adoption process, if there are so few adoptions?” Arthur asked pouring himself another coffee.
“According to this leaflet, adoption plans are initiated at the mother’s request, and they do all they can to ensure that she has definitely decided on adoption before the child is placed. She has however, the right under the Adoption Act to change her mind at any time until an adoption order is made. In certain exceptional circumstances the Court may dispense with the mother’s consent.”
Marjorie could see Arthur mulling this all over. He took another slice of toast from the toast rack and started to spread it with a thin film of butter.
“It seems to me that the only way we are going to be able to adopt a child is some how to make an arrangement with a mother before she enters the legal process. I don’t know how regular that might be and it may even be unlawful.”
“Our problem is that time is not on our side. It says in most of these leaflets that it can take twelve months to find a placement. Not only that, even if they were to place a child with us which now seems increasingly unlikely, we would have to get satisfactory medical reports and then go through a probationary period with the social workers. It says here we would need at least three satisfactory references. One referee should be a minister of religion, another should be a woman, if possible one who is either a mother or who has some experience in the care of children and who has known the applicants for several years. Arthur, I don’t have any experience with children. I only started wanting a baby when I met you!”
“Perhaps we could arrange an appointment with Doctor Langdon. He may know who to approach. He has also known me for many years.”
The following morning they went to see him at his small surgery in High Barnet. It was a Saturday, so the surgery was not full and they were led straight through to his offices. He confirmed that their age was unfortunately a problem, but that he fully empathized with them having followed their strenuous efforts to conceive a child of their own. He had a good relationship with the local child care officer, and would make some tentative enquiries.
That week, they tried to carry on as normal desperately waiting for a phone call from the doctor. That call came on the Thursday evening when he said he had spoken to the child care officer who had a baby on the Panel, but when she had heard that they were both over forty and divorcees she could not put their names forward. Apparently the local judge had a strong prejudice against divorcees. He had however two more panel babies for adoption, one already born and one expected in March. He said he had asked a child care officer he knew, not the local one, about fostering and she told him that a couple can becom
e foster parents to a child, through a doctor, called a third party without informing the child care officer. The only person who could upset things was the natural mother and the doctor said that he thought that highly unlikely in either of these cases.
Arthur and Marjorie were ecstatic when they put the phone down.
“I think we should see a solicitor right away to check it is all legal.” Arthur said.
“Yes, but Arthur, we are no longer talking about adoption, but fostering. I have always been under the impression that foster parents have practically no rights. I thought we were looking for a permanent arrangement?”
“Calm down let’s see what the solicitor says. Why don’t you write to him.”
The following week Marjorie received a letter from the solicitor Hirst & Capes:-
Hirst & Capes
London EC4
Dear Mrs Ronson
I am in receipt of your letter of the 3rd of February. I sympathize with yourself and your husband very much in the difficulty in which you find yourselves as to the possible adoption of a child.
I am a little worried about the possible arrangements which your Doctor has in mind for the following reasons:-
1. It seems to me the child would come under part IV of the Adoption Act 1958. Under this it is the duty of those arranging such a matter to notify the Local Authority to see that children in this position are visited from time to time by Officers of Authority, who are to satisfy themselves as to the wellbeing of the child.
2. Quite apart from this, you would have no legal standing so far as the child is concerned. The mother could, at any time, have the child back, if she wished. You say that this is considered to be unlikely, but one is often coming across cases where this happens, however unlikely it seemed to be at the time; in such case you would have no legal standing in the matter whatsoever. If it did happen, it could result in very considerable distress to yourself and to your husband, and quite possibly to the child.
Abandoned Love Page 10
