The Throwaway Children

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Well, I must say goodbye,’ Miss Ellen said awkwardly. She hated the idea of leaving these girls to the mercy of the dry stick of a woman who was about to take them away. They’d been her particular charges during the voyage and she’d become fond of them, especially the little ones. She glanced at Mrs Manton, but that lady’s expression had not relaxed into one of welcome for the children who had come so far.

  Rosie, suddenly aware that Miss Ellen was going away, let out a wail of misery. Miss Ellen reached out to her and gathered her into a hug. Moments later she’d hugged each of them, even Sheila, who at nearly fourteen might have rebuffed her, and then with tears burning in her eyes, she turned on her heel, hurrying away to collect her own luggage and join her sister in the immigration queue.

  Mrs Manton turned to her charges. ‘Stop that yowling,’ she ordered, glaring at the three youngest, who, at the sight of her expression and at the tone of her voice, gulped down their sobs and dashed the tears from their cheeks.

  Satisfied, Mrs Manton gave an abrupt nod, then looking over to the gate, she waved an imperious hand at a young, tow-headed lad wearing dirty overalls. ‘Colin!’ she called. ‘Get over here.’

  The boy peeled himself away from the wall and, picking up the handles of a handcart, ambled over to them.

  ‘Load up the luggage, Colin, and be quick about it, we’ve got a train to catch.’

  The lad stepped forward and grasping two of the suitcases, hefted them easily onto his cart. In a matter of moments he had all the cases stacked, and set off with the cart.

  ‘Form up in twos,’ directed Mrs Manton, turning back to the waiting children, ‘follow me and keep up.’

  ‘Please, miss,’ ventured Sheila, ‘where’re we going?’

  ‘To catch a train,’ replied Mrs Manton briskly. ‘Now, you older girls make sure the little ones don’t get lost.’ She waited for a moment as the older girls took hold of the younger ones, and then she turned on her heel and strode off, leaving her charges to follow. Rita held Rosie firmly by the hand, and from habit the rest of the group came together in pairs, forming a loose crocodile as they straggled out into the windswept street. Sydney was a city such as they’d never seen before. The streets were crowded and noisy. People hurried along, heads bent against the wind and the incoming rain. Traffic hooted and roared as cars and buses battled the congestion and the sudden clang and clank of a passing tram made Susan and Sylvia scream and cling on to Sheila and Angela.

  ‘Come on!’ Sheila yanked on Sylvia’s hand. ‘Don’t be such a baby! It’s only a tram!’ But even she kept a wary eye open after that.

  Afraid of losing Mrs Manton in the lunchtime crowds, they scurried along behind her, dodging through the pedestrians thronging the pavement. A clock was striking two when they finally reached the railway station. There was no sign of Colin and the handcart.

  Rita looked round nervously. ‘Where’s our cases?’ she asked Daisy.

  ‘How do I know?’ shrugged Daisy. ‘That boy’s got ’em.’

  Mrs Manton led them into the station, pausing for the girls to gather round her.

  ‘Our train is in an hour,’ she told them. ‘You’ll have to wait here.’ She waved them over to some wooden benches that ran along a wall. ‘Sit there and keep quiet while I buy the tickets.’ As they sat down, she opened her bag and handed Sheila a brown paper bag. ‘You can share these out,’ she said, ‘and make sure no one moves before I come back.’

  Sheila opened the bag and found it contained some rather soggy-looking egg sandwiches. There was just one each. It was quite a while before Mrs Manton returned with the tickets and by the time they’d all drunk from a drinking fountain and been to the lavatory, it was time for them to board the train. As they clambered into the second class carriage, Colin appeared and climbed in as well. There was no sign of their suitcases.

  ‘Where’s our stuff?’ asked Rita, an edge of panic in her voice.

  ‘Yeah, where’s my case?’ Daisy demanded.

  ‘In the van, of course,’ replied Colin, and immediately lay down on one of the bench seats, flipped his grubby cap over his eyes and went to sleep.

  They were all tired, and it wasn’t very long after the train drew out of the station that most of the girls followed his example. The carriage was unheated, and Rita and Rosie huddled together, trying to keep warm. Rosie was soon asleep, her back curved against Rita’s, her hand under her cheek. Rita lay against her, listening to the rhythm of the wheels. ‘No way back! No way back! No way back!’

  There was no way back for them now. They would live in another home until they were old enough to leave school and earn their own living, and then… what then? There would still be no way back. For the first time for weeks Rita allowed herself to think about home. On the ship she’d managed to keep such thoughts at bay. She’d been surrounded by new and exciting things, new places, new people, but now, on a cold train, rattling through the countryside, Rita was faced with the reality of her future life. She thought of Mum at home in Ship Street with baby Richard. Uncle Jimmy she tried to blot out of her mind. She tried to picture Gran in Hampton Road, but poor Gran had been knocked down by a car. Was she still in the hospital? If you’ve been run over, Rita thought, you must take ages to get better, specially if you’re old, like Gran.

  She thought about Laurel House and the Hawk, and shuddered. Surely the spidery woman who had picked them up today couldn’t be as bad as the Hawk, could she?

  Rosie was muttering in her sleep, and Rita pulled her closer, wrapping her arms round her to help keep them both warm, and at last, with the rhythm of the train unchanged and unchanging, she fell into an uneasy doze.

  Carrabunna station was small, little more than a platform and a station house at the edge of the town. The grey light of a chilly dawn was stealing into the sky when the train began to slow and, with a squeal of brakes, stop beside the platform. Mrs Manton, who had been sitting elsewhere, hustled them off the train into the early morning chill, shouting at them to stand still while she counted them. Bleary-eyed with sleep, and shivering with cold, they stood waiting. Colin was busy at the guard’s van, pulling out his handcart, still loaded with the suitcases. No one else left the train, and the moment they were all safely on the platform, the guard blew his whistle and the train chugged away into the darkness.

  Colin set off up the narrow road pushing the handcart, their suitcases jumping together as the cart bumped its way along the rough road. As they followed in his wake, the grey light grew stronger, but they were able to make out a little of the countryside.

  It was very cold, the wind biting, cutting through the thin coats which they had all been given as part of their new wardrobe. Dressed in their best clothes, as Miss Ellen had told them, they were all wearing the short white socks and sandals they’d been given, and the wind beat mercilessly at their bare legs as they trudged along the road into Carrabunna.

  The town was silent and it seemed to the girls, trailing along the early morning street, that the whole place was deserted. No one saw the weary little procession as it passed and they saw no one. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked; it was the only welcome they received.

  A painted sign, hung beside a wide, wooden farm gate, read: Laurel Farm EVER-Care Children’s Home. Mrs Manton led the straggling line of tired children through the gate of their new home and across a cobbled yard to a long, low building. She opened a door at one end, and a welcomingly warm light flooded into the yard.

  ‘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.
<
br />   ‘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.