The Forgotten Home Child Read online

  Jamie looks impressed, and he runs his young fingers over the old seams.

  “What’s in there, Gran?” Chrissie asks.

  If only she knew what she was asking. The answers will change the way she and Jamie see their own lives.

  With a sigh, I unfasten the latches and the old trunk creaks open. I haven’t looked inside for a very long time, but other than the fact that its contents had been hastily repacked that afternoon, nothing has changed. I pull out an old hairbrush and comb, then I fold back a piece of material and dig out my copy of The Pilgrim’s Progress. Such a terrible book to give to children. I set it aside, then sort through the bits and pieces of cloth until I find my soft, black leather Bible.

  This is where I must start, I realize. The cover falls open, and I slide the book toward Chrissie so she can see the sticker where my name is printed on the inside of the cover.

  “ ‘A memento of the old Country from the British and Foreign Bible Society,’ ” she reads, then she looks to the page on the right. Her finger taps a black-and-white photograph of a stately, spectacled gentleman with waxed ends on his moustache. “Who’s this?”

  “Dr. Thomas Barnardo,” I say softly. His name hasn’t passed my lips in probably seventy-five years, and yet I still speak it with a twisted blend of admiration and loathing. “I’m afraid I haven’t told you the whole truth about our family and how we ended up here.”

  two WINNY

  — 1936 —

  The shadow of the huge steamship flooded the pier and loomed over Winny, and she shivered despite the warm morning. She’d been on a boat once before, but back then she’d been with her family, leaving Ireland for England. When they’d arrived, those two countries hadn’t felt so different from each other. Where she would be going this time was another matter entirely, and so many questions filled her head.

  She studied the movement on the pier, and her eyes rested on the assembly line of men stowing baggage on board the ship. As they passed trunk after trunk to each other, Winny wondered which one was hers. The wooden cases all looked the same, and from where she was standing, it was impossible to see the different names carved onto the back of each one. For a moment, a panicked thought raced through her that maybe hers had been left behind, forgotten back at the Home. But no, she remembered seeing the men at the London station load it onto the train to Liverpool, along with the others. That little trunk held everything she’d ever owned. She didn’t know what she would do without it.

  At the end of the pier, smaller fishing vessels were unloading their catch. Despite the foul smell that hung in the air, Winny’s stomach growled. They hadn’t had a bite to eat since the night before. Miss Pence, their chaperone from the Home, had said the combination of breakfast and ocean might make them sick, but the train ride had taken a full day, and she was so, so hungry. Her legs felt weak from it. Some of the younger girls had sunk to the ground and were sitting cross-legged on the dock, and Miss Pence’s fair brow creased as she worried over their frocks getting dirty.

  “I’d give anything for a biscuit,” Winny said.

  Mary, her best friend in the whole world, stood beside her, scrutinizing the dock. As long as Winny had known her, Mary had studied her surroundings as if scouting for an escape route. It was a habit from the time they’d spent living on the streets with Mary’s older brother, Jack, their friend Edward, and his younger brother, Cecil.

  “You’re always hungry,” Mary replied, still peering around.

  Mary wasn’t wrong. After growing up never knowing where her next meal was coming from, hunger had become habit for Winny.

  “I wonder what people eat in Canada.”

  Mary’s hand closed around hers. “I reckon we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Winny was doing her best to think of today as the beginning of an adventure. That’s what Mrs. Pritchard, the matron at the Barkingside Girls’ Village, had assured them this would be. How many children could say they’d travelled across the ocean and started new lives in Canada? Winny and the others had been told over and over what lucky girls they were to have been chosen to go. But try as she might to imagine the bright, exciting future ahead, Winny couldn’t help feeling as if she was stepping into a thick fog where she couldn’t see a foot in front of her nose.

  She wished she was still at Barkingside. She and Mary had lived there for two years and she had loved almost every minute of it. For Winny, the Home had been the answer to her prayers—sheer heaven after the wretched year she and Mary had spent in the orphanage. Instead of fighting for space with hundreds of other girls in the cold, close quarters of the orphanage, the girls at Barkingside were divided between seventy cottages—sixteen girls and a housemother in each one. There was even a house just for babies. Winny and Mary were given neat dresses and pinafores to wear and cheery white bows for their hair, and they ate three meals a day off clean dishes.

  When they’d first arrived, it was all Winny could do not to gobble her food down in case it might vanish before her eyes. Over time, she began to trust that at Barkingside, there would always be enough for everyone. That unfamiliar sense of security had lifted a heavy weight from her shoulders, freeing her to laugh again. Together, she and Mary learned to read, sew, cook, and clean, all in preparation for someday becoming a lady’s maid, a house servant, or a cook. She particularly liked caring for the younger girls at Barkingside, and one of the teachers suggested she consider studying to become a nurse one day. She even gave Winny a book to read about Florence Nightingale.

  At the Home they worked hard and were disciplined when they broke any rules, but Winny no longer worried about an unexpected blow from a cane hitting her backside as it had at the orphanage. Punishments at Barkingside weren’t doled out simply for the matron’s enjoyment. The Barkingside Girls’ Village had been created by Dr. Thomas Barnardo, a generous, good-hearted man who had opened many other homes to help take thousands of poor children like Winny and Mary off the dangerous streets and help them become productive citizens. Every night, after they’d included the good doctor in their prayers, the girls snuggled into clean, warm beds and whispered in the darkness until sleep overtook them.

  “What do you suppose he’s doing now?”

  Winny never had to ask who Mary meant. It was Jack. Always Jack. “Same as us. Lying in bed, wondering what you’re doing.”

  “Think he’s all right?”

  “I think so. He’s smart. And he has Edward and Cecil. They’ll stick together.”

  “You’re right. I’m glad they have each other.” Mary gave Winny a soft smile, barely visible in the dark room. “I’m glad I have you.”

  Hearing Mary voice her own thoughts filled Winny with warmth. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she admitted. “I can’t imagine my life if I hadn’t met you that day.”

  “You might still be free,” Mary said wryly.

  “I’d rather be with you in here than out there alone. Besides, I like it in here.”

  “Yeah, it’s all right. It’s just…”

  “I know. I miss him too. But I’m sure we’ll see him again someday.”

  “Someday.”

  On a good night, their muted conversations were more hopeful.

  “What’ll we do when Jack finds us?” Winny asked. “Where should we go?”

  Mary was a practical, straightforward girl, and Winny loved that about her. Even more, she loved when Mary could relax enough to imagine possibilities. The dreams seemed far-fetched, but on those wonderful nights with Mary, Winny let herself believe almost anything was possible.

  “We’ll get our own place to start,” Mary began. “You and I shall open a small shop, and Jack will open his own, right next door, with the brothers.”

  “That sounds lovely. What will we sell?”

  “We know a lot now,” Mary said quietly. “We can make and sell dresses.”

  “Oh, yes. For all the ladies. And hats and shoes. All of it.”

  “We’ll have to earn some mone
y first, maybe work in a shop before we can have our own.”

  “Of course.”

  “The sooner we can get out of here, the sooner we can live our lives the way we want to.”

  But once Winny was happy, comfortable, and well-fed, she stopped thinking about running away. Mary, on the other hand, never had. Her plan had always been to get away from Barkingside, find Jack, and carry on with life as it had been. Winny understood her feelings, since she missed Jack as well, but she couldn’t imagine leaving all the wonders of Barkingside behind to return to a dirty, meagre life on the street.

  And then one day, almost two years from the day they’d first arrived, she and Mary were working in the laundry when they were called to the matron’s office.

  Winny picked nervously at her fingernails as they headed across the courtyard. It was a habit she’d always had. “What did we do?”

  “We’ll soon see,” Mary replied, steady as ever.

  In the office, they stood in front of a wide desk, waiting for a woman with a handful of paper to take her seat. “My name is Mrs. Pritchard,” the woman said, indicating that they should sit as well. “I’m the new matron of Barkingside.” She lifted a paper off her desk and studied another underneath. “Winnifred Margaret Ellis is your name, am I correct?” she asked, looking at Winny.

  Her voice wasn’t unkind, just matter-of-fact. Winny nodded, transfixed by the woman’s face. Her hair was swept back into a dark bun just as Winny’s mother had worn hers. Her nose was a little smaller, and her eyes had little lines in the corners that Winny guessed had come from smiling. She couldn’t recall if her mother had any of those. The lines beneath her eyes had always been much darker than this woman’s, but she couldn’t remember any at the sides. It had been a long time since she’d last seen her mother.

  “You’ll say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We haven’t been able to locate your mother. The last place she was living was on William Brown Street.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Near Steple Fountain.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

  Winny pictured the cramped, ugly rooms she’d shared with her family in London, the constant screaming and crying, the way her mother seemed to age by the day. If she wasn’t there, what had happened to her? What had happened to Winny’s brothers?

  “I don’t know, ma’am,” Winny said. “I ain’t seen her in three years.”

  “And your father? Where is he?”

  “Da died when I was eight, when we first came from Ireland.”

  “What about your brothers or sisters?”

  “I’ve four younger brothers, ma’am, but I ain’t seen them since I left home.”

  Mrs. Pritchard turned her attention to Mary, confirmed her name, then asked about her family.

  “Da’s dead, Grammy’s dead, and we left our mother to her gin,” Mary said. “It’s only me and Jack now.”

  “Jack is your brother?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mary leaned forward. “Last I saw him was before the orphanage, and I need to find him. He’s a year older than me, hair straight and black as mine, aye? And he’d be looking for me as well. Can you help me find him?”

  Mrs. Pritchard didn’t appear to be listening. She made a couple of notes then sat back in her chair. “I hear you’re both doing well with your studies, that you’ll make fine maids one day.” She tapped the table with the tips of her long fingers. “Have you heard about other children going away from here on a ship and living somewhere else?”

  “No, ma’am,” Winny said slowly. She knew some girls had left Barkingside, but that was only when their parents came to claim them, or when they were too old to live there any longer.

  “It’s only for very special, fortunate children willing to work hard and make something of themselves. And because you two are such good girls, it’s your turn. How would you like to go to Canada?”

  Winny had never heard of Canada and didn’t know what to say. Beside her, Mary stilled.

  Mrs. Pritchard smiled when they didn’t answer. “Canada is a wonderful place with fresh air and horses and mountains and a great deal for girls and boys to do.”

  Butterflies swooped in Winny’s stomach as she recalled a photograph she’d seen in her schoolbook of unfamiliar, wide open spaces. The image had been in black and white, of course, but in Winny’s eyes, it came alive with blue sky and green grass and spectacular, towering mountains. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she might see that in person.

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “The children we send over from here will live with families, go to school, learn new things, and work.”

  “Is it far?” Mary’s voice was quiet.

  “Why, yes. It’s on the other side of the ocean, Mary.”

  “Then we can’t go,” Mary said firmly. “I can’t leave England. What if my mother comes looking for me? And what about my brother? I can’t leave Jack.”

  The picture in Winny’s mind vanished. “And I can’t go without Mary,” she said. She’d sworn never to be alone again. She’d left that awful life behind.

  Mrs. Pritchard’s mouth set in a straight line. “Mary, has your mother come to see you even once while you were here or at the orphanage?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so. I believe it’s fair to say she won’t come looking anytime soon. As for your brother, I’m afraid I don’t have any idea where he is. Regardless, you can’t let that stop you from making a better life for yourself.”

  “Can’t we stay here?” Winny asked. “We will work hard so you won’t need to send us away.”

  “Girls, you are looking at this the wrong way. It is an opportunity, and you are very lucky to be included. People in Canada are looking for children like you to work in their homes and farms, to tend their children, and to live with their families in a beautiful new land.” She got to her feet. “You must trust that we know what’s best for you. Anyhow, everything is all arranged. You will be leaving here in two weeks.”

  Winny opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Pritchard had no time for conversation. “Out you go. Back to work.”

  Mary had gone very pale, her eyes round as dinner plates, so Winny took her hand. They walked numbly down the corridor, and Winny dug through the fog for something to say.

  “It’ll be all right,” she tried.

  “We can’t leave Jack,” Mary whispered.

  But as Mrs. Pritchard had said, the arrangements had been completed, and the subject was closed. Winny and Mary had to prepare for the voyage. The first time they were brought into a woodworking shop along with the other chosen girls, it felt strange. They’d never learned that sort of trade before. The hammer and nails were unfamiliar at first, and the agony of missing a stroke and hitting her thumb was excruciating, but it was all part of their next lesson—building their very own travel trunk for the journey to Canada.

  Now Winny stood on the pier, watching those trunks be swallowed up by the ship.

  “Stay in line, girls,” Miss Pence called, corralling the children into place. “We cannot get on the boat until everyone has been counted.”

  Winny looked down at her coat where her nametag fluttered from a buttonhole. Each girl had one with her destination on it. Winny’s said Winnifred Ellis, Toronto. Mary’s said Mary Miller, Toronto. She had never heard of Toronto before, but it was a comfort to know that she and Mary would end up in the same place. Her gaze passed over the crowd and paused on the little ones, some of whom were only five and six years old. Winny couldn’t help but wonder what good those young children would be in Canada. Were they being sent over as housemaids? Who would expect a baby to clean a house?

  For the voyage, all the girls were dressed in matching black coats and skirts, straw hats perched on their heads. Unfortunately, the fine job the ladies at Barkingside had done of combing out the girls’ freshly washed hair had been wasted by the wind. At least they had taken
everyone’s photographs in advance of going to the pier. Winny heard them say the pictures were “for their files,” but she wasn’t sure what that meant. She would have liked to keep hers.

  A gust of wind pushed at them and Winny slapped her hand onto her hat, holding it in place. One of the littlest girls lost hers and stepped out of line to retrieve it. Without thinking, Winny reached for her, wanting to keep her safe.

  “Stand still.” Mary grabbed Winny’s arm. “Miss Pence will see to it.”

  But Miss Pence was distracted by something on the other side of the dock. “Wait here, girls.”

  Winny popped up on her tiptoes. At fifteen, she was still shorter than many of the younger girls, probably because she hadn’t had much to eat as a child. It didn’t help that her mother had also been small. Between the other girls’ heads and shoulders, Winny spotted another group of children approaching the ship, and she took in the matching navy coats, caps, and short pants with interest. It was a group of boys.

  “Mary, look!” She pointed, practically jumping in place. “Could it be…?”

  Beside her, she heard Mary catch her breath. “Do you see him? I can’t see him.”

  “Excuse me,” Winny muttered, pulling Mary through the group.

  “Get off me!” a girl cried when Winny accidentally trod on her foot.

  “We just need to see is all.”

  “I’ll thank you not to do it on my foot.”

  “Keep going, Winny,” Mary urged, squeezing her hand.

  Once they stood on the outside edge of their group, the two girls scanned the crowd of boys.

  “Anything?” Winny asked.

  “Not yet. Keep looking.”

  It had been so long since they’d seen Jack and the others. He’d be sixteen now. How had the last three years been for him? Had they been anything like hers? Would she recognize him? Would he recognize her?

  “Edward!” Mary suddenly cried. “Edward! Over here!”

  Winny squealed, spotting their old friend’s sandy-coloured hair and the laughing blue of his eyes. “Edward! It’s us!”