Mention 'homechildren' and one thinks of the thousands of English youngsters who were shipped to the colonies - Australia and Canada mainly - from 1868 to 1928 under Dr. Barnardo's plan to ostensibly give them a new start in life. His philanthropic motives would be called into question for years after because certainly his plan was not without flaws. Just ask descendants of those homechildren who were shipped to the prairies where many suffered deprivation, loneliness and even abuse while working as cheap farm labourers, with very little oversight.
For the most part, these children were orphans, homeless, or just abandoned by parents who were totally destitute. Given the social structure at the time, often the only option left was to turn children out to fend for themselves.
Britain's Gordon Brown has issued a formal apology to descendants of the homechildren, as had Australia's prime minister. Our PM Harper, however, 'sees no need' Why am I not surprised. In a rare conciliatory move, though, he did have 2010 declared The Year of the Homechild.
In all fairness to the oft-maligned Dr. Barnardo, his system did work, at least in Ottawa, and my father was one of his success stories. He was not an orphan, nor homeless. When his father died at sea in 1900, leaving my grandmother penniless with 6 children, there were not a lot of options. I remember being horrified early on when I learned that our grandmother had given up her only son, just 4, putting him and his sister Flo in a Home. (I shouldn't have been because dad loved it there too!) I later learned that this was customary - daughters could work as domestics or chambermaids and put food on the table where sons usually ended up going to sea, their future assured.
Dad sailed for Canada in April 1912, at the age of 14, reaching Halifax about the time that the Titanic went down, joining his sister in Ottawa. They were lucky to end up together because some families had been split up between Australia and Canada. Presumably Dr. Barnardo by 1912 had streamlined the process and corrected a lot of the earlier problems because in Ottawa there was oversight. I have the monthly reports on his welfare and progress - did he attend Sunday School?, were his shoes in good repair? was he happy? His health and conduct were tracked and his job performance at Birks monitored. For carrying purchases upstairs to be wrapped, he made the princely sum of $3/week, $2.50 of which went for room & board. Within a year he had saved $5, had enrolled in Night School and joined the YMCA. In retrospect, his lifelong glass-half-full philosophy started then!
Growing up, dad would regale us with tales of WWI, but only the funny parts like having to borrow a pair of long pants to join up underage in 1915, joining the cavalry even though the only horse he'd ever seen was pulling a milk-wagon, or using his daily tot of rum to 'buy' his way out of Night Watch in France since he didn't drink. There was Ypres, Vimy Ridge, then Passchendaele where he was wounded.
Now, with all the unspeakably sad stories once again emerging of lonely, frightened children being shipped to a strange country only to face exploitation and neglect by some out on the prairies, I often wonder how dad would have fared had he been sent out there. He was from Liverpool, so I dread to think. Would his marvellous spirit have been broken? Or would his inherent optimism and engaging personality have carried him through? It was his good fortune, and by extension ours, that he was sent to Ottawa and became the remarkable man who was our father. Great genes, dad!! Mine's half-full too!!
Fergie left me last Sunday. She fought the good fight. She had irritated, delighted, angered, endeared and frustrated, but never bored me. She was not your average cat, and I miss her more than I ever thought possible.
