Oranges and Sunshine: Empty Cradles (40 page)

Regular inspections were made of these institutions by the Government agencies who had ultimate responsibility for the welfare of the children. There is no indication of generalized abuse in their reports.

Humility at last, I thought. If only it hadn’t taken so long. The years of silence had been a form of secondary abuse, causing even more heartache and suffering for the child migrants.

The ramifications of this very public apology echoed around the world, particularly in Britain. I had never lost sight of the fact that these were British children whose fate was decided by the British government. They were sent overseas on schemes that were approved and administered by the British government. Their fares and upkeep were partly subsidized by this same government, whose Home Secretary endorsed the emigration of individual children like Harold Haig.

Surely, then, Britain must bear responsibility for ensuring the welfare and safety of these innocents. And the same is true of the Australian government and the charities and agencies who were supposed to care for the child migrants.

Within hours of the Christian Brothers’ statement appearing, there were calls for compensation and criminal prosecutions. Bruce Blyth of VOICES appealed to victims to join a register being prepared to assist police investigations.

Now the big question became whether the Catholic Church would voluntarily pay compensation; and, if not, would the victims sue?

The first answer was a categoric ‘No!’ Deputy Provincial Tony Shanahan told journalists that it was impossible to put a monetary value on the tragedy and, anyhow, throwing money at victims never helped.

Dr Barry Coldrey called talk of lawsuits ‘misguided’ and continued to lay the blame anywhere but on the Catholic Church.

He reportedly said, ‘If they bring it against the British government they should bring it more against the Australian government because we were pulling harder than they were pushing …

‘We are dealing in a world of government policy. If there is guilt, the forces guilty are government decisions.’

Dr Coldrey’s long-awaited research into the child migration schemes had been made public three weeks earlier. Six reports were released, each ranging in size from 30 to 100 pages, but the child abuse allegations made up only a small part of his report. Dr Coldrey had the audacity to suggest that if the Child Welfare Department had been more vigilant, the children being cared for in the Boys’ Towns might not have suffered such abuse.

His views were not shared by many. An editorial in Perth’s
Sunday Times
on 11 July, summed up the general feeling.

‘The Christian Brothers have taken only the first step towards righting the wrongs of the past by apologizing to those who were physically and sexually abused in WA orphanages.

‘It was an apology reluctantly dragged from the Brothers while they continued to insist that many of the claims were exaggerated.

‘But while the Church has bowed to the overwhelming pressure of evidence that some in the Order had shamefully betrayed positions of sacred trust, the Christian Brothers leadership is now balking at paying compensation.

‘Offers of counselling and support services for those still in emotional crisis as a result of cruel treatment is all very well, but those who have had their lives ruined deserve more.’

From my point of view, the issue of compensation was less urgent than the need to reunite families. Now, hopefully, the spotlight would shift away from Perth. There were tens of thousands of other child migrants, elsewhere in Australia, and in Canada, New Zealand and Zimbabwe. They, too, had suffered.

The child migration scandal wasn’t confined to Western Australia or to the Catholic Church.

Sandra Bennett, the child migrant I met on my first trip to Australia, made this point passionately in an open letter to the Catholic Church. She signed it ‘Ann Pritchard’ – the name by which she was known at the children’s home in Britain.

One of the disturbing aspects of this story is to know that ill treatment and physical abuse were not peculiar to the institutions in WA. Indeed, my own experiences, at St Joseph’s Orphanage in Rockhampton, run by the Sisters of Mercy in the Fifties, were to be similar
.

As the scheme under which we children migrated was nationwide, I can only presume that the same excuses will be offered. I reject outright the pleas … that ‘resources were scarce, Government assistance was minimal, personnel were untrained in child care and were often overworked and specialist help was almost unknown
.’

If by resources you mean money, very few would argue that the Catholic Church would be one of the richest organizations in the world. I was never to see the variety and plenty on your tables equally loaded on ours. In fact, we were so hungry and the quality of food so poor, that soon after arriving we began to steal. We had a workload that we had never had in England and the calories just weren’t sufficient. Naturally, all of this sort of behaviour got us into trouble, severe beatings being the result. Even during the war in England I was never to know hunger
.

The Catholic Church has a tradition of looking after the unfortunate children of free unions and unsettled families. Could it not have drawn on experience for some guidance? I cannot accept that the collective intellect of all the people who came into contact with us could not come up with a better policy of child care
.

Orphans learn not to expect too much in the way of hugs and kisses. Nobody else gets them, why should you? What you hope for is not to be treated cruelly and beaten and made to feel even worse about yourself. Statements like ‘no wonder nobody wanted you’ frequently accompanying the beatings are enormously damaging to the emotions of a child. Your ‘circumstances’ are already a deep, dark mystery and there is tremendous guilt that you have done something dreadful to have been rejected by your parents …

The needs of the institution were all met as far as I am concerned. But what about my needs? Nobody ever asked me. Even the emigration to Australia was against my will, torn from already fragile roots and transplanted into a semi-arid environment with an even more barren policy of child care could be nothing more than shock. Now, astride two cultures, I have roots in none
.

Robbed of a past, I was now robbed of a future. No amount of counselling can restore my feeling of worth. ‘Like Niobe, all tears’ mourning for her slain children, I was to grieve for my unborn children and the loss of a family of my own. Not for nine days and nine nights, but a whole lifetime. And I still grieve
.

You may all know the story now. The Catholic Church was directly responsible, in my mind, and indirectly the State. I am weary of the burden and am no longer prepared to wear the mantle of guilt and shame. I pass it on to you
.

In Nottingham, the County Council had stripped down its nuclear bunker, brought in furniture and installed phone lines, ready for the broadcast of
The Leaving of Liverpool
. A computer system was ready to log every in-coming call.

Joan Taylor rang me: ‘Margaret, it’s ready, come down and have a look. The phones are in. You’ve got free-phones. We’re not having anybody fail to call because they can’t afford to.’

The Christian Brothers’ statement could not have been better timed to help generate publicity. It pushed the child migration scandal from the review sections onto the news pages.

The charities and agencies reacted quickly. David Skidmore, of the General Synod of the Church of England, wrote to
The Sunday Times
, arguing, ‘At the time, emigration to countries of the former British Empire was seen as the best alternative for children who otherwise faced a bleak future of poverty or institutionalized care.

‘With the benefit of hindsight, those who engaged in this response to the children’s plight can be seen to have been acting out of the best intentions but misguidedly.’

Michael Jarman, of Barnardo’s wrote in a letter to the press: ‘At the time, Barnardo’s believed that it was providing these young people with an enormous opportunity, as well as expanding its capacity to help more children in Britain. This idea is greatly at odds with our emphasis today on working to keep families together.’

The City of Liverpool Social Services had an entirely more helpful response. I had a letter and a telephone call from Councillor Cathy Hancox who wanted me to confirm that child migrants from Liverpool had been sent to Australia.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Quite a number.’

Mrs Hancox, along with an officer from Liverpool’s Department of Social Services, came to see me to discuss how they could help, and eventually The City of Liverpool Council provided the Trust with funds to pay a social worker’s salary for eighteen months.

I spent most of those last few days before the broadcast in the bunker, dealing with last-minute telephone interviews. The setting mirrored my mood. What better place to be during a siege than deep underground behind walls of steel-reinforced concrete?

I had heard from Western Australia that police had begun investigating complaints filed by child migrants against the Christian Brothers, and there had been calls in Parliament for a full judicial inquiry. Australian lawyers were preparing to lodge claims by more than 250 men who alleged they were abused in Christian Brothers institutions.

Similarly, I had heard that lawyers in the UK were preparing writs against the British government on behalf of child migrants, along with applications for legal aid.

On the afternoon of Thursday, 15 July, before the first episode of
The Leaving of Liverpool
, we did a final test of the telephones. A switch was pulled and all of them rang simultaneously. Rather than wait for the programme, people were already calling, having read the numbers in newspapers and magazines.

We logged 700 calls that first evening and 10,000 over the next five days.

Counsellors struggled to comfort callers and take down their details. We had tearful mothers wondering if the children they gave for adoption could possibly have gone to Australia; brothers and sisters who remembered seeing siblings taken away; and even calls from abusers ringing up to confess that they had molested children and needed help.

My only disappointment was the discovery of just what the BBC meant by ‘further editing’. There is a very moving scene in the first episode that shows a ship arriving in Australia and the children disembarking. They are shepherded into a holding area and made to line up beneath large signs naming the charities who were receiving children off that ship.

This brief incident was taken out by the BBC. There was no reference, by name, to any of the charities or child care agencies who participated in the child migration schemes. This could well have left British viewers with the impression that it was only the Catholic Church which played a major role in child migration.

First the BBC had refused us phone lines; then it refused to screen the help-line numbers and finally it decided to edit the mini-series. I wrote immediately to John Birt, the Director General, requesting an explanation.

His reply, drafted by the ‘Appeals Secretary’ of the BBC, totally failed to address my concerns of bias against the Catholic Church.

‘… following transmission in Australia, the Fairbridge Trust contacted the BBC to emphasize that they were no longer associated with this kind of work. In deference to their concern, this small cut [in the film] was made, and included a similar sign to Barnardo’s since they were the only other organization identifiable in the scene.

… we certainly do not agree with you that to remove the reference amounted to editing the production with bias.

What bizarre logic! Would the BBC edit
Schindler’s List
on the basis that the German army is no longer involved in the persecution of Jews?

The second half of the mini-series, on the following night, was even more demanding. Within the bunker we were fighting to stay awake in the early hours of the morning and answer the continuous stream of calls. Amid the commotion, a journalist from Perth managed to get through.

‘I just heard on the national news that the Australian flag is flying over Nottingham,’ she said.

‘Yes it is,’ I told her. ‘It’s flying alongside the Union Jack as a mark of respect for the child migrants.’

The journalist became very emotional. As her voice faltered, she told me that she had never heard anything like it.

The Leaving of Liverpool
created an enormous sense of outrage in Britain, as it had done in Australia. It touched the hearts and conscience of the nation. Letters poured in, adding to the thousands I had received since the Trust was founded.

Such letters are often moving, but there is one, in particular, that I will always remember. It was written by a former London policeman who, in the early 1950s, found two boys wandering lost and alone near London Bridge. He wrote:

It subsequently transpired that the boys had absconded from a children’s home in Kent. They were two boys of a family of six, three boys and three girls, whose father was a Flight Sergeant in the Royal Air Force stationed in Berlin. As you will guess the marriage had broken up and the children had been put in the care of the local authority
.

The lads had got as far as London Bridge Station and after crossing London Bridge and entering the City, I had found them
.

Their purpose in absconding was that they were aware that they were on their way to Australia with a view to eventually being put to a career in farming. They had mutually decided – and I can only guess their ages at about ten and six years – to run away to find their sisters to say goodbye to them before they went
.

I subsequently went on to have a happy and worthwhile career in the police service, reaching relatively high rank and to have five children from an extremely successful marriage, but that little incident still brings a lump to my throat. It still causes me to wonder what happened to those young boys, I can only hope they have done well and that they are still in touch with their brother and sisters
.