It wasn’t made any easier by the fact that I returned to England a slightly changed person. I have never slept properly since that night in Perth. Sometimes I fall asleep and wake in utter panic with my heart racing. For a split second it’s all happening again – the banging on the window, the voice. I think I’m going to die – not at the hands of a murderer, but because my heart will beat too quickly.
During my stay in Perth, the Child Migrants Trust had continued the search for families and arranged reunions with mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. These were now taking place every month.
No matter what was happening politically and legally concerning child migration, the Trust had never been distracted from its initial goal: to reunite families. This was our purpose and, at the end of the day, the only thing that was truly important.
My trip had also shown me that public awareness of the tragedy of the child migrants was far greater in Australia than in Britain. It had become a national issue and it was rare to find anybody in Australia or New Zealand who hadn’t heard about the child migration scandal.
Unfortunately, this was not the case in the UK. After six years of endeavour, I still had not had a single meeting with a British government Minister. Finally, on 18 May 1993, Mr Tim Yeo, the Parliamentary Secretary at the Department of Health, agreed to meet an all-party delegation from Nottinghamshire County Council. I had two goals. The first was to explain the needs of British child migrants; the second, to appeal directly to the Minister for funding to help reunite them with their families.
Mr Yeo described the meeting as ‘helpful and informative’ and released a statement afterwards saying that he intended opening discussions with the Australian government. He promised nothing more.
If I was to raise public awareness in Britain, it was vital that the BBC screened The Leaving of Liverpool. It had been almost a year since the drama was shown in Australia and yet the mini-series wasn’t even listed in the Corporation’s forthcoming schedules.
Joan Taylor of Nottinghamshire County Council arranged for another debate and the councillors went for everybody. Letters were fired off to John Birt, the director general of the BBC, Marmaduke Hussey, the Chairman, Alan Yentob, the BBC1 programme controller, and each of the BBC directors. Meanwhile, questions were tabled in Parliament asking whether the mini-series had been shelved because of pressure from either the Government or the charities involved.
Not surprisingly, I was soon persona non grata with the BBC. When the Nottingham Evening Post rang the BBC to ask why the programme hadn’t been shown, off the record, a press officer said, ‘Don’t take any notice of that bloody woman from Nottingham.’
The official BBC explanation was: ‘The mini-series missed its slot in 1992 because we were looking to do some further editing on the programme to make it suitable for transmission.’
Further editing? There was an unpleasant ringing in my ears.
Eventually, the BBC announced that it would screen the drama. The mini-series was scheduled at short notice for mid-July – television’s silly season – and there were plans for only limited pre-publicity. This meant no launch, no television plugs and no cast interviews. For whatever reason, the BBC had ensured that The Leaving of Liverpool would struggle to attract an audience.
Martin Jacobs, an actor who played a leading adult role in the drama, rang me.
‘They’re not going to do anything to help promote it, Margaret. Nothing at all.’
‘I know. I know. It’s a crying shame. Is there nothing we can do?’
Martin suddenly announced: ‘We’ll do it all ourselves. We’ll start tonight. You and I will do the publicity.’
This was a completely new challenge. In the next four weeks Martin and I cranked up a promotional campaign at no cost to the BBC. The British public were going to know about this television programme, even if we had to yell from the rooftops or walk down the high street carrying sandwich boards.
Using our contacts in the press we arranged major articles in every national newspaper. We did press briefings, television interviews, radio spots and previews. The BBC had produced no detailed press packs so we had Penny Chapman send us the left-overs from the Australian launch.
In the midst of this avalanche of publicity, the BBC must have wondered what the hell was happening.
But there was still another unpleasant surprise waiting. I’d always assumed, come transmission night, that the BBC would provide the Trust with phone lines to take calls from viewers. Having seen the impact of the mini-series in Australia, this was vital. I had never lost sight of the fact that there was a large silent Britain-based group of grieving mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters who had lost part of their families. It would come as a shock to many that the children they had become separated from, for whatever reason, had been sent overseas. Sadly, the BBC didn’t understand this.
‘We have no budget for that,’ was the reply.
Right! I thought. I’ve had enough of this. I requested a hearing and was told that Alan Yentob, the channel’s most senior manager, was dealing with the issue personally. I wrote him a long letter, to which I have never received a reply.
Then I wrote to John Birt. Somebody else replied on his behalf and insisted the decision was final.
Nottinghamshire County Council, which has from the very first day been the Trust’s most caring and committed supporter, was also appalled by the BBC’s attitude. Right across the political spectrum, the councillors and local MPs shared this view.
Defeat loomed. The Trust had no money for switchboards and telephones. We struggled from day to day on a shoestring budget. Now I was in another corner.
Explaining the situation to Joan Taylor, I vented my frustration and disbelief.
Finally, she said, ‘Margaret, stop worrying. We’re not going to let this happen. We’ll fund the help-lines. We’ll put the telephones in, we’ll pay the charges. You just make sure the BBC put the numbers on screen.’
I was absolutely elated. Yet again Notts had proved to be the conscience of the world on this issue. But soon my mood changed. I couldn’t believe it! The BBC refused to screen the numbers. It was regarded as ‘not necessary’.
On 13 July, I appealed directly to MPs in a committee room at the House of Commons. David Hinchliffe, a Labour front-bench spokesman on health, chaired the meeting. After years of hammering on these same doors for moral and financial help, I was determined to get a little understanding from Westminster.
As our cross-party delegation entered St Stephen’s entrance of the House of Commons, I was besieged by television cameras and reporters from Britain, Canada, America, Australia, France and Germany.
It was an historic event. To my knowledge it was the first time MPs had been directly told about the experiences of British child migrants. Until then, I don’t think they appreciated the horrors of the schemes and the grave injustice.
The next morning’s newspapers said it all.
The Independent reported: ‘A charity representing thousands of child migrants separated from their families after the Second World War has fiercely criticized the BBC over its refusal to publicize a telephone help-line …
‘The [Child Migrants] Trust is already suspicious about a year-long delay in showing the programme in Britain.
‘A spokesman for BBC1 has dismissed any suggestion of a conspiracy and said the corporation did not publicize help-lines after drama programmes …’
That afternoon questions were asked in the House of Commons, with two MPs demanding an inquiry into why the BBC refused to screen the help-line numbers. They accused the BBC of ‘outrageous and irresponsible’ behaviour.
The following morning, less than forty-eight hours before The Leaving of Liverpool was due to be shown, a statement was released by the BBC. A spokesman said, ‘We are now offering this help-line number to viewers. It was always considered and no decision had finally been taken. Today it was decided to display the help-line phone number.’
37
In late June, the Christian Brothers had quietly arranged advertising space in WA’s major newspapers. A message was prepared by Brother Gerald Faulkner, and published on 3 July. The headline, in white on black, read:
THE CHRISTIAN BROTHERS
CHILD CARE INSTITUTIONS
Clontarf (1901–1983); Castledare (1929–1983);
Tardun (1928–1965); Bindoon (1936–1967)
In the statement that followed, the Christian Brothers finally apologized for the physical and sexual abuse suffered by former children in its care:
Such abuse violates the child’s dignity and sense of self-worth. It causes psychological and social trauma that can lead to lasting wounds of guilt, shame, insecurity and problems in relationships.
We, the Christian Brothers of today, therefore unreservedly apologize to those individuals who were victims of abuse in these institutions. We do not condone in any way the behaviour of individual Brothers who may have perpetrated such abuse.
In apologizing, however, we entreat people not to reflect adversely on the majority of Brothers and their co-workers of the era who went about their work with integrity and deep regard for the children entrusted to their care.
The statement went on to launch a spirited, albeit hollow, defence of the child migration schemes and the role played by the Christian Brothers. This, they insisted, was very minor compared to that of the relative governments.
Between 1901 and 1983 some 4,000 boys, mostly orphans, child migrants and State wards, were cared for in Christian Brother institutions in WA.
Most of the children who came to these institutions were from deprived backgrounds. Many were child migrants from the UK and Ireland, brought to Australia in a scheme initiated by the Commonwealth government and with which several voluntary organizations, including the Australian Catholic Church, actively co-operated …
We cannot and do not excuse any abuse that took place in our institutions nor do we wish to minimize in any way the damage caused.
However, for those looking to apportion blame for such incidents, the following must be borne in mind:
The events took place mostly thirty to fifty years ago and many of the people named as accused, victims or witnesses, are dead or unable to be contacted. While the passage of time does not diminish the seriousness of the incidents, it does make it extremely difficult to uncover the full truth; and
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.
ANN PRITCHARD
38
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.
Empty Cradles (Oranges and Sunshine) Page 31