Alice tucked her gloved hands inside her cape as she walked, head bent against the wind, into one of the high-gated entrances. She wove her way between the frosted headstones, most of which had fallen into disrepair, and the unmarked, weed-covered shared plots. She stopped when she reached the final resting place of Hetty Woods, who had been buried in the presence of her family, a small number of neighbours and Alice herself, four weeks earlier.
A large number of those buried in the cemetery had been too poor to cover the cost of their own plot, and so were lowered into shared public graves, where they would rest for eternity alongside several unrelated others. Alice had seen to it that the cost of Hetty’s plot was covered by the hospital Samaritan Fund, along with a small granite headstone carved with her name.
It wasn’t unusual for the almoners to pay their respects to patients who had outlived all those they knew, or perhaps those whose relatives were lying low to avoid footing the bill. By sending the lonely off with some reverence and dignity, they hoped to redress the balance of their withered lives.
Crouching down, the almoner laid a small bunch of daffodils on the mound of freshly dug earth.
From Bow, Alice travelled west to Harrow, where she spent an enjoyable hour with Tilda and her family. Ted, who had been invited to stay with his daughter by the owners of the large cottage on the proviso that he took on the responsibility for maintaining the gardens and the owner’s newly purchased motor car, greeted Alice with a smile, his newborn granddaughter, Clara, cradled in his arms.
Before journeying back to the Royal Free, the almoner stopped off at Dock Street. It was her second visit in four weeks, having accompanied police officers soon after Charlotte’s disclosure, who were charged with apprehending her father – legislation passed in 1908 meant that sexual abuse by a family member was an official matter, and no longer one to be dealt with solely by the Church. Mrs Redbourne had fainted in shock, according to the report Alice later filed with Bess Campbell, the woman hysterically beating her husband with a poker as police officers led him away.
Humbled by his arrest and her exposure as a woman with several different income streams, Mrs Redbourne quietly admitted Alice into the house on this latest occasion, her head bowed. She scurried off to the kitchen as Alice checked the skin of the younger children to make sure that their scabies infection had cleared up, returning with a hot but greasy cup of tea.
‘I can see no trace of the infection now,’ Alice said after taking a tiny sip of the drink. An awkward air prevailed in the living room, alleviated to a degree when Alice knelt on the floor and played with four-year-old Jack, who appeared to have calmed since the removal of his father.
Half an hour later, when Alice pulled on her hat and gloves and walked to the door, Mrs Redbourne followed her and asked: ‘Will I – I mean, is there any chance of Charlotte coming home anytime soon?’ Without her mask of brusque resentment in place, the woman appeared smaller, more vulnerable.
The almoner turned at the end of the hall. Adopting a non-committal tone, she said: ‘I am not without sympathy for your situation, Mrs Redbourne, but I believe it is in Charlotte’s best interests to reside elsewhere, at least for now.’
Fierceness returned to the woman’s stance. Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘How was I to know what was going on? I mean, I knew about the Tokyo, course I did. That bastard took every spare penny we had and stuck it up his nose, but I could go along with that. Least it kept him more cheerful and out from under my feet. But she’s my girl. If I’d of had any idea about …’ Her hands clenched into fists. She folded them beneath her bosom, her lips tight with fury. ‘Surely you realise that? I can’t be blamed for something I didn’t even know about, can I?!’
Alice’s expression softened. She patted the woman on the arm, and suddenly her expression crumpled. Her lips puckered and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn’t want her ways corrupting the others, see. I thought it was wayward behaviour, and that has a way of rubbing off. I never would of chucked her out if I’d known the truth. But she never said nothing to let me know any different. Why didn’t she say nothing?!’
‘It’s often the way, I’m afraid. Fear of breaking up the family. Shame. It’s a toxic mix.’
Mrs Redbourne nodded. ‘Well, now I know what it was all about, my heart wants out of my chest, it’s so broken.’
Alice gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. ‘Both you and Charlotte have a lot to come to terms with. A reunion is something that we should aim towards, perhaps when Charlotte is sufficiently recovered.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As the years pass I realise increasingly how many things there are that I cannot do, persons I cannot help … But there are a few things I can do. I can take off my hat to … Lady Almoners … when I see a beautiful piece of work. The almoner is an artist in human relations. We must learn from you here.
(American physician Richard Cabot on the work of the St Thomas’s Hospital almoners, 1918)
On what would prove to be the warmest day of the following month, with 67 degrees Fahrenheit being observed on the temperature dial of Kew Observatory, Alice signed herself in for the last time at the gatekeeper’s lodge of Banstead Mental Hospital.
It was 10 a.m. on Friday, 14 April 1922, and although the last fortnight had been unseasonably cold, the heathland surrounding the hospital was alive with signs of spring. Around the perimeter of the grounds, the faded browns and greys of winter were giving way to vibrant shades of green. The song of the sparrows nesting in the alcove of the clock tower looming over the main entrance to the hospital and beneath the pediment displaying the four scimitars of the Middlesex county shield was perhaps more noticeable on that day. The fruit trees on the farmland tended by the patients beyond the main hospital building were beginning to blossom, and newborn lambs grazed over the open heath.
By the time Alice reached the main entrance, Charlotte had been escorted onto the cobbled driveway. At the almoner’s appearance, the starched nurse standing at the teenager’s side gave her a brief hug, then disappeared inside.
Without preamble, Charlotte said: ‘The detective says Dad’s gone?’
The almoner nodded. ‘He’s being dealt with.’ Charlotte winced, but Alice patted her arm. ‘There is nothing for you to regret, Charlotte. You have been very brave.’
The girl blinked in the sunlight, regarding Alice with hesitation. ‘And Mum?’
‘I have spoken to her. She was horrified by the revelation.’
Tears filled Charlotte’s eyes. ‘She’s angry with me?’
Alice gripped her upper arms. ‘Not at all. She wants to see you, but I have suggested we give it some time.’
‘Does she know about Daisy?’
The almoner dropped her arms and pressed her lips together. ‘I didn’t say anything. It’s for you to decide if and when to tell her. But, come, let’s discuss this another time. We have things we must do.’ As Alice guided Charlotte away, the teenager took one last look over her shoulder. Behind her, a heavy bolt rattled noisily into its latch.
Alice and Charlotte arrived at Fenchurch Street at midday on the morning of the 14th. As they neared Elizabeth’s house, Charlotte slowed her step and gave Alice an anxious glance. As the almoner had done almost fifteen weeks earlier, she slipped her arm through Charlotte’s and guided her gently up the steps.
Dr Harland opened the door and gave the pair a rare smile. Charlotte returned an approximation of a smile, her mouth trembling. She clutched Alice’s hand tightly and followed her into the hall, but at the sound of a small mewing cry she broke free and ran towards it in a rush.
Elizabeth was standing at the far end of the living room by the window. Charlotte hesitated in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the baby wrapped in a shawl in the older woman’s arms. Elizabeth gave her a twitchy smile and moved towards her. ‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ she said, her voice husky and strained.
‘She’s so beautiful!’ Charlotte cried when Elizabeth reached her. She leaned forwa
rd and looked down at the baby, tears running freely down her cheeks.
The baby stared sleepily up at the new arrival with puzzled eyes. Charlotte put her hand over her mouth, gave a half-laugh, half-cry, and then reached out her arms. Carefully, after a moment of hesitation, Elizabeth handed the baby over.
Faced with the prospect of losing Daisy entirely, the older woman had agreed that Charlotte should take over the two rooms on the top floor of her extensive property. No charge would be made for board and lodging, Elizabeth assured Alice, as long as her high standards of cleanliness and hygiene were maintained, and all housekeeping duties were diligently taken care of.
Charlotte stared in mute wonder at her daughter’s face, Elizabeth watching on with a stoic, somewhat watery smile. The teenager planted a kiss on the baby’s forehead, pulled back with a look of adoration on her face, then stroked her cheek and kissed her all over again. Alice and Dr Harland watched the reunion from the doorway.
They left the house just after half past twelve, Alice closing the door quietly behind her. Falling into step beside Peter Harland, she could perhaps be content that in the course of her first year working the district, she had, in the words of the St Thomas’s almoner, Anne Cummins, most certainly done more good than harm.
References
Charlotte’s case: ‘A.B. was referred to hospital at fifteen years old by a Rescue Society after being sexually assaulted by her own father’. Her baby, when born, was boarded out ‘in a delightful home in the country’ and arrangements were made for the girl to visit as soon as she was well (London Metropolitan Archive (LMA) reference H1/ST/A59/C/1).
‘Charlotte will go to Banstead Asylum voluntarily’: the Mental Treatment Act of 1931 allowed for voluntary boarders within mental hospitals, although some hospitals, such as the Maudsley in London, were already admitting self-referring patients (The Hospital Almoner: A Brief Study of Hospital Social Science in Great Britain).
Hetty’s case: ‘[The almoner] helps cancer patients to whom the hospital can no longer be of benefit’ (LMA reference H1/ST/J2/1); ‘Two patients who are suffering from advanced cancer have been visited and cheered in their homes, and have been reconciled to going to one of the Homes for the Dying. Other similar cases are at present being visited’ (Memorandum by Almoner respecting the Work of her Department during 1904, LMA reference H71/RF/R/01/001).
The St Thomas’s Hospital Annual Almoner’s Report of 1924 was to highlight the case of an almoner who suspected that heartbreak over a long estrangement with her son was the root cause of one of her patient’s many illnesses. The almoner went to great efforts to reunite the pair and the patient, who made a full recovery, later said of the almoners: ‘Not only do they heal sore bodies, but also heal sore hearts’ (LMA reference H1/ST/A59/C/1).
Jimmy’s case: ‘M.N. an uneasy looking gentleman who stated that he was a lorry driver but on enquiry was found to possess a fleet of lorries, his own car and a very excellent house’ (LMA reference H1/ST/A59/C/1).
Also rejected for treatment was a young man ‘who stated that he was out of work’ but on investigation was found to be ‘the son of a master tailor, employing, even in the slack season, nine men and four or five girls’ and living in an ‘exceedingly comfortable’ home.
Another young patient’s father was ‘an East End merchant in a large way of business, who considered that “as the hospital has thousands of pounds, he might as well have some of them”’.
And then there was ‘A.P. suffering from bronchitis, stated that his doctor had urged him to come to the hospital … He owned a coffee house, his takings averaging £12 a week. He told the almoner “that he had paid a consultant’s fee of 4 guineas on one occasion, and was therefore ‘entitled’ to hospital treatment for the rest of his life!”’ (British Medical Journal (Supplement), 5 February 1910, from a speech by Mrs E. W. Morris at a meeting of the Kensington Division of the Metropolitan Counties Branch of the British Medical Association.
Winnie (secretarial help given voluntarily): ‘A good deal of voluntary help has been given, one lady coming two mornings weekly to help with the secretarial work whenever she is in town’ (LMA reference H71/RF/R/01/001).
Alexander Hargreaves: The philanthropist is a character loosely drawn from the businessman Mr Harford Green, a fundraiser, magistrate and philanthropist who was charged with the indecent assault of a fifteen-year-old girl in 1925.
In an echo of the crimes that were to be committed by Jimmy Savile a century later, Mr Green used his fundraising efforts for St Thomas’s Hospital as a cover to gain the trust of those he groomed.
In the trial that followed, the full details of Green’s crimes would emerge; the jury heard that once the philanthropist had managed to lure the girls to his home, he claimed that he was able to project their figures onto a screen using a ‘wonderful wireless invention’. They were told that, for this new invention to work, they had to undress.
Once naked, he carefully and attentively measured their vital statistics (although he never bothered to make a note of the measurements) and then dismissed them from the premises. One witness, a fifteen-year-old girl, would tell the court that he offered her six guineas to pose naked for him, and eight if she danced as well. According to her testimony, the philanthropist told her that she had a lovely figure.
The jury would find Harford Green guilty of improper assault, although he was to be praised in court for the restraint he had shown in not committing a more grievous crime.
See article entitled ‘Wireless Pictures of Girls – Charges Against Hospital Fund Secretary’, Evening Telegraph, Thursday, 4 February 1926.
Male visitors to Banstead Hospital – on the discovery of a body in the grounds of one of the Surrey psychiatric hospitals in the 1980s, detectives from the Metropolitan Police arrived to investigate and found dozens of lone men lining up to go inside. Officers were told by locals that the men turned up regularly to take female patients out.
Acknowledgements
Firstly I would like to thank my wonderful agent, Laetitia Rutherford, for championing me and getting me to dig deeper every time I send a draft her way. I am so grateful for all the help, support and encouragement she’s given me over the years, as well as her gentle humour in steering me away from some of my wackier ideas and onto sensible projects instead.
Huge thanks also to the lovely Vicky Eribo for the opportunities she’s given me as well as her warmth and support, and to the rest of the team at HarperCollins.
I am obliged to David Chave for being an enthusiastic and helpful sounding board, to Liz Foster, Derek Sims and Hannah Brown for giving feedback on the manuscript, and to my late aunt, Sylvie, for her insight into nursing and hospital procedures in years gone by.
Lastly, thanks to my amazing family for their unwavering love: Irene, Philip, Paul, Pete, Jean, Toria and Alex, and to my three children, Hannah, Daniel and Lexi.
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Letters from Alice Page 24