3. I should add here, simply as a footnote, that if you did go through with such an arrangement, it would be essential for you and your husband to consider your Wills, and to make specific arrangements therein for the child as you might wish, as otherwise the child would have no rights.
I note that you feel the difficulty is the County Court Judge, in that he holds very strong views in such matters in regard to persons who have been divorced. What I am wondering is whether it would not be practicable, in the circumstances of this new child, to make the application to the Magistrates instead of to the Judge. The Magistrates equally have Jurisdiction on these matters. In either case, whether it be the Judge or Magistrates, they have to consider whether the proposed adoption is in the best interests of the child, and it might be that the Magistrates would not take the same view about an adoption by people who have been previously divorced as the Judge does. You cannot, of course re-apply to the Magistrate in the case which has already been decided by the Judge, but I do not see why the new case could not be put before the Magistrates, who may well have different views on what after all is purely a matter of practical opinion, and not a matter of law.
I know nothing as to any particular mystic affect of the age of forty!
To summarize, therefore, I should be very reluctant to see you enter into any informal arrangement, for the reasons I have given above; but I do not see why you should not try again for a formal adoption before the Magistrates, and in which respect you might, with advantage, consult a local solicitor.
With Kind Regards
Mr Thompson
“He doesn’t sound very encouraging.” Marjorie said.
“Perhaps we should go back and talk to Mrs Barnet the Senior Child Care Officer. See if there are any other options?”
“There are no other options. If Doctor Langdon cannot help us through the back door, then who else can? Even if we find a child they won’t let us legally adopt her. We don’t fit the criteria.”
Marjorie could see that her anguish was causing stress to Arthur, but she so wanted them to be complete to have a child they could nurture together and bring up on their own. She could see now that any attempt to have their own child would be thwarted by the authorities. They would have a life of social services at their back door. What had they done to deserve this she wondered?
MIRIAM 1967
LONDON
THE IDEA OF giving up a baby for adoption was alien to Miriam. The very thought of taking a pregnancy to full term, giving it up and then giving it to someone else you didn’t know, with no contact seemed incomprehensible. She didn’t have the resources to look after a child but what qualified someone else? What if she gave up this child and it ended in a Dr Barnado’s children’s home?
Miriam decided that she needed to know a little more about the process of adoption, so the following day she put on her coat and headed for the local library in Muswell Hill on the High Street. She could feel the cold wind chapping against her cheeks, as she hurried towards the entrance. Inside the library it smelt of books old and new. There was a rather prim and proper lady sitting at the reception doing the filing. There was a quiet hush, despite the loud thunder of traffic outside.
“Can I help you miss?”
“Could you tell me where the public section is, the section where you keep leaflets?” She asked.
“Straight down the far left aisle, at the end. If you need any assistance, just ask.”
Miriam gingerly went down the far aisle and found the section where all the papers and pamphlets were. They were arranged in alphabetical order. She ran her finger down the “A” section and stumbled on a leaflet titled “The National Adoption Society Leaflet Information”. She pulled a chair up to a small booth and sat down and read its’ contents.
“Adoption is a way of providing a child with new legal parents. It ends the legal relationship between birth parents and establishes a new one with the adoptive parents. Adoptions are arranged by adoption agencies, but are made legally binding by the Courts. Once granted, an Adoption Order is final and cannot be undone.”
Miriam turned to the back of the leaflet and there were a number of recommended agencies and social workers to contact. The one that drew her attention was the Golder’s Green Adoption Agency in the Finchley Road. She took the leaflet and stuffed it in her clutch bag, checking around her, to see that no one was looking. She then left the library through the turnstiles and headed for the nearest bus stop. When the bus came, she headed to the front of the bus and took a seat in the corner. She then took out the leaflet and checked the address, 274 Finchley Road. She got off at the bus stop near the tube station and headed northwards, counting the numbers as she went. The entrance to the agency was above a charity shop, up a small flight of stairs.
“How can I help?” said a woman standing in the doorway. Miriam guessed she was in her fifties, quite smartly dressed, with her hair swept back into a scarf.
“I’ve come to speak to someone about adoption.”
“Take a seat.”
Miriam sat down and straightened her skirt. The office was very bland with a small window to the left overlooking the Finchley Road. There were a few books on the bookshelf about adoption and childbirth. The lady in the doorway, closed the door whilst changing the sign to “Interview in Progress” before sitting down opposite her.
“I take it you have come to talk to me about giving a child up for adoption?”
“Yes.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Well I’ve never done this before, I mean been in this situation before. If I were to give up my baby for adoption, would I have any say on where the baby went to? I mean I don’t want the baby to end up in a children’s home.”
“Most children that are adopted, go to extremely good families, who can provide far more, than a single parent can, in your case, I take it, in an unmarried situation. Families adopt because they can’t have their own children and so the adopted child is a very wanted child. We do extensively screen the families that want to adopt and Social Services are required to be involved in the first six months or so. I’m not saying your child couldn’t end up in a children’s home or with foster carers, but we do everything we can to place the child with the appropriate family.” She said tapping her fingers on the desk.
“Will I have to get the Father’s permission to put my baby up for adoption?”
“We recommend that you should get permission, before a Court Order is made.”
“Will I be able to stay in contact?”
“No absolutely not. We need the child to bond with their adoptive parents. Has anyone discussed the process of adoption with you?”
“No.”
“First of all, when you are admitted to hospital, you will be required to inform the nurses, that you are giving up your baby for adoption. The moment your baby is born, it will be taken to a Safe House for six weeks, before being placed for adoption. In your case the baby would be put in the safe custody of a Mrs Bangerter. Social Services will then identify a suitable family for adoption. It will be down to the family, whether or not they want to meet you or not. Most families don’t. You will then receive notification in due course, of an application for an adoption order. You may have the right to claim your baby back, but only in extremely rare circumstances, and I have to warn you that would probably not be in the best interests of the child, the child having now bonded with its’ adoptive parents.”
It took Miriam a while to absorb this information. Her palms were beginning to sweat and she started to rub her tummy.
“I assure you, you would be doing what is in the best interests of the child, in your situation. I am sure you do not need me to make you aware of the alternatives. In the likely event that your child should wish to contact you, they can do so, when they are 18. They will have your name on the birth certificate.”
The lady then handed her some leaflets and wrote down some telephone numbers for Miriam. She put them with
the other leaflets in her bag and stood up.
“Perhaps you should take some time to think about it and then go and see Mrs Bangerter. Her address is on the back.”
When Miriam had said her goodbyes, she went down the stairs, her head heavy with the knowledge she had imparted to her. If only Len wanted this baby, if only he was there to support her, as Patrick had done with her sister? Something was growing inside her, a symbol of the love they had, had for each other. Surely if she had this baby, he would change his mind? She didn’t have to make the decision to adopt, until she got to the hospital. Maybe if he realized her intention to go through with the birth he would come round?
That evening she discussed the days’ events with her sister. She couldn’t go through with an abortion, yet she couldn’t go through with an adoption either. She didn’t look pregnant but she was starting to feel pregnant. She begged her sister to tell her, what her pregnancy had been like and more importantly what the birth was like? She gave her some information but said Miriam wasn’t ready for all the details just yet. She couldn’t make a decision based on her experiences, not just yet.
MARJORIE 1967
LONDON
MARJORIE WAS ABSOLUTELY desperate to have the only thing they couldn’t have, a baby. They continued with their quest and went to see Mrs Barnet, the senior child care officer at the local family advice centre. She said some people advertised babies in Newsagent windows, which of course she condemned, but it stuck in Marjorie’s mind. One day in April 1967, she was chewing over the hopelessness of their attempts so far and suddenly decided that this was the only course left. Orthodox methods were fruitless.
She didn’t know where to go, but for some reason, decided on Muswell Hill. She drove there and stopped near the first newsagents, she came to. It was called Cummins and there were a lot of advertisements in the window. She scanned them and there were some, for daily child minders, but nothing more. So she went inside. There was an oldish sensible looking woman in the shop serving some customers.
Marjorie waited until the shop was empty and then approached the counter. The woman was replenishing the cigarette shelves with some Benson and Hedges. The woman would probably think she was some pervert, Marjorie thought, but she had to ask.
“Excuse me? Do you get any advertisements asking for people to look after a baby permanently?”
“I’m sorry, I really don’t read the advertisements much. I think it is unlikely.”
She paused, whilst rearranging the day’s papers. Her eyes were scanning Marjorie, trying to read her intentions. She was so desperate for any information the lady could give her. She really had run out of options.
“Is that what you are hoping to do?” She asked.
“Yes, my husband and I are both over forty and we have been turned down by the Adoption Agency, even as long term foster carers by the children’s officer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Oh don’t be. It’s just we’re running out of alternatives. For some reason I had it in my mind that some mothers would want to put up their child for a private adoption.”
The woman hesitated and then beckoned her to the back of the shop and started to speak to her in a whisper. There was still no one else in the store.
“Listen, I don’t know your circumstances, but you look a nice enough lady. I know someone who looks after babies, for the first six weeks after leaving hospital before they go to the Adoption Society. It’s a long shot, but as fortune would have it my son is marrying this woman’s daughter soon.”
“Oh my goodness, you don’t know how grateful I am.” Marjorie exclaimed.
She scribbled down on a piece of paper the address “Mrs Bangerter, 41 Ridgeway Avenue, Barnet” and handed it to Marjorie.
“Tell her that Mrs Bouchard, that’s me, recommended you go and see her.”
“Thank you so much. I don’t know how much I can thank you.” Marjorie said.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up too soon.”
As Marjorie exited the shop she looked up to the skies. There was a God out there she thought, who was finally answering her prayers.
She talked to Arthur about it that evening and they decided to try it. She rang Mrs Bangerter and arranged to go and see her. She explained the whole rigmarole to her, and she said her daughter was getting married in a few weeks and she wasn’t looking after any more babies, until that was over. Arthur and Marjorie were going to Austria on 18th June for two weeks, so she was to ring her when they got back. They kept in touch.
MIRIAM 1967
LONDON
OVER THE FOLLOWING months, Miriam decided to distract herself by getting a job in Harrods. The pay was lousy and the hours were long, but it meant that she could pay her way. Every morning she would catch the crowded commuter underground from Muswell Hill to Knightsbridge, changing at King’s Cross on to the Piccadilly Line. She had a job working in the ladies department, which meant being on her feet most of the day. At night time she was exhausted. Her sister would always cook her something to eat, when she got back to the flat. Charlotte was nearly eight months now and Miriam got to fuss over and play with her.
“Have you decided what you are going to do sis?”
“I don’t know. Part of me thinks Len will come round. I can’t go through an abortion now I’ve seen Charlotte grow.”
“You need to talk to Len, or get David to. It’s his child as well. His daughters are going to want to know if they have a sibling. Secrets are terrible things sis.”
She did phone Len a couple of times. Often, he was too busy to take her calls, busy on some new development project. Her tummy was beginning to show now and she was having difficulty at work in disguising it. She would often wear jackets that were nipped under her chest, so that you couldn’t see the rounded form underneath. She tried not to eat for two, so that she could delay handing in her notice at Harrods for as long as possible. Every now and then she would feel the baby move inside her. She felt at times hugely maternal and at other times a huge need to detach herself from this baby. She could not afford to have feelings, less she should have to give this baby away.
Keeping her pregnancy secret from her parents was the hardest thing of all. They wanted to make a trip to come over and see their new grand daughter Charlotte. Under no circumstances could they find out about her pregnancy. Their loyalty to Catholicism forbade it. In the end Orla, made a trip to Ireland to see them, which they thought was slightly odd.
“If you see Len, can you talk to him? I can’t bear to phone him again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
When Orla got back from Ireland Miriam was six months pregnant. Patrick was down the local pub, having his constitutional pint of Guinness. Orla and Miriam were sat out on the balcony at the back with Charlotte in the push chair playing with the rattle.
“She has got your eyes you know.”
“And Patrick’s hair.”
“Did you see Len?” Miriam asked. Her sister paused whilst gently rocking the push chair back and forth.
“He’s not seeing anyone else, you know. I think he feels that you trapped him. I told him that wasn’t the case, that I thought you still had feelings for him. He says, he still has feelings for you, but he already has two children and he doesn’t want any more. I think he thinks it will get in the way of his businesses.”
Miriam suddenly felt very alone. None of this was meant to have happened. She had, had ambitions of her own, to become a fashion designer. Where had it all gone so wrong? It was time to see Mrs Bangerter. She reached in to her bag and took out the number the lady at the Adoption agency had given to her. She made an appointment to meet her at the house, the following Wednesday. She was only a few streets way.
That day, when she went round to her house, she was shown in to the living room with about six cots lined up in it, most of the babies asleep. There was one baby who was crying and a young girl picked up the baby and began to feed her. They all looked so peaceful in that room.
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“I normally look after babies after they have been delivered, for the first six weeks, before they are placed with their adoptive families. It’s a tiring job, but very rewarding.”
“Do you ever get people asking for private adoptions?” Miriam asked. She had heard that some people arranged private adoptions so they could meet the adoptive parents and so give up their babies for adoption safe in the knowledge that their babies had gone to a good home and not a Children’s Home.
“We do get some enquiries. This practice is not strictly legal mind, but come to think of it I did meet a lady recently who is desperate for a child. I think the adoption agency wouldn’t let her adopt, because she is a little over the age limit to adopt, which seemed a little harsh. I’ll make some further enquiries if you want me to?”
“Yes do.” Her own mother had been in her forties when she had Miriam and she didn’t see a problem with that.
“Do I have to make a decision now?”
“You’ll need to let the Hospital know when you start the contractions, let them get in contact with me.”
“Thanks.”
On the 4th September 1967, Miriam was tidying around the house as usual, when her contractions started. They kept coming every ten minutes in huge waves. She was feeling nauseous. Her sister had gone out with Charlotte for a walk in the park. She was terrified. No one had prepared her for this amount of pain. She grabbed a coat and hung it on the banisters as the next contraction came. She needed to get to the hospital, but had to wait for this contraction to pass, before she could get down the stairs. Where was her sister when she needed her?
As Miriam stumbled out on to the street, she had to crouch down again on the pavement as the next contraction came.
“Are you alright luv? You look in pain.”
“I think I’m in labour.”
“Just hold it right there, I’ll get a taxi.”
With that the man ran off and hailed a cab. He bundled Miriam into the taxi and told him to take her to St Mary’s in Paddington, that he was to drive carefully as it would appear that she was in the throws of childbirth. She clung on to the handle bar in the taxi and let out a small scream every time there was a contraction. This baby wanted out in a real hurry. She didn’t know if she was going to make it to the hospital. Her sister never told her the pain was going to be this bad.
Abandoned Love Page 11