Emily Vanstone stared out of the window. It was raining and the garden beyond looked damp and depressing. On the desk in front of her was a brochure showing a wide and open landscape, basking in warm sunshine. At the top were the words, EVER-Care taking children to a better world and a better life.
It was ten years since she, Emily Vanstone, spinster daughter of the late George Vanstone, sister-in-law of Sir Edward Sherrington and pillar of the Crosshills Methodist Church, had set up a charity to rescue children whom she described as ‘Guttersnipes’ from their poor and feckless families.
When her father, George Vanstone, mill-owner and philanthropist, died, he left his money in four equal parts. One quarter went to each of his three daughters, Amelia, Emily and Maud. The last quarter of his substantial estate was in a trust to be administered jointly by Emily and by Maud’s husband, solicitor, Martin Fielding, ‘for the benefit of those in need’. And who could be in more need than children who lived in the gutter?
Emily had visited Amelia and her brother-in-law, Sir Edward Sherrington, to tell them of her grand scheme. Not to ask them to contribute financially, that would have been a pointless exercise, but to use them in an entirely different way. What was the use of having an aristocratic brother-in-law if you didn’t take advantage of the fact on occasion? She had told Amelia she wanted to discuss something with them and Amelia had, rather reluctantly, asked her to dinner.
‘My orphanage will give these girls a home,’ Emily explained.
‘Girls only?’ interjected Amelia.
‘Certainly girls only,’ replied Emily. ‘It’s girls who need rescuing before they are dragged into prostitution… or worse.’
‘Is there anything worse?’ wondered Amelia vaguely.
Emily ignored her and went on, ‘They will be fed and clothed, but more importantly, they’ll be taught good Christian values. They will learn to work and they will learn to pray. They will learn to behave as a good citizen should. They will learn their place in life. They will not slide into a life of crime like their parents. The home will be run on strict principles, there’ll be no laxity, only strict discipline will turn these street Arabs into upright and worthwhile citizens. Early rescue is the key. Haul them out of the gutter before it’s too late.’
Sir Edward looked at the middle-aged woman in front of him, her greying hair swept back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, her eyes holding a fanatical gleam, and thought, Emily’s a real chip off the old block.
Despite his superiority in education and social standing, Edward Sherrington had been in awe of his father-in-law, and though he would never admit it, even to himself, he was a little afraid of his formidable sister-in-law as well.
George Vanstone had had no sons, but Emily was as shrewd a business woman as ever her father had been. The mills still turned and produced increasing profits, and Emily had refused to hand over the reins to either of her brothers-in-law. This suited them all. Neither man wanted to be linked to ‘trade’ and provided their wives received their share of the profits, they had little inclination to interfere, leaving Emily able to do much as she pleased. She had invested in numerous projects, and now, Sherrington thought, she’s investing in children.
‘I’ve talked to Martin about it,’ Emily continued, ‘and he agrees that I can set up an orphanage with the money Father left in the trust. I’ve already heard of a suitable house. It’s in Russell Green, just over Russell Bridge. Martin and I are going to see it tomorrow.’
Edward Sherrington shrugged. ‘Well, you’re the trustees,’ he said. ‘Just as long as you don’t expect me to put money into it.’
‘No, Edward,’ Emily said smoothly, ‘not your money.’ Not that it is your money, she thought, it’s Amelia’s, but she won’t put any in either. ‘Not your money, Edward, your name.’
‘My name?’ Edward looked startled.
‘I want you to be the patron. You know, with your name as patron on the headed notepaper.’
‘Well, I don’t know…’
‘A baronet would look very well on a letterhead, don’t you think?’ remarked Emily, turning to her sister. No harm in reminding Edward that he had traded his title for their money.
‘Indeed,’ Amelia agreed. She was far too clever to remind Ned what he owed her; she was quite happy with the bargain. Moving in the upper echelons of society as Lady Sherrington, she wanted reminders of her lowly origins as little as Ned did. However, she also enjoyed playing Lady Bountiful, and the thought of the Sherrington name on the letterhead of a charitable foundation was a tempting one.
‘You know, Ned,’ she went on, ‘Emily’s right. It would look very well.’
Edward actually agreed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you invite me to be your patron, I can hardly decline, can I? But,’ he looked at Emily over the rim of his wine glass, ‘it’s all I will do. I’ll have no other part in this venture. Is this understood between us, Emily?’
‘Oh, absolutely, Edward,’ replied Emily, suppressing a smile. The last thing she wanted was Ned meddling in her affairs. ‘I’ll ask you for nothing else, I promise.’
The next morning Martin Fielding collected Emily and they drove out to Russell Green to look at the house she had found. Laurel House. As soon as she saw it, Emily was sure it would suit her perfectly. It was a substantial, rather ugly Victorian house standing in a large garden, the front of which was surrounded by the high laurel hedge that gave the house its name. Built in grey stone, its bleak exterior was made even more austere by a squat tower at one end. In the 1920s someone had added a brick-built wing, making the house an ‘L’, and providing some much needed kitchen space. At the back was a much larger garden, with a shaggy lawn and overgrown kitchen garden, beyond which was an orchard, surrounded by a high stone wall. Clearly it hadn’t been lived in for some time.
The heavy door creaked open reluctantly and they stepped inside. Immediately Emily began assessing Laurel House’s possibilities. Taking a notebook and pencil from her handbag, she began to make notes, already seeing the house as it would be, once it was furnished ready for the children.
The entrance hall was wide and high with a staircase that rose to the floor above in a broad sweep. Downstairs there were several reception rooms, including a morning room and a study. The old kitchen had been turned into a laundry, and from it a door led down into a large cellar that ran the length of the house. Emily did not venture into the cellar, merely opening the door and peering down into the gloom, but she was pleased to know it was there, offering plenty of storage space. The kitchen in the new wing was adequate and as she wandered through the empty rooms, Emily became certain that this was the house for her orphanage.
‘We’ll buy it,’ she announced to Martin. ‘It’s perfect. We can easily accommodate at least thirty children in here. Maybe more.’
‘My dear Emily, we can’t rush into this, you know,’ Martin said, concerned. He thought it a dreadful house, grey and forbidding. Much time, effort and money would have to be spent on it to make it habitable. ‘We need to consider long and hard before we decide. There may be other houses that would be even better. It would be stupid to buy the first one we saw.’
Emily turned on him at once. ‘Martin,’ she said briskly, ‘we’ve agreed to use the trust money for an orphanage. This house provides all we need, there is no point in waiting.’
‘It will take a while… all the legalities of setting up a charity,’ Martin pointed out.
‘That’s your job,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You sort out the legalities, and all the other paperwork. That’s why Father made you a trustee. You arrange the purchase of the house, I’ll get the work started.’
It had all taken longer than Emily had envisaged, but she spared no one in her determination to get the orphanage up and running. She did not squander money on furnishing the place. She had the walls painted, but kept to dark colours that wouldn’t show the dirt. She bought metal beds with thin mattresses, which were now crammed, six to a room, in the five bedrooms upstairs. Long wooden tables and hard wooden chairs furnished the dining room, the erstwhile drawing room, and two second-hand sofas and some ancient easy chairs were in the newly designated ‘playroom’. In the kitchen were a heavy duty kitchen table, a deep Belfast sink and a solid fuel range. There were several cupboards set against the walls and some shelves which housed an assortment of pots and pans.
Emily proudly showed Martin a new gas cooker standing in the corner. ‘Two stoves, you see? Plenty of room to cook for thirty children.’
‘Who’s going to do the cooking?’ Martin asked.
‘Oh, the children will prepare their own meals,’ Emily said. ‘Under supervision of course. But the whole point is that it will be part of their training, you see. We’re going to teach these creatures to become useful citizens.’
The orphanage had opened a few weeks later, with fourteen children and a live-in staff of four. Three, the matron, the cook and a housemaid, lived in bed-sitting rooms built into the loft above the kitchen, and the superintendent in a small flat at the top of the tower. The children were sent from an overflowing home several miles away.
Over the years the home had been run with strict discipline and at minimal cost. The children cooked, cleaned, mended and tended the garden. They were fed and clothed and went to the local schools until they were fourteen, when they were found a job and expected to hand in their pay packet at the end of each week. At sixteen, if they had a job, they were allowed to leave the house, and most of them did. Many of them went into service, where they lived in, all found, and were only paid minimal wages. A few chose to stay at Laurel House and go out daily to jobs in shops, or as live-out domestics, but they were expected to hand over half their pay packet to the orphanage for their keep.
The numbers grew, the home always full, and Emily Vanstone considered buying another house. She was actively looking for something suitable, when she received a letter that turned her attention to Australia. Her cousin, Daphne, had married an Australian service man, Joe Manton, after the war, and gone to live in Carrabunna, a small town north-west of Sydney. It was she, writing to Emily, who mentioned a nearby farm school that took children from the slums in England and taught them to be farmers.
I thought you might send some of your orphans here, Daphne wrote. It’s a beautiful country and it would be a new start for them, away from evils of the city.
‘Australia?’ snapped Edward when she told him.
‘Yes. Fairbridge and Dr Barnardo’s have been doing it for years.’
‘Yes,’ scoffed her brother-in-law, ‘but they are large and well-known societies, not a small orphanage like yours.’
‘We may be small, Edward, but we are well respected,’ retorted Emily, adding in a more conciliatory tone, ‘due, doubtless, to your patronage.’
‘But, Emily,’ Amelia said, staring at her sister in amazement, ‘will the parents let you send their children to Australia?’
‘Most of my children don’t have parents,’ replied Emily, ‘and the parents of those who do signed legal guardianship over to me when they put their children in my care. Martin drew up all the papers, and we made sure they were watertight. I am their legal guardian. I can send whoever I want wherever I want. It’s all arranged. The house is bought and I’m going over to get it all set up.’
‘You’re going to Australia?’ Edward was incredulous.
‘Certainly,’ agreed Emily, ‘I leave next week.’
Emily Vanstone had sailed for Australia, and when she returned six months later, the EVER-Care migrant home was ready to receive its first children. Though she’d had to change her ‘farm school’ idea, something she had realized that Daphne and Joe were in no way equipped to run, she had set out the principles on which the Australian home was to be organized. She had no doubt that the children who were sent there would benefit from the same firm regime as at Laurel House. Law-abiding, hard-working citizens would emerge… and be a credit to her and the EVER-Care name.
Laurel Farm, Carrabunna, was established. Though not a farm as such, it sought to feed itself as far as was possible, and the labour was supplied by its inmates. For three years Emily had, without any consultation, sent children from her orphanage twelve thousand miles across the world to a new country and a new life. She had never again visited the Australian EVER-Care home, leaving the running of it to Daphne and Joe Manton, in whom she had complete confidence. However, she liked to have her finger on the pulse of all her enterprises and she kept in close contact by letter. Then Hitler intervened and the child migration scheme was put on hold.
The war changed everything. There were even more children needing a home, children orphaned by the war, and EVER-Care accepted them all. The flow of children continued, not least because Emily Vanstone had a new admirer: a new member of the congregation at the Crosshills Methodist Church. Miss May Hopkins. Miss Hopkins was the social worker for the local council in charge of children’s affairs. She admired the zealous and philanthropic Miss Vanstone greatly, and whenever she had children to place in care, it was to the EVER-Care home at Laurel House that she turned first.
The end of the war had also brought a change of government and with it plans for a new welfare system. Things began to change. There was a shift in public thinking and the new Children’s Departments were expected to explore other ways of providing care for needy children. Different arrangements were to be made and the newly appointed Children’s Officers were placing such children with foster families rather than residential homes like Laurel House. Miss Hopkins was expected to do the same. Public opinion on the child migration scheme had changed too. People began to think that perhaps children as young as three should not be plucked from all that was familiar and shipped off to the other side of the world. English children should be brought up in England. Sir Edward Sherrington’s thoughts that the riff-raff should be sent somewhere else, preferably as far away as possible, were no longer publicly expressed.
Miss Hopkins did not agree with the changes, and whenever possible she still sent girls in need of care to Laurel House. From what she’d just said on the phone, it sounded to Emily as if she might soon have two new inmates for Laurel House.