A child in care

by SUSAN LEEDHAM

Bourne House pictured in March 2003

Bourne House is now a block of flats and maisonettes, mainly for retired people. But when I lived there, this once grand Georgian mansion was a home run by Kesteven County Council for children in care, that is boys and girls who had been separated from their parents for various domestic, parental and marital differences. I lived there more than thirty years ago and I remember the hostel, firstly because it was next to the police station and secondly because it played such an important part in the formative years of my life.

A few years ago, I returned to Bourne to seek out this place but the old home was gone and it had now assumed its new role but its appearance is so distinctive as to be unforgettable and the memories came flooding back.

Many people have bad memories of being in care yet mine are the opposite and even now it is the strength that I gained during that time that has helped me to progress in life and it is a period that I shall never forget.

I went to live at the hostel in 1969 and was there for about two years. My father served with the Royal Air Force at one of the bomber bases in Lincolnshire and there were problems in the family but I understood little of this because I was only nine years of age. There were 14 children in the hostel and most of us had problems at home of one kind or another, excepting for a brother and sister whose parents had been killed in a car crash, and so they had no home at all.

The main part of the hostel was a long room with a lounge or play area at one end and a dining annexe at the other. I remember on my first day sitting on the sofa in the lounge area with my box of Bunty comics overflowing next to me. I thought if I sat still for long enough and didn't breathe too hard, the pain inside me at being in such a place would stop hurting and I wouldn't cry. I have had overwhelming feelings of abandonment and loneliness that I thought would never leave me. These feelings will no doubt be recognised by anyone who has ever been in care. I didn't speak but when one girl approached me and asked me for a comic, it was too much and I cried bitter tears. I can still recollect those feelings vividly to this day.

The children were looked after by a married couple, Lou and Pat Schmid. They encouraged a family atmosphere in the home and so we called them Uncle Lou and Aunty Pat. They had two children of their own, a boy and girl, who I think were fairly grown up at this time, or seemed so to me at the time. The Schmids had their own quarters in the hostel. Lou was German and for some reason I never ascertained, he practised juggling with Indian clubs every Tuesday evening. The Schmids were assisted by various helpers that we also called "Aunties" who came in during the day and a cook/housekeeper.

Girls and boys had different bedrooms, about three to each, although the eldest girl had her own small attic room. I remember that there were two staircases, one front and one back, and the back stairs were routinely used during the day while the front stairs with their red carpet were reserved for special occasions. Outside in the garden we grew all our own vegetables and fruit and the children would help harvest these from time to time. There were two outside playrooms, one for boys and one for girls and you were allowed to keep a pet, although I didn't.

Some of the girls went to ballet lessons, and a lady came in to teach piano. Another teacher came on a Thursday evening to instruct the girls in needlework and I think the boys were taught woodwork. We used the lido for swimming and never had to pay, just identifying ourselves that we came from the hostel. There was some stigma attached to this and occasionally we would be bullied at the local schools we attended, or elsewhere, because of our background. The other children thought we were different in some way and some of them showed it.

The food was usually good with many items being produced from the fruit and vegetables grown in the hostel's own gardens. I remember blackcurrant pudding and chutney, both of which I hated. Once a week we would have curry and another day spaghetti. We were expected to eat everything on our plates and would often try and pass some to another child if you didn't like the dish of the day although this was not allowed and so we had to do it surreptitiously. If you didn't manage that, we would try to hide the leftovers under our forks and hope it wasn't noticed. We helped with the washing up after meals on a rota basis, but none of us really liked doing this. It was an onerous chore. 

Our clothing, dresses, trousers and so on, were kept in a central store. More personal items were provided by families and all bore name tags. Toiletries were provided by the hostel and I particularly remember Gibbs powdered toothpaste, usually issued to institutional establishments because it was economical. 

We regularly attended the Baptist Church further down West Street and were often invited to tea in the minister's garden where there was a small stream running through and we always had a happy and relaxing time. The Roman Catholic children attended their own church and catechism classes. We also went out on trips in the mini bus, once even going to Lincoln, a place that is now very special to me. On some occasions, we were taken out in the mini bus to a nearby forest that I now know was Bourne Wood. There were very tall trees with wide paths between and they were constantly in shadow because of the dense growth on either side. The ground was covered in thick bracken and there were many clearings where patches of rosebay willow herb and other wild flowers grew. We used to sit there and talk and sometimes play games.

The disused railway line at Toft, on the Stamford Road, was also an attraction for adventurous children, especially the long, dark and empty tunnel where we would play, hiding in the dead men alcoves used by railwaymen whenever a train passed through. There was a rumour that this had been used for the filming of The Railway Children but in later life I discovered that this was a little piece of local folklore and this delightful film was actually shot at the privately owned Keighley and Worth Valley Railway in Yorkshire although whenever I see the film, it always reminds me of those happy times in Bourne.

A doctor came every week and I realise know that she was a child psychologist. She would watch the children play and talk to us. We were allowed pocket money and sometimes could earn a little extra by doing odd jobs. We were also allowed writing paper and stamps to write home. Some times parents came to visit but all too frequently they let you down at the last minute and didn't turn up.

I left the hostel some time in 1970 and returned to my family but I have been back since, drawn there by my experiences, and although the property has now been converted into flats, I had no problems identifying the distinctive building or locating where the playrooms and bedrooms had been.

I am now 42 yrs of age, divorced with four children, ranging in age from 23 to 13. Life has not been easy, but this is not intended to be a sob story. I left home and married when I was 16 and despite being in the top stream at school, I left with few qualifications. When I was divorced, I decided to do what I had always wanted to and try to qualify as a lawyer. I began with an English A level, in which I achieved an A grade. This was followed by an A in law, a B in psychology and a GCSE in maths. I then moved on to graduate with a 2:1 degree from South Bank University in Law and Psychology and am currently taking the legal practice course which I need to qualify as a solicitor. Next year I hope to take my master's degree in legal practice followed by an MSc in Human Rights.

I am now employed as a trainee solicitor by a leading firm of civil liberties lawyers in London with the privilege of working with some of the best lawyers in the country. I could not have achieved any of this without knowing there was something different to the life I experienced at home. My time at the hostel in Bourne was short but even now I treasure those memories and when asked to write this article about my life there and the effect it had upon me, I was pleased and even proud to do so.

WRITTEN MARCH 2003

Go to:     Main Index    Villages Index