herself walking into the shop after school and picking out a tasty sweet. Her first choice would be a bag of lucky tatties[1] — just like the other kids bought. The taste of the powdered cinnamon sugar as it melted on your tongue was divine. Each one had a prize in it. What would her prize be?
A sudden gust grabbed her demands and sent them scuttling up the lane with the other bits of debris. The gate’s old rusty hinges creaked once again as the school bell rang. Marjorie jumped off and ran across the lane to the schoolyard. She thought of going to the beach instead of to her classroom, but she had on her new birthday dress. A new dress was something to show off. With a quickened step, she headed for the girls’ entrance.
Marjorie is standing in front of the John Street brownstone house in Whitley Bay in 2007. The Cullercoats School that Marjorie attended in 1936, now demolished, was across the alley from the house.
Photo by Patricia Skidmore.
The second bell rang out. Oh no! She should be sitting in her desk. Marjorie tore across the rest of the deserted yard, running like the wind. Seagulls circled overhead, playing in the incessant breeze. Their raucous cries seemed to mock her: “Late again! Late again!”
Why should she care if she was late today? It was her tenth birthday — double digits! She stopped to smooth the dress her mum gave her that morning. It was wrapped up and sitting by her feet when she awoke. It had a pocket that would be perfect to keep a half penny safe until after school. Sadness came over her when she realized that she would not be able to show everyone the treasure in her pocket. Her friends might ask to see her money. What can she say — that she lost it? No, she would say she already spent it. Yes, yes, that would be better. She would say how the tasty sweets melted in her mouth. That was why she was late this morning. Yes! She went to the shop before school.
Winifred Arnison sighed as she watched her daughter cross the schoolyard. The fall term was still new at the Cullercoats Primary School. Her children were finally settling in. Moving so often was not easy for them, and moving schools only added to their distress. And it distressed her because she didn’t know how to explain to them why she was not able to provide them with any security. And now she would have to tell the children that they would be moving yet again. She would try her best to stay in this school district, but she knew she could not promise anything. They all needed some stability in their lives, but there had been no word from her husband for a long while.
Marjorie grabbed at the old brass door handle with two hands as she skidded up to the girl’s entrance at the school. She swung it open and flew in. There were other times when she snuck into her desk after the bell and avoided punishment. Would today be a lucky day too? She dashed down the hallway. Almost safe. Then, yelling out in surprise, she found herself flying head-first down onto the freshly polished floor. Her teacher was about to close the door when the noise in the hallway caught her attention. Marjorie grinned up at her.
“Marjorie! Get up. You are late again! Go to your desk!” The teacher was not impressed. But, really, she thought, what was the use? There was no one to encourage the children in this family to come to school. What can you expect? Many families were in the same boat. It is not the children’s fault. In these troubled times many of the men had left the area to look for work elsewhere. The council had informed the school that Marjorie’s father had deserted this family. Maybe they were better off without him.
She wanted to help these families. Their children were so thin and they had a hungry look about them. She watched Marjorie slip her slight frame into the desk. There was a pleased manner about the girl today. Was it because she avoided the strap? The girl had on a different dress, but her feet were bare and her straight dark hair could use a good brushing.
The front cover of a six-page Child Emigration Society (Fairbridge Society) pamphlet, dated December 1912, which appears to be among the first appeals for money made by the Society. The need “To Safeguard the Empire” is stressed throughout. According to the pamphlet, Britain’s poor and orphaned children are the little soldiers for the job.
University of Liverpool Archives, Special Collections Branch, Fairbridge Archives, D296.F1.
As Marjorie’s teacher, she had taken it upon herself to contact the local attendance officer during the first week of the fall term — something had to be done — but not a word had come back to her yet. She wondered whether it would be appropriate to approach him again. The pamphlets sent to the school by the outfit called the Fairbridge Society[2] intrigued her. Their emigration scheme was very compelling. With the backing of the Royal Family, it had to be a sound program. The Fairbridge Society was one of the many sending agencies emigrating England’s poor children overseas to a better life in the colonies, and the Tyneside area was a good place to gather up children. The high rate of unemployment in the area had taken its toll on many families. Imagine the luck for these children — the opportunity to begin a new life in the colonies, away from their poverty-stricken parents and their bad habits. The Fairbridge farm school scheme was a good one, too. It would give the boys a good education in basic farming and teach the girls all they would need to know about domestic duties.
She had attended the meeting held in Newcastle last September,[3] and believed them when they said that Britain’s big cities were overpopulated, but Whitley Bay certainly was not. However, it rang true when the society’s representatives talked about the devastation of the high unemployment for the area. They argued that Empire migration was the only solution to this unemployment crisis. The Fairbridge Society brochures showed photographs of the already emigrated children living happily in their new countries. Once she saw the pictures, she was certain that it was the right thing to do. She was satisfied that without this type of scheme, some of these Tyneside children would never find a chance to break free from their backgrounds and get out of the slums. Since the Fairbridge Society could accept only those children of good mental and physical standing, they requested the help of the teachers because of their unique position of being able to identify the brighter children of the poor and bring them to the attention of the local council authorities.
Looking down at Marjorie, she felt sure that the children in this family would do just fine if they could get one or two square meals a day and a proper routine. The family moved too often, which simply was not good for the children. When she spoke to the attendance officer, she had assured him that there was nothing wrong with the minds of the children in this family. And, with a good diet and a healthy environment, such as the colonies could offer them, she was certain they would simply flourish. She heard that the families rarely gave up their children on their own — at least, not without a lot of encouragement. Really, she thought, it was the right thing to do. It was her duty to report these children. It did seem like a drastic step though, removing children not only from their families, but from their communities and their country as well. Still, she hoped that she had done the right thing.
Marjorie’s bare feet convinced her. It was the right thing. Winter was coming fast, and barefoot children had a harder time getting to school. She turned to the class and said, “Children, if you have any extra wellies at home, can you please bring them in?”
Marjorie’s cheeks flushed and she felt everyone looked at her, and then at her big sister. It was the first time that she noticed Joyce in the back of the classroom. She tried to hide her feet. Audrey and Kenny were in the infant classes and she expected they would all be teased about their bare feet at recess. It never occurred to Marjorie, however, that her family was not the only one with bare feet or that many of the children with shoes had cardboard placed carefully to cover the worn-out soles.
All too soon, the bell rang to signal the end of recess. Marjorie and Joyce looked at each other. They dropped the skip rope and instead of running to the classroom, they tore down John Street, past their house, hoping their mother wouldn’t see them, and made a beeline to the beach to spend the rest of the day. It was Marjorie’s birthday and they needed to celebrate it properly.
February 2, 1937
Marjorie hung around the school after