Home Children: Canadian History by Leanne Dyck

 In 2011, the Canadian government designated September 28 as British Home Children day. 

Paul Henderson, “British Home Children: BC women reflect on shameful period in Canadian history”, The Free Press, September 28, 2019

Who were the "Home Children"?

Socio-economic disadvantaged children were torn from their families and brought to a foreign land--Canada. Some were welcomed into loving families. Others... Others faced overwhelming cruelty. And yet... And yet...

photo by ldyck

Home Children

In the mid-1800s [,during the Industrial Revolution,] many children in the United Kingdom lacked adequate care. They were hungry, sometimes resorting to stealing, and many were living on the streets—think of the works of Charles Dickens. Even children living with their parents in the workhouses were not much better off, often worked 14-hour days or more with little food. Many died before they reached 20. [1] [And, as a result of the revolution, t]raditional extended families were broken up and many moved to urban areas to find work and a better life. And so, if anything happened to one of the parents, there was no immediate family nearby to take them in. [T]here was no social system in place to help [the families] through...difficult circumstances. [2]

Independently, several people of different religious backgrounds came to the same conclusion: the problem could not be solved in Britain. These children had to be removed from the streets and given food and clothing. They had to be taught to read and write, given work skills and solid religious training, then sent abroad where farm labour was desperately needed. They had no future in England, Ireland or Scotland…

Maria Susan Rye...arrived in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, in 1869 with a group of 68 children taken from the poorhouses of London and Liverpool. They were initially housed in a converted jail which Maria had brought with her own money and renamed Our Western Home. [Maria was the first of many women and men who brought groups of children from Britain to Canada.]

More than 80,000 children (some scholars even say 100,000), mostly ages 9 to 14 but some scarcely 3 years old, were sent...between 1869 and 1939. None of them was accompanied by a parent.

They were regarded as orphans, even though two-thirds had at least one parent who was still alive. [3][And, in fact, h]ome children were often told that their parents were dead so that they could break their emotional ties more easily. [1]

Sometimes [placing the children in these homes]...was meant to be a temporary solution until the family got back on their feet and there are cases on record where some parents went back to pick their children up, only to find that they had already been sent away. Sometimes the parents received an ‘after sailing’ notification, informing them that their children had been emigrated a week before. [2]

[The children were shipped] overseas to Canada with bright promises of a better life, with a home, a family, fresh air, and healthy food. [3]

Once in Canada, the children were sent to receiving homes right across the country until farmers picked them up or they were sent on their destinations with a cardboard sign around their necks. There were at least seven applicants for every child shipped to this country. [2] [The] farmers completed a Form of Indenture. [1] The terms would require the children to be housed, fed, clothed and sent to school. A small fee would be paid for fostering younger children, older children would help with chores, and more extended labour would be required from adolescents. At 18, the terms of indenture were to be discharged. [2]

[S]ome children did...find homes and families in Canada, others found nothing but poverty and misery. While many were well treated, many others experienced appalling living and working conditions and even in some cases psychological, physical or sexual violence. [3]

Children could be ‘returned’ and reassigned. Many were moved from one farm to another. Some ran away or simply disappeared, some died from ill-health or injuries resulting form neglect and abuse, some committed suicide…

[T]he belief in eugenics that was running rampant throughout the UK and North America caused children to be considered inferior stock to their Canadian counterparts. They were stigmatized as such, merely because they were poor and needed help. In communities where these children were meant to be fostered and nurtured, they were often taunted and made to feel shame for being a Home Boy or Home Girl. [2] [They] were shamed about their origins, shamed about parents who couldn’t care for them, and taught that a better life meant turning away from their primal identity of family. [4] This shame caused many Home Children to remain silent about their backgrounds their entire lives [2] [and is responsible for] a spate of suicides in the 1920s. [5]

[T]he majority of children continued to be sent right up until the advent of the Second World War, after which heightened social consciousness condemned the sending of any more children to Canada in this way… Britain not only sent children to Canada, they also sent them, up to the early 1970s, to South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand.

Despite all the trials that they had to endure, these...British Home Children...set down roots in Canada and contributed to the country’s social, economic and political development. Many of them served in the Canadian Army during the First World War and the Second World War. Today, over 10% of all Canadians are thought to be descendants of British Home Children.

Although...their story is part of the school curriculum in Ontario, the British Home Children [‘s] legacy of trauma and child abuse...is not well-known by the vast majority of Canadians.[5] [A]nd their descendants have yet to receive an official apology from the Canadian government such as those made by the government of Australia in 2009 and the government of the United Kingdom in 2010. [3]

By honoring their memory, [Home Children Canada, established in 2012] seeks to ensure that the Home Children’s contributions and struggles are never forgotten and their rightful place in history is acknowledged with dignity and compassion. [6]

[1] The Canadian Immigration Historical Society, “A Silent History: The British Home Children”, January 1, 2011 https://cihs-shic.ca/the-british-home-children/

[2] Lori Oschefski, Home Children Canada, “Who Are the British Home Children?” British Home Children in Canada https://canadianbritishhomechildren.weebly.com/

[3] Lara Neilson Bonikowsky, “Uprooted Lives: the British Home Children”, in The Canadian Encyclopedia, April 13, 2013

https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/children-lost-and-found-feature#:~:text=On

%2024%20February%202010%2C%20the,various%20British%20colonies%2C%20including

%20Canada.

[4] Barb Janes, “Shame, secrets and dark histories: Remembering the legacy of British home children”, CBC, September 28, 2019

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/pov-barb-janes-british-home-children-1.5296069

[5] Paul Henderson, “British Home Children: BC women reflect on shameful period in Canadian history”, The Free Press, September 28, 2019

https://www.vicnews.com/news/british-home-children-b-c-women-reflect-on-shameful-period-in-canadian-history-61605

[6] Home Children Canada https://www.britishhomechildren.com/

September 30th is Orange Shirt Day

 

photo by Eleanor Cocker

I purchased my orange shirt from Eddy Charlie and Kristine Spray. You can learn more about them and Orange Shirt Day here. 

"artist Bear Horne gifted [his] design to Eddy Charlie and Kristine Spray to be used in this advocacy work."

Books that helped me connect with Orange Shirt Day...

Indian Horse by Richard Wagamese (book review)

 is like a slap shot--a quick and powerful read.

Barren Ground by David A Robertson (book review)

is set in early November in Winnipeg and is about two Cree foster children--thirteen-year-old Morgan and twelve-year-old Eli.

The Berry Pickers by Amanda Peters (book review)

is historical fiction about the 60s scoop

Two Tricksters Find Friendship by Johnny Aitken and Jess Willows (book review)

is a year in the life of a new mutually supportive friendship between Jessie, a white girl, and Johnny, an Indigenous boy.

Song: "O Seim" by Susan Aglukark

On this blog in October...

Inspired Writing by Leanne Dyck

Inspiration for my writing comes from a variety of sources. One of these sources is history, especially about the island I am proud to call home—Mayne Island. Recently I published Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby on this blog. This story was inspired by...

Japanese Canadians substantially contributed to Mayne Island's economy and vibrancy. Why did they move away? Where did they go?

‘Japanese settlers were a major part of the Mayne community between 1900 and 1942. The very first Japanese to come was Gontaro Kadonaga. By the late 1930s, the Japanese community represented one-third of the population (half of the children enrolled in the school) and ran half of the economy of the Island. They played a key role in growing spring tomatoes in greenhouses and feeding the Vancouver market. They were also active in fishing, fruit growing, and coal producing. They were deeply integrated in the tight-knit Island community.’1

‘Japanese and non-Japanese worked side by side during harvesting, on community “bees” to care for the school and community hall, or on major tasks such as transporting steam boilers from the beach to a Japanese greenhouse. They also spent leisure time together at golf, badminton, dances, and card parties at the community hall.’2

‘This was in stark contrast to what had been happening elsewhere in BC and other parts of Canada where the success of the Japanese had for many years been a point of contention. More and more restrictions were imposed on them; they were not allowed to vote and they were prevented from entering such professions as law. By 1927, 60% of Japanese fishermen were forced out of the industry as a direct result of a federal government regulations. Increasingly racist and fearful rhetoric by municipal, federal politicians contributed to the growing antagonism towards Japanese-Canadians.’3

‘This radical antagonism towards the Japanese finally found a catalyst in Pearl Harbor, December [7], 1941.’4

‘Just before midnight on December 7, 1941, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrived at the door of Mayne Island tomato farmer, Zeji Terenoto, and arrested him. He was led away with little time to pack or say good-bye to his terrified family. Three other Mayne Island farmers were arrested later that night. Their crime? Being of Japanese origin.’3

‘Mackenzie King reluctantly gave in to the unified demands of city and district councils, MPs, political groups and prestige groups such as the Citizens’ Defense Committee, in late February 1942.’5

‘On Tuesday, April 21, 1942, the CPR steamship Princess Mary came for the fifty Japanese men, women and children who waited on the Miners Bay wharf.’3

‘During the war there was a broad federal policy of deportation of 21,000 Japanese Canadians who lived near the coast. All remaining Mayne Island residents gathered in Miners Bay to wave them goodbye that day. It is reported that most Islanders felt deep sadness and were opposed to this removal.

Soon enough, the Island economy collapsed and the school had to close. Between 1943 and 1946, breaking promises that were made to the departing Japanese, the BC government confiscated all their properties and personal goods with no or very minimal compensation. At the end of the war in 1945, unlike the US, Japanese Canadians were forbidden to return to the Coast until 1949…

Let us not forget that these injustices were, at their core, caused by racist political and social attitudes, which we must be vigilant to not repeat.’1

1 Yves Tiberghien and Jennifer Iredale, “Commemoration of the Japanese Heritage on Mayne Island

and Homecoming for Descendants of Original Settlers”

MayneLiner, November 2022

2 Marie Elliot, Mayne Island & The Outer Gulf Islands A History

, 1984

3David and Andrea Spalding, Georgina Montgomery and Lawrence

 Pitt, "Southern Gulf Islands of British Columbia", 1995

4More Tales from the Outer Gulf Islands:

An Anthology of Memories and Ancedotes

The Gulf islands’ Branch of the British Columbia Historical

 Federation, 1993

In 1987, the Japanese Memorial Gardens were the brainchild of the newly formed Mayne Island Parks and Recreation Commission. Work commenced and donations of cherry trees and other plants were given by the Nagata and Otzuki families and other residents. Unfortunately, work stopped when drainage problems were encountered. As all solutions were expensive and money was required elsewhere in the park, the gardens were neglected for twelve years. In 1999, volunteer Commissioner Don Hubert led an army of volunteers who breathed new life into the gardens.

‘[The] Japanese Memorial Gardens… exists thanks to the enormous donations of time and support of Mayne Islanders, as well as the continuous work by the volunteers who manage it. This is a collective acknowledgment of the painful past and a celebration of our Japanese community members. It is a very significant act on our small island. The story of this garden is possibly unique in BC.’

“Commemoration of the Japanese Heritage on Mayne Island

and Homecoming for Descendants of Original Settlers”

Yves Tiberghien and Jennifer Iredale, MayneLiner, November 2022

July on this blog...

Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby by Leanne Dyck (Ch 3)

Chapter two: Emma, Aster's sister-in-law, thinks Aster is foolish to live on a remote island. She advises Aster to move. She asks Aster to move in with her. Does Aster accept this offer? 

photo by ldyck

Chapter three

And amongst all this bounty, Emma thought of me—her abandoned sister-in-law. How could I turn my back on her generous offer? I had no choice. So I moved in. Sure I did. I was lonely, so I was at her mercy. She ordered one of her offspring to help me move. I can’t remember which one—they all look alike, to me. All the boys look like Baldur and all the girls look like Emma. So, I didn’t bother learning their names. He was polite and helpful enough—I suppose. He came with two of his sons—grown men, all. I was surprised. I didn’t think I was that old.

We moved my essentials—TV, radio, clothes, knitting, and even some of your books. It all fit nicely into their van with room left over.

But they weren’t happy. Are you sure that’s all you want to take? They kept asking. We have lots of room.

Oh, yes, I told them, over and over again. This is just a trial run. We’ll see how things go. The stuff won’t go anywhere.

I thought they’d hear me, but when they refused to, I stared at them all dead in the eye and spoke in a firm voice. Yes, this is enough. I’ll be fine. And after what happened, I’m so glad I did.

I couldn’t wait to leave this place. I knew they were expecting me to, so I locked the door. But what I really wanted to do was strike a match and burn the place to the ground. Out of the ashes, we’d rise—and then we’d be free, you and me, my love. But I knew if I’d done that, they wouldn’t have stopped at Emma’s condo. Oh, no, they’d have dropped me off in some old-age home where I could be watched night and day. So I didn’t give them any provocation. I clammed up, sat up straight, and took my medicine like a good girl.

The first couple of days were fine. Emma acted like she was pleased to see me—like she wanted me there. Then things started to change. Emma and her kids started walking on eggshells. It was like they didn’t know how to act around me—what to say, how to treat me. I thought their true feelings were showing.

You would have told me that I was being too sensitive. "Relax and just be yourself," you would have advised. You would have wrapped your big, strong arms around me and said, They’ll come around.

But you weren’t there, now, were you? You weren’t there, and I was on my own. Still, I tried to follow your advice—the best I could. I tried to make myself useful. I did the dishes. Emma took the clean dishes that were drying on the rack and washed them all again. I cleaned the bathroom; she cleaned it again. I made a meal. She refused to eat it and made something else. Then... Then she had the gall to offer it to me.

So, I told her, No, thank you, I’ve just had a delicious meal.

I heard her mumble something. I didn’t ask her to repeat it. It was her house. I didn’t want to start a fight.

But I knew, from day one, that she didn’t approve of me. Do you remember when you took me home for the first time? The minute I met her, I knew she didn’t like me. I told you, but you said it was just her way. You said she was shy around strangers. But you know as well as I do, my love, there’s not a shy bone in her body. You promised me that when she got to know me she’d be warmer. I’m still waiting for that miracle. You said I misunderstood her. But you didn’t see her face. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. Nothing, no one, was good enough for her darling baby brother, least of all me.

Aster’s needles flashed in and out of the stitches.

Life with Emma just kept getting worse. She started to grumble and complain. Who took the last of the milk? Who took that last egg?

Um, let me think; I wanted to say. There are only two of us living here. If it wasn’t you who took it, then it must have been me.

I mean, it wasn’t a deep, dark mystery, and it certainly wasn’t a big deal. Eggs and milk are staples. Every grocery store has them, and they’re not liable to run out of them, either. I wanted so badly to point that out, but I didn’t. Instead, I offered to walk a block—or, no, less, half a block—to the corner convenience store.

She said, Oh, no, you can’t do that. She spoke to me like I was some kind of invalid—which I’m not, or wasn’t then. And she phoned one of her kids. I overheard them talking. She said a lot of "she's" and then tittered like a schoolgirl. I knew she was talking about me. It wasn’t polite—and I had half a mind to teach her some manners, but for your sake, I kept my mouth shut and pretended I didn’t care what she said about me.

The next minute, her daughter showed up with young kids in tow. These ones were, maybe, three or four years old—too young to be in school. I think she just had the two, but it seemed like she’d brought an army. They raced around the condo screaming their fool heads off. All the time Emma’s saying, Oh, aren’t they adorable! Aren’t they so cute?

Really? They were about as cute as an infiltration of killer bees. Their favourite song was mine, mine, mine—which they belted out at the top of their lungs.

When their mother went to get our groceries, she left the writhing mass in our care. They climbed all over Emma. I thought they would kill her—crush her to death.

And I thought, fine. If that’s the way she wants to go—being mauled to death—that’s just fine.

But then the little darlings went racing around the place and came crashing into me. I nearly went for a loop and could have broken a bone, which at my age isn’t a small thing. But luckily, I was able to catch hold of the back of a chair and steadied myself. Their next run-by I fell forward and visualized impaling myself on the chair. It had sharp tip posts jutting out the back that would have done the job nicely. Well, the thought scared me to death.

So I grabbed the little demons. I didn’t hurt them—they were fine. I was forceful but fair. I told them, This is a home, not a zoo. When you’re here you need to behave like people, not wild animals.

But it was evident that they’d never been given any rules. The minute I tried to talk some sense into them, they started bawling their heads off. Well, then, don’t you know, their mother returned. She walked into the apartment and saw me attached to her horrified babies. They wiggled out of my grasp and ran to her. Save me from the witch! I thought I heard them cry. And that’s how she acted—like I was harming them.

What did you do to my children? She glared at me.

Well, I tried to explain, I told her, I’ve done nothing wrong. I was just trying to teach your children a little restraint. Your mother’s old. I’m old. They race around here like savages. They could hurt us—break a bone. And then we’d have to be hospitalized. That’s what I told her, but I could tell she wasn’t taking it well.

My children aren’t savages, she snarled like a mad dog.

So I turned to Emma. Tell your daughter what happened. Tell her I wasn’t behaving irrationally. Explain how out of control your grandchildren were acting. I pleaded for her to help me. I mean I’d seen the fear in her eyes when they were climbing all over her.

But did she support me? Did she try to help her daughter understand that guidance was necessary?

Emma? No, she didn’t.

Instead, she said—. And this is what still hurts. This is why I will never talk to Emma or any of hers ever again, as long as I live. She said, and I quote, Aster has a history of child abuse. That’s why she was forced to stop teaching.

That’s what she said, that’s what she believes—that I abuse children. And I wonder how many other people think that about me? It’s not true. It’s a mean, hurtful lie. I know the truth—and so do you. Don’t you, my love? Don’t you? You know I would never hurt...

Her voice choked.

You know I never meant to...

She fell silent for a few minutes. When she continued, her voice could have cut metal.

I stood there listening to Emma’s accusation, and I wanted to cry. But I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I packed my belongings, hired a man with a van, and moved back here. If that’s what the world thinks of me, I don’t need them. It’s been years since I spoke to Emma—years. And I... 

A tear rolled down her cheek.

I don’t miss anyone.

She whispered.

No one but you.

photo by ldyck

Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby
Chapter four

It's obvious that Aster isn't content on a remote island. How did she get there? Let's go back to the beginning...