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Those
familiar with Natland will recognise the large Victorian
building
on Sedgwick Road
as being the
Appletree
Special
Needs
Residential School.
Many
will remember it
in its earlier guise as
St Mark's
Church of England
Children's Society Home.
Fewer will recall,
unless
they have read
Whin Inglesfield's book on
Natland
& Oxenholme,
that it was originally
founded as
St Mark's
Home for
Boys
by the
Church of England Incorporated Society
for
Providing Homes
for Waifs and Strays.
In
her book,
Whin refers to the
Waifs & Strays Society
becoming the
Church of England Children's Society
in
1947 and that
St Mark's Home "gradually became
more relaxed."
She is silent on what conditions were
like for
the residents in the years prior to the change.
However
one former inmate,
George Wenman,
got in
touch with Natland.info,
initially with a letter to
the Open
Forum
seeking
to get in
touch
with a former friend.
Subsequently George
met John Fisher to discuss
how to organise
Scarecrow
Festivals.
On hearing George's story
of what life was really like
as a Waif and Stray
in
St Mark's Home
during the war,
John suggested
to him
that it should be told
to a wider audience.
It
is a tale of sadness
and of bullying
yet
at the same time provides an unusual insight
into everyday life
coupled with underlying
humour and optimism.
This
is George's Story.
George
with sisters
Lily and Ann after the war
George
in 1953 on
HMS Birmingham off Korea
George
Wenman
The medals are:
Brithish Korean
United Nations
RN General Service Malaya
Police Long Service
Post
Script:
Sadly,
George died
on
6th February 2011
The
picture of
the Wishing
Tree
is reproduced
with permission from
Whin
Inglesfield's book Natland
and Oxenholme
The Story of a
Westmorland Village
which
is available at Natland Post Office & General Store,
or in Kendal at book shops and the
Library.
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George's
Story
What
life as a Waif and Stray in St Mark's Home was really
like
The
Church of England Children's Society today is a wonderful
organisation which, some 60 years after I left their
care, is still providing me with help and advice. However,
things in care homes were not always so enlightened.
In
1941, I was living in Scarborough with my sisters, Ann
and Lily, and my Granny. I can remember being
the only one there when my Granny collapsed as she was
bringing in the coal. I helped her indoors but
she died not long afterwards. My mother came back
to the family home for the funeral and then we children
were taken into the workhouse.
My
father was in the Royal Corps of Signals but had been
captured in France and was a Prisoner of War in Stalag
XXB on the outskirts of Marienburg in Poland.
He stopped my mother's allowance, started divorce
proceedings and requested that the children be placed
in a proper Children's Home towards which he would make
a contribution.
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The
former St Mark's Home for Waifs and Strays
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We
were all taken in by the Waifs and Strays Society; my
sisters were first in Scarborough then later at Doncaster
before returning to Scarborough. I did not see
them again until after the war.
I was sent to St
Mark's Home for Waifs and Strays in Natland.
I was six years old and this would be my home for the
next four and a half years.
It
was not a nice place to be. The Master, Mr Lowe,
was a bully and there was nothing that we thirty-two
boys could do about it. There were those he picked
on- it seemed to be me most of the time.
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Except
on the way to school or church or on an organised walk,
the only place we were permitted to be outside the Home
was in the enclosed field below the building.
Punishment
for bad behaviour, whispering in church or any other
thing that small boys might do when together and bored,
was to learn the Collect for the day by heart and to
recite it before tea.
Chattering
or just not being asleep when we should have been was
dealt with by being required to stand for ages in bare
feet on a cold tile floor dressed only in a nightshirt,
backs away from the wall.
I
remember another example of his cruelness. I had
misbehaved. I had dragged a boy (probably Lewis Hubbick)
by his jersey neck through the grass in our field and
somewhat plastered him with cow dung. Knowing
I was in for it, Mr Lowe directed me to the Boot Room
to be beaten. He then changed his mind and laid
into me wherever he could hit me with his walking stick.
I mean the whole length of the building. How
I hated him and still do.
Mr
Lowe used to leave his office door open so that he could
watch us. On the credit side, because I could
hear his radio and the news, I knew that the allies
were racing across Europe and that one day, just like
my Dad, I would be free.
We
boys, often as punishment, were set to weeding the long
gravel drive at the front of the house. It didn't
take too long to understand that to scrape the tops
off with a nail from the blacksmith's shop was easier
than pulling the weeds out!
At
the Home we made the fire in the large playroom / dining
room and kept it alight. Washed and darned socks,
made mittens from old socks. Perhaps two or three of us would peel
the spuds for dinner (two galvanised buckets was the
norm), this before school. Across Sedgwick Road,
we could see the fields being ploughed
using those big Shire Horses and, beyond them, the trains
going North loaded with tanks and lorries for Russia,
we thought.
We
took turns to get up extra early and walk half way up
the lane to Oxenholme to the farm where we waited for
the cows to be milked and then carried two churns back
to the Home. We pinched the cow cake to eat while
we waited.
Sometimes
we helped in the fields with the harvest. There
were a lot of Italian PoWs around in those days. They
worked on the fields, always wearing a big coloured
patch on the back of their overalls. I never spoke
to them.
What
did we do in our spare time? Card games, ludo
and that sort of thing. Flicking cards against
the wall to knock others down. Outside we followed
the seasons, naturally conkers, a bootlace and a nail
from the blacksmith's shop. Marbles in a circle of dirt.
Bows and arrows, stripping the right sort of wood from
the hedges, taking the bark from the arrow and wrapping
wire around the tip for weight. Bird nesting,
mostly between the Home and school. Some boys
had a decent collection of eggs. In the summer
we were given a small plot of ground to the side of
the outside toilet block and the big green open barn
to cultivate as we pleased. Radish, mustard and
cress and turnips were eaten as soon as they seemed
big enough.
Mr
Lowe must have been a very respected member of the community;
he belonged to the Home Guard and occasionally paraded
with others in front of the church. He attended
St Mark's church every Sunday. The boys from the Home occupied
the rows just in front of the organ with the pulpit
to right. From that angle he could see me and
others in the choir; the younger members were mostly
St Mark's Boys. I remember singing "O Valiant
Hearts" when the plaque on the right hand side of the
church (as you walk towards the altar) was unveiled.
Mr
Urnshaw was the choir master. He had a terrific
head of thick black hair, right down to his neck. We
practised on Wednesday evenings, I never heard a bad
or cross word from him. I think my love of music
and singing was a direct result of his input.
During
term time we attended St Mark's Primary School which
in those days was on the Village Green. Miss
Proctor was my first teacher at the school. She
was frightening. I remember being roasted (aged
6) for being unable to do joined-up writing. I
was terrified of mental arithmetic. You know the
stuff - If an apple and a half are equal to 3
pears how many spuds are in a bag of nuts!! Maths
has never been a strong point.
One
day just before Christmas, the Head Teacher (probably
Sam Inglesfield) encouraged, or perhaps I should say
"conned", me to stand out at the front of
the class and and sing a carol, solo. I thought
a number of us would be doing it! It was a proud
and scary moment when he threw open the windows of the
school and made me sing it all over again, so that the
people of the village could hear it as well.
At
Christmas, the villagers from Oxenholme and Natland put
on the most marvellous "Tea" for all the youngsters
in the school. So much food, some
of us became sick!
There
were three Hubbick boys at the Home with me. Alan
was the oldest, Lewis about my age and the other one
I can't remember. When Alan became 14 years of
age, his mother wanted him back home as an earner. This
is when I learnt the difference between mortally injured
and fatal. Alan had the job of turning the coal
tubs at the top of the pit shaft (Coal Mine in Durham).
He got it wrong and, aged 15, went headlong down
the shaft, living for a little while.
After
the war, my father was released and came to see me. I
was given a day off school. We walked together
for several hours along the lanes that I knew then from
our organised walks. I can remember that it was
a hot day, he was in his khaki uniform, a fairly thin
man, his teeth were not in a good condition. He
drank water from a stream that ran out from a bank above
our heads and the road. I would not drink the
water (too fussy I suppose). I do remember that
there were no affectionate hugs on meeting or parting. However,
his visit gave me the courage to tell Mr Lowe what I
thought of him. I was never beaten again.
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Did
you know that if you climb to the top of the Helm, then
take a half right and wander down through the bracken
you will eventually come to a dry stone wall?
Turning
right again and following the wall, there was a very
old gnarled tree set into the wall with lots of tiny
stones pressed into the gaps. All were wishes
of course.
In
1946, I made a wish to be out of St Mark's and within
three weeks I was gone!
My father, now back with
the Royal Signals Regiment, arranged for me to stay
in Scarborough with my mother's brother, Walter, and his
wife. Walter had also been a PoW, first in Italy
and then taken away by the Germans. He was only
twelve or so years older than me.
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The
Wishing Tree
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I believe I
that I was probably a bit of a handful for a young couple
to take on.
My
sisters had been moved to a
Home in Scarborough so I was now able to see them.
My
father brought a new mother to see me.
I don't think we ever clicked. He was given
an Army Quarter at Catterick but there was no room for
me. My Aunt & Uncle were giving me too much
freedom and I was probably difficult to handle by the
standards in those days. To put me away into another
Home was the convenient thing to do and it was decided
(without my involvement) that I should have a
Naval Education under Dr Barnardo's Homes.
As
far as my natural mother is concerned, I saw her only
once during the war. She married a soldier called Hutton
during the war and had one child by him. This
was before she was divorced from my father!
I
often think about my time at St Mark's Home and the cruelty
of Mr Lowe. I must make the point
that I am not blaming the Waifs and Strays Society as
a body for anything. That's the way things were
in those days. On the credit side, I have
come out of my encounters generally polite & well
mannered and with a very strong feeling of what is right
and wrong. I loathe injustice.
George
Wenman, November 2007
In
1947 George was placed with the Watts Naval Training
School in Norfolk, another Spartan existence, and in
1950 joined the Royal Navy, serving in the Korean War
and in Malaya. He was a submariner for a while
and then joined the Hampshire Constabulary in 1959 where
he served for just over 31 years. He now lives
in Emsworth, Hampshire where he plays the accordion
and helps the Royal Naval Benevolent Trust make grants
to serving and former members of the Navy and their
dependants who are in distress.
George's
younger sister, Lily, was tragically killed in a plane
crash in Snowdonia in 1952. Ann, the elder, now
lives in Leeds. She has had a succesful life,
married with two sons but does not talk about her time
in care.
His
stay in Natland made a lasting impression on George
and he has made a donation to St Mark's Primary School
in order that a Cup could be awarded to a pupil, not
necessarily the brightest, but someone who is a tryer
and keeps trying. The Wenman Cup for Enthusiasm was
first awarded in July 2007 to Oliver Mills.
Editor,
Natland.info, November 2007
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