Homes Is A Strange Country - Chapter 42

FORTY TWO
Friday 13th September 1912

   The sound of the postie opening the garden gate made George raise his head from the newspaper in his hands. During the past week the postie had been a regular visitor to the house, far more than he had in previous months. George rose from his chair and went to the front door as the postman arrived to push a letter through. He opened the door and held out his hand, the postman placed the single envelope into his hand and nodded silently to him. George closed the door and regained his seat at the side of the unlit fireplace.

   The letter was from the solicitor which Florence had used in her proceedings against Skidmore to secure maintenance for Clyda. George had been to visit him the previous day to try and find a solution to the question of the custody of Clyda. Mr Roxburgh, the solicitor, had listened in silence to the story George had told, nodding his head from time to time. His office lay at Pitt Street in Sydney, a few streets back from the Circular Quay, and only ten minutes walk from the Curator of Intestate Estates on Queens Square. Thankfully for George it had not been a major journey to get there, he had simply taken one of the small boats from the yard and sailed across the harbour, the small engine chugging noisily as it hit the swells of larger boats ferrying people around the city.

   The office, in the centre of the legal and court district of the city, was in a large and imposing building shared with other firms of solicitors, and which also housed the city stock exchange. George sat across a large polished wooden desk loaded high with files and papers relating to other peoples misfortunes. He related his story to the man on the opposite side. Roxburgh was a similar age to George, dressed in what George assumed would be a solicitors 'uniform' of stiff white collar and black tie, and a black three piece suit.

   'She has a child, you see' George said. He paused for a second unsure exactly what he should be telling the solicitor. 'She's four now, she'll be five just before Christmas, and she looks on me as her Pa,' George paused for a second and smiled at the thought. 'She calls me Pa, but I'm not her father, well you know that.' He looked up at Roxburgh who nodded. 'Yes, ' he said, 'It was me who represented her in the court to get the maintenance for her from.' There was an embarrassed pause as the solicitor considered whether George did or did not know about the name of the man from whom Florence received the maintenance. 'For her,' he continued lamely. George looked across the table at him and waited in vain for Roxburgh to continue.

   'I know his name you know.' He said eventually. 'It was Skidmore. He was a sailor like her husband had been.' He allowed a small grin to crease his face. 'Seems like she had a liking for men of the sea doesn’t it?  First her husband, then Skidmore, and now me with my boatyard.'

   The solicitor smiled for a second and made a point of examining in detail some of the papers on his desk, to try and brush over his error. He had not been aware how much, if anything, his now ex-client had told Kent of the maintenance, and to have disclosed the detail to him would have been a serious breach of confidence for him. It could also have created considerable pain and difficulty for the man now sat before him if he had not already know of the existence of Skidmore. Mr Roxburgh looked up from the papers and breathed a gentle sigh of relief as he realised that George seemed to know all about the man paying the maintenance to Florence. George glanced down at his hands which were folded together in his lap, then looked back at the solicitor, who appeared suddenly to have become pray to the extreme heat of the day. There was a ring of red colouring rising from around his collar. It could have been simply that the heat was affecting him, or his collar was too tight. George had immediately sensed the error which had been made, but there was little or nothing to be gained by making the man aware of his faux pax.

   'Yes of course,' he continued, stopping to take a deep breath. 'I forgot for the moment. It seems long ago, and Flo, Florence and I have been together so long, it just seems, well.' His voice trailed off as he tried to keep focussed on the train of thought. He looked up and beyond the man in the chair opposite him to stare for a moment through the tall windows behind him, and at the even taller buildings on the opposite side of the street.

   The two men sat in silence for a time, each in his own thoughts. From one of the open windows came the street sounds from below, intruding on their temporary silence. Tram cars, horse drawn carts, a car now and again, and people. People with no cares, people with lots of cares. None of them with cares like George. Finally Mr Roxburgh broke the silence.

   'I am not aware that Mrs Lowe made a will Mr Kent. Are you?' He asked. George paused for a moment then replied,

   'No, I don’t think she did. We never really talked about it. We had discussed getting married once or twice, and I suppose that maybe one day we would have done. Maybe when Clyda was a bit older. But the thing in our way was the cost of her getting a divorce from her husband. It never really went anywhere. So she never had a will.' George paused for a second then added, 'I don’t think either of us has anything of any value to leave.' He thought for a moment and Mr Roxburgh allowed him time to consider whatever it was going through his mind without interrupting him.

   'She did have a savings account with the government savings department, but that was all, and I don’t think it was very much.' Mr Roxburgh took a long breath and finally said.

   'Well, the situation is that whatever she had, the state will have to take care of it, administer it, for her, and that then brings up the issue of the child, the little girl.' He stretched out across the wide hard wooden desk top and selected a sheet of paper from the top of a pile in front of him. For a moment he read it silently then lifting his head said, 'Clyda Elsie, isn’t that her name?'

   'Yes, that’s right.' Replied George.

   'Unusual name'

   'It was made up I think. There was a river near where Skidmore lived, near Lithgow, and she once told me that they had been there once and, well, she liked the river so they named the child after it, but changed it a bit. It was the river Clyde, like the one in Scotland, so they changed her name to Clyda.' He stopped to consider something then continued. 'I like it. It suits her, she’s a pretty little thing.' He stopped again and looked down at his hands again. Hard working broad hands used to doing hard manual work. Roxburgh allowed him time once more, then as George seemed unable to find much else to say went on,

   'What do you think should happen to the child now?' he asked. George looked up at him.

   'Well I’ll carry on looking after her, unless Skidmore fights for her, but I can’t see him doing that, can you?'

'I’m not sure. I’ve had nothing to do with the man. He sends a cheque every two months and then there is always a letter comes from you with it asking for a receipt, but we’ve had nothing further to do with the man since the court hearing three, no, nearly four years ago.' George thought for a moment, his eyes focussed on the desk top in front of him, then said,

   'I think it’s only right she stays with me. Skidmore has had nothing to do with her for years and Clyda looks on me as her father.' He paused to reflect then continued, 'I think of her as my child as well. If it weren’t for Florence dying, well, she would have had a brother as well as a mother and father.' He paused to take a great intake of breath, his eyes misting over, then breathed out and added softly, "Or perhaps a sister."

   There was a silence in the office as both men considered what George had said. George raised his eyes and cast around the room, looking at nothing in particular but absently noticing speckles of dust caught in the sunlight shining through the windows. The temperature was rising into the mid eighties and the room was becoming uncomfortably warm, despite there being windows open to allow what breeze there was to filter into the room from the street outside.

   The solicitor looked down at the papers on his desk then raised his head to address George.

   'Mr Kent,' he began. 'I think you need to understand the legal position regarding the child before making any plans about her future.' George glanced up and fixed his eyes on Roxburgh. George said nothing, waiting for the solicitor to continue.

   'In the eyes of the law, and the courts, Mrs Lowe was still married, although they were obviously separated. That was made clear in the maintenance hearings. Her husband is,' he paused looking for the right words, his hand flitted up from the desk in confusion and rested back down again. 'Well, wherever he is' he continued. 'He may be in England or serving somewhere around these parts or some other part of the world. At this moment I have no way of knowing, and frankly do not know if the British Navy would be prepared to tell us where he is, as the child is not his.' He paused to glance down again at one of the papers on his desk and moved one from within the pile to the top of the pile. 'As far as the father of the child is concerned, Skidmore is an Australian by birth, but as you may already know from the court hearing, he does not want anything to do with the child. He does not want any contact, or to care for the child, though at the moment he is content to pay the maintenance awarded by the court through his solicitor.' He looked directly at George and paused for a moment before saying, 'Though I feel it safe to assume that the maintenance payments will cease once he becomes aware of her death.' Roxburgh paused once more to allow George to assimilate and understand this statement, then continued. 'Legally, the child is the responsibility of Skidmore, but in view of the existence of the maintenance order the courts would regard him as having relinquished any responsibility for her in favour of Mrs Lowe. In that case, as Mrs Lowe has died, the government would regard her as being without parents, in that her mother is dead, and her father has effectively abandoned her.' George kept his eyes fixed on Roxburgh. For a moment he said nothing, then said,

   'So, as I am the only person around who wants to take care of her, then there should be no reason for me not carrying on and taking care of her as though she was my own child. I am quite happy to do that Mr Roxburgh, though obviously when the time is right, and Clyda is a bit older, I will tell her who her parents are, or were, and what happened to them.' A smile creased his face as he saw the solution to the problem unfold before him. Before Roxburgh could say anything George continued, 'So all I need to do is to get the courts to give me permission to carry on looking after her and everything is fine.' He smiled for an instant then saw Roxburgh’s eyes drop down onto the desk. He immediately perceived that there was more to come from the solicitor. 'What's the matter?' he asked.

   'I’m afraid that it is not as simple as you seem to think Mr Kent.' He replied. George stared at him, the smile dropping from his face.

   'What do you mean?' he asked. Roxburgh cleared his throat and sat upright in his chair.

   'In the absence of any parental contribution to the health and welfare of a child, or where the parents are deceased or absent voluntarily, then the Government is obliged by law to take the child into its own care and provide the child with housing and care.' George translated the words so that he could understand them in his own mind.

   'The government will take her from me then,' he said, his voice hard and determined. Roxburgh sat back in the high backed chair and placed his finger tips together in an arch above the desk.

   'I fear so' he said.

   'Well they can bugger off!' George burst out, then immediately apologised for his words. 'Sorry Mr Roxburgh, I didn’t meant to say that. It’s just that I am the only father Clyda has ever known and she loves me. Why can’t I keep her?' Roxburgh paused for a second, leaning back over the front of the desk.

   'It does seem somewhat heartless I know,' he said, 'But the law is quite clear about this. If the child has no available parents then the state has a lawful duty to take care of the child.' It is cut and dried,' he continued. 'She will have to be placed in the care of the Boarding Out Officer who has an office on the Domain. It will be up to him what then happens to the child.' George half rose in anger from his seat then sat back down.

   'She’s not going there!' he said, his voice rising an octave. 'I’ve heard about those places, they take children and put them out to foster homes and then workhouses. She’s not going there!' His face was suddenly flushed and his eyes became wide and angry.

   'I understand your concern Mr Kent,' continued the solicitor, 'But there is nothing to be done I’m afraid. The law is quite clear on that. She must go to the Boarding Out Department who will decide on the child's future.' He paused for a second then continued in a softer tone. 'I do understand your concerns Mr Kent, I really do. I have to tell you what the law is, if I didn’t I would be failing in my duty as an officer of the court, which is what I am.' His eyes dropped down to the desk once more and then moved sideways to glance out of the tall windows looking out over Pitt Street. Though he could see nothing of the street itself he suddenly became aware of the noise of people and traffic moving along the street. He coughed gently and turned to look at George. 'I think there might be some sort of a solution to this situation, though as an officer of the court I would be unable to suggest it to you.' He looked George firmly in the eye. A look of confusion crossed George’s face and he sat back in the chair.

   'I don’t understand what you are getting at Mr Roxburgh,' he said. Roxburgh flicked his eyes to the window and then back at George, a small grin starting to crease his mouth.

   'Have you ever used the telephone exchange here in Sydney Mr Kent?' he asked. George was puzzled by the question.

   'I don’t understand' he said.

   'The public telephone system in Sydney, or a telephone in a home or an office?' the solicitor asked.

   'Well no, not all that often. I did call the doctor the other night.' George replied.

   'It is something of a joke really. It is in fact a bit of a laughing stock throughout the civilised world. So bad in fact that the newspapers are constantly calling for the whole system to be scrapped, or at least completely updated.' He paused, but George still was unable to read anything into the implications of what Roxburgh was saying.

   'I still don’t understand what you are meaning Mr Roxburgh' George said. Roxburgh leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly at George.

   'Mr Kent,' he said, 'The telephone system is run by the Post Office isn’t it?' George nodded his head in agreement. 'The Post Office is a government organisation isn’t it?' George nodded his head again,

   'Yes it is' he said.

   'How many government departments work well and efficiently?' he asked.

   'I’ve no idea.' George replied.

   'Well, not many in my experience,' said Roxburgh grinning, 'And certainly not the one dealing with the Boarding Out system for destitute children.' He paused to allow this to sink in to George’s head then continued. 'So, whilst they do get things done, it is usually very slow in doing so, and sometimes it seems like they are never going to make a decision about a child who has been placed in their care.' George considered the words and looked at Mr Roxburgh for further help in trying to understand what he had said.

   George was a man from the countryside, almost a hundred miles from the metropolis of Melbourne and six hundred from Sydney, with little or no experience of the major state institutions and organisations. He was fundamentally unable to understand the implications of the words or the sense of what the solicitor was saying. So, Roxburgh spelt it out to him in more direct terms.

   'I feel that if we leave the child in your care and put arguments to them, by letter, using the postal system, then it  might place them in the position where they are unable to make a straightforward and quick decision, then they might, in time, permit you to retain the child in your care.' He paused to let George consider his words then continued. 'I am not guaranteeing that you will win this battle Mr Kent, but I do feel that considering the background, and your obvious love and affection for Clyda, that they might allow you to keep the child.' George suddenly understood what was being said to him and a wide grin split his face.

   'I see' he said, 'They are so slow that they could forget about her and that would let me keep her.' His head nodding in joy at the thought.

   'It is not a guarantee, you understand. They might just take her and place her in a Boarding Out home here in Sydney and allow you to visit her, or they could send her to a farm out in the country. Nothing is certain. We must put together a good case and keep our fingers crossed. In the meantime let us do nothing to give the Board an excuse to relieve you of the child. I understand that your business partner has been in touch with his solicitor to inform the Intestate Office of the death of Mrs Lowe?' George nodded his head and Roxburgh continued. 'Fine. Let us wait until they make a move to take the girl from you, and at that point we will see what is to be done. In the meantime I will consult my colleagues to see what experience they have had of the Boarding Out Scheme and find out what possibilities might lie before us.' He relaxed back in his seat and stacked the papers together on his desk, then picking them up, he knocked them into line and placed them into a brown card folder. He smacked the file lightly and started to rise from his seat. 'In the meantime you must go home and take care of Clyda as you have done so far. I expect the Boarding Out office will be in touch with you some time in the near future to discuss her future. Just be careful what you say to them and do not lose your temper. That would do you no good at all.' He continued to rise to his feet and extended his hand across the desk to George who took it eagerly in his hand and shook it vigorously.

   'I will behave myself, don’t worry' he said. 'I just hope they give me a week or two to get my thoughts together.' He smiled and turned to leave the office.

   'Mr Kent' Roxburgh called after him. George turned with his hand on the door handle. 'Take care of the child and try to get your life back on an even keel. The best thing you can do for the child is to show them that you are the right person to have full time care of her. I wish you the best of luck.'

   'Thank you Mr Roxburgh. I’ll write to you, if and when they are in contact with me.' George replied, and walked from the office with a spring in his step, out into the hot summer sun of the city centre. The weather was peculiar though. New South Wales had experienced heavy downpours in recent days which had been welcomed by the farmers of the state, a severe drought had been broken. But there was more to come.