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It was 1961, and I was sent to a mother and baby home in Tulse Hill, South London, run by the Salvation Army.I was in a dormitory with all the schoolgirls — the youngest there was nine — but I had a difficult pregnancy and was bedridden for most of it.
I didn’t say anything and pretended it wasn’t happening.Pausing only to put on a bell tent dress, I was taken, alone, to St Monica’s Mother and Baby Home in Kendal, Cumbria, which was run very strictly by nuns. The dormitories were barren — no curtains or lockers or comforts of any kind.On Thursday night we had to attend a religious service as a kind of penance.I certainly don’t remember signing any papers giving permission for him to be taken. I’ve never met my son, but not a day goes by when I don’t think of him.On the birth certificate, I was described as a ‘schoolgirl’ and the father’s identity was left blank. I didn’t have another child, and I’ve never been free of the guilt. Once I became pregnant, my boyfriend of two years simply disappeared and my family, who were wealthy and could have helped me live an independent life with my daughter, pushed me to give her away. For this, I was labelled rebellious, and given the worst jobs, such as cleaning the toilets.My mother realised eventually, of course, and I was quickly packed off to Saint Faith’s Home for Unmarried Mothers in Bearsted near Maidstone, Kent. It was 1971, and as soon as I went into labour, they gave me a wedding ring to wear while I was in hospital.
It was ludicrous — I was barely 5ft, had long girlish hair, and quite clearly looked like a young teenager. I was admitted to hospital in the early hours and then left completely alone in the labour room, scared out of my wits.
My mother signed all the adoption documents, but because I was 14 by the time I gave birth — and for some reason 14 was a significant age — I was allowed the usual six weeks with my son before giving him up.
The girls under 14 didn’t even see their babies, and weren’t told their sex. I did meet my son later, and we now have a close relationship.
I found myself in a courtroom almost immediately, still in my school uniform.
I was sentenced to two years’ ‘supervision’ and my boyfriend to six months in borstal.
The matron told me I had to take 10mg of valium each day, and when I refused, she forced it down my throat. I lied and said the father was coming back for me, and then we would marry, but instead I went home to my mother.