G-Öff Kassel

The Life of Audrey Robinson

Childhood, Separation, and Survival in Times of War

by Karolin Scholz

In 1917, a Canadian soldier writes from the trenches of France to his beloved in Montréal. Through his letter, he recounts a life shaped by loss, migration, and hope — from London’s slums to Canadian farms, and finally, the battlefields of World War I.

Author’s note

At the turn of the nineteenth century into the twentieth, millions of children from Great Britain, and to some extent from other European countries, were sent to Canada, Australia and the United States as part of Child Migration Schemes. These children were mostly orphans or originated from poor families who, often out of desperation, agreed to send their children overseas in the hope of giving them a better life. 

Organizations such as the Fairbridge Society promised education, safety, and opportunity. However, the reality was far from the advertised idyllic fresh start in the countryside. Many children were placed in so-called farm schools, where they were expected to do hard manual labor in addition to attending classes. The conditions were often harsh, and most children were just between seven and eleven years old upon arrival. They lived under strict discipline and constant supervision. 

One of these institutions was Fairbridge Farm School on Vancouver Island, Canada. Life there followed a rigid routine. The boys were trained to become farmers, while the girls were instructed in domestic work. The children lived in cottages, each housing up to twelve children under the supervision of two cottage mothers. 

In the mid-1940s, several scandals emerged surrounding the Fairbridge Farm School, as allegations of sexual abuse by staff members became public. While some perpetrators were eventually imprisoned or punished, the trauma endured by the affected children lasted a lifetime. 

The Fairbridge Farm School on Vancouver Island eventually closed in 1949, due to rising costs, loss of staff and growing public criticism. Additionally, fewer children were being sent overseas at the time, which increasingly jeopardized maintaining the institution. 

Introduction

The following three diary entries are drawn from The Life of Audrey Robinson, a fictional biography of a ten-year-old girl from Newcastle, Great Britain. She was sent to Canada with her seven-year-old brother Graham in 1942. Their older sister Gillian remained in England with their mother, as she was considered too old to participate in the program. Their father had died a few years earlier and their mother, struggling to provide for her children during World War II, saw the Fairbridge program as a chance to offer her children safety, food, and education. 

The two children embarked on a twelve-day sea voyage together with other children of the program. During wartime, this journey was particularly dangerous because of the threat of German submarines. Audrey and Graham arrived in Canada unknowing of what awaited them. 

At the Farm School, Audrey felt deep homesickness and fear but slowly begins to establish friendships, especially with Ruby, another girl from her cottage. These friendships became her lifeline in an environment dominated by discipline and emotional hardship. 

Audrey learned to keep a low profile under the watchful eyes of the strict cottage mothers and teachers. Over time, she witnessed cruelty, neglect and eventually became aware of the sexual abuse of boys by a male staff member. While the plot itself is fictional, its setting, atmosphere and emotional truth are rooted in the documented testimonies of former Fairbridgians. 

September 28th, 1942 

Dear Diary,

The train continuously rattles on and on, as if it wants to remind me that there is no way back. Through the dirty window I see those endless green fields that make up the landscape here on Vancouver Island. There are trees with golden leaves passing by, and the bluest lakes that shine like glass in the sunlight. On the horizon I see mountains covered in snow like cream on a cake. It looks almost too beautiful to be true. It reminds me of a painting Father showed me once. At the time I hardly cared for it, but now I wish I did. I simply cannot take my eyes off all this. 

It is hard to believe that such a place truly exists. Everything here feels brighter than home. Newcastle was always grey, cold and gloomy. And the sirens…. Always these sirens shrilling through the night. I am not going miss them. How can I forget the terror of thinking every night the bombs would fall on us. Mother promised that Canada would be different. No air raid alarms, no fear, no hunger. I truly want to believe her, I do. But how can I be so hopeful when I am going to miss her so much. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I see her and Gillian standing on the platform, waving me and Graham goodbye. Will we ever see them again? How can we bear this great unknown without them? 

Graham asked me if Mother send us aways because she no longer loves us. He is only seven, so how is he supposed to know better. I am ten already, so I have to be brave for both of us. I told him what Gillian said to me. She said that Mother works too hard, and that she only wants us to be safe from war. This is what I told him, but there is a spark of fear deep in my heart worrying the same. This is the best for us, isn’t it? We will see them again, right? 

I miss Gillian terribly. She wanted to experience this so much more than I did. She called it an “adventure” like all those heroes in the books. Her eyes always sparkle whenever she speaks of adventures. She would have been brave enough for this. But I am not. I only feel frightened and lonely. But I keep on telling myself, if I survived this horrible sea voyage, I would also survive whatever comes next in this great unknown. 

The next stop is ours. Still, the land outside is golden. Perhaps it means there can be golden days ahead? All I know is that I am carried farther away from Mother and Gillian and I cannot shush out the voice in my head repeating again and again:

I want to go home. 

Yours, 
Audrey

Evacuess from Bristol to Kingsbridge, Devon, 1940

Imperial War Museum: D 2592

October 15th, 1942



Dear Diary, 

Last night was one of the worst I can remember. I had a terrible dream. Mother was in a crowd of people, just ahead of me. Only a few more steps and I could have reached her. I called for her again and again, but she never turned around. I tried to run after her, yet my feet felt heavy, and she disappeared further into the crowd. Then Gillian appeared. Only she was not my Gillian at all. Her eyes were empty, and her voice was so cruel as she told me that Mother had sent us away because she no longer loved us.  

I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. Her words kept echoing in my mind. This is not true. Mother loves us more than anything, I tried to convince myself over and over. But then I felt the wet sheets beneath me and my fear grew even greater. I hadn’t done such a thing in years, not since I was a small child. I still feel full of shame just thinking about it. All I could think was how awful it would be if the other girls would find out. I could not help myself and started crying. 

Ruby, who sleeps in the bed next to mine, woke up from my sobbing and came over. At first, I was so ashamed that I tried to push her away, so she wouldn’t notice the wet stain on my sheets. But she did not laugh or look disgusted at all. She just hugged me and whispered kind words until I stopped shaking. I am so grateful to have a friend like Ruby by my side. I don’t think I could bear this place without her.  
Ruby said we should wake one of the cottage mothers, because I needed to change my bedding. At first, I refused because I was too afraid to face Mrs. Trembley. But Ruby suggested we wake Ms. Anderson instead, because she is much gentler and kind-hearted. And truly, Ms. Anderson was so kind and consoling towards me. For the moment, I felt as safe as I haven’t felt since leaving Mother behind. She hugged me and told me that it was only a bad dream. Then she quietly asked me to strip the bed without waking the other girls and she sent Ruby back to sleep.  

I did what I was told but when I came into the kitchen, carrying the sheets, Mrs. Trembley was there. She stood over me like a shadow. I’m afraid I will never forget the look of disgust on her face as she saw me holding my wet bedding. She snatched the sheets from my hands and gave them to Ms. Anderson, who said nothing. She just looked at me apologetically and began rinsing the sheets. Mrs. Trembley called me filthy and roughly pulled off my dirty night gown. I have never felt more humiliated and naked than I did in that moment, standing in the cold, dark kitchen, in this strange school, in this strange land. 

In this instance I missed home so deeply, it nearly tore me apart. I could not stop the tears, no matter how hard I tried. That was a mistake, because as soon as Mrs. Trembly saw the tears streaming down my face, her expression grew even more furious. She shouted at me to stop crying, called me a baby and before I could even think another thought, she struck me across the face. She struck so hard, that for a second I could not breathe. I was too shocked to say a word, too shocked to even cry, although my cheek was burning like fire. Then Ms. Anderson stepped in, speaking softly and sent me back to bed before anything worse could happen. I should have been grateful for her in this instance, but all I could feel was betrayal. Why had she woken Mrs. Trembley at all? It could have been just the two of us, quietly washing the sheets in the kitchen. I might have gone back to bed feeling comforted instead of broken. In this moment I wasn’t sure what hurt more, Mrs. Trembley’s slap or Ms. Anderson’s betrayal of trust. 

Back in bed, I could not fall asleep. I missed Mother so much it hurt. Oh, how I wished I could slip into her bed and curl up in her arms. But here I am, thousands of miles away, all alone. I wanted to cry again, but now even those wicked tears wouldn’t come. It felt as if they, too had betrayed me. 

Yours, 
your truly miserable Audry 

December 27th, 1942 

Dear Diary,

Christmas has already come and gone, and I still cannot quite believe that I spent it here, in this place so far away from home. The days before were full of chores and schoolwork and I hardly had time to think about the holidays at all. But on Christmas Eve, something in the air felt different. Even Mrs. Trembley spoke a little softer than usual. Though perhaps that might have been my imagination. 

In the evening, the whole school gathered in the dining hall. The air was warm, and it smelled of pine and sugar cookies. The boys had brought in branches from the forest earlier that day to decorate the tables. Mrs. Brown had prepared a delicious meal, but my favourites were her Christmas cookies, which we were allowed to eat afterwards. We also sang carols together. I especially loved Silent Night. It has always been my favourite and for a moment it made me think of Mother and Gillian, and all the Christmases we had spent together in front of the fireplace. Yet, it was hard to stay sad for long that night, because the soft candlelight, the smell of pine and baking, and our voices filling the room mad the hall feel warm, even though the icy wind howled through the cracks in the window. For a little while, this place felt like home. 

Later, the principal handed out letters that had arrived from England. My heart was racing and I felt anxious. I hadn’t dared to hope that there would be one from Mother, since I hadn’t heard from her since our arrival. But there it was, with Graham’s and my name written on it in her neat handwriting. My hands trembled as I opened it. I read it out loud to Graham, whose eyes sparkled with excitement as he listened carefully to every word. 

She wrote that Gillian now works for a kind family in the countryside, who invited them both over for Christmas. They are safer there, away from the air raids in the cities. She said that they are both doing well, but that they miss us dearly and think of us every day. 

For a moment, Graham and I just looked at each other before falling into a tight embrace. I could not help myself and smelled the letter. I must have imagined it, but it smelled like home. Like Mother’s lavender soap and something warm I cannot name. That night, I read the letter again and again until the words blurred and no longer made sense anymore. I keep it under my pillow and whenever I cannot sleep, I take it out just to hold it in my hands. 

After supper on Christmas Eve, Ruby and I went outside. It had begun to snow and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Everything was still, except for the faint voices and the dull golden light spilling from the windows onto the white ground. Once again, it reminded me of a painting and I thought fondly of Father, who would have loved it.

I still miss Mother and Gillian so much that it aches, but maybe this place is not so cold and cruel after all. Or at least not entirely. For while there are people like Mrs. Trembley, Mr. Bouchard or Mr. Logan, there are also people like Ruby, Mrs. Brown, Ms. Anderson and Graham by my side, who make this place feel a little more like home.

Yours, 
Audrey

Afterword

The three diary entries were chosen to reflect different stages of Audrey’s emotional journey. The first captures her fear and feeling of loneliness on her departure. She has to leave everything familiar behind her and faces the anxious anticipation of the unknown. The second entry reveals the cruelties that many children had to endure, reflecting Audrey’s shame, anger and sadness. The final entry, set at Christmas, offers a small glimpse of hope and belonging. 

In the years following the closure of Fairbridge Farm School, many former Fairbridgians stayed in touch and began to meet regularly. For most of them, the school was both a place of suffering and the only home they had known for the longest period of their childhood. Therefore, remembering their stories remains essential. 

Further Reading

Karolin Scholz

Karolin Scholz hat im Master English and American Studies studiert und sich in ihrer Masterarbeit mit der emotionalen Bedeutung von African American Spirituals beschäftigt. Zusätzlich interessiert sie sich für Kultur, Literatur, Musik und gesellschaftliche Themen im anglophonen Raum, insbesondere wie kulturelle Ausdrucksformen und Sprache Gefühle und Identität vermitteln. 

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