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Cultural, Autobiographical and Absent Memories of Orphanhood: The Girls of Nazareth House Remember 1st Edition Delyth Edwards (Auth.)
Cultural, Autobiographical and Absent Memories of Orphanhood: The Girls of Nazareth House Remember 1st Edition Delyth Edwards (Auth.)
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Cultural, Autobiographical and
Absent Memories of Orphanhood
The Girls of Nazareth House Remember
Delyth Edwards
Series Editors
Andrew Hoskins
University of Glasgow
Glasgow, United Kingdom
John Sutton
Department of Cognitive Science
Macquarie University
Macquarie, Australia
The nascent field of Memory Studies emerges from contemporary trends
that include a shift from concern with historical knowledge of events to
that of memory, from ‘what we know’ to ‘how we remember it’; changes
in generational memory; the rapid advance of technologies of memory;
panics over declining powers of memory, which mirror our fascination
with the possibilities of memory enhancement; and the development
of trauma narratives in reshaping the past. These factors have contrib-
uted to an intensification of public discourses on our past over the last
30 years. Technological, political, interpersonal, social and cultural
shifts affect what, how and why people and societies remember and for-
get. This groundbreaking new series tackles questions such as: What is
‘memory’ under these conditions? What are its prospects, and also the
prospects for its interdisciplinary and systematic study? What are the con-
ceptual, theoretical and methodological tools for its investigation and
illumination?
Cultural,
Autobiographical and
Absent Memories of
Orphanhood
The Girls of Nazareth House Remember
Delyth Edwards
Department of Social Work, Care &
Justice
Liverpool Hope University
Liverpool, UK
vii
viii Acknowledgements
stages of this book. But I want to say the deepest of thanks to two
remarkable women who never cease to inspire me, Aunt Patsy and Mum.
Mum, thanks for being so strong and so open with me and allowing me
to inherit such an extraordinary story that I have been able to share with
others in this book. I am so grateful to you in many ways and I am so
proud to be your daughter. Aunt P and mambo, this is for you both.
Lastly, Siwei, thanks for the love, support and encouragement during
the writing and re-writing of this book.
Contents
Index 217
ix
List of Figures
xi
CHAPTER 1
Fig. 1.1 Photograph of authors mother (date unknown). Authors family album
the woman she is today and provide such a loving home for my brother
and myself when her own childhood home was—in the Goffman (1991)
sense—a ‘total institution’. How was she able to successfully realise and
perform the identity of ‘mother’ when she had never known hers? What
other identities had been available to her during her life course? From a
familial, and later a sociological academic perspective, I have questioned
how her childhood in care or her orphanhood impacted upon her ‘self’
being and her biography. These musings augmented over time and I
began to think about other women who grew up in this House. It is
their life (hi)stories that outline the core of this book.
1 INTRODUCTION: STARTING FROM A PLACE … 3
function in this story and in the memories of the books participants and
for this reason, I will discuss briefly the background of the institution,
its origins, its space and what it meant, spatially and socially for the chil-
dren being housed there. Everything documented in this book originates
from Nazareth House. For this reason, Nazareth House is remembered
in three ways in this introductory chapter. Firstly, it is remembered as
an institution emplaced within a wider system and set of practices occur-
ring at a particular moment in history. Secondly, it is remembered as a
building which existed physically in time and space. Thirdly, staying true
to my sociological self, social theory is applied to the memory process.
Social theory can help us to interrogate, question, critique and to be
experimental with memories. But for now, it is time to move on from
that place of familial memory to a story, which, in part constructed those
memories that inspired this book and the state of Orphanhood for so
many.
The time before power irrefutably shifted towards the welfare authori-
ties, children in voluntary homes run by a religious organisation were
more likely to have been placed in there by the request of a clergyman.
The reason for this ‘is explained partly by their concern that the child’s
religious upbringing might not be so well secured in the care of a wel-
fare authority as in a voluntary home which is run by a religious com-
munity or by an organisation with a religious connection’ (Children in
Care: A Report by the Northern Ireland Child Welfare Council 1956,
p. 20). In other words, the ‘socio-spiritual’ discourse of anti-proselytisa-
tion (Raftery and O’Sullivan 1999; Skehill 2003). Discourse is not only
concerned with communicating meaning, but also constituting and con-
structing meaning itself. Discourse has been taken to mean on one level
‘a regular set of linguistic facts, while on another level it is an ordered
set of polemical and strategic facts’ (Foucault 2002, pp. 2–3). Religion
and morality, as a discourse in this sense, was especially important for the
care of children in the Irish context, which needs particular consideration
within a study on memory. As this book will demonstrate, this discourse
has been imprinted as a lasting ‘vital memory’ (Brown and Reavey 2015)
of a difficult national heritage on our social conscious.
1 INTRODUCTION: STARTING FROM A PLACE … 7
other homes run by the order either in Northern Ireland or other parts
of the British Isles and elsewhere’ (Operation of Social Services in rela-
tion to Child Welfare 1966, paragraph 11, p. 8). Despite being governed
by a different political jurisdiction, with regards to the religious care of
children, there were no boundaries on the Island. Institutions run by
the Catholic Church were part of a ‘carceral topography’ (Carr 2010, p.
16). The Sisters of Nazareth, for example had convents in Belfast, Derry,
Termonbacca, Mallow, Sligo, Fahan and Portadown. So it was likely that
children would have been moved between these homes, farther away
from the family of origin, their influential depravity and from their earli-
est childhood memories.2
A Utopian Narrative?
‘The Poor Sisters of Nazareth’ (est. 1855) gained papal approbation
in 1899 to provide ‘tender care of the little ones and secondly for the
aged in need of the security of a good home’ (The Sisters of Nazareth
pamphlet 1977, p. 8). The congregation quickly set up children’s homes
and residential homes for the elderly across the UK and Ireland, with
the Mother House being located at Hammersmith in London, where it
remains today. A significant figure in the Order was Sister St. Basil who
was to become the first Mother General to the congregation (in 1855).
The publicity material Nazareth House disseminated as a (re)presenta-
tion of itself in later years is illustrative of this Christian approach to car-
ing for the orphan. They claim to practice the care of children, which
mirrors that of the first Holy Family of Nazareth (Fig. 1.2):
“See the Divine infant in the little ones, try to love them very much for His
sake” […] In these words Mother St Basil bequeathed to her children the
rule and spirit of one of the most beautiful vacations in God’s Church – that
of a Sister of Nazareth. Modelled as it is on the Holy Family of Nazareth
every Nazareth House is a home in the fullest sense of the word. (Text
taken from the front cover of a Sisters of Nazareth pamphlet 1977, p. 1)
Fig. 1.2 Publicity pamphlet produced by the poor sisters of Nazareth (1977)
institutions of this kind are places which exist only in memory. There
has been criticism poised towards incorrect use of the term orphanage
to describe institutions that housed children who were not orphans in
the ‘true’ or ‘legitimate’ sense (Smith 1995; McKenzie 1996a, b; Raftery
and O’Sullivan 1999; Kennedy 2001). Nazareth House would have
sheltered children whose mother and father had passed away and chil-
dren whose parents were both still alive, as well as those who were ille-
gitimate. I perceive it to be a place where orphanhood was produced and
cultivated.
“The Home” “The House” “The Convent” “The Orphanage”
“Nazareth and Nazzie” are the many and diverse terms used by my
participants when talking about Nazareth House (and perhaps diverse
experiences). These are their definitional terms, some official and some
endearing. As the method is based on memory work I am aware that I
am only gaining insight to a past place and space. A place that no longer
exists and will never exist again. Nazareth House has become a forgotten
place, a temporal place, a historical place. It is a space and place that can
only be constructed through memory because there is little documenta-
tion of it. Throughout this book I will refer to Nazareth House either by
its name or by the idiom of ‘the Home’ or House.
It was a struggle to find information about this particular House. A
visit to the Public Records Office of Northern Ireland (PRONI) how-
ever proved useful and I obtained copies of the architect’s plans for the
building from 1934. Nazareth House was situated on the corner of the
Ormeau/Ravenhill road in the south of Belfast city (it can also be seen
from Fig. 1.3 that Nazareth House was a Home for the elderly who were
housed in a different space).
However, I have been unable to obtain other official memories about
the building, such as when was it built and whether or not it was uti-
lised for different purposes prior to being a Home for children. What
other memories does this building hold for people in Belfast? All there
is in terms of material memories are the illustrations contained within
these archives, which extensively memorise the exteriors of the building
(Figs. 1.4 and 1.5).
When my mum saw these images for the first time, it took some time
for her to recognise them as the place where she spent her childhood.
But with further looking and conversation, she began to remember and
shared stories. She concluded that the photograph taken of her with her
sisters was taken on the steps we can see in these images.
12 D. Edwards
Fig. 1.3 Architects plan of Nazareth House (1934). Used with permission
from the Deputy Keeper of the Records, Public Record office of Northern
Ireland (PRONI) (PRONI ref: D4260/1/5)
Figure 1.6 is a photograph taken of the House and is the only pho-
tographic image I have been able to locate. These types of buildings
are slowly disappearing from our national material artifacts of memory.
Yet it is important for us to visually understand the enormity of this
Victorian–esque building so that one can judge for themselves whether
it appears ‘Homely’ and also for me as a researcher and also a daughter
to be able to envisage a setting that I will never be able to experience
myself; only then will we be able to ‘imagine the epoch to which’ the
Girls of Nazareth House belonged (Romanov 2008, p. 2). I visited the
site during my time in Belfast (on my own and with my mother) and the
only structure that remains original is the surrounding wall. This wall is a
trace or a revealed memory of a previous time.
Upon visiting institutions such as Nazareth House, the Curtis
Committee of 1946 perceived these striking buildings, prevalent during
1 INTRODUCTION: STARTING FROM A PLACE … 13
Fig. 1.4 Architects plan of rear and end elevations of concert hall (1934). Used
with permission from the Deputy Keeper of the Records, Public Record Office of
Northern Ireland (PRONI ref: D4260/1/2)
Fig. 1.5 Architects plan of front elevation and section of Concert Hall (1934).
Used with permission from the Deputy Keeper of the Records, Public Record
Office of Northern Ireland (PRONI ref: D4260/1/4)
the time as homes for children, as visual monstrosities and deemed them
unbefitting for the care of children because of their ‘barrack appearance’.
One member of the committee comments on one children’s home they
inspected:
14 D. Edwards
Fig. 1.6 Photograph of Nazareth House (date unknown). Used with permis-
sion from the Ulster Architectural Heritage Society
The floors are bare stone or scrubbed unvarnished wood. The dining room
is ugly and stark to the last degree, with long bare tables, wooden benches,
and bare scrubbed floor boards. I have never seen a children’s home more
lacking in comfort and cheerfulness. There is nothing here that could
delight the eye of any child, except perhaps in the playroom of the toddlers
– no pictures, no flowers, no coloured curtains or cloths. The place is drab
and scoured. (The Curtis Report 1946, p. 74)
roots of the present system for children in care go back to the nineteenth
century when provision for the protection and care of children was cov-
ered by Acts including the Abandonment of Children Act, 1861 and the
Offences against the Person Act, 1861. In the mid-nineteenth century the
only public provision for children was in workhouses. By 1820 a whole
range of Catholic orphanages existed’ in Ireland.
16 D. Edwards
Finally, social theory can play a key role not only in how places are dis-
cussed, interpreted and remembered, but it can help us look at the world
objectively to make changes and to address inequality.
The research I undertook, which is the crux of this book, has endeav-
oured to understand from a more humanistic approach and through the
(auto)biographical lens, this story of emplacement from the experiences
of those who were at the receiving end of the recommendations made by
the various committees mentioned in this chapter. How similar or dissim-
ilar will their recollections be to that of the ‘official’ ones? Sköld (2016,
p. 498) suggests that ‘the memories of care-leavers and the archival
records of the institutions or care providers seldom tell the same story’.
The institutional care of orphaned or abandoned children, per-
ceived to be in ‘moral danger’, has had a long history on the Island of
Ireland and those placed in institutional care run by religious orders
had to endure a ‘low status’ within Irish society (Ferguson 2007). The
orphan became the ‘grotesque other’ and the ‘moral dirt’ who needed
to be cleansed of their parents’ sins through ‘appropriate regimes of
moral rehabilitation’ (Ferguson 2007, p. 132). This became a stigma,
a given or imposed identity that these children had to bear into adult-
hood. However, in recent years another identity of the orphan has
emerged, an identity constructed around oral testimonies of abuse and
victimisation. This identity and public memory is considered in Chap.
2, where I deconstruct the age of the ‘inquiry’ into historical institu-
tional abuse. This experience has become a ‘transnational memory event’
(Assmann 2013, p. 13) recounted in different countries and in different
ways, becoming a ‘difficult heritage’ for many nations
But what about the agentic self of the child and now adult; did such
a being exist and if so, how is this remembered? In order to under-
stand this point further it is imperative to consider the process involved
in identification and the multitude of memories which make up the self
and other. Therefore, the following chapters move away from the inquiry
approach to consider the stories of my participants. The aim of the over-
all research was shaped from the belief that the experiences of people
through time is of great consequence for sociological understandings of
the individual and society or in the words of Mills (2005, p. 21):
I wanted to find out how the twelve participants construct identities for
themselves through their memories. Chapter 3 outlines the biographical
method used, how I went about collecting the memories of former resi-
dents of Nazareth House.
Chapter 4 is the first of three empirical chapters. It became appar-
ent during the research that remembering revolved largely around two
spaces: Nazareth House and the transition of Leaving. This chapter
explores several memories of experiences of growing up in Nazareth
House; ranging from the general to the more self-specific memories. It
also became evident that the transition from care was an experience that
was vividly remembered. Chapter 5 explores these experiences. Chapter
6 is a return to method and the space of the interview. By looking at
how the participants engaged in the past, the strategies they used to tell
their stories, the analysis presented here demonstrates how the partici-
pants re-emplace all that came previously in Chaps. 4 and 5 in a situ-
ationally specific place of production in the present. Chapter 7 moves on
to consider the concept of ‘absent memory’ and how it exists as an auto-
biographical default for those with care experience and as a methodo-
logical concern for memory researchers. The book concludes with Chap.
8, where a critical gaze is brought to bear on today’s care system and
how the memory of children living in and leaving care is managed. This
chapter seeks to understand how memory is managed by social services
and offers new understandings of memory that social policy may want to
consider.
It may appear that I have narrowed the scope of this book by using
research conducted into a single institution. I admit that my autobio-
graphical curiosity was partly responsible for this decision, but there
were also practical issues involved, such as the advantage of being able
to gain access to potential participants. Nevertheless, by investigating
a circumscribed area I have been able to document stories about a past
and forgotten place. In the present, individual voices and stories of care
can become anonymised in the grander story of historical care (Keogh
2009), yet this book offers an invaluable and individualised perspective,
a specialised understanding of emplaced (auto)biographies and identities
of orphanhood.
To conclude, starting from a place of familial memory provided
my research self with a broad theme on which to commence and pro-
vided a sociologically enthused topic that was inextricably entwined
with my very own ‘personal sentiment’ (Lofland and Lofland 1995).
1 INTRODUCTION: STARTING FROM A PLACE … 19
However, starting from this place did not mean I wanted to stay there.
The memory work offered in this book was by no means intended to
be self-indulgent or narcissistic. I was aware that ‘[s]elf reflection, how-
ever indispensable, sometimes courts self-centredness. And whether this
becomes a serious threat depends on the interplay between first and sec-
ond personhood’ (Bal 1993, p. 311). As human researchers, we are all
‘socially located’ (Stanley 1995) in our projects, it just happens that I am
biographically located as an orphan’s daughter.
Notes
1. Although ‘this country’ was in reference to England and Wales, its findings
were reflective of care in other parts of the UK at that time.
2. Someone once told me that Nazareth House was the “McDonald’s” of
children’s homes.
Bibliography
Assmann, A. (2013). Awkward memories and the role of silence: A commentary
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Bal, M. (1993). First person, second person, same person: Narrative as episte-
mology. New Literary history, 24(2), Reconsiderations, 293–320.
Brown, S., & Reavey, P. (2015). Vital memory and affect: Living with a difficult
past. London: Routledge.
Carr, N. (2010). Marginal figures?—Child detention in the Republic of Ireland:
A History of the present. Unpublished thesis, University of Dublin, Trinity
College.
Caul, B., & Herron, S. (1992). A service for people: Origins and development of
the personal social services of Northern Ireland. Belfast: Universities Press.
Crowley, U. & Kitchin, R. (2008, August). Producing ‘decent girls’:
Governmentality and the moral geographies of sexual conduct in Ireland
(1922–1937). Gender, Place and Culture, 15 (4), 355–372.
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50 years of child care in Northern Ireland. Belfast: Department of Health,
Social Services and Public Safety. Retrieved October 2008, from, http://
www.dhsspsni.gov.uk/show_publications?txtid=12250.
Ferguson, H. (2007). Abused and looked after children as ‘moral dirt’: Child
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Foucault, M. (1986). Of other spaces. Diacritics, 16 (1), (Spring), 22–27.
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assurances s’accroît au lieu de diminuer, la marine périclite. Quant
au marin, d’autant moins recherché qu’il y a moins de navires,
pressé par le besoin, les dettes, la famille, mécontent et mal payé, il
embarque parce qu’il le faut.
Pardonnez-moi, lecteur, cette longue digression. Le sujet m’en a
paru intéressant, et je me suis trouvé si bien placé pour prendre mes
renseignements à bonne source, que je n’ai pu m’empêcher de
transcrire ici des appréciations dont la justesse ne me semble que
trop prouvée.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Le fameux « pot-au-noir », — les marins nomment ainsi la zone
des calmes de l’équateur, dans laquelle le temps est presque
toujours orageux, sombre et pluvieux, — a été traversé sans autre
incident que quelques éclairs à l’horizon ; après cela le temps s’est
mis tout à fait au beau, et nous avons pu faire connaissance avec
les étoiles de l’hémisphère austral.
Le 28, on a aperçu pour la première fois la fameuse Croix du
sud, dont la réputation me semble être un peu surfaite. Elle se
détache fort bien dans le ciel de ces parages, mais serait
assurément moins remarquée dans notre hémisphère, où les
constellations sont beaucoup plus nombreuses et plus brillantes.
Chercher dans un ciel pur, par une nuit bien claire et bien calme,
le Centaure, la Balance ou le Poisson austral est certainement une
occupation pleine d’intérêt, mais que des Parisiens comme nous
trouvent bientôt monotone. Quand on n’a eu, durant toute une
journée, d’autre distraction que d’avoir suivi d’un regard blasé les
bandes de poissons volants, sautillant d’une vague à une autre,
entendu une conférence sur la composition géologique du bassin de
l’Amazone et lu quatre chapitres des voyages de Mme Ida Pfeiffer, le
plus splendide coucher de soleil et la contemplation d’étoiles
arrangées d’une manière nouvelle ne suffisent pas à remplir la
soirée. On a des ressouvenirs d’Opéra, de lumières, de flâneries sur
le boulevard, de flonflons d’opérettes, qui, à la longue, deviennent
agaçants. Nous avons eu l’idée de lutter contre ces revenants, qui
nous venaient bien, ma foi, de l’autre monde, et de les battre avec
leurs propres armes ; puisque nous ne pouvions aller chercher
l’esprit des autres et entendre la musique des autres, nous nous
sommes donné une soirée à nous-mêmes, dont notre musique et
notre esprit ont fait tous les frais. Ce projet, accepté avec
enthousiasme, a été exécuté avant-hier. Un programme des plus
fantaisistes, où les chansons de café-concert se rencontraient avec
les sonates de Beethoven et les odes de Victor Hugo, fut rédigé
dans l’après-midi, et, le soir du même jour, le salon arrière, comme
Venise la belle, « brillait de mille feux ». L’état-major, convié non
seulement à assister, mais aussi à concourir à cette petite fête, y prit
une part très active et seconda fort utilement les efforts louables,
mais justement modestes de la plupart de mes compagnons.
La soirée commença par une improvisation très brillante de M. P.
S…, excellent musicien, grand ami et admirateur de Richard
Wagner, artiste s’il en fut, original en tous points, qui réclama
l’indulgence du public en des termes demi-sérieux, demi-comiques,
qui mirent tout le monde en gaieté. Chacun paya son écot, soit avec
une romance, une pièce de vers, ou une historiette quelconque. A
onze heures du soir, le punch final achevait de dérider les plus
sérieux ; le répertoire d’Offenbach et celui de Lecocq tenaient la
corde ; des gens qui avaient à peine échangé quelques mots depuis
le départ s’extasiaient ensemble sur les mérites de Mlle Granier,
tandis que des amis intimes discutaient chaudement les idées
littéraires de M. Zola. On ne se sépara guère qu’à minuit, après un
dernier toast en l’honneur des absents, et se promettant bien de
recommencer à la première occasion.
4 septembre, Rio-de-Janeiro.
En mer, 14 septembre.
L’état social d’un pays, comme son état politique, est un effet et
non une cause, et ceux qui méconnaissent cette vérité élémentaire
tirent de la constatation des faits actuels des conclusions toujours
fausses et injustes. La question de savoir si les espèces se
transforment n’est pas encore résolue ; mais quant aux peuples, cela
est de toute évidence.
Il faut donc, avant de juger une nation, connaître, au moins en
substance, quelle éducation elle a reçue et à quelle époque cette
éducation a commencé. L’aperçu très sommaire et très incomplet
que j’ai donné des richesses du Brésil suffit à faire comprendre
combien les destinées de cet immense empire sont intéressantes
pour l’avenir du monde civilisé ; un coup d’œil rapide sur son histoire
montrera qu’il ne faut pas se hâter d’être sévère à son égard, car nul
n’a été élevé à plus rude et à plus malheureuse école.
En l’an 1500, Pinson, l’un des anciens compagnons de
Christophe Colomb, aborde au nord de Pernambouc et prend