The Lost Children of Britain

My cousin’s father-in-law, Alf, was one of Britain’s “lost children.” My quick on-line search revealed that Britain “exported vast numbers” of children to Canada and Australia during a 350-year period, ending in the 1970’s. The purpose of the forced migration was to relieve overcrowded orphanages in England and populate the colonies. In Alf’s case, it was 1930 and he was 14 years old. Alf’s mother died when he was three and eventually his father could not care for his large family so Alf and three brothers were put into an orphanage in England, where his father visited them. One of Alf’s older brothers was sent to Canada at age sixteen; a few years later, Alf was sent also. The brothers, separately, lived with families in the fertile  farmland of Southern Ontario.

Alf did not take to his first farm placement but fended well for himself and found other families in the area to stay with. I do not know if he was able to attend much school or whether being a farmhand required all his time. Alf eventually met a girl among the farm families, and they married. Alf and his wife raised a large family near Hamilton, Ontario. My cousin married one of their middle sons. On occasion, my family saw Alf and his family, and I recall him as jovial and energetic.

Now you’re wondering how Alf’s story has a Christmas connection. Well, I was thinking about the similarities of Alf’s life of loss and displacement with Jesus’ own life of loss and loneliness. It is commonly known that Joseph and Mary were displaced and temporarily relocated in an overcrowded Bethlehem, due to a Roman census regulation, when Jesus was born. Sometime later, his parents fled to Egypt with young Jesus because of Roman infanticide orders – political refugees. During Jesus’ ministry, the Bible tells us he was homeless with “no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20). Jesus was misunderstood and rejected by many people of His day.

But what comes to mind most about Alf’s story is my memory of a cousin evening a summer or two ago. We’d had a great meal and evening of reminiscing and laughter together but as our time came to a close, the conversation became somber over more serious issues. Under the deep Ontario night sky, my cousin’s husband, Alf’s son, announced with a wide, confident smile, “But I have hope.” His faith, like his father’s, gave him a guaranteed hope that it all comes out well in the end. The birth we celebrate at Christmas is this: “Our Lord Jesus Christ though He was rich (divine, perfect, enthroned in heaven) yet for your sake He became poor (displaced, orphaned, and lowly) so that you through His poverty might become rich (rescued, adopted, blessed) 2 Corinthians 8 v 9. AMEN

Merry Christmas!  Remember that posts are best viewed at                                  “A Writer’s Daughter”
See my previous Christmas stories.

Author: Brenda Proulx

Wife, mother and grandmother, educator and someone who thinks about the things I observe. I am the daughter of a writer; my dad's career was in the field of journalism. More significantly, I am God's child, a person believing in Jesus Christ and in His timeless Word. Blogging is new to me but I feel like I've always had a pen in my hand. I jot notes in my planner, mark papers, underline verses, write many letters, and occasionally draft articles for work or church. When I am not holding a pen, I am probably cuddling a mug of coffee. View all posts by Brenda Proulx