Three Legged Cross, Dorset

Visiting Ferndown

(Not just 1955, probably most of the 1950s.)

When my mother was a little girl, she was looked after by a nanny, who in her later years lived at Fairways, a bungalow at the end of Carroll Avenue.  In the 1950s when I was very young, we used to visit what seemed a large bungalow in a very large garden full of pine trees and bracken, where my brother and I used to play while the adults gossiped. Years later, long after Nanny had moved away, probably 1967 or 68, when we went back to see what the place looked like, it was half demolished, and new houses were being built on the site.  A sad day for us.

Sister Enid Butler's Orphanage.

I was a child that lived at the 'Sister Butler's orphanage' in the early I960s.  This message is to anyone that was also at the orphanage at that time, particularly Alison Burbidge, as I have read her account stating that Alison would have been at the orphanage at the same time as me. I have a lot of memories of the Hinton Martell, and the orphanage, such as the school over the road from the orphanage run by two sisters, we all sat on long benches. We had slates and chalk to write on, the slate had a small wood frame, I'm not joking. In the class we had a big pot-belly stove in one corner, and a picture of the Queen on the wall. I remember from the road outside the school, looking up the main street away from the village, tall trees on both sides of the road and one of them on the orphanage side was a big cherry tree. I can remember the Gipsies selling pegs on the road outside the gate at the orphanage, and they had a painted caravan drawn by a horse. The Gipsies lived in the woods not far out of the village. I remember the small sweet shop on the same side of the road as the orphanage, going to the village. I can remember seeing the old man in the shop making a cone out of paper to put the sweets in, this shop must have been a garage because it had one of those flat round wind plate signs outside the shop. I can remember the old fountain, and sitting on the side of it on a hot day. I can't think why the winter of 1963 could have done any harm to it. I can remember the rooks in the thatched roof of the orphanage, and in winter as we all lined up to cross the road to the school, the small milk bottles in their crates were always frozen so much that the silver tops would be on top of a lump of frozen milk. Every night before bed we had to drink cocoa, I hate cocoa, and I can't think why we were made to drink something like that before bed.
The orphanage must have employed people from outside the village, because I remember a French girl working for a short time. I saw my first TV at the orphanage, ''Dr Who, and ''Z Cars". Ali, yes, I remember potty time, and all of us sitting on our pots. I have a story for you. I for some reason started bed wetting, and was given a hard time for it one morning I woke all wet and just stayed in bed until everyone had gone down to breakfast, I think so they wouldn't know. Up came Sister Butler's mother, a lovely lady in her nineties. She smiled and sent me down to breakfast. When I got down everyone was looking at me, but before anyone started to tell me off for bed wetting there was a loud bump noise from upstairs. I just stood still as everyone in the room ran past me and up to see that Sister Butler's mother had dropped dead changing my sheets.
All these memories and more have come flooding back after finding yesterday on the internet, where 'Sister Butler's orphanage' was. I was taken away one night by two people to London, and they told me they were my mother and father, and after the assaults from my father it wasn't long before I wanted to go back. I ran away from home one night. My father found me. When I said where I was going it was made very clear to me that I was never to say another word about Sister Butler's.
Hinton Martell is a beautiful little village with green fields, cottages with thatched roofs and bunny rabbits, but it has a past, a very dark past in its orphanage. It has a connection to Australian history, just as the Dorset town of Tolpuddle, because some children from that orphanage were sent to Australia. We weren't all orphans, and we don't know where we came from or who we are. I am not the only one, and our story should be told. If anyone knows anything that they think would be of interest please write to my email bigheads565@gmail.com.au  I would be happy to talk or help anyone with information to do with the orphanage.
Mark Allan Smith

Hinton Martell

There was also another lady, sadly deceased, called Mrs Sturney that would have adopted me but was sadly considered "too old". Any information on these people gladly welcomed. Mrs Sturney's first name was Gwendoline as far as I can remember

Orphanage

I was looked after by a lovely lady called Sister (Enid) Butler who took in unwanted children until they were re- homed either by fostering or adoption (this was me).
There was a young lad there called Peter who allegedly set fire to the original building with a cigarette end. I was adopted in about 1962 by a family who lived in Kent, and had a happy childhood all bar the bullying at school which I dealt with. I think there was also another lady known to me as Sister Edenbridge. Sadly both these ladies are now deceased. I am trying to trace my biological mother and family in order to understand what went wrong and also to discover my medical history so that I can tell my children that the illnesses I suffer with may be something they will end up with.
I remember for some reason being lined up with all the other children in a row on our potties after being fed, and playing in the garden, which had a large swing chair attached to a tree.
I was baptized at the church opposite from the home and have my certificates. I also have a couple of photos of Hinton Martell with the fountain as it was at the centre of the village. If anyone can help me locate my parents or brother and sister I would appreciate any information.
Ali Burbidge (nee Elizabeth Mary Riding. Was adopted and became Alison Elizabeth Anne Long).