So there I was in a ballroom with complete strangers...

I have always known where I was born. My parents were Londoners and I should have been born at the City of London Maternity Hospital but it had been blitzed, three times, early on in the war. The Government requisitioned a stately home in Hertfordshire which served as a maternity hospital from 1939 to 1949, and during that time 8,338 babies were born there. I had never thought much about it until 2020 when for some reason I googled Brocket Hall and discovered I was a “Brocket Baby”! There is a website, of which I am now a member, devoted to finding these babies. Many of the members live all over the world now and come from a huge variety of backgrounds.

Brocket Hall is one of England’s finest stately homes, set in over 500 acres of parkland. It has a long history. The Brocket Hall I was born in—there had been two predecessors—was built in 1760 by James Paine for the owner Sir Matthew Lamb. His son became the first Lord Melbourne, and his wife was the mistress of the Prince Regent, later George IV, who was a frequent visitor to the house. The second Lord Melbourne became Prime Minister to Queen Victoria, who also stayed there. When the second Lord Melbourne died, Brocket Hall passed on to his sister. She married Lord Palmerston, who also became Prime Minister. He, allegedly, died on a billiard table whilst in the embrace of a chambermaid. somehow I had missed the publicity. The pandemic put an end to these, and I thought I might never see inside—by this time my curiosity was in full swing. But then, I received a notification that there was to be a reunion on 7 December last year, and was overjoyed to learn that I would be able to visit my place of birth. We were only allowed four hours, from noon until 4pm. With my husband as my guest, we entered the imposing hallway with its magnificent staircase and a huge Christmas tree, and then gathered for mulled wine and nibbles in the morning room. After this we were led into the ballroom which was laid out for lunch in splendid fashion.

The present Lord Brocket, Charlie Brocket, is rather infamous—a likeable rogue, winner of I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and a fraudster! When he inherited Brocket Hall it was in a bad state of repair so, to raise money, he cut up and buried several of his classic cars and lodged a fraudulent insurance claim.

Unfortunately for him, his estranged wife passed this information on to the police, and Lord Brocket served several years in prison. He decided to let out Brocket Hall on a 60-year lease and it is now run as an up-market wedding venue and golf club. It is impossible to visit there unless you belong to the golf club, are attending a wedding, or you are a Brocket Baby! Apparently there had been reunions of the Brocket Babies for many years but

So, there I was in a ballroom with complete strangers but we all had one thing in common. Each table seated ten people and all the people on my table had such interesting stories. The lady next to me had been born at Brocket Hall and immediately adopted. I had learned that unmarried mothers such as hers were called “brownies” as they wore a brown uniform and worked downstairs doing the laundry and all sorts of menial tasks. When it came to their confinement, they were allowed upstairs to give birth and then the baby would be taken away. Very, very sad: it certainly was “upstairs and downstairs”, but that’s how it was in those days.

Once the meal was over we were allowed to go anywhere in the house and I couldn’t wait. Brocket Hall has thirty bedrooms, all with large en suite bathrooms. Many of the rooms have gold coloured plaques on the doors with the names of Lord Melbourne, Lord Palmerston, Lord Brocket, the Queen Victoria room, and other famous names of the times. The paintings on the walls

Unexpected joys

are wonderful, although we were told they were all copies, the real paintings are stored away safely somewhere. In spite of the size of the house, it felt homely. We saw the birthing and recovery rooms, still with the same wallpaper! During the course of the afternoon local school children stood on the impressive hallway stairs and sang us Christmas carols. It was a joy to behold!

It was fascinating talking to the other Brocket Babies and hearing what their mothers had told them about it. My mother died a very long time ago, and I felt quite emotional standing in the grounds, by the lake, thinking that my mother would have seen the same view. I was able to tell my father about my being a Brocket Baby but he died, two days away from 101 years old, before I was able to tell him about the reunion. He did, however, tell me that my mother was at Brocket Hall for seven weeks as she had complications, and he used to visit every weekend, on his bike, a fifty mile round trip!

A post-script to this story is that, while a young man was joining the library where I work, I noticed his birthday was very close to my youngest son’s, so I asked him if he’d been born in the local hospital. He told me no, he’d been born in Brighton, although he’d never lived there. I said I too had been born somewhere I had never lived, Brocket Hall, Hertfordshire. As soon as he had left, a lady who had been nearby asked me, had I mentioned Brocket Hall? It turned out that when she first got married her husband was a silver service waiter there, and she worked downstairs in the kitchen washing up. I told her of the impending visit and she told me what a marvellous house it is with wonderful paintings, and she is absolutely right. What a coincidence!

It may be that one of you reading this story was also born in Brocket Hall but do not know about the Brocket Baby organisation. You can get in touch with them at www.brocketbabies.org.uk good time for a meal? We decided on the latter and Pete was very pleased with himself, as we settled at a table by the wall, ordered food and ate a leisurely meal together.

Sometimes our lives take an unexpected turn. The birth in 1977 of our younger son, who had Down’s syndrome and additional needs, was one such moment. It opened my eyes to a world where, back then, people with learning disabilities often lived segregated lives and found it hard to be part of the community. In my first book about his childhood, Through Peter’s Eyes, I tried to show his life as I thought he might see it—he did not use words—and to reflect on society’s response.

If we fast forward to the pandemic, when so many of us had the time to try something out, I rediscovered the text for another memoir I had written a few years after Pete’s death. I was looking back on his teenage years and all that he achieved in the 18 years of his life. Could this be a second book?

Of course, there were challenges for Pete and for us as a family, but I wanted readers to know how one young man with profound learning disabilities enriched the lives of those around him.

I took advice from the writer, Sally Bayley. Using the early draft as a starting point I gradually competed a second memoir focusing on Pete’s life from the age of eleven, looking at his schooling, his love of music, of food, his friendships, his holidays. He loved Whitby. It had all the components of a good day out: fish and chips, cafes, the beach, amusements, activities like trampolining and occasionally music.

Late one Sunday afternoon, after listening to the music at the bandstand, we were making our way along the quayside. At the end of a group of buildings was a café. Very quickly Pete dived in. Should we say “No Pete; not today” or should we agree it was a https://www. youcaxton.co.uk/ pete/

Later in my own life I left teaching and became a co-director of the Foundation for People with Learning Disabilities, another unexpected turn! There has been progress in supporting people with learning disabilities to be part of their communities, but there is still a long way to go.

Now in retirement I continue to learn more as a trustee of learning disability charity People First Dorset, where friendships are so valued by the members. I struggled to find a title for my book. In the end, The Joy of Knowing Pete came from a phrase used by one of his teachers, and the subtitle, Much was said, yet no words spoken from a poem written by one of his teaching assistants. In the photo on the cover, Pete shares his favourite catalogues with his older brother.

I really appreciated that some friends from Dorchester NWR supported me as we launched the book in a café in the town in July 2022.