Chapter: 'THE NEST', CLAPTON

When I began to write this book, I determined to set down all things
exactly as I saw or heard them. But, although somewhat hardened in
such matters by long experience of a very ugly world, I find that
there are limits to what can be told of such a place as 'The Nest' in
pages which are meant for perusal by the general public. The house
itself is charming, with a good garden adorned by beautiful trees. It
has every arrangement and comfort possible for the welfare of its
child inmates, including an open-air bedroom, cleverly contrived from
an old greenhouse for the use of those among them whose lungs are
weakly.

But these inmates, these sixty-two children whose ages varied from
about four to about sixteen! What can I say of their histories? Only
in general language, that more than one half of them have been subject
to outrages too terrible to repeat, often enough at the hands of their
own fathers! If the reader wishes to learn more, he can apply
confidentially to Commissioner Cox, or to Mrs. Bramwell Booth.

[Illustration: SOME OF THE CHILDREN AT 'THE NEST'.]

Here, however, is a case that I can mention, as although it is
dreadful enough, it belongs to a different class. Seeing a child of
ten, whose name was Betty, playing about quite happily with the
others, I spoke to her, and afterwards asked for the particulars of
her story. They were brief. It appears that this poor little thing had
actually seen her father murder her mother. I am glad to be able to
add that to all appearance she has recovered from the shock of this
awful experience.

Indeed, all these little girls, notwithstanding their hideous pasts,
seemed, so far as I could judge, to be extremely happy at their
childish games in the garden. Except that some were of stunted growth,
I noted nothing abnormal about any of them. I was told, however, by
the Officer in charge, that occasionally, when they grow older,
propensities originally induced in them through no fault of their own
will assert themselves.

To lessen this danger, as in the case of the women inebriates, all
these children are brought up as vegetarians. Before me, as I write,
is the bill of fare for the week, which I tore off a notice board in
the house. The breakfast on three days, to take examples, consists of
porridge, with boiling milk and sugar, cocoa, brown and white bread
and butter. On the other mornings either stewed figs, prunes, or
marmalade are added. A sample dinner consists of lentil savoury, baked
potatoes, brown gravy and bread; boiled rice with milk and sugar. For
tea, bananas, apples, oranges, nuts, jam, brown and white bread and
butter and cocoa are supplied, but tea itself as a beverage is only
given on Sundays. A footnote to the bill of fare states that all
children over twelve years of age who wish for it, can have bread and
butter before going to bed.

Certainly the inmates of 'The Nest,' if any judgment may be formed
from their personal appearance, afford a good argument to the
advocates of vegetarianism.

It costs L13 a year to endow a bed in this Institution. Amongst
others, I saw one which was labelled 'The Band of Helpers' Bed. This
is maintained by girls who have passed through the Institution, and
are now earning their livelihood in the world, as I thought, a
touching and significant testimony. I should add that the children in
this Home are educated under the direction of a certificated
governess.

My visit to this Refuge made a deep impression on my mind. No person
of sense and experience, remembering the nameless outrages to which
many of these poor children have been exposed, could witness their
present health and happiness without realizing the blessed nature of
this work.

 Prior stands in front of the Board who decides whether or not he is fit for duty. He is conflicted between wanting to go and prove himself a man and wanting to save his own life. When the Board asks him whether he feels he is physically fit for service, he does not respond; he has no idea what to say. Outside the room, several patients, including Sassoon, are waiting to go before the Board. Sassoon gets tired of waiting, so he leaves. After the Board session, Rivers finds Prior crying. He has been granted permanent home service. Prior is ashamed and upset that he will never know what kind of officer he could have been. Rivers tries to assure Prior that there is nothing at all to be ashamed about; he has been through hell, and it is understandable that he should suffer "nerves" because of it. After all, it is Prior's asthma, not his psychological state, that got him permanent home service. Prior admits that Rivers reminds him of his mother. The two men part on good terms. Late that night, Sassoon returns to the hospital and is sent up to talk with Rivers. Rivers is angered that Sassoon was so disrespectful to the Board; he demands a reason why he walked out. Sassoon apologizes and admits that he was afraid. He had no idea where he was going or how he would get there when the Board's decision had been made. Sassoon told Rivers that he considered going down to London to see Dr. Mercier, another prominent psychiatrist, to get a second opinion. In case Sassoon went back to France and continued his protest, he figured that the government would try to make the excuse that he had a relapse of mental problems. With opinions from two prominent psychiatrists that he is sane, Sassoon thought he would be better protected. Nevertheless, Sassoon assures Rivers that he does want to go back to France. Rivers promises to do what he can to make that possible.

