Second World War veteran George Beardshaw is believed to be the last living British Home Child. [St. Joseph’s Health Care London]
George Beardshaw no longer recalls the dates, but he retains the memories. A proud 102-year-old Canadian veteran of the Second World War, he was born in Yorkshire, England, on Sept. 14, 1923. The story of how he came to serve Canada, however, isn’t a strictly happy one, having been one of some 100,000 adolescent Britons, mostly of orphaned or impoverished backgrounds, sent to the dominion between the 1860s and the 1940s as part of the Home Children scheme.
Many, including Beardshaw, endured considerable hardship in rural households. Some even experienced exploitation and abuse by their Canadian foster families.
Almost all are presumed gone now—except for Beardshaw, who is believed to be the last living Home Child. He’s also the last of more than 25,000 program participants who fought for their new homeland in war.
Part motivated to serve, part desperate to escape his labouring life, the long-retired corporal fought with The Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada through France, Belgium and the Netherlands prior to his capture in the final weeks of the conflict.
Joined by his beloved long-time caregiver and “best friend,” Judi Marie Helle, as a shared keeper—and, when necessary, gentle guider—of his stories, Beardshaw recalled his formative years, as he remembers them, in a Legion Magazine exclusive.
On becoming a Home Child
Beardshaw: I remember a lot of stuff from the orphanages. I don’t remember anything about my family before I was taken to those homes when I was three years old.
I had a brother living in Canada [near Tillsonburg, Ont.] and he wrote me a letter saying what a good time he was having. He had a motorcycle that was doing 60 miles an hour. I thought it would be a nice place to go.
There was a song I used to sing after that:
There is a happy land far, far away,
We’ll get bread and jam three times a day,
Eggs and bacon, we don’t see,
We get brick dust in the tea,
That’s why we gradually,
Fade, fade away.
Anyway, the school inspector came around one day, and he said, “How many of you boys would like to go to Canada.” Up went my hand.
I went over on the Empress of Australia [in 1938 with 14 other boys]. I didn’t really enjoy the voyage that much because I was up on deck, liable to throw up at any moment, but there were a lot of nice people on that ship.
When I got to the headquarters for Barnardo’s in Toronto, they had a list of farmers who wanted youngsters. On that list, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Payne of Little Britain [Ont.]. Well, I came from Great Britain, so why not go to Little Britain?
The farmer picked me up at the train station in his 1929 Chevrolet and drove me to their place. That’s when his wife came over as I stepped out of the car. She wanted to see what her husband had brought home. She took one look at me, eyed me up and down, and said: “is that grease in your hair? I’m having none of that here.”
So, as soon as I got there, that’s what it was like.
On life on the farm
Beardshaw: I was worked quite hard, kept pretty busy, but I wasn’t used to stepping on cow shit. One day while milking the cows, I got down there before [Mr. Payne]. When he finally got there, I’d already milked two of my [three] cows, and he still had his three. To be nice, I said, “this cow isn’t giving as much milk as she used to.” Well, I guess he’d gotten out of the wrong side of bed because he said something like, “If you’d keep your mouth shut, she’d give a little more.” That did it for me.
I quit milking the cow, threw the milk pail against the wall where the cats were sitting, and said, “I’m going.” That’s why I left the farm.
Of course, it was wartime by then. I tried to join the air force, but they said that I didn’t have enough education or something like that. I then figured I’d volunteer for the army, where I joined The Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada.
On returning to England in uniform
Beardshaw: I remember training at Camp Borden. We had to learn certain things about being a soldier. But of course, we eventually went to England.
When D-Day started, they’d been playing the top songs on the radio, but all of a sudden, they stopped, and I heard the [D-Day] announcement. I remember it shook me a little, thinking “oh my god. It’s happening.”
I wasn’t there on D-Day, but I was over there about a month later [as a replacement following the losses sustained by The Queen’s Own Rifles’ June 6, 1944, Juno Beach assault and the subsequent Normandy campaign]. In the meantime, our colonel said that nobody was getting leave. I said, “My mother doesn’t live too far from here.” So, he gave me three days’ leave to go and see her, as I’d gotten her address from another one of my brothers who was in the British Royal Navy.
Can you imagine? I hadn’t seen my mother since I was three, and here I was, knocking on her door in a Canadian Army uniform. I found her to be a very quiet and gentle kind of a woman. Her mother was also there, my grandmother, who was sitting in a chair because she was pretty old. She grabbed hold of me, pulled me down, sat me on her knee, and rubbed her face against mine. I remember those whiskers.
I also eventually got the chance to meet my two sisters, but only after the war was over, because almost as soon as I had my days with my mother, I went over to France.
On fighting at the front
Beardshaw: I remember getting closer to the front and hearing the guns firing. I thought to myself, “another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into.” While we were fighting, [civilians] were in hiding somewhere else because they were letting us do our job. I didn’t see too much of them right in the front line.
Helle: What about the story of when you went to that farm where you gave that lady’s family some food, and she took your coat? And what did she do with your jacket? She put a collar on your jacket.
Beardshaw: Yes, she put a sheepskin collar on my jacket.
Helle: Now, do you want to talk about [Rifleman Paul] Steeves?
Beardshaw: Oh, yes. He was from [near] Moncton, New Brunswick. My memory is becoming…I’m turning 103.
Helle: You’re rushing ahead a little. You’ve just passed your 102nd. What happened was you went into the village. You were heading for a building, and Steeves got shot [on Oct. 25, 1944], right?
Beardshaw: Yes. I liked Steeves, and I missed him.
Helle: You got him off the road. You thought he’d just been shot, but he was dead [at age 19].
Beardshaw: Yes.
Helle: I know you find it hard to talk about. He was your good friend.
Beardshaw: Yes.
On becoming a prisoner of war
Helle: Another time, he was going into a town [Deventer, Netherlands], over a bridge, to see where the Germans were.
Beardshaw: I went down the road, one patrol on one side and another patrol back-a-ways. My boys reached our destination, where the bridge had been blown, and we couldn’t get across into the town. It was a concrete bridge, and big chunks of it were in the river where the Germans had destroyed it.
Helle: You thought you saw the other patrol coming up, right?
Beardshaw: Yeah, but it wasn’t. It was the Germans. They started shooting at us, and there was a house that I got into quickly, and there was a shell hole just outside that I could see from the house window. And there were a couple of guys [Canadians] in there. I saw that one of the boys had been wounded, and the other guy died. Anyway, we finally gave up, and we were captured.
[The Germans] took us into the woods, where there was a schoolhouse or something there, and we sat on the floor with a couple of Germans looking after us. The next morning, we were on our way to Aalsmeer [Netherlands], which is the flower capital of the world. We had to walk with the Germans watching over us. On the way, we heard Allied planes coming over, and the Germans were scared shitless. They all ran for the ditch. We had a laugh.
There was one German guy there, a young fella. He had a brand new Ford, but he had the windshield open or something, and had a horse tied to the car. I’ve never seen a car with only one horsepower.
When we got to Aalsmeer, we saw people looking out of their windows and waving at us. The Germans were pissed off at them, I guess. They put us in a complex. It was a Catholic church and a children’s playground and a school. There was a nunnery there, but they’d taken the nuns out. When the nuns left, they took their beds and stuff with them.
Helle: The Red Cross gave them handkerchiefs, and George got his handkerchief signed by all those who were in that prison. His dear friend got it framed for him.
Beardshaw: Yes. I should say that we were dirty and wet when we were taken prisoner, and we wore those dirty and wet clothes until we were released. We never had a shower or bath or nothing for 28 days.
Helle: Tell the story about the young [Dutch] boy who used to pass by every day.
Beardshaw: Oh, he used to shout the news as he went by the prison. Of course, he needed to watch out or the Germans would have shot him.
On the end of the war
Beardshaw: News travels fast. The Canadians came from the south with their vehicles [and liberated the prisoners]. There was a big crowd [of civilians] who were singing the Canadian national anthem in English.
Helle: They moved tables out from the houses and onto the lawns, and the Canadians came in with all the food [for the prisoners], but the prisoner fellas gave it to the Dutch people to eat.
Beardshaw: We knew we’d get lots when we got back to our own lines.
Helle: Then, George sat down at a table, and the young fella who had hollered up [about the news] ended up sitting beside him. He admired George’s coat, the one that the lady had put the sheep’s collar on, so George gave it to him. He ended up settling in Australia, and George corresponded with him until he passed.
On remembrance
Beardshaw: I think it’s sad to say that it’s been so long since the war ended, and people are apt to forget. But there are also some people out there who still remember. I can see that for myself just outside my window [in London, Ont.], where I look out and see the painting on the road that they’ve just done. They’ve just put it out there lately. Very touching. It’s of a soldier with the words, “Lest We Forget.”
This abridged interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.
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