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Sutton). Jane’s white teeth showed as she bit her lower lip. One of her milk teeth had come out and she drew air in through the gap with a sucking sound, then poked her tongue through it and wiggled it around. A smile spread across her face, as she whispered, confidentially: “My daddy is in Parliament.”
    Miss Sutton was, to say the least, taken aback. She was too fond of the child to reply, “Don’t be silly,” but she felt it necessary to say something to dispel this illusion.
    “Oh, come now, Jane, that cannot possibly be.”
    “But he is, he is, he’s here in the book. I’ve seen him.”
    She turned a few pages on and pointed the artist’s impression of a Member of Parliament.
    “That’s my daddy. I know it is. I’ve seen him lots and lots of times.”
    “But Jane, that is not a real man. That’s just a drawing to show the clothes that a Member of Parliament might wear. That’s not your daddy, dear.”
    “It is, it is, I know it is!” Jane began to cry, and jumped up. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know my daddy. I do, and I know it’s him.” Jane ran from the classroom in tears.
    Poor Miss Sutton was troubled by this scene, and discussed it with the Headmistress. They agreed that Jane’s reaction was just the longing of a highly imaginative child for a father she had never known. The Headmistress advised channelling Jane’s thoughts in other directions and said it would be best not to mention Parliament again. That way Jane would forget about it.
    Alone, Jane had also decided upon a similar course. She would never again mention her father to anyone, except Peggy. No one, not even Miss Sutton, was worthy of being let into her secret. She pretended she had forgotten all about the lunch-time conversation and carried on as though it had never occurred. But now she knew the book and the page where her daddy was to be found, and whenever she could, she went to the cupboard and opened the page, to gaze upon him with rapture in her heart. If anyone came near, she turned the page quickly, pretending she was looking at something else.

SIR IAN ASTOR-SMALEIGH

    Sir Ian Astor-Smaleigh was a true philanthropist. He was an Oxford man who had devoted most of his life, and a considerable part of his fortune, to improvement of living conditions and life expectancy among children in the poorest areas of London. He was a founder member of the Oxford Philanthropic Society for the Improvement of Poor Children, having formed a charity dedicated to the provision of holidays for workhouse children. This work was also close to the heart of his wife, Lady Lavinia. They had made a systematic study of the workhouse system, and though they acknowledged that conditions had improved a great deal since the 1850s, they had seen with their own eyes hundreds of grey, unsmiling children crowded into workhouses and orphanages and were determined to do something about it. The idea of an annual holiday was Lady Lavinia’s. Surely, she argued, two weeks by the sea for unwanted children, with healthy air and sunshine, was not too much to ask of society?
    The opposition was loud in its scorn. “Holidays! For pauper children! What next? Let them learn to be grateful that they are given food and shelter.”
    Sir Ian and his lady battled on. When it was proved that one of the causes of rickets was lack of sunlight, they knew that this information could be used to further their cause. Were not many workhouse children afflicted with rickets? And were they not advocating a holiday in the sunshine?
    Eventually they won the debate and, to their overwhelming relief, the committee passed, by a narrow majority, the resolution that money should be set aside for holidays for the children of one London workhouse. Additional funds were approved for a further five, if the experiment proved successful.
    Suitable premises were found in Kent. These consisted of a series of large barns and sheds that could be adapted as dormitories for the