Originally published Tuesday Oct. 8 2002
In the first half of the 20th century, nurse Florence Bradford ran a home for unwed mothers in Sherbrooke. For a fee, she housed generations of single, pregnant young women, shunned by families ashamed to bring illegitimate kids into their homes and communities. Several ‘Bradford babies’, some well into their golden years, have recently contacted The Record to share their stories in the hopes of finding information about the young mothers who gave them up.
As requested, names in this article have been changed to protect any adoptive parents still living today, many of whom continue to have difficulty accepting the driving need of their children, seemingly abandoned at birth by veritable strangers, to find answers.
In the early to mid 1900s, unmarried women in the Eastern Townships who became pregnant were hidden or sent away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of neighbours. A cult of secrecy was born, one that contributed to the destruction of documents and photographs, making it nearly impossible for the grown babies to trace their genealogy.
Nurse Bradford’s clients were given special nicknames and only the head pin herself is said to have known the true identity of the patients. Nurse Bradford, who was also an unwed mother, gave birth to a son Gordon who later helped to operate the birthing centre. Bradford worked with two local physicians, an Anglophone from the Sherbrooke area, and a rural French Canadian doctor. Both are said to have come and gone at all hours of the night to help deliver babies.
SEARCHING FOR AN IDENTITY
Susy, whose foster brother was adopted from the Bradford home in the 1940s, is now in her 70s. She worked at the Bradford home several days a week for about a year. Searching for her own birth mother, who she was led to believe lived in the Sherbrooke area, Susy remembers cooking meals for Gordon Bradford and tidying up. A longtime Bury resident, she is convinced she knows the identity of her birth mother (now 90 odd years old) but has never been able to receive official confirmation.
“It’s terrible to be adopted and not know your identity,” she said. “It’s not that we are mad at our birth parents, we just want to know who we are. All adoptives seem to get in touch with one an-other, but it’s a lonely community.”
Even with a family of her own, a husband and children, Susy admits she is a very lonely person. Currently in the process of applying for an Act of Birth from the provincial government, a document which lists the name of the birth mother, Susy longs for acceptance, and the answer to the question all adult children ask – why did she give me up?
“Our noses are on the outside looking in,” she explained of abandoned children. “In those days, they would call us illegitimate. It’s like a label on your back, so you kind of carry it with you when you are lonely. Some think it is better we don’t know why or who, but it is.”
Baby classified ad
Born at the Bradford house, Pete was astonished to learn recently that he was advertised in the Classified section of The Record in 1946. The Feb. 7, 1946 ad in the miscellaneous section read: “Nice baby boy for adoption. Apply private maternity home, 33 High Street.” Two other ads calling for prospective parents appeared that same month before the less than four-week old infant found a home.
With the help of Bishop’s University archivist Daniel Bromby, Pete finally saw a copy of the birth notice. “I was not sad, disappointed, or embarrassed,” he said in a telephone interview from his Ontario home. “My adoptive mom was always afraid to tell me this because she thought I would feel like I was picked up like a cord of wood. But, it’s so bizarre, I’m proud of it. I’ll show it to anybody; there aren’t many people you know who were picked up like a used car!”
An affable father of two, Pete is worried about hurting his adoptive mother. “She can’t understand why I would want to know who threw me out. Why would I want to find the person who re-fused to bring up a kid?”
His own childhood experience has led him to stay put, creating a sense of security for his grown sons. “I’m setting down my roots so my kids know where home is,” he explained. “I refuse to sell the house. The only thing I can give them is this.”
Having children was a powerful experience for someone who never knew his biological family.
“When my son was born and I held him… I was floored. As far as I knew, I had never touched a blood relative before.”
Like the other two adoptive children interviewed, Pete wants to believe he knows the identity of at least one birth parent, but it is unlikely he will ever have proof. “I hope against hope that it was planned,” he said of the advertisement, which he thinks may have been planted by his birth father for his adoptive mother to find.
ADOPTIVE COMMUNITY
Mary was only a few days old when she was adopted from the Bradford home in the mid-1930s. Despite years of phone calls, a manila folder filled with correspondence with various government organizations and private find-a-parent services, she has no in-formation on her birth mother.
As with Susy and Pete, Mary thinks she grew up knowing her birth father, a man who lived in her community. He dropped hints before he died, she explained, and other family members did not deny it when she alluded to her nagging hope.
“I met (his next of kin) in May,” she explained in a lengthy inter-view at her kitchen table last month. “I was told I could go ahead with the DNA test but, I don’t feel the need to go that far.”
A friendly woman in her late 60s, Mary is married to a Montreal man who was also adopted. Together they have navigated the disappointment and frustration, now familiar, when another rejection letter arrives in the mail. Her husband successfully located his birth mother and siblings a decade ago, and now sees them regularly.
“There are quite a few Bradford babies in the area. We are in con-tact with about a dozen or so,” noted Mary, who said she met an-other woman from Magog whose adoption was also advertised in the classified section of the newspaper.
Optimistic by nature, Mary considers herself lucky she has a copy of her adoption papers, signed by Nurse Bradford.
“Some people don’t even have their adoption papers. There are no records available. All these births were registered somewhere, I don’t know why we should be so kept in the dark.”
Unbeknownst to the parents who provided them with a home, love and care, these motherless sons and daughters, now mothers and fathers themselves, continue on their pilgrimage. The unwanted babies of long ago are still compelled to know – digging into care-fully locked recesses, trying to unearth secrets hidden so deeply and so well, they may always allude them.
Even with a family of her own, a husband and children, Susy admits she is a very lonely person. Currently in the process of ap-plying for an Act of Birth from the provincial government, a document which lists the name of the birth mother, Susy longs for acceptance, and the answer to the question all adult children ask – why did she give me up?
“Our noses are on the outside looking in,” she explained of abandoned children. “In those days, they would call us illegitimate. It’s like a label on your back, so you kind of carry it with you when you are lonely. Some think it is better we don’t know why or who, but it is.”
BABY CLASSIFIED AD
Born at the Bradford house, Pete was astonished to learn recently that he was advertised in the Classified section of The Record in 1946. The Feb. 7, 1946 ad in the miscellaneous section read: “Nice baby boy for adoption. Apply private maternity home, 33 High Street.” Two other ads calling for prospective parents appeared that same month before the less than four-week old infant found a home.
With the help of Bishop’s University archivist Daniel Bromby, Pete finally saw a copy of the birth notice. “I was not sad, disappointed, or embarrassed,” he said in a telephone interview from his Ontario home. “My adoptive mom was always afraid to tell me this because she thought I would feel like I was picked up like a cord of wood. But, it’s so bizarre, I’m proud of it. I’ll show it to anybody; there aren’t many people you know who were picked up like a used car!”
An affable father of two, Pete is worried about hurting his adoptive mother. “She can’t understand why I would want to know who threw me out. Why would I want to find the person who re-fused to bring up a kid?”
His own childhood experience has led him to stay put, creating a sense of security for his grown sons. “I’m setting down my roots so my kids know where home is,” he explained. “I refuse to sell the house. The only thing I can give them is this.”
Having children was a powerful experience for someone who never knew his biological family.
“When my son was born and I held him… I was floored. As far as I knew, I had never touched a blood relative before.”
Like the other two adoptive children interviewed, Pete wants to believe he knows the identity of at least one birth parent, but it is unlikely he will ever have proof. “I hope against hope that it was planned,” he said of the advertisement, which he thinks may have been planted by his birth father for his adoptive mother to find.
ADOPTIVE COMMUNITY
Mary was only a few days old when she was adopted from the Bradford home in the mid-1930s. Despite years of phone calls, a manila folder filled with correspondence with various government organizations and private find-a-parent services, she has no in-formation on her birth mother.
As with Susy and Pete, Mary thinks she grew up knowing her birth father, a man who lived in her community. He dropped hints before he died, she explained, and other family members did not deny it when she alluded to her nagging hope.
“I met (his next of kin) in May,” she explained in a lengthy inter-view at her kitchen table last month. “I was told I could go ahead with the DNA test but, I don’t feel the need to go that far.”
A friendly woman in her late 60s, Mary is married to a Montreal man who was also adopted. Together they have navigated the disappointment and frustration, now familiar, when another rejection letter arrives in the mail. Her husband successfully located his birth mother and siblings a decade ago, and now sees them regularly.
“There are quite a few Bradford babies in the area. We are in con-tact with about a dozen or so,” noted Mary, who said she met an-other woman from Magog whose adoption was also advertised in the classified section of the newspaper.
Optimistic by nature, Mary considers herself lucky she has a copy of her adoption papers, signed by Nurse Bradford.
“Some people don’t even have their adoption papers. There are no records available. All these births were registered somewhere, I don’t know why we should be so kept in the dark.”
Unbeknownst to the parents who provided them with a home, love and care, these motherless sons and daughters, now mothers and fathers themselves, continue on their pilgrimage. The unwanted babies of long ago are still compelled to know – digging into care-fully locked recesses, trying to unearth secrets hidden so deeply and so well, they may always allude them.
© 2002 The Record (Sherbrooke)
