Banished Babies: The Secret History of Ireland's Baby Export Business Read Online Free

babies by mail-order. The description of the mother as ‘unmarried but respectable and well educated’ was the formula repeated by the nuns in virtually every case. It conveyed no impression whatever of the kind of person the mother was. There was no mention of the child’s father. The circumstances in which the baby had been placed for adoption were not mentioned. There was no family medical history. The list of missing information could go on and on, but the Rowes weren’t asking questions. After years of fruitless searching for a child America they were unlikely at this stage to put obstacles in the way by asking for further information or appearing awkward. They replied by cablegram: ‘Baby wanted. Send soon as possible. Love her already’. They would be ‘counting the minutes until she arrives’. They would also be counting the dollars.
    The Rowes’ acceptance of baby Marion was acknowledged with a bill for £50 ‘for expenses’ from St Clare’s. The bill – equivalent, in relation to average Irish wages, to €4,800 in today’s money – was not itemised, and it is difficult to imagine what it might have related to since the only expenses incurred by the nuns at this point in their dealings with the Rowes were for postage on three airmail letters and a photograph of baby Marion. And Marion discovered in later life that all expenses arising from her birth and stay at Castlepollard had been paid by her natural father, so the money wasn’t to cover that either. But even if her father hadn’t paid, the local authority would have done so.
    The 1952 Adoption Act had made it a criminal offence to charge money for arranging an adoption. Receipted expenditure on such things as lawyers’ fees, transport costs and so on could legitimately be passed on to the adopters – and in the Rowes’ case, were, in full, at a later date. But the Rowes still weren’t asking any questions, and on receipt of the bill immediately sent a Sterling draft for £50, payable directly to St Clare’s and encashable at the Munster and Leinster Bank in Stamullen. St Clare’s acknowledged receipt of the money by return post. Marion – or Maureen as she now is – says she discovered in later life that the first cheque was followed by several others which her adoptive parents described as donations.
    That was all it took. Baby Marion was assigned to Mr and Mrs Rowe. The future course of all their lives had been determined by a brief exchange of letters and the payment of £50 (€4,800). All that remained to be done now was the completion of formal paperwork, such as passport and visa applications, and baby Marion would be ready to go.
    Marion’s passport application was submitted to the Department of External Affairs by the nuns in Stamullen, and consisted by and large of the documents prescribed by Archbishop McQuaid – essential proofs of the Rowes’ Catholicism such as their marriage and baptismal certificates, references from priests, a Catholic Charities home report, and sworn undertakings from the Rowes to bring baby Marion up, and to educate her, in the faith. Without this last document the Department of External Affairs would refuse a passport, even though no such condition applied to adoptions within Ireland. There was also a statement signed by Marion’s mother in the presence of a Notary Public in which she ‘relinquished all claims to the child for ever’ and consented to her removal from the State for adoption abroad by anyone ‘deemed suitable’ by St Clare’s. To the consular officials in the Department of External Affairs, this was a routine application. Everything appeared to be in order, and on the 15 July 1960 baby Marion got her passport, issued in the name of the Minister for External Affairs, Frank Aiken.
    By comparison with the Irish passport requirements, the demands of the American embassy for an immigrant visa were distinctly secular.
    The Rowes had to guarantee that the ‘alien’ they were