Pat Smyth, a civil servant with the National Assistance Board in West Tyrone from the 1930's to the 1950's, recalls his memories, experiences and the larger than life personalities he encountered on the way.

During the war, when food, clothing, coal, petrol, furniture, etc. were rationed, the Assistance Board was saddled with a hotchpotch of miscellaneous related jobs, like investigating and clearing applications for replacement of ration-books allegedly lost or stolen. Tall stories came our way, and officials were determined not to swallow them, but sometimes there was a rebound.
       
One vexed mother was distressed about the loss of all the family's sweet coupons but her story that the 'pups ate them' was not readily accepted. The official involved had to eat humble pie when the client returned next day with the well-chewed remnants of several books of coupons.
       
Then there was the matter of issuing permits for the purchase of bed-sheets to expectant mothers who were intending to have their babies born at home. Before the National Health Service was provided, G.P's and local midwives, some no more than 'handy women', handled many more home confinements than they do nowadays.

Many of the applicants for sheets, I would say 50%, sent in notes saying, 'I am expecting mother'. The word 'expectant' was not part of the local vocabulary. One applicant crowned it all when she wrote in and said - 'Can I have some of them sheets for unexpected mothers'!

That one went up on the board for the amusement of the staff. West Tyrone had its quota of unmarried mothers, some of them 'unexpected mothers' and the men out in the field had to be circumspect in visiting them especially those who lived in isolated houses at the back of beyond.

I recall acting as accompanist on occasions. One mature lady who lived at 'Drumqueen' had three wee ones. She was totally illiterate - couldn't even sign her name, but a wall plaque with the words 'Suffer the little children to come unto me', - was prominently displayed.
       
The presence of the American G.I.s was blamed for many unexpected pregnancies, but other factors, including the blackout contributed.

Mothers of illegitimate children who claimed assistance to support such children were pressed for details of paternity to allow liable relatives to be pursued, if necessary through the courts, for maintenance.

One lady of questionable repute who had several illegitimate children, stymied an appeal tribunal when she screamed at them - 'Holy ..... haven't I told them it was a sojer (soldier) I met at a dance at Fintona. I don't know his name. Holy ..... ye don't ask ivery fella ye meet at a dance his name d'ye?'
       
Sadly, it was obvious she was speaking the truth and an allowance had to be given for the latest addition to her family.
       
One female officer was dubbed the Liable Relatives (L.R.) officer and she was allowed to specialise. The case-papers were eye-openers. Wilson Guy used to regale me with tales of the days when horse-drawn side-cars could be counted lined up outside a certain row of houses in Fintona, at week-ends - a 'red light area'.

An isolated house on the right hand side of a main road about five miles out from Omagh was locally known as 'The Lighthouse'. A couple of mature women lived there with a number of illegitimate children. They seemed to be poverty-stricken, but regularly HGV's could be seen parked nearby, and fingers were pointed.

Male visitors from the Assistance Board declined to call unaccompanied, but the women's cases were processed in the usual way. I accompanied Herbie Williamson on his first visit and we found no found no sign of affluence - quite the opposite.

The lady of the house explained that 'they made tea for some lorry drivers', which was an innocent enough source of revenue. Possibly the arrival of the illegitimate children had got them a bad name locally.
       
In pre-1948 days, when Poor Law outdoor relief or the hospitality of the workhouse were the only options for a single or deserted mother, life must have been indescribably grim.

The guilty men walked away and left the poor unfortunate girls to face misery alone. National Assistance came as a boon and a blessing. At least they were given freedom from want.

Pat Smyth, 2001