Performing Arts Singer, Songwriter US Jimi Hendrix James Marshall "Jimi" Hendrix (1942 – 1970) was an American musician, singer, and songwriter. He was born in Seattle to 17-year-old Lucille and James “Al” Hendrix. On her own, Lucille struggled with caring for her baby so her mother, Clarice Jeter, moved in to help. Both women worked low paid jobs which often meant baby Jimi wasn’t cared for. Eventually, Jimi was given to a Mrs. Champ—one of Clarice’s friends—and was moved to Berkeley, California. Al retrieved his son from Mrs. Champ in 1945 and returned to live with Lucille in Seattle. In 1946, Al and Lucille changed their son's name to James Marshall Hendrix to honour both Al and Al's brother Leon Marshall. After the couple divorced in 1951, Al was given custody of Jimi and his younger brother, Leon. After Lucille died in 1958, Al bought Jimi a ukulele and music became a way for the boy to express his feelings. As music began to dominate in Jimi’s life, he lost interest in school. He left high school early and worked as a landscape gardener with his father for a while, but didn’t enjoy the work. Jimi Hendrix was in the military for less than 12 months before he was discharged. From 1962 he was on the road for 7 years with a “motley succession of club bands”, making his recording debut with Lonnie Youngblood (b. 1941) at the end of 1963. In 1966, Hendrix joined with bassist Noel Redding (1945-2003) and drummer John Mitchell (1946-2008) to form the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Hendrix quickly shot to fame in London and then in America at the Monterey Pop Festival in June 1967. External Website

Autobiography/Memoir Touch Wood: A Girlhood in Occupied France Renee Roth-Hano 1989 Touch Wood chronicles the life of nine-year-old Renee Roth and her two sisters as they seek refuge from the Nazi terror with a group of Catholic nuns External Website

Writers Jill Roe 1940-2017 Jillian Isobel Roe, (10 November 1940 – 12 January 2017) was an Australian historian and academic, who wrote a definitive biography of the Australian writer Miles Franklin. Jill Roe was the youngest daughter of nurse Edna Ivy Roe and farmer John Roe. She was born at Tumby Bay, a coastal town on the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia, a more than 6 hour drive from Adelaide. Jill was only 14 months old when her mother died of tuberculosis in 1942. Edna’s illness was prolonged and at the beginning of it, late 1941, baby Jill was taken to stay with her maternal grandmother, Grandma Heath, and was there for four years. Jill went to regional schools until, in 1955 at the age of 14, she was sent to Adelaide to finish her high school education at Adelaide Girls’ High. She then went on to study for a Bachelor of Arts at Adelaide University and a Master of Arts at the Australian National University. After a period teaching in London, Jill Roe returned to Australia and took up a position at the new Macquarie University where she worked for 6 years and became Professor and Head of the History Department. External Website

Terry Galloway is a UK social justice campaigner with lived experience of the care system. He spent much of his childhood moving through the care system, living in over 100 placements, and facing trauma, instability, and discrimination. His sister Hazel, who also grew up in care, faced significant challenges and was killed by her partner — a personal loss that deepened Terry’s commitment to systemic change. After leaving care, Terry worked in a range of jobs before dedicating himself to advocacy. To support his campaigning work, he set up his own business and later a not-for-profit providing supported accommodation for care leavers. Norman Galloway Homes is a not-for-profit organisation providing supported accommodation and person-centred jobs programmes for care leavers aged 16–25 to help them build relationships, develop essential life skills and transition into independent living. He also co-founded the Care Leaver Offer comparison website, and serves as a trustee of NYAS (National Youth Advocacy Service). Terry leads a national campaign to have care experience recognised as a protected characteristic  under law, aiming to reduce discrimination and ensure policy makers account for the needs of care-experienced individuals. The campaign aligns with recommendations from the Independent Review of Children’s Social Care (IRCSC) , which endorsed making care experience a protected characteristic under the Equality Act. With national legislative change not yet achieved, the campaign has successfully persuaded over 120 local councils to adopt motions to treat care experience “as if it were a protected characteristic”  in their own policy framework. These motions typically commit councils to: consider care experience in equality impact assessments; involve care-experienced people in policy development; extend corporate parenting principles; and encourage wider bodies to adopt similar commitments. Together, Terry Galloway’s lived experience, service delivery, and policy advocacy have driven tangible change in how care-experienced people are recognised and supported across the UK.

Chris Wild is a UK-based activist, author, speaker, care system consultant, national advisor, and charity supporter advocating for children and young people impacted by the care system. Drawing on his own lived experience of growing up in care after the death of his father, Chris speaks publicly about systemic failures, trauma, and the long-term barriers faced by care-experienced individuals. His work includes public speaking, media engagement, policy advising, and partnerships with organisations focused on trauma-informed support, equity, and youth empowerment. Chris returned to the care system as a care worker, hoping to make a difference. Instead, he found a system largely unchanged, still failing the very children it was meant to protect. In Damaged , Chris shares his own harrowing experiences alongside the stories of the boys, girls, men and women he met along the way, exposing a broken system and demanding urgent action to protect Britain’s forgotten children. The State of It: Stories from the Frontline of a Broken Care System   extends this analysis to the wider impacts of systemic failures and offers insights on what must change. Through his writing, Chris amplifies the voices of those often unheard and frames care reform as a social justice imperative. In addition to his writing and advocacy, Chris works with other campaigners such as Terry Galloway on efforts to have  care experience  legally recognised as a  protected characteristic  under the UK’s Equality Act 2010. This campaign seeks to ensure that discrimination linked to care background is treated with the same legal seriousness as other protected characteristics, and has seen growing support from local authorities and civil society groups across the UK. Parliamentary debates have acknowledged the joint work of activists including Chris and Terry on this issue, which aims to embed care experience more firmly into equality policy and decision-making processes.

By Paris Bartholomew Peeling off my polo neck, I heard a sharp intake of breath from my  school  nurse and saw her eyes widen as she scanned my body. I was six years old and my skin looked like a battleground: burns on my arm where it had been held over a flame, blue-black bruises from where I’d been hit with a belt, scars all over my scalp & a feeling of terror that followed me like a cloud. The school nurse was accompanied by the lovely lady from the NSPCC, who gave me my first ever toy, a small black and white dog called Snoopy. I spent two weeks in the local hospital. The assessment and x-rays - which seemed relentless - had a two-fold purpose: to ensure I was not suffering from any internal damage & to piece together the awful experiences I had endured. The evidence of previously broken bones was what caused my mother to be arrested on suspicion of child abuse. After hospital, I was placed in an assessment centre, a large, brick building, devoid of windows, with high barbed-wire fencing all around the perimeter. There were 4 sections, an education facility on the premises, and residential staff who worked various shifts. I resided in section A, and section B, C and D housed the children who had behavioural and learning difficulties. Back then, the terminology was very different and full of negativity and offence. I recall my first night. With the light off and the glow of light under my door as a guide, I got up to use the toilet and realised my bedroom door was locked. I crawled back into bed tired, confused and sad. That night was the first time I had wet my bed in many years. Mum was convicted of multiple counts of abuse, neglect and what was termed ‘failure to thrive’, meaning she had consciously did what she could to prevent me growing and developing in a healthy and happy way. She was sentenced to four years in prison. Her ‘two-year reign of terror’ was splashed over the newspapers. However, I was astute enough to know that this was not something that had started two years ago. She served eighteen months in an all-female prison in North London called Holloway, spending most of her time in isolation to protect her from the abuse she would endure if her fellow inmates knew why she was there. I think about that protection she had while incarcerated, and the lack of protection I had from her as a child and, on reflection, it seems somewhat ironic. Even now I feel a sense of anguish at what I endured at the hands of my Mum. At Christmas, everyone went ‘home’ to their respective families, at which point it slowly dawned on me that my life was different, that I was different, in many ways. The staff expressed concern, as I was the youngest child and the only child who remained for the duration of the holidays. I ate lovely Christmas food for the first time, and I received my first life-size doll, who I named Kathy. A white member of staff, (I nicknamed him My Fox in my mind, as his hair was the colour of fox’s fur), had tried to wash my afro hair. He used a bar of soap, and I recall the pain as my hair matted into a clump and he tried to comb it. I began crying, and he said it was best if they cut my hair off. When the other children came back after Christmas, they decided I was no longer a girl & I was teased relentlessly. My short hair had turned me into a boy overnight, and for the second time in a short period, I realised I was different from the other children. When my dad came to visit me, he was sad and angry that my hair was gone, he wanted to know who had cut it & why they had done so. Once I left Luton House, I was placed in my first children’s home. This was a large, country-style house in Essex which housed around 22 children from ages 2 to about 17 years of age. I enjoyed having other children my own age to play with, and I felt safe - for the first time in my life, I actually felt safe. But I also felt anguish, as I thought about my mother, the prison and what that was like for her. I didn’t blame myself, but I didn’t want her to be locked up. In my eight-year-old brain, prison was a scary, dark, horrible place where people were treated badly and given very little to eat and drink. I envisaged her eating bread with no butter and drinking only water. One of the children had found out my Mum was in prison and had given me a picture of what prison was like. I never questioned his idea as he was bigger than me and older, so he knew what he was talking about, surely. It was at this point in my journey that I began to look at food differently, a sense of loyalty to Mum and a strange desperate feeling of being out of control, made me limit my food intake. I no longer enjoyed the strange, unfamiliar food I was given, and apart from the sweets I spent my pocket money on, I rarely ate. My keyworker at the children’s home informed me that an advert was being placed in the local paper for a new home for me. Initially, I felt excited and terrified. They asked me what I would like to be called, as they would change my real name to protect me, especially as my name was so uncommon.  Kathy, my favourite doll, that would be my name in the paper. There was a response to the advert, but it was hard to find black families with enough room to take in a child. But I was delighted when I met the Hendon* family. They had five children, one only 2 years old, so cute, although he was never keen on playing with me as he loved his cars and trains.  Julie* was the same age as me, and the only girl in the family. It was time for me to leave primary school, so we would attend school together, I was only a few months older, but I was in the academic year above her. We played together lots, but she was larger and stronger than me, and it wasn’t long before I was bullied into doing things I did not want to do, like shop lifting. It began with sweets and crisps, but soon led to bigger and more expensive items, and if I didn’t do it, she would hurt me. One day, I came into my bedroom to find the light off. It was bedtime, so I attempted to turn on the light switch to get ready for bed, only to be confronted with the bulb removed. Julie proceeded to jump onto my back, attacking me with a sharp object, which I later found out was my foster mum’s knitting needles. I tried helplessly to defend myself, but the muffled laughter in the background, as my foster brothers hid in the dark to watch the onslaught, gave me a dejected feeling of resignation. It was pointless. Julie reminded me that I was not welcome in her family. Kathy, my lovely life-size doll, had been damaged; Julie had cut off all her hair.  It wasn’t long before I asked to leave the family. I was unlucky! Four more families, with short stays in between in group homes, residential homes and a girl’s hostel, left me feeling displaced, unloved, and unwanted. For the next nine years in care, I bounced from place to place, never fitting in. Every family was different, culturally, racially, religiously and I found it increasingly difficult to stay positive and focussed, at school I began acting out. Racism from white staff members left me confused and alienated, I was called ‘a Bounty’ by the older black children, accused of being ‘brown on the outside’ but ‘acting too white’. I was criticised for not conforming with a family’s religion, and I was beginning to form an outer shell of anger and protection to protect myself from being attacked. I began isolating myself and reading books about twins who only communicated with each other, books about women, psychology, books which inspired me and gave me hope. Bell Hooks, Toni Morrison and Maya Angelo made a fierce and noticeable impression on me. They made me feel determined. I wanted to succeed, and I felt as if I could. I went to a conference led by an organisation called ‘Black and In Care’. It was the first time I was in a room filled with positive people who were all in foster care, children’s homes and other residential units. We spoke abut our experiences in smaller groups with people from Manchester, Bradford, Birmingham and Leicester, all mixed-race or black young people who were care-experienced, and most of the adults, the professionals, were people of colour too. For the first time in my life, I felt heard, seen, valued even. When Mum came out of prison, she sporadically visited me, but I noticed that these visits were less frequent if I lived in a family. She was odd, and I observed how untidy her home was in comparison to other places I had lived. When I confronted her about the abuse, she laughed at me and said I had been ‘brainwashed’ by Social Services. She said she was imprisoned because society was racist. I knew otherwise, and nothing she could say would change what I felt: I had never done anything wrong, not really, and I had never had any of my basic needs for love and protection met, while in her care. But what had hurt me the most emotionally, was the fact that these needs were not met while I was in care either. It might seem strange that I was able to forgive the woman who had ruined my life but deep down I knew it would help me heal. From the books I read about psychology, the way she spoke, the hoarding in her home and her general demeanour, I could tell she was mentally unwell.   I began to attend some group sessions organised by Black and In Care, the organisation which had held the conference, and I became a member of the Steering Group, then the Chair, leading the London arm of the organisation. I began sharing my perspectives with policymakers of what it had been like to live in care as a black child. This led to changes in the law - the 1989 Children’s Act. Foster carers were to be trained in understanding trauma and child development, and children from black and ethnic minority backgrounds were now being placed with foster carers from the same or similar cultural backgrounds. I felt so empowered. Mum had told me I would amount to nothing, and her words had penetrated deep. But she was wrong. Here I was, making life better for every young black person growing up in care. I knew I wanted to practice psychology, I wanted to help Mum and to use empathy and compassion to understand her and her struggles. I got a grant to do a degree in teaching, social work and youth work at Canterbury Christchurch University and as the years passed, I was drawn to jobs that helped people.  I volunteered for local charities, and I became a foster carer, fostering a little girl in 2014, helping me piece my heart back together. Jane* was unable to speak when she came to me, but with encouragement she started talking through singing & sign language. I gave her the love I had so desperately craved. I channelled my experience into a force for good, travelling the length of the UK as a motivational speaker, sharing my story and my expertise in psychology to inspire and motivate children in schools and professionals in business. And I continue to campaign for support for children in care. I’m currently an associate trainer for the Fostering Network, the UK’s largest foster care organisation, and I am a panel member for a private fostering agency, regularly reading reports and assessing prospective foster carers. I’m a motivational speaker, travelling the length and breadth of the UK to speak to children in schools, inmates in prisons, professionals in social work and teaching, therapeutic practitioners and as a keynote speaker at conferences and seminars to inspire change.   The number of children in care is set to rise to 100,000 by 2025. There is a shortage of foster carers in England and this needs to be addressed but much more is required across the care system, including more support when people transition out of care at the age of 21, more focus on helping LGBTQ+ children and, in my opinion, being in care should be a protected characteristic. Care leavers should be given a head start in life.  I feel passionate about awareness raising, research, and working with other organisations to develop positive interventions.   Long-term outcomes for care experienced people are shocking, with research across 16 countries showing a higher risk of social exclusion and marginalisation for former fostered young people ( Annick, 2011 ). Recent figures from England ( Department for Education, 2019 ) show 38% of those who leave care aged 19 to 21 are not in education, training or employment (NEET), compared with 11.6% for all young people. Another study reviewed the prevalence of mental health disorders among looked after children in the UK and found that around 1 in 3 had a diagnosed mental health condition with figures currently standing at 1 in 4 for the general population. Government statistics suggest that around 28% of adult prisoners are care experienced and one in four homeless people are previous care leavers or care experienced.   To anyone in care is reading this, I want to say:   “Believe in yourself. Don’t believe the rhetoric that you won’t achieve anything – I am proof that isn’t true. Get support and remember that being in care means you will be resilient and understand people better than anyone. Being in care is your superpower – remember that.”   Find out more about Paris here . Follow Paris on Twitter: @survivegrow