ANGUISH: Nicky Hardingham, who gave birth after fleeing to Ireland to avoid Social Services

Don’t let Brandon be the fourth baby they take away from me

If they take any more of our children, it will destroy us

from LAURA COLLINS, The Mail on Sunday, in Wexford, Ireland 08:41am 4th June 2006

Nicky Hardingham, who gave birth after fleeing to Ireland to avoid Social Services

Less than a week old, Brandon Hardingham is asleep on his mother Nicky's knee and she cannot take her eyes him.

Moving tentatively so as not to disturb him, she uses her mobile phone to capture the image of his sleeping face in a grainy photograph. Soon, he will wake and demand to be fed. This peaceful moment will soon pass but Nicky, 26, has done what she can to preserve it - just as she has relished each precious second of each day since Brandon's birth last Monday.

Both she and husband Mark, 33, have pictures of Brandon on their mobiles. They also have treasured but dated photographs of his sister and two brothers - now aged six, four and nearly three. They can only imagine how they have grown and changed.

They look at them often, always with the heartbreaking knowledge that it is as close as they can come to them, always with the deadening fear that, before long, the same may be true of Brandon.

For this is a 'family' already shattered under the most chilling circumstances, and Nicky and Mark are a couple uncertain of their ability to withstand the 'loss' of another child.

'Of course we've had the elation of his birth,' says Nicky. 'But it's been quickly followed by so much uncertainty. All either of us wants to do is take Brandon home. We hope and pray that this time we will manage to get the truth heard and be allowed to keep our baby.'

Last week, The Mail on Sunday revealed how Nicky and Mark fled their home in Cromer, Norfolk, for Ireland. It was a flight prompted by their certainty that, should their fourth child be born in Britain, he would be taken away by the same Social Services that in October 2003 branded them child abusers and removed their three children from their care. The youngest boy was just three months old.

The Hardinghams' experiences offer a disturbing insight into the powerlessness of ordinary people when faced with the combined might of social workers, doctors and the secret family courts.

An unexplained leg fracture to their second oldest child, also a boy, sparked an alarming and rapid process of social-care intervention, though their oldest, a girl, and the baby boy had not suffered injury.

There were discrepancies in diagnosis. Expert testimony was passed unchallenged but was, according to the couple's lawyer, George Hawkes, seriously flawed while credible alternative explanations for the injury - there is a family history of brittle-bone disease - were dismissed.

The seemingly unstoppable process ended with the enforced adoption, earlier this year, of all three children. Last month Nicky and Mark fled to Ireland hoping they could keep their new baby there while convincing authorities in the UK to reopen their case and clear their names.

But last night they were forced to accept they will have to go to court to keep Brandon. Their only 'choice' is whether to do so in Ireland or return to place themselves once more at the mercy of Norfolk Social Services.

If they remain in Ireland, where Brandon has natural residency because of his birth there, they must surrender themselves to a protracted process of assessments and court hearings. In the short term, Brandon will likely be put in foster care - a placement has already been found.

If they return to Norfolk, their best hope is to be placed in a 12-week residential assessment centre - a sort of Big Brother house where they can be observed with their child.

'If Brandon goes into foster care I'm worried it'll destroy Nicky,' says Mark. 'I know it'll destroy me. It'll rip us apart. Everything we hoped we could leave behind has just followed us.'

He adds: 'Norfolk say they have a placement for us. But they said that before only to tell us we didn't qualify because we wouldn't to the abuse, so we couldn't be helped with it. It's very hard for us to be trusting of anything we're told now.'

On Wednesday, two social workers travelled the 400 miles from Norfolk to Wexford to share with their Irish peers the family's history of alleged 'abuse'.

Mark, Nicky and Nicky's mother Margaret - a small, weary woman who has been by her daughter's side throughout - sat in.

Mark says: 'We had to listen to Norfolk repeat the things that condemn us and we couldn't say anything. I tried to put my point across but I was told that wasn't what the meeting was for and was ignored.'

Nicky emerged from the meeting with her dark-blue blouse blotted with tears. She had gone in the hope of learning that her child could stay with her. Instead, it became clear that her dreams of escaping the allegations of abuse were just that - a fantasy. Now the couple exist in a sort of limbo.

Norfolk cannot compel them to return and has no jurisdiction over Brandon. Should they stay, the Irish Health Board's responsibility is, rightly, to the baby and he is protected by the Irish courts.

Both Mark and Nicky acknowledge that the Irish authorities are not being unreasonable. They have been presented with an apparently troubling family history and a couple whose decision to flee their country to give birth is open to negative interpretation.

Nicky says: 'We knew that it might count against us but we thought it was worth the risk. We felt that to have any chance of keeping our child we had to leave Britain. Ireland was an obvious choice because it is a ferry ride away and its people are known to value family life.'

Brandon and Nicky remain in Wexford General Hospital, despite both being perfectly healthy. She has been told that if she walks out with her son, the Garda will place him in emergency custody for 72 hours. So she remains by his side - a voluntary prisoner of sorts, pale and exhausted with tears never far from her eyes. 'It's an impossible situation,' she says. 'We've been condemned for something we didn't do and we have to defend ourselves against it.'

The Hardinghams are remarkably composed given their predicament. They are, by their own admission, not educated people. Until now, they had barely travelled beyond their home town of Cromer, where they work in a crab-processing factory.

The self-possession they exhibit is extraordinary given their enforced separation. While Nicky stays in hospital, Mark spends each night in bed-and-breakfast. He visits his wife and child daily, always under the watchful eyes of hospital staff. Over the past week, the nurses have grown increasingly warm towards them. But there is no privacy and none of the undiluted joy that should accompany the birth of a child.

Nicky says: 'We told the staff how we had lost the other children and why we had come here to have Brandon. They notified Norfolk, but they seemed fine with it until it came to the birth.

'He arrived at 6.22am on Monday, and as I was giving birth, a lady from the hospital explained that if I tried to leave, the Garda would take him into custody. Mark was with me and of course you get that feeling of joy the minute your baby's born. It's the best feeling in the world and you instantly forget the pain you've endured. But at the same time there was this information being relayed to me that was just awful.

'None of what has happened can ever change how I feel about Brandon, how much we've both loved him from the moment he was born. But it's difficult being on a ward with mothers anticipating taking their babies home. And it's hard seeing brothers and sisters being introduced to their new sibling. I've had congratulations cards but it doesn't seem right to put them up. I've just put them in my bag. I'll keep them like I kept the ones I got when my other babies were born.'

Nicky often refers to her other babies: how like each other and like Mark they are, how holding him reminds her of them. Each time it is an odd and jarring reference to a very living absence.

Their children were taken away after Nicky noticed a swelling on her oldest son's left leg. She took him first to Cromer Hospital and then to Norfolk and Norwich Hospital in search of an answer.

He was diagnosed with osteomyelitis - a bone infection - and put on antibiotics. Two days later a skeletal survey revealed five or six fractures on his body. And so began the family's nightmare.

Their case has been investigated in a BBC1 documentary by campaigning journalist John Sweeney, who believes it is possible that a profound misjustice may have been committed behind the closed doors of the family court system.

Nicky has a family history of osteogenesis imperfecta (OI) or brittle-bone disease. But this was dismissed as an explanation for her son's injury as Nicky did not seem to have it. Indeed she has subsequently tested negative for the condition.

But this argument is 'weak science', according to lawyer George Hawkes. A percentage of OI cases present as new mutations and the latest published research even suggests it can be passed on without the gene being evident in the mother.

Incredibly none of the children was ever tested for brittle-bone disease either before or after they were removed from the Hardinghams. Mark explains: 'We asked for our to be tested but they said it would cause him suffering. As parents we didn't want that. We thought that if we went along with what Social Services said it would all work out fine.

'And it wasn't the only possible cause for the fractures. I think his eating problems were at the heart of it. He was lactose-intolerant and on a soya-milk diet and we've since been told that the impact of that could be massive on his developing bones. But it just wasn't considered.'

Nor were the X-rays of their son ever presented in court or shown to Nicky and Mark or their lawyer. Little wonder that the couple are reluctant to place their faith in a system that could see them back in the same closed courtroom and lead to the same awful conclusion.

Last night Meera Spillett, deputy director of Norfolk County Council Children's Services, said that their intention was, and always had been, to 'work in partnership with Mr and Mrs Hardingham in the best interests of their baby'. She said: 'We are duty-bound to give information to the Irish authorities. However, any assessment and decisions while the family are in Ireland are made independently of us. If Mr and Mrs Hardingham come back, we will continue our work with them.'

It is tempting to question Nicky and Mark's decision to have another child under such circumstances.

Nicky smiles sadly: 'The truth is that Brandon wasn't planned. He was a welcome surprise. I never considered an abortion. Every life has meaning and Brandon is very loved. Whatever happens we want it to be the best thing for Brandon.'

Given their experiences, it is perhaps surprising that this couple should have any hope left. They have been stretched to breaking point and to lose Brandon would, according to Mark, extinguish all hope. 'If we lose him,' he says, 'we've got nothing.'

Less than a week old, Brandon Hardingham is asleep on his mother Nicky's knee and she cannot take her eyes him.

Moving tentatively so as not to disturb him, she uses her mobile phone to capture the image of his sleeping face in a grainy photograph. Soon, he will wake and demand to be fed. This peaceful moment will soon pass but Nicky, 26, has done what she can to preserve it - just as she has relished each precious second of each day since Brandon's birth last Monday.

Both she and husband Mark, 33, have pictures of Brandon on their mobiles. They also have treasured but dated photographs of his sister and two brothers - now aged six, four and nearly three. They can only imagine how they have grown and changed.

They look at them often, always with the heartbreaking knowledge that it is as close as they can come to them, always with the deadening fear that, before long, the same may be true of Brandon.

For this is a 'family' already shattered under the most chilling circumstances, and Nicky and Mark are a couple uncertain of their ability to withstand the 'loss' of another child.

'Of course we've had the elation of his birth,' says Nicky. 'But it's been quickly followed by so much uncertainty. All either of us wants to do is take Brandon home. We hope and pray that this time we will manage to get the truth heard and be allowed to keep our baby.'

Last week, The Mail on Sunday revealed how Nicky and Mark fled their home in Cromer, Norfolk, for Ireland. It was a flight prompted by their certainty that, should their fourth child be born in Britain, he would be taken away by the same Social Services that in October 2003 branded them child abusers and removed their three children from their care. The youngest boy was just three months old.

The Hardinghams' experiences offer a disturbing insight into the powerlessness of ordinary people when faced with the combined might of social workers, doctors and the secret family courts.

An unexplained leg fracture to their second oldest child, also a boy, sparked an alarming and rapid process of social-care intervention, though their oldest, a girl, and the baby boy had not suffered injury.

There were discrepancies in diagnosis. Expert testimony was passed unchallenged but was, according to the couple's lawyer, George Hawkes, seriously flawed while credible alternative explanations for the injury - there is a family history of brittle-bone disease - were dismissed.

The seemingly unstoppable process ended with the enforced adoption, earlier this year, of all three children. Last month Nicky and Mark fled to Ireland hoping they could keep their new baby there while convincing authorities in the UK to reopen their case and clear their names.

But last night they were forced to accept they will have to go to court to keep Brandon. Their only 'choice' is whether to do so in Ireland or return to place themselves once more at the mercy of Norfolk Social Services.

If they remain in Ireland, where Brandon has natural residency because of his birth there, they must surrender themselves to a protracted process of assessments and court hearings. In the short term, Brandon will likely be put in foster care - a placement has already been found.

If they return to Norfolk, their best hope is to be placed in a 12-week residential assessment centre - a sort of Big Brother house where they can be observed with their child.

'If Brandon goes into foster care I'm worried it'll destroy Nicky,' says Mark. 'I know it'll destroy me. It'll rip us apart. Everything we hoped we could leave behind has just followed us.'

He adds: 'Norfolk say they have a placement for us. But they said that before only to tell us we didn't qualify because we wouldn't to the abuse, so we couldn't be helped with it. It's very hard for us to be trusting of anything we're told now.'

On Wednesday, two social workers travelled the 400 miles from Norfolk to Wexford to share with their Irish peers the family's history of alleged 'abuse'.

Mark, Nicky and Nicky's mother Margaret - a small, weary woman who has been by her daughter's side throughout - sat in.

Mark says: 'We had to listen to Norfolk repeat the things that condemn us and we couldn't say anything. I tried to put my point across but I was told that wasn't what the meeting was for and was ignored.'

Nicky emerged from the meeting with her dark-blue blouse blotted with tears. She had gone in the hope of learning that her child could stay with her. Instead, it became clear that her dreams of escaping the allegations of abuse were just that - a fantasy. Now the couple exist in a sort of limbo.

Norfolk cannot compel them to return and has no jurisdiction over Brandon. Should they stay, the Irish Health Board's responsibility is, rightly, to the baby and he is protected by the Irish courts.

Both Mark and Nicky acknowledge that the Irish authorities are not being unreasonable. They have been presented with an apparently troubling family history and a couple whose decision to flee their country to give birth is open to negative interpretation.

Nicky says: 'We knew that it might count against us but we thought it was worth the risk. We felt that to have any chance of keeping our child we had to leave Britain. Ireland was an obvious choice because it is a ferry ride away and its people are known to value family life.'

Brandon and Nicky remain in Wexford General Hospital, despite both being perfectly healthy. She has been told that if she walks out with her son, the Garda will place him in emergency custody for 72 hours. So she remains by his side - a voluntary prisoner of sorts, pale and exhausted with tears never far from her eyes. 'It's an impossible situation,' she says. 'We've been condemned for something we didn't do and we have to defend ourselves against it.'

The Hardinghams are remarkably composed given their predicament. They are, by their own admission, not educated people. Until now, they had barely travelled beyond their home town of Cromer, where they work in a crab-processing factory.

The self-possession they exhibit is extraordinary given their enforced separation. While Nicky stays in hospital, Mark spends each night in bed-and-breakfast. He visits his wife and child daily, always under the watchful eyes of hospital staff. Over the past week, the nurses have grown increasingly warm towards them. But there is no privacy and none of the undiluted joy that should accompany the birth of a child.

Nicky says: 'We told the staff how we had lost the other children and why we had come here to have Brandon. They notified Norfolk, but they seemed fine with it until it came to the birth.

'He arrived at 6.22am on Monday, and as I was giving birth, a lady from the hospital explained that if I tried to leave, the Garda would take him into custody. Mark was with me and of course you get that feeling of joy the minute your baby's born. It's the best feeling in the world and you instantly forget the pain you've endured. But at the same time there was this information being relayed to me that was just awful.

'None of what has happened can ever change how I feel about Brandon, how much we've both loved him from the moment he was born. But it's difficult being on a ward with mothers anticipating taking their babies home. And it's hard seeing brothers and sisters being introduced to their new sibling. I've had congratulations cards but it doesn't seem right to put them up. I've just put them in my bag. I'll keep them like I kept the ones I got when my other babies were born.'

Nicky often refers to her other babies: how like each other and like Mark they are, how holding him reminds her of them. Each time it is an odd and jarring reference to a very living absence.

Their children were taken away after Nicky noticed a swelling on her oldest son's left leg. She took him first to Cromer Hospital and then to Norfolk and Norwich Hospital in search of an answer.

He was diagnosed with osteomyelitis - a bone infection - and put on antibiotics. Two days later a skeletal survey revealed five or six fractures on his body. And so began the family's nightmare.

Their case has been investigated in a BBC1 documentary by campaigning journalist John Sweeney, who believes it is possible that a profound misjustice may have been committed behind the closed doors of the family court system.

Nicky has a family history of osteogenesis imperfecta (OI) or brittle-bone disease. But this was dismissed as an explanation for her son's injury as Nicky did not seem to have it. Indeed she has subsequently tested negative for the condition.

But this argument is 'weak science', according to lawyer George Hawkes. A percentage of OI cases present as new mutations and the latest published research even suggests it can be passed on without the gene being evident in the mother.

Incredibly none of the children was ever tested for brittle-bone disease either before or after they were removed from the Hardinghams. Mark explains: 'We asked for our to be tested but they said it would cause him suffering. As parents we didn't want that. We thought that if we went along with what Social Services said it would all work out fine.

'And it wasn't the only possible cause for the fractures. I think his eating problems were at the heart of it. He was lactose-intolerant and on a soya-milk diet and we've since been told that the impact of that could be massive on his developing bones. But it just wasn't considered.'

Nor were the X-rays of their son ever presented in court or shown to Nicky and Mark or their lawyer. Little wonder that the couple are reluctant to place their faith in a system that could see them back in the same closed courtroom and lead to the same awful conclusion.

Last night Meera Spillett, deputy director of Norfolk County Council Children's Services, said that their intention was, and always had been, to 'work in partnership with Mr and Mrs Hardingham in the best interests of their baby'. She said: 'We are duty-bound to give information to the Irish authorities. However, any assessment and decisions while the family are in Ireland are made independently of us. If Mr and Mrs Hardingham come back, we will continue our work with them.'

It is tempting to question Nicky and Mark's decision to have another child under such circumstances.

Nicky smiles sadly: 'The truth is that Brandon wasn't planned. He was a welcome surprise. I never considered an abortion. Every life has meaning and Brandon is very loved. Whatever happens we want it to be the best thing for Brandon.'

Given their experiences, it is perhaps surprising that this couple should have any hope left. They have been stretched to breaking point and to lose Brandon would, according to Mark, extinguish all hope. 'If we lose him,' he says, 'we've got nothing.'

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