Bruce Porter Hospital Home was opened 1920 for the treat­ment of boys and girls suffering from diseases of the bones and joints. In 1939 the children were transferred to Dane Court. In 1941 it moved to  Hollins Hall, Hampsthwaite.

Bruce Porter Hospital re-opened November 1947 as a a convalescent home for boys and girls. The Home was equipped with the latest methods of treatment of sunlight, sea spray, etc. and its situation on the south east coast was ideal. Most of the costs were supported by different Branches of The Young Helpers league.

The Home finally closed it's doors in July 1966 with the children and staff going to Princess Margaret School on the 13th June 1966. Prior to Dr. Barnardo's opening this home it had been a convalescent home called Wear Bay House see photo below.

In 1974 Mr F. W. Bourne wrote:

It is always pleasant if perhaps a little nostalgic to be able to revisit the scene of our childhood. Looking at the building itself can release a flood of memories, the highlights of days spent behind its facade; of our friends, the people we liked to be with and maybe a few who caused a tear now and again. Emotions are stirred for we tend to recall only the skeleton of our existence-the day we arrived tearfully? The day we left-also tearfully but for a different reason. Alas, for those who would look upon the Bruce Porter thus, this is not possible. The fabric that concealed our daily struggles, our joys, hopes, and secret fears has gone. Quiet happiness in the George Williams room, noisy romps in the dormitories, endeavour in the classrooms ... all these have been demolished. The creaking lift no longer threatens its inevitable breakdown-the roundabout house has made its last turn and the pool has been finally emptied. Now other eyes mark the progress of ships in the channel and other ears note the insistent timing of the foghorn. For upon this spot there now stands a huge block of flats for Folkestone's older citizens. We who spent a part of our lives in the crumbling but loveable old building must turn our eyes inwards, to secure the memories that will keep the Bruce Porter alive if only in our minds and we will each cherish our own images that will ensure it a permanent place in our hearts.

Apart from Mrs. Bourne and myself, there are now only two members of staff left of those who transferred with us in 1966 to the Princess Margaret School. I asked each of them for one abiding memory of the B.P. They both first mentioned the atmosphere. Upon being pressed, Anne Knight recalled the replacing of the iron hospital beds with wooden ones and Rosemary Allsworth the 5th November when we held our celebrations in the teeth of a force nine gale with pieces of paper being swept out to sea still ablaze. Mrs. Bourne quotes the garden fetes, particularly the one opened by Raymond Baxter and where two of our child-care staff spent five hectic hours diving for pennies in the round pool. Memories are often of odd moments, possibly often unimportant but all part of the tapestry. Memories of hard work are fleeting because of the reward it brings. I will always see the final night round in my mind's eye, putting off the aquarium lights and turning to see the 5-year-olds, sitting up in their beds, faces shining, waiting for their own good night message. Little Mervyn at 2, getting under everyone's feet (an ability he never lost, even in his teens). How the Morris Dancers on their annual visit insisted upon turning nearly all the lights off before the entry of the Hooded Horse, thus terrifying the two young Janets, Karens and Johns, plus a few of the more knowledgeable who knew it was only a man anyway! Gillian slowly disappearing from view, tambourines held high, during a band concert. Pamela who, when ill in bed, could poke her head through a window and be in her classroom.

What will be the trigger for a flood of such memories for all the old B.P.s reading this ... The annual strawberry tea where it seemed the contest was who could be ill first ("Did you have a good time?" David ... "Smashing-I was sick twice") ... The fishing picnics .... The trip to France? Maybe the warm security of our beds when winter storms raged in the Channel; the way we always had the snow before any other part of the country; the heat of the balcony (100+) in summer; our little private beach and that first bathe of the year? Perhaps it will be a particular member of staff or a personal relationship or maybe the kindness of the many local friends who gave so generously of their time and effort for our good.

F. W. BOURNE