Who will care for the children?

Were we up to the job?

Our social worker Fran certainly put us through the mill. Over the next nine months Martin and I were subjected to the most intimate questioning either of us had ever experienced. Every week, Fran grilled us on our views about everything from religion, childcare and discipline to racial issues, homosexuality and education, as well as detailing our entire life histories.

We were interviewed together and apart, and by the end I realised I'd told Fran things that nobody else knew about me.

We had to supply two referees, be checked by the police for any criminal records, undergo health checks with our GP and attend a social services-run training course.

We learnt some useful lessons about positive discipline - that is, discipline without smacking, which is essential for fostering, as well as 'safe caring' (to avoid allegations of sexual abuse). We listened, open-mouthed, as we were advised to avoid tickling and wrestling games, never to tell bedtime stories inside the bedroom and not to wander around the house in our pyjamas.

Entering a different world

Despite the intense grilling, we remained committed. And after a nail-biting meeting before the panel (a large group of social workers, teachers and health care workers), we were finally approved as respite and emergency foster carers in October 1998.

We received our first foster child less than two weeks later - and our first lesson about the flexibility of social services 'rules' when faced with a child to place and a shortage of carers.

It had been agreed that we would foster children from the age of newborn babies up to no older than Amy, who was then ten. This was so that she would never feel pushed out by an older foster child.

Our first placement was 15-year-old David, who had mild learning difficulties, and stayed with us for a week to give his regular foster family a break. Despite our apprehension at the words 'teenage boy', most of the time he was polite, helpful and rather endearing.