For Fran

I cannot imagine what it must be like to have to give your baby away. I remember you told me that they took the babies away on a Tuesday, from the mother and baby home that you were sent to in Putney , far enough away for your father never to find out. A place full of young women who had done nothing wrong other than to get pregnant out of wedlock. A place drenched in unspeakable sadness and tragedy.
I knew nothing of this until I contacted Westminster social services as a 38 year old mother of three and was then sent a letter with your name. Suddenly you had a name. And strangest of all, I had another one. You had called me Caroline. I took the bus to Pimlico and was ushered into a windowless office where I was handed a file. All about me.

Amongst the scrappy bits of badly typed notes I found a copy of a letter that you had written to the adoption people after I had been given away. It stated that you had made a mistake and that you wanted me back. There was a copy of the reply from the authorities, so brutal and harsh that I could hardly bear to read it. In no uncertain terms it stated that you were a foolish young woman and that it was not an option to upset ” the charming young couples first Christmas with their new baby”. In other words, you made your bed, so lie in it.

Where was the support and care for you young women ? How could you manage to cope? At a time when your hormones and emotions were raging. You were given no compassion, no counselling, nothing.

Based on the information I found in my file I set about tracking you down. Pre internet I relied on a visit to St Catherine’s House in Holborn. A place of searching and questions, of people pulling down large leather bound books and poring over them. I very quickly found your marriage certificate and then while hunting through the phone book I found you. Later on I found out that your husband had paid to have your name put in capital letters in case I ever tried to find you.

I wrote to you, pretending to be researching my family tree , and the next day you rang me. Three weeks later we met. For the first time in my life I was standing next to someone who looked like me. You said that you had thought of me every single day and that on the 2nd August ( my birthday) every year you would go away by yourself and weep for me. And that you would die happy because we had found each other.

You also persuaded me to find my birth father. Because you said we were so alike.

And indeed we were,  more than I can say. But that’s  another story.