I have probably explored this theme before in blogs, but finding my real father’s grave last month prompts me, once again, to consider who my father really was. I met him only one time in my life, when I was a tea-boy at the Strand Theatre in 1976 in London and he paid me a visit. After the shock of meeting a stranger in the middle of my working day, I agreed to meet him for lunch the following day. He turned up with an American colleague and I had lunch with them both. I learned nothing about him, and felt I was at some kind of job interview. I quickly returned to the theatre where I was supported by the amazing Sally, Lisel and John Gale who were my bosses.
I’d first been told about my father when I was about 13. Or at least I was told the narrative that my mother and step-father believed. He had been something within the more secretive side of the Military.
I have told my story, almost as an after dinner story, many times across the years to anyone interested. As I continue to tell it the narrative becomes tried and tested. There are a few ‘true’ points. My mother and he did meet in Spain in 1957. They did try and cross the border on her marital passport. They were arrested. The Daily Express learned about the search for this young woman and for a few days it was front page news. Eventually they were both back in London and met again for a wee assignation, and I was the result/mistake. My mother did write a novel which was effectively her story. It was unpublished and unfinished. I found it when clearing out her house after she was in an Alzheimers’ special home.
When Genes Reunited made searching for births, deaths and marriages possible, I began to find out more about him. I even heard from a relative of his father that he had many wives and many children. Maybe 7. My mother thought I might have a half brother and a half sister, one in Scandinavia and one in Japan.
In recent years I found one half-brother who really didn’t want to know. Then this year, after doing my DNA, I found another half-brother, and I had previously found 4 wives/mothers of his children.
I am reflecting on this, because in July I found a register of graves in the UK and was able to find his grave in East London. I took a moment to visit his unmarked grave where he was buried in 2000.
I do find it sad to have found that he lived less than 1/2mile from Mountview in North London where I was working the year he died, and that he chose never to contact me again in the 20+ years after that first meet. Maybe part of me didn’t want a new dependent relative, but in hindsight I’d have love to have known a few truths.
On 6th October it will be the 25th anniversary of his burial, and as an added new twist in this saga, he was buried with a woman named Ruth with whom he’d been married for 16 years. I have yet to understand why they were buried on the same day given that they died months apart. I am slowly trying to reach out to solicitors who may have handled the deaths…but, of course, the legal practice closed down 15 years ago.
Why am I searching for answers about a man I never knew ?
Partly I enjoy researching into a mystery – and seeing whether I can follow lines of enquiry.
But also, I wonder whether there are any partners that he had, or other children that he had, and I can find some side to him which is kinder and more pleasant to take forward in my memories. I am pleased that I once met someone who loved him very much but who also gave me the sense that he was a rogue. She shared a couple of photos with me and this gave him a sense of solidity and reality to me.
Maybe in time I will meet other half-brothers and sisters from around the world. I suspect he was a busy man.
In time I will put this search to one side and get back to the rest of my family tree. It is a good retirement practice, and I am sure I will find some fascinating histories going back into the heritage of my four very different grandparents – Scotland, Ireland, Birmingham, London, Liverpool, France are all hinted at.
But for now I’d love to know which of the myths about my birth father are true- or at least true-ish. I have heard many conflicting stories. There are so many mysteries, not least why he chose, on that one occasion, to come and find me.