Sir,

DOES the date on this letter mean anything to you? Probably not — but it should, as it is my fortieth birthday. For the record, I was born in Holles Street Maternity Hospital to Margaret, and you, I have been reliably informed, were the father. Note I used the word ‘the’ in describing you, as I will never use the term ‘my’ when speaking of you.

Setting aside the fact that you were married to another woman, you impregnated my single mother and then, after I was born, to all intents and purposes, abandoned me.

You scampered off to Liverpool, taking my mother with you, leaving your wife and three children behind in Dublin. And then, as if adding insult to injury, you had eight other children with my mother, under the pretence of being married.

I learnt later that those children were totally ignorant of my very existence while they were growing up. I don’t know how you had the gall (or should that be ‘guile’) to get away with it.

I ended up being taken from my grandparents (certainly not from your side) for being “destitute” at age three, as they had become too old and infirm to look after me and I was taken into “care”(!) by the State.

I then spent the next 13 years in care, the latter six in the notorious Artane [Industrial School]. Did you ever have any pangs of conscience about me during my incarceration?

I wonder in your bolt-hole in Liverpool, did you ever think of me? Did you know about the abuse, both physical and sexual, that was perpetrated on us boys there? And if you did, would you have intervened, like ‘claiming’ me as your own?

Yes, I married (and stayed with my wife!) but never really spoke about my childhood experiences to either my wife or three children, but I often wondered if they, in turn, ever wondered why they had only one set of grandparents.

Despite your abandonment of me and the scant education I received, I educated myself subsequently to be able to have a relatively successful and good life.

If by chance you have sufficient shame (and you should be ashamed) to respond to this letter, I hope you come up with some sort of explanation for your actions all those years ago.

Incidentally, I often wondered whose decision it was to name me (presumably) after you — but it is certainly not a name I am proud of. Yours in anger, Peter Name and address with the Editor