Finding Uncle Tony

We had so little to go on – how could we possibly succeed?

IPUSH open the door of the busy café. We are meeting in a neutral place this first time. “He might be an axe murderer,” my husband had said. “You know nothing about him. Stay public.”

“He’d be a seventyseven-year-old axe murderer. He’s not likely to be that dangerous.”

“They’re the worst,” my husband had answered darkly.

I think back on the conversation as I usher Mum into the coffee shop. My daughter Angela closes the door behind us. The chatter of people and warmth of the place hits us after the chill of the late summer air.

“Cappuccinos?” Angela asks, heading for the counter.

We’ve been a long time getting here. Longer than just this morning’s car journey.

I glance at Mum and wonder what emotions she’s going through. Maybe I should have left things alone after so long.

But my interest was sparked and I wanted to know as much as she did. The hair on the back of my neck and arms rises. We are here at last.

It all started when Mum was sorting through paperwork. She’d finally decided to move closer to me and downsize to a flat.

When I went round to collect some things for the charity shop I found her in a chair, a photo clutched in her hand. Her gaze was slightly unfocused as she slowly ran a finger over the faded print.

“Who’s that?” I asked. The black and white image showed a boy in a suit that was too big. The sleeve cuffs were rolled up and I expect the legs were, too, although his feet were not shown in the photo.

His neck and wrists were lost in the excess fabric. He had a string bag clutched in one hand and a determined expression on his face. He must have been about five years old.

“This is Tony. My brother.”

“You have a brother?” It was the first I’d heard of a brother. We are a small family. Just Mum and me, now Dad has gone, and before I was born it was her mother and her.

“I don’t remember him. My mother put him up for adoption when my father didn’t come back from the war. I was only a baby.”

Mum gave a little smile and blinked. She was on the edge of tears.

“She couldn’t cope with both of us on her own. He was something of a rogue, by all accounts. She always hoped things would get better and she could get him back.

“I don’t think she ever really got over leaving him that day. She suffered from insomnia and depression and it killed her in the end.”

There was a catch in Mum’s voice. I stared at her, open-mouthed. This was family history I’d not heard. I didn’t know my grandmother. She died before I was born.

“You mean we have family? I have an uncle! Why didn’t you say? We can look for him.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Mum’s voice was flat. “I went to the orphanage when my mother died but they wouldn’t let me in. They wouldn’t tell me anything.” Her chin trembled.

“It’s different now. We can demand to know what happened to him. We have a right.”

Mum’s head jerked up and she stared at me.

“Maybe he wouldn’t want to see me. We left him there.”

“You didn’t leave him there, Mum. Anyway, he can decide. If he doesn’t want to get in touch he doesn’t have to. Do you know which orphanage he was taken to?”

“It was on Carters Road. Saint something or other. It was run by nuns.”

With my daughter Angela’s help we looked up the area where Mum was living and found the orphanage. It had closed in the 1970s so Angela contacted the local council to see if they had the records.

We waited. It was hard. Once I knew, I wanted to find out everything immediately.

I don’t know how Mum felt. I’d got her hopes up but then couldn’t deliver right away. I was restless. I started

things, then gave up on them halfway through. Family! I wondered how different life would have been if I’d had an uncle growing up, and maybe cousins. All sorts of scenarios played through my head.

Every time the phone rang I rushed to answer it.

“No, nothing yet,” Angela said.

Eventually Angela heard that no-one could find the records. They had been transferred from the orphanage when it closed to the council and then to social services, and between offices so many times that no-one knew where they were any more.

“They’ll turn up somewhere,” a woman told Angela.

That didn’t help me. I was angry with myself for promising Mum we’d find her brother.

I should have waited instead of blurting things out. Although she didn’t say anything I felt her reproach.

Fortunately the move and sorting out her new flat took energy and I was able to throw myself into that.

It gave her something else to think about, too, choosing new colours for the living-room and organising to have a shower put in.

Angela got the photograph of Tony copied and put it in a frame for Mum’s move.

She presented it when we had an afternoon tea to celebrate the new flat. Mum was touched. Her eyes were watery as she looked at it.

I noticed the photo every time I visited Mum. She had put it in the bedroom. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy in the suit who’d have been my uncle.

There was a steely determination to him. I felt sure he was a survivor. I really wanted to find out what had happened.

“Why don’t you have the photo in the living-room with your others?” I asked.

Mum looked down and wriggled in her seat. I frowned at her. “Yes?”

“Well, my mother couldn’t afford to keep us both. She didn’t have a job or a husband. She did what work she could get – washing, cleaning and that – but what with the men coming back from the war and wanting their jobs back . . .”

Her voice trailed off. I leaned forward. “Mum, it wasn’t you who put him up for adoption. And Gran had no choice. Who would do that to their child if they had an alternative? There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Some people would say it wasn’t right.”

“No-one will judge you or Gran. Things have changed. They’d be sympathetic now.

“There were probably lots of women in the same position and there was no social security to help them out. It wasn’t their fault. It’s not considered wrong.”

But I couldn’t shake Mum’s belief that having a child adopted brought shame on the family.

I began to understand what a deep dark secret my grandmother must have carried around with her all her life.

And it seemed that Mum had inherited some of the guilt. She worried she should have done more to find Tony, even though she was barely a teenager when she found out about him.

Meanwhile Angela had taken a copy of Tony’s photo and posted it on social media platforms appealing for information.

She had lots of replies. People who said that it might be their brother, cousin, uncle, father.

“I’m not sure any of these are genuine,” Angela said, scrolling through replies. “No-one has mentioned the orphanage by name. I deliberately didn’t give that information.”

“You’re not going off to meet someone on the off-chance,” my husband said. “He might be up to no good.”

Angela rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t be silly, Dad. I know more about the internet and personal safety than you. I’ll be careful and won’t give out any personal information.”

“Good. Promise me you’re not rushing off to meet some stranger.” “I promise,” she said. I thought the search must have run its course. We seemed to have done everything we could to find Tony.

We had so little information other than a name, a date of birth and the name of the orphanage.

We didn’t know where he might be living and that seemed to be crucial to many searches.

Some weeks later Angela came home from college out of breath.

“Mum, I’ve just heard about this relative-tracing service that the Salvation Army runs. If you can provide enough information, they can find missing relatives.

“I’ve asked for a form to be sent to you. There’s another one, too.”

I heard rustling papers. “It’s called ‘Adoption Search Reunion’, but I can’t get on to their website at the moment.”

I felt breathless and weak. Another chance! I waited for the form to arrive and looked over the questions.

Without telling Mum the reason, I quizzed her for as much information as she could remember. I didn’t want to get her hopes up again.

But there seemed to be so much we didn’t know. I had left a lot of blanks and I didn’t know if the Salvation Army would be able to help, after all.

I filled in the form with what we knew and enclosed a cheque. I knew it could take a long time, or might even be impossible, so I tried to stay detached.

Luckily it was summer and the garden and holidays took my time. I visited Mum each week and was happy to find that she’d found a small social group and went to coffee mornings and a flowerarranging class.

I’d almost forgotten about the enquiry. It had been winter when Mum had first found the photo, and we’d been through summer and were now on the way back to winter again.

I was deadheading roses and tidying up the garden when I heard the phone ring. I pounded inside to catch it before it stopped, though I suspected it was probably a salesman.

“Mrs Philips? This is the Salvation Army familytracing service. I believe we may have found your uncle. And he is happy to be contacted by you.”

“I, er, thank you!”

I wrote down the details they gave me in a daze. I couldn’t quite believe we’d found him.

My heart was racing. I phoned Angela straight away.

“I don’t think I can ring him.”

“I’ll do it,” she said. She talked to Tony. He had almost no recollection of his mother and knew nothing about a sister.

He was surprised and intrigued to find he had a family.

Angela said he’d travelled the world in the Navy after running away from the orphanage aged fourteen.

“My mother always said he was a tearaway,” Mum said with a catch in her voice as Angela gave her the news.

So now we’ve travelled up north, Mum, Angela and me.

I usher Mum between the tables of the coffee shop. I recognise him immediately.

He’s wearing a suit, but he’s shrunken with age and it swamps him somewhat so that his neck and wrists are buried in the fabric. His hair is white and he has a broad smile on his face.

He doesn’t look like an axe murderer.

Two women are with him. They must be his daughters. My cousins!

I feel a flutter in my stomach and glance across to see how Mum is coping. Her eyes are watery.

I put a hand under her elbow to steady her as I help her over to meet her long-lost brother. n