The Church of England and the Catholic Church have for a long time past meddled in the lives of young women who have got pregnant outside of marriage. They never took the feelings of the young women into account they just said it was morally wrong to have a child outside of wedlock. They have lost most of the records that say who the mothers are, so it is almost impossible for people from 1940’s and 1950’s to find their birth mothers records.
The only criteria for most adoptions within the church of England was that those wishing to be an adopter of a child or baby was that they had to be a member of the church. The minister said that all they needed to do was to go to church for three weeks to be accepted in to the church. After that it didn’t matter if they came to church on a Sunday or not.
I was told at the age of nine by my uncle that my twin sister and I were adopted. We were not ashamed of this and made no secret of it. Our uncle said we were special
We lived in blissful ignorance of the impact this would have had on our birth mother.
Later, at the age of 15, I met a young man where I worked, and we started going out. He told me you cannot get pregnant the first time. I believed him.
Not long after that our dad told us we were moving to Scotland and, as we were only 15, we had come too.
I did not know at the time that I was with child and it was only when I had to have a medical for the job I had applied for that I found out. The doctor said he would give me one week to tell mum and dad and that if I did not then he would. Their reaction was different. Mum got in touch with the social work department and made me burn any letters concerning the baby.
She did not want the family to find out about the baby or that she had forced me to put him up for adoption. I had often wondered how my birth mother must have felt. Now I knew.
They took my baby boy away from me while I was in the hospital and I saw him once a week for four months. Then they placed him with the people who were going to adopt him.
I have never forgot him or his birthday – 5 February 1970 – or the day when I had to sign the papers giving him up, agreeing never to look for him.
That was on Christmas Eve of that year and I cried my eyes out all the way home.
After I was forced to give my baby up I found someone else to love and went on to have another baby one year and seven days after my first little boy was born.
I hope that if he, or someone who has been adopted, reads this that they will now know, as I have come to know, that their birth mother will never forget them or stop loving them.
I went on to have six children and they all know they have another brother.
If he sees this then I would like him to know he is now an uncle, and a great uncle, and that two of his nephews are in the army and doing well.