Rescuing Rose (60 page)

No. No, I thought. I shook my head. If only she'd looked for me I'd have come.

And so, in order for her finally to find some peace, I persuaded her to write you a letter that I could give to you, should you ever make contact. It gave her great solace, in the final weeks of her life, to know that she had 'spoken' to you at last.

Now I put down Dennis's letter, still unfinished, and opened Rachel's. I couldn't wait any longer. I was opening the letter my mother had written to me. It was dated January the first, 2001.

Dear Rose, Today is New Year's Day, a day for fresh starts and resolutions. Although I won't be able to have afresh start myself (barring some miracle) I can make, and keep, a resolution
—
to write to you, the daughter I abandoned nearly forty years ago
—
to say how truly sorry I am. I also want to tell you that, since then, I have thought of you every single day. I've hoped and prayed that, despite the bad start you had, your life has been happy and fulfilled
.

I'm sorry too, that having gone to all this trouble to trace me, and having succeeded (which is why you're reading this) you find that I've abandoned you all over again. What a useless non-mother I've been to you, Rose. What a let-down. What a real 'dropkick, ' as we say here in Oz. I am quite sure you must have hated me
… Yes, I thought dismally. I did.
But I console myself with the thought that maybe the fact that you've searched for me means that you've been able to partly conquer your anger and contempt. Or perhaps you're simply curious to know where you come from
. Oh no—it's more than that.
Anyway, Rose, although I can never expect you to forgive me for what I did (and why should you?), I would at least like to try and explain. So here is the story of what happened, and of what your origins are, and of how you came to be.

I grew up in Sittingbourne, in Kent. My parents were decent people, slightly strict I suppose in their outlook, Catholic, and working class. My father, Jim, worked in the paper mill while my mother, Eileen, who was rather delicate, looked after my younger sister, Susan, and me
. I've got an aunt, I thought. Her name's Susan. Aunt Susan. Auntie Sue.
We lived in Kemsley, an estate built for the paper mill workers, at number 10, Coldharbour Lane. In 1960, when I was fourteen the Pennington family moved in next door. There were three boys, all tall and rather good-looking, if a bit skinny, and the eldest one, Ian, became friendly with me
. That's my father, I thought. Ian Pennington. That's my father's name.

Ian was seventeen then, but, to me, he seemed like a real man. I had never had a boyfriend and I developed a huge crush on him. He was very lively, and attractive; he was also ambitious and bright. He was at Borden, the boys' grammar school, and he was going to go on to college and become a journalist, like an uncle of his who worked for
The Times.
Anyway, Ian would collect me from school sometimes, and we'd go to the pictures, or the milk bar, or he'd take me for a spin on his motorbike. For two years our friendship was simply that
—
a friendship
—
nothing more. But in September 1961, when he was eighteen, Ian left Kemsley to go to Kings College, London, to study History. He was really happy that National Service had just ended, enabling him to go straight up. I was fifteen then (I was born July 25th, 1946), and still at school We wrote to each other, and in one of his letters he suggested that I come and visit him one weekend. I remember how excited I was. So I went up on the train one Saturday in mid-October: it seemed such a grown-up thing to do. I'd told my parents I was going up to the West End with a friend, to look in the shops, but it wasn't true. Ian met me off the train at London Bridge and we went to his digs at Kings College Hall down in Camberwell. He had a nice bedsit there, and we were very happy to see each other again and, well
…

By December it was obvious what had happened. My parents went mad
—
and being Catholic there was no way I could get something done about it'. Ian's parents were also furious, and accused me of being a 'wicked girl' and of 'trying to ruin' their son's life. So a family summit was called, and Ian came home and the first thing he said was 'You can all stop arguing, because I'm going to marry Rachel'. So, smiles of relief all round. Except for one problem
—
I was under age
.

At that time sex with a minor carried a prison sentence; so, in order to keep the 'scandal' under wraps, my parents devised a plan. They took me out of school
—
the leaving age was fourteen in those days
—
and kept me at home. They pretended to everyone that I had glandular fever and that I'd be out of circulation for quite a while. My friends couldn't visit me
—
I remember how bored I was
—
but of course I had to play along. And in any case I didn't want to see anyone. I had always thought of myself as being quite 'proper, ' but suddenly I'd become one of 'those' girls. Except that, unlike most of 'those girls, ' my young man was going to stand by me. That's what we all believed
.

When the delivery date came nearer, I was to be sent to Chatham, sixteen miles away, to be 'looked after' by an old friend of my mother, Marjorie Wilson, a former midwife, whose husband had been killed in the war. I would stay with Mrs Wilson for a few weeks, as her paying guest, and she would deliver the baby, and show me how to look after it, then Ian would come for me. I would turn sixteen on July 25th and we would get married the following day, at the Register Office, having filled out the necessary forms in advance, including a parental consent form for me. I would then move to London with Ian, and live with him in digs while he finished his degree.

During this time Ian often wrote to me, so I never had any doubt that he would keep his word. Looking back, I remember how happy I felt, despite it being such a stressful time. I loved Ian, and I was going to be with him
—
and with you
—
for the rest of my life. I was never an ambitious 'career girl, ' Rose
—
I had no big plans. I knew I'd be quite happy being 'just' a wife and mother: you and Ian would be my universe. So, in early June I went by taxi, in the dead of night (because of course I was huge by then) to Mrs Wilson's place. She was a kind person, and she'd delivered thousands of babies, so my parents knew I'd be fine. And if there were any complications there was a hospital not far away. But I had a straightforward birth after a four hour labour. You were born at three a. m. on June fifteenth. ' June
fifteenth. So my date of birth was a fortnight out.

I called you, Rose, because I could already see that you had my colouring
—
fair skin and red hair. As you can see from the enclosed photo
… I shook the envelope, and out fell a faded snap of a pretty woman, in her mid-thirties, standing in front of Ayers Rock. .
. my hair is titian
—
and it's curly and thick. Or rather it was. I've lost a lot of it now because of the chemo. But all my life it's been a mass of springy red curls, and I could see that you were going to have that too. You were very good and smiley and calm, Rose: you hardly ever cried; and despite the stresses of new motherhood, and my frustration at having to remain 'hidden' for another few weeks, I felt perfectly fine. I was just waiting for Ian to come. I trusted him completely, and I had absolutely no doubts that he would
.

He came to see me three days after you were born; he'd just finished his first year exams. Then he took a job in a paint factory in Battersea for the summer, knowing that with me and a baby to support, he'd need to make some spare cash. He wrote to me, and I knew that the next time he'd come would be on July 26th, my sixteenth birthday, when we'd go to the register office and get married. At the same time, we would also register your birth (just within the six weeks they give you to do it), under both our (married) names. My parents visited me once during this time, and saw you, and they were so relieved that everything was going to turn out all right and that I'd soon be 'respectable' again. Their plan was a good one, and it was working out well. Or so we thought.

On the morning of July 25th, Mrs Wilson had a phone call to say that her sister, who lived in Lincoln, had been taken into hospital, and could she look after the kids. She said she didn't know how long she'd be away but guessed it would be at least a couple of weeks. So she knew that, by the time she got back, I'd be long gone. She was happy to leave me on my own in the house for the couple of days before Ian came, and she trusted us to leave it safely locked up. She left me a few groceries, and wished me well, and I was sad when she'd gone because I'd got to know her quite well, and she'd been kind to me. But at the same time I was very excited about Ian coming to fetch me, and about getting married and starting my new London life. But it wasn't to be. Because that afternoon there was a ring at the bell. Mrs Wilson had told me not to answer the door, but I looked out of an upstairs window, and was surprised to see my dad standing there. And I couldn't work out why he'd come. My parents didn't have a phone so he hadn't warned me that he'd be arriving. He'd obviously just got on the train. And as I went downstairs to open the door I thought that maybe he'd come because it was my birthday, and I was very touched. But that wasn't the reason at all. He looked awful. And he told me that he had some terrible news and that I had to be very brave. I was bracing myself for him to tell me that Mum was very bad, or worse. Instead he told me that Ian had been killed, that morning, on his motorbike. He'd skidded on a roundabout and had gone under a lorry. He'd died in the ambulance.

I was so shocked I felt I'd been shot. My dad sat with me for a bit
—
I can still remember how grey his face was
—
then after an hour or so he said he'd have to go. And I said I'd pack my things, because I assumed that I'd be going home with him now
—
but he just looked at me and shook his head. Then he gave me an envelope with fifteen pounds in it, which he said was all he could spare. And suddenly the penny dropped. I realised that my parents wouldn't want me at home now. They were very sorry for me, but they wouldn't want me as I was, unmarried, with a baby, because I wasn't going to be 'respectable' after all
.

I don't want to judge my parents too harshly. It's hard to imagine now, in these liberated days, the awful stigma that existed then towards unmarried mothers. My dad said the gossip in a small community like Kemsley would have been more than they could bear, especially with my mum not being that strong. He also wanted to protect me from all that gossip. So he said I'd have to stay in Chatham, and take you to the local adoption society, where you would be well looked after, and a nice family found, which would be the best thing all round now. He said that once I'd done that, then I could come home.

My whole world
—
and my future
—
had collapsed in ruins. It was as though my life had just stopped. I felt as though I'd been cast adrift in a tiny rowing boat, with no oars, in a mountainous sea. You'd have thought that Ian's parents might have wanted to help me, but, like mine
,
they didn't want to know. Again, I don't want to judge them too harshly
—
they were grief-stricken
—
so they just closed in on themselves
.

I lay on my bed for five days, just crying. And suddenly, you had started crying too. We were both inconsolable
—
I thought we'd drown in our tears. I felt so alone, and so distressed, with my grief and my shock and my baby who wouldn't stop crying
—
I think I was out of my mind. But at the same time, a small voice told me that I'd have to do what my dad said. I knew there was no other way. At a stroke I'd become just another unwed mother
—
one of 'those' girls. I also knew that even if I did want to keep you
—
which of course I did
—
they would never let me. At that time nearly all babies born out of wedlock were adopted
—
many were forcibly taken away. And how could I have kept you, Rose, as I was then, sixteen years old, with no money, no home and no man? So, although my heart was breaking, I knew I'd have to give you up. So I decided I'd take you to the local adoption society, wherever that was. But at the same time I was determined that they shouldn't know anything about me. I'd just quietly drop you off there, and run
.

So, the next morning, the 1st August, I wrote a short note, just saying that your name was Rose, and asking them to look after you, and I put it in an envelope. I also put with it one thing
—
a gold charm which I cut off the little charm bracelet I wore. I knew that then I'd be able to identify you if, by some miracle, we should ever meet. Then I dressed you in your best romper suit, wrapped a cotton blanket round you, and set out. But, what with being so distressed, I hadn't thought it through. For a start I didn't have a pram, so I had to carry you in my arms. And I didn't know where the adoption society was. I didn't want to draw attention to myself by asking anyone so I just kept walking and I somehow thought I'd see a big sign saying 'Adoption Society' and all I'd have to do is go in. But Mrs Wilson's house was some distance from the centre of town, and I found myself going the wrong way, towards Gillingham, so then I had to turn back. And still I couldn't find it, and after two hours or so I was exhausted walking around with you in my arms although luckily you were asleep. I'd hardly eaten for the last five days so I was pretty weak, and then I had an idea. I decided I'd take you to the town hall instead. I knew that if I took you there someone in authority would take you to the adoption society. I knew the town hall would be near the main street. And although the town was quite empty because of it being the holidays, I still kept away from the main drag. And I found myself walking down this side street, then through a car park behind the Co-Op; and suddenly I had this awful shock. In the distance I saw
—
or thought I saw
—
a girl from Kemsley
—
Nora Baker with her mum: they lived at the bottom end of Coldharbour Lane and Nora went to my school. I began to panic. I couldn't risk them seeing me, but they were coming quite close. And just at that moment you woke up and began crying, and Nora and her mum were crossing the road now, although they still hadn't seen me, and I was terrified. I didn't know what to do. I only knew that I couldn't be spotted by anyone I knew, holding a baby, so I thought I'd just have to put you down. And I suddenly saw this shopping trolley standing there, and before I could even stop to think, I'd just laid you in that. I looked round
—
no-one had seen me, the carpark was empty. And there you were, in the trolley with your blanket and your bottle, and then I glanced to my right and Nora and her mother were getting nearer. And so I began to walk. Without meaning to do it, Rose, I just walked away. And I kept on walking. And walking. I walked away and left you there. And to this day the memory of what I did makes me feel shivery and sick. And my heart was beating so hard I thought I'd die and my face was boiling hot. I was walking very fast now, half running really, keeping my head right down
.