I used the name Barbara Barnes because that’s what I was christened a few days after my birth on the 2nd June, 1947.
I was adopted in 1948 at the age of one year, by Mr and Mrs Tiernan. To avoid confusion I’ll call my natural mother ‘Katie’ and my adopted mother ‘mother’. After signing the adoption papers Katie somehow found out where I was living, and was visiting me up until I was five years old. I vaguely remember my mother telling me to say goodbye to Aunty Kathryn when she was leaving. My mother, being a kind woman, allowed her to stay for weekends, until grandmother said I’d be confused and not know who my mother was. So the visits were stopped.
My mother never told me that I was adopted. She never wanted me to know. I found out by accident at the age of twelve, from a psychiatrist of all people. “Did you know you were adopted?” he asked outright. Although I’d always felt different, I was devastated by this news, and temporarily turned against my adoptive parents for lying to me. It became a dark secret that I couldn’t speak about to anyone.
At the age of forty, happily married with two children, I felt confident enough to start a search, strong enough to face rejection. I was counselled by Social Services to see if I could cope with whatever I may find, and given a copy of a report containing my parents’ last known addresses. I have followed every lead on the report and have come to a blank on everything, as far as Katie is concerned. I was also given a bundle of letters (which I still have). Reading them broke my heart, as they document the torment she suffered giving me up. At one point she changed her mind and wrote saying that she wanted me back, and even though she was on her own, she would find a way to keep me. But in a later letter she describes how Father Donnelly had insisted that Barbara goes to a good home, and that she would not be able to provide that kind of security. I could imagine the strict Catholic priest standing over this young girl telling her she must do the right thing.
When I started the search, my mother, then in her eighties, told me that after Katie stopped visiting, she wrote letters to her, which she destroyed after an argument with me, saying that she was living in Tunbridge Wells working on the fruit farms of Kent. My mother said Katie had met a man and they were going to Australia on the £10 ticket.
With the letters Katie had enclosed some photographs of herself which thankfully my mother kept and I now have.
The last known address for Katie on the social workers report had been in Colne in the Manchester area, and so I assumed she was a Northern girl. I found my father who still lived just around the corner from his last known address. He told me that she came from Essex but had moved North with the Land Army and was working on his father’s farm in Wilmslow when they met, fell in love and conceived me. There was a wedding planned which he called off three days before, and I was consequently born in Jericho Public Assistance Infirmary, formerly a work house in Bury.
My father told me Katie had no family and was brought up by her grandmother in the Fens, and spent some time in children’s homes. This lack of a stable family background has contributed to the difficulty I’ve had in finding her. I’ve got four files full of letters and correspondence. I’ve been on the radio and put advertisements in papers but all to no avail. To search in Australia I would need to know the name of the ship and the port she landed in.
I’d given up my search and reconciled myself to never finding her. But when I was off work last year I saw a Trisha programme, which reunited, lost relatives. It stirred up the old feelings of time running out and never finding her. I wrote to them but nothing came of it. I remember trying Cilla Black’s Surprise Surprise a long time ago, but they wrote and said they didn’t get involved with adoption cases.
I would love to know what happened to her. I realise that she may not be alive now, as she’d be in her eighties. Did she go to Australia? I think if she had remained in this country she wouldn’t have been able to keep away. Did she re-marry? Did she have more children? What happened to the young girl who was forced to give me up because she had no family support? If she is alive, does she still think of me? Does she remember the baby girl who’ll be 60 on 2nd June?
I haven’t got the energy right now to start a new search. The Jon situation, and so much to plan for this year. Should I still be raking up the past?
Starting this blog, using her name (although if she married she’s probably changed it) I’ve thought that someone out there may know of a Kathryn ‘Katie’ Barnes, who was in the Land Army in the Wilmslow, Cheshire area the late 1940s, a tall, lively blond girl according to my father, who liked people and life, and may have emigrated to Australia. Who knows?
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Wednesday, 30 May 2007
Last Minute Panic
"The vintage dress is too plain," I said to Dan. "It's my party, I should wear something more outrageous."
"The dress looks good," Dan said, "and it's a bit late in the day to go looking for something else."
"I know, but I'm going to call at the fancy dress shops, just to have a look at what they've got."
I asked Lizzy to come with me for a second opinion.
"Something more outrageous?" Lizzy said, "Isn't wearing at micro mini at aged 60 outrageous enough for you."
There are two fancy dress shops in our town. The oldest has been there for about thirty years and used to supply outfits to the dancing school Kathryn attended when she was five. Run down and seedy, it is still owned by the same person. I asked the girl for 60s outfits and she handed Lizzy and me two tatty looking books.
"That's Trisha Smith," I said pointing to one of the teenage girls modelling the outfits. She used to dance with Kathryn. She has kids of her own now." As I turned the pages more and more of the old dancing girls appeared.
"I dread to think what the outfits must be like after all this time," Lizzy said.
"They didn't look that good when they were new. Lets go."
"My mother's selling up," the girl said.
"Not before time," Lizzy whispered as we left.
The ultra modern interior of the second shop was in complete contrast. The walls were decorated with brightly coloured banners and streamers screaming Happy 18th, 21st, 30th, 40th 50th 60th. Perhaps there's not much call for the 70th plus. There were none. Gayly coloured outfits were displayed on dummies and rails. But the 60s gear was just as dire as the first place.
I noticed the plump balloons floating around the shop, and asked if they stay up.
"They're treated with a special agent so they don't shrink," said the shop assistant, who was dressed in a Sandy from Grease outfit. "They're guaranteed to stay up for a week."
"You've paid the deposit in the other shop," Lizzy reminded me. "They won't shrink - stop worrying."
When I got back home I tried my vintage 60s dress on again with the black and white shoes, black tights and head band. It looked better than anything I'd seen in the shops.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
"The dress looks good," Dan said, "and it's a bit late in the day to go looking for something else."
"I know, but I'm going to call at the fancy dress shops, just to have a look at what they've got."
I asked Lizzy to come with me for a second opinion.
"Something more outrageous?" Lizzy said, "Isn't wearing at micro mini at aged 60 outrageous enough for you."
There are two fancy dress shops in our town. The oldest has been there for about thirty years and used to supply outfits to the dancing school Kathryn attended when she was five. Run down and seedy, it is still owned by the same person. I asked the girl for 60s outfits and she handed Lizzy and me two tatty looking books.
"That's Trisha Smith," I said pointing to one of the teenage girls modelling the outfits. She used to dance with Kathryn. She has kids of her own now." As I turned the pages more and more of the old dancing girls appeared.
"I dread to think what the outfits must be like after all this time," Lizzy said.
"They didn't look that good when they were new. Lets go."
"My mother's selling up," the girl said.
"Not before time," Lizzy whispered as we left.
The ultra modern interior of the second shop was in complete contrast. The walls were decorated with brightly coloured banners and streamers screaming Happy 18th, 21st, 30th, 40th 50th 60th. Perhaps there's not much call for the 70th plus. There were none. Gayly coloured outfits were displayed on dummies and rails. But the 60s gear was just as dire as the first place.
I noticed the plump balloons floating around the shop, and asked if they stay up.
"They're treated with a special agent so they don't shrink," said the shop assistant, who was dressed in a Sandy from Grease outfit. "They're guaranteed to stay up for a week."
"You've paid the deposit in the other shop," Lizzy reminded me. "They won't shrink - stop worrying."
When I got back home I tried my vintage 60s dress on again with the black and white shoes, black tights and head band. It looked better than anything I'd seen in the shops.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
Diamond Necklace
It's half term, thank God. The thoughts of college stresses me out. I'm trying to stay positive and think of my party. The observation debacle has soured everything. I must remember what my therapists and Jon keep telling me, "It's not what happens to you, it's how you react that matters." Stop reacting. If he can cope with prison, I can cope with this.
Dan took me shopping. We need some new light shades for the bedrooms that have been redecorated, but in the shop Dan just stared around seemingly preoccupied and was no help at all, even though I asked for his opinion on colours and styles.
"I don't know why we bring them with us," the shop assistant said. "We do our own thing anyway." I groaned at Dan and we left the shop with nothing.
"We need to pick up Kathryn's bracelet from the jewellers," Dan reminded me. "They rang last week to say it had been repaired."
"I'd forgotten about it," I said. "Unless I write things down, I forget about them. I'm getting too many senior moments lately."
The jeweller had done a great job. You couldn't see where the break had been soldered. Paying for it, I put it in my bag and turned to leave.
"There's something else, I want you to see," Dan said smiling.
Not like Dan I thought suspiciously.
The jeweller produced a white gold necklace with a single diamond pendant.
"It's your birthday present, if you like it," Dan said. "If not, you can choose something else."
"It's perfect," I said trying it on. The diamond glistened. "Just perfect," I said kissing Dan, and thinking how lucky I am.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Dan took me shopping. We need some new light shades for the bedrooms that have been redecorated, but in the shop Dan just stared around seemingly preoccupied and was no help at all, even though I asked for his opinion on colours and styles.
"I don't know why we bring them with us," the shop assistant said. "We do our own thing anyway." I groaned at Dan and we left the shop with nothing.
"We need to pick up Kathryn's bracelet from the jewellers," Dan reminded me. "They rang last week to say it had been repaired."
"I'd forgotten about it," I said. "Unless I write things down, I forget about them. I'm getting too many senior moments lately."
The jeweller had done a great job. You couldn't see where the break had been soldered. Paying for it, I put it in my bag and turned to leave.
"There's something else, I want you to see," Dan said smiling.
Not like Dan I thought suspiciously.
The jeweller produced a white gold necklace with a single diamond pendant.
"It's your birthday present, if you like it," Dan said. "If not, you can choose something else."
"It's perfect," I said trying it on. The diamond glistened. "Just perfect," I said kissing Dan, and thinking how lucky I am.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Monday, 28 May 2007
Bank Holiday surpise
A rainy Bank Holiday Monday. Dan painted the bathroom and cleaned the patio. I sorted the spare bedroom in preparation for party guests who may stay over. In between showers I tided the potted plants. We've been painting and decorating and working on the house for months now, getting it ready for September's wedding, and Jon's return. A bonus is, it looks good for my party.
Another early gift arrived from Jenny and Bruce, who came round for drinks. Jenny has an apartment in Nerja, Spain, where she bought my gift. Knowing I have difficulty keeping presents for the day, she let me open it. Handing me an expensive looking small square box with a rose on it, she said,"It's antique and Spanish."
"Good things come in small packages," I said opening it carefully. "Oh! That's beautiful," I said taking out a gold ring mounted with three square amethysts. Purple is my favourite colour.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Another early gift arrived from Jenny and Bruce, who came round for drinks. Jenny has an apartment in Nerja, Spain, where she bought my gift. Knowing I have difficulty keeping presents for the day, she let me open it. Handing me an expensive looking small square box with a rose on it, she said,"It's antique and Spanish."
"Good things come in small packages," I said opening it carefully. "Oh! That's beautiful," I said taking out a gold ring mounted with three square amethysts. Purple is my favourite colour.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
The partying starts here
We went hiking in Wales on Saturday. The weather's turned cold.
"Hope it warms up for your party," Dan said.
"It doesn't matter." I said, "It's inside a warm hall."
"I'll get my wig wet."
"The damp might calm it, and you down."
"Or make it grow."
Peter and Beth arrived that evening with a bottle of Champagne, a card, hand made by Beth, and a cheque for £60. Beth's daughter came with them. She lives in Geneva and is going back the day after my do. She wasn't going to attend, because of hangover fears, but was persuaded by hot buffet, and the vision of Peter dressed as Austin Powers doing a dance with three Go Go girls to 'I want Candy.' Peter is an extrovert and once dressed up takes on the persona of the character. He's got the outfit, but is waiting for Austin Powers teeth and hairy chest to arrive via the Internet.
"Hope they arrive on time," said Beth sarcastically.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
"Hope it warms up for your party," Dan said.
"It doesn't matter." I said, "It's inside a warm hall."
"I'll get my wig wet."
"The damp might calm it, and you down."
"Or make it grow."
Peter and Beth arrived that evening with a bottle of Champagne, a card, hand made by Beth, and a cheque for £60. Beth's daughter came with them. She lives in Geneva and is going back the day after my do. She wasn't going to attend, because of hangover fears, but was persuaded by hot buffet, and the vision of Peter dressed as Austin Powers doing a dance with three Go Go girls to 'I want Candy.' Peter is an extrovert and once dressed up takes on the persona of the character. He's got the outfit, but is waiting for Austin Powers teeth and hairy chest to arrive via the Internet.
"Hope they arrive on time," said Beth sarcastically.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Sunday, 27 May 2007
Well Developed
Every Wednesday afternoon, we have a team meeting at college. At last week's meeting the outcome of the yearly observations was on the agenda. I was told that because the observer didn't turn up I would be allowed the grade 1 I got last year. I smiled to myself, thinking thank God for that. "However," Carly, my manager added, without looking me in the eye, "An ALP (Advanced Learning Practitioner) will come in to one of your lessons, to help with your development."
"I don't need developing. I'm well developed," I said looking down at my double D cups, and forcing a smile.
"It's merely in a supportive role," Carly cajoled.
"No. It's not," I insisted. "I'm not being observed again. No matter what you call it, this is observation by the backdoor and I'm not having it." I was starting to feel very angry, but I managed to control my emotions and keep my cool. I continued, "I completed my part of the deal. I spent days preparing. I had everything ready. Every lesson was stressful waiting for him to arrive, and he didn't show. I'm not going through that again. If anyone comes into my class I will walk out."
The faces of my colleagues sat around the table, expressed surprise at my out of character outburst.
"We'll talk about it after the meeting," Carly said.
After the meeting, various colleagues told me that I was right to stand up for myself. Carly was surrounded by tutors and I could see I wasn't going to get to talk to her before home time. So I wrote the following email:
Dear Carly, I was hoping to talk to you after the meeting but there was’nt time.
As you know, I’m having CBT therapy, referred by the occupational health from college, and I take prescribed medication for anxiety and depression. You are also aware that I have personal problems with my son being in prison 5000 miles away, as well as work stress, and the combination of the two makes it difficult for me to cope with any extra demands. My therapist has told me that I must say no to extra demands.
This year I’ve coped well (in previous years, since Jon's arrest, I've had months off with stress)and want to complete the year and not let my students down. Sometimes I feel as though I’m just barely hanging on. I cannot take on anything extra.
I put a great deal of effort into preparing for the observation. I put too much pressure on myself as I’m a bit of a perfectionist and I really went over the top preparing. I cannot go through with another observation or an observation in disguise. I could have got out of the whole observation process if I'd played on my mental state, but I preferred to get on with it and be observed, and this is the way I'm treated.
At the moment I cannot take anymore stress than I already have.
Barbara Barnes
Carly read the email before she left. She came into the room where I was setting up computers for my evening class and gave me a hug, saying she would sort it out. This helped, but the situation knocked my confidence and I didn't feel up to doing my class. I'd been doing so well with the CBT thought diary, I really believed I was getting better, but this has made me realise how fragile I've become and my head felt as though it was bursting with stress. With encouragement from my colleagues, I managed to get myself together enough to take the class, but I've still not recovered.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
"I don't need developing. I'm well developed," I said looking down at my double D cups, and forcing a smile.
"It's merely in a supportive role," Carly cajoled.
"No. It's not," I insisted. "I'm not being observed again. No matter what you call it, this is observation by the backdoor and I'm not having it." I was starting to feel very angry, but I managed to control my emotions and keep my cool. I continued, "I completed my part of the deal. I spent days preparing. I had everything ready. Every lesson was stressful waiting for him to arrive, and he didn't show. I'm not going through that again. If anyone comes into my class I will walk out."
The faces of my colleagues sat around the table, expressed surprise at my out of character outburst.
"We'll talk about it after the meeting," Carly said.
After the meeting, various colleagues told me that I was right to stand up for myself. Carly was surrounded by tutors and I could see I wasn't going to get to talk to her before home time. So I wrote the following email:
Dear Carly, I was hoping to talk to you after the meeting but there was’nt time.
As you know, I’m having CBT therapy, referred by the occupational health from college, and I take prescribed medication for anxiety and depression. You are also aware that I have personal problems with my son being in prison 5000 miles away, as well as work stress, and the combination of the two makes it difficult for me to cope with any extra demands. My therapist has told me that I must say no to extra demands.
This year I’ve coped well (in previous years, since Jon's arrest, I've had months off with stress)and want to complete the year and not let my students down. Sometimes I feel as though I’m just barely hanging on. I cannot take on anything extra.
I put a great deal of effort into preparing for the observation. I put too much pressure on myself as I’m a bit of a perfectionist and I really went over the top preparing. I cannot go through with another observation or an observation in disguise. I could have got out of the whole observation process if I'd played on my mental state, but I preferred to get on with it and be observed, and this is the way I'm treated.
At the moment I cannot take anymore stress than I already have.
Barbara Barnes
Carly read the email before she left. She came into the room where I was setting up computers for my evening class and gave me a hug, saying she would sort it out. This helped, but the situation knocked my confidence and I didn't feel up to doing my class. I'd been doing so well with the CBT thought diary, I really believed I was getting better, but this has made me realise how fragile I've become and my head felt as though it was bursting with stress. With encouragement from my colleagues, I managed to get myself together enough to take the class, but I've still not recovered.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Friday, 25 May 2007
Hungry Buddha
The Hungry Buddha is a greasy spoon that sells veggie breakfasts. Kathryn loves it. When she's home we fill up on fried eggs, veggie sausages, hash browns, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms and toast before setting off on our shopping expeditions.
My sister, Lizzy, playfully calls it the 'hungry buggar'. I met Lizzy with her two daughters, Lesley and Sarah for brunch there today. While tucking into our full English, I asked Lizzy about the shrinkage problem. "Apparently, if blown up too early and it turns cold, they can shrink."
"Graham has the same problem," Lesley sniggered.
"Should I swap balloon shops?" I asked. "I saw one advert saying their balloons are treated with something that makes them stay up."
"Could do with some of that," Lesley said.
"Me too," Sarah said "Does it work on everything?"
Lizzy assured me that the shrinkage was just a warning that they have to give everyone. "We've had balloons from there before and they didn't shrink," she told me "Stop worrying."
"There's the streamers and photographs. Peter has enlarged some 60s pics and superimposed them onto a psychedelic background. They look brilliant."
"You're supposed to have photos of you as a child, not in the 60s," Lizzy said.
"Am I? It's a 60s party so I chose 60s pics. But I'll get Dan to do some of me as a kid," I said guessing that Lizzy wanted to be in the hall of fame with me, in photos from our childhood. " When can we put them up?" I asked.
We'll do all that," Lizzy said. "You just turn up."
"Have you and Kathryn thought any more about the flowers for the wedding?" Lizzy asked.
"I can't think about the wedding now." I groaned. "My mind's full of party and 60s outfits and shrinking balloons, and caterers, and DJs and whether they'll all turn up."
"They'll all turn up," said Lizzy "and probably more besides."
We talked about what we are wearing for the party. Lizzy is a bit overweight and has made herself a kaftan, Demis Roussos style. She's going as a hippy. Lesley and Sarah are wearing the swirly pattered sixties-ish mini frocks that are in the shops at the moment, but with black tights mod hairstyles and makeup.
After we'd paid the bill we walked up to the market to buy false eyelashes, green eyeshadow, hippy beads, bandannas and flower tattoos.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
My sister, Lizzy, playfully calls it the 'hungry buggar'. I met Lizzy with her two daughters, Lesley and Sarah for brunch there today. While tucking into our full English, I asked Lizzy about the shrinkage problem. "Apparently, if blown up too early and it turns cold, they can shrink."
"Graham has the same problem," Lesley sniggered.
"Should I swap balloon shops?" I asked. "I saw one advert saying their balloons are treated with something that makes them stay up."
"Could do with some of that," Lesley said.
"Me too," Sarah said "Does it work on everything?"
Lizzy assured me that the shrinkage was just a warning that they have to give everyone. "We've had balloons from there before and they didn't shrink," she told me "Stop worrying."
"There's the streamers and photographs. Peter has enlarged some 60s pics and superimposed them onto a psychedelic background. They look brilliant."
"You're supposed to have photos of you as a child, not in the 60s," Lizzy said.
"Am I? It's a 60s party so I chose 60s pics. But I'll get Dan to do some of me as a kid," I said guessing that Lizzy wanted to be in the hall of fame with me, in photos from our childhood. " When can we put them up?" I asked.
We'll do all that," Lizzy said. "You just turn up."
"Have you and Kathryn thought any more about the flowers for the wedding?" Lizzy asked.
"I can't think about the wedding now." I groaned. "My mind's full of party and 60s outfits and shrinking balloons, and caterers, and DJs and whether they'll all turn up."
"They'll all turn up," said Lizzy "and probably more besides."
We talked about what we are wearing for the party. Lizzy is a bit overweight and has made herself a kaftan, Demis Roussos style. She's going as a hippy. Lesley and Sarah are wearing the swirly pattered sixties-ish mini frocks that are in the shops at the moment, but with black tights mod hairstyles and makeup.
After we'd paid the bill we walked up to the market to buy false eyelashes, green eyeshadow, hippy beads, bandannas and flower tattoos.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)