A Journey to the Past

He had had the piece of paper for years. He now held it in his hand and read it yet again. It was a copy of a birth certificate for someone called Derek Alexander Clayton:

Born on 11^th August 1952 at 11.55pm. Only five minutes from being the 12^th of August then!

Mother’s name: Elizabeth Greenaway Hunter Rule or Clayton – wife of William Cecil Clayton, Sgt RAOC, to whom she was married 30^th January 1947 at Falkirk.

The birth had been registered on 2^nd September 1952, but alongside this date was a note: Adopted (England).

The place of birth was given as 136 Merchiston Avenue, Falkirk. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology he had visited the address several times before, via Google Maps, but today was different.

Today he was in Merchiston Avenue, standing across the street from number 136 and looking at the house in which he had been born more than 65 years before.

He could easily believe that not much had changed in Merchiston Avenue since that day in 1952. The properties consisted of semi-detached pebble-dashed blocks, with each semi comprising two flats, upstairs and downstairs, each with its own entrance door at the side of the building. The block in question had the numbers 140 and 138 on the left-hand side and 136 and 134 on the right-hand side, so he assumed that 136 would be the upper floor flat.

The street had every appearance of being part of a post-war council estate, and it looked to him as though a good proportion of the properties were still council owned, given the relatively small number that had had their appearance improved by former tenants who were now private owners.

Now that he had made the long journey north from his home in Leicestershire, he felt that he had accomplished something, although he was not quite sure what that was. This somewhat drab street in a Scottish town, with the noise of traffic from the nearby A9 forming a constant background hum, was where he had started his life, and knowing that was at least something. After all, he knew almost nothing else about his origins, other than what was printed on that piece of paper.

All he wanted to do now was take a photograph of the house and make his way back home again.

However, he had hardly had time to point his camera at the upper flat before he was aware that someone was trying to attract his attention by knocking at the window from inside.

A few seconds later a woman, a few years younger than himself, had opened her door and was now walking across to where he was.

“Hey you”, she said, “What’s your game? Why are you taking pictures of the flat? Are you from the Council?”

He put the camera down. “No”, he said, “I didn’t mean to cause any offence. I just wanted to take a shot of the house I was born in.”

The woman’s manner suddenly changed. It looked for a second as though she was the one who had been shot, and with something more lethal than a camera.

“What did you say?” she asked. “You were born here?”

“That’s right”, he said, and he showed the woman his birth certificate.

"You’d better come inside”, she said, and ushered him up the stairs of the flat that was 136 Merchiston Avenue.

“What shall I call you?” she asked.

“John”, he said.

“And how long have you known that you started life as Derek Clayton?”

“About thirty-five years”, he said. 

“And why have you only come to see us now?”

“That wasn’t my intention”, he said. “I only wanted to see the house. And what do you mean by ‘us’?”

“My name is Mary Frazer”, she said. “If I’ve got it right, I’m your sister. There’s somebody here you might like to meet. But be warned, she’s not as she once was.”

So saying, Mary ushered him into a room, in the corner of which sat a very old lady in a high-backed armchair. She did not look up as the two of them approached but continued to stare at a television that was showing a children’s cartoon show, but with the sound turned off.

She turned her head as Mary spoke to her.

“Mum”, Mary said, “There’s someone here to see you. His name is John, but he used to be called Derek.”

“Derek?” said the old woman, as though she was trying to recall a name from a long time ago. “Do I know anyone called Derek?”

“You did once”, said Mary. “You used to tell me about the baby you once lost, whose name was Derek. You used to cry yourself to sleep when I was a young girl, and I sometimes heard you in the night saying how much you missed your Derek.”

There was a sudden look of recognition on the old woman’s face.

“You’re right”, she said. “I remember now. My Derek was taken away and I never saw him again.”

“Well”, said Mary, “He’s here now. This is Derek”.

The old woman slowly moved her head to change her focus from Mary’s face to John’s. She stared at him for a few moments, then said, “Are you my Derek? You’ve grown a lot. How are you getting on at school?”

“He’s not at school, Mum,” Mary told her. “He left school at a long time ago.”

“I hope he was a good boy at school,” the old woman said, before turning back to look at him. “Do you play lots of games at school?”

Mary, with tears in her eyes, pulled John away and invited him to take a seat on the other side of the room. The old woman went back to staring at the cartoons on the television.

“If only you could have come here before”, Mary said. “She was such a lovely person to know in the old days. You would have made her so happy if she could have met you only as much as ten years ago, before the dementia got so bad.”

“Then I can only apologise”, John said. “I was always afraid that I would cause distress by turning up out of the blue, and maybe rekindle old hurts”.

“I’ll tell you the full story”, Mary said, “then you’ll understand things better. Mum and Bill Clayton did not have an easy marriage. To be frank, they had fallen out of love some time before you arrived on the scene. Bill had an eye for other women and he’d probably been unfaithful to Mum several times.

“Mum knew what he was like and she was no angel either. She didn’t see why she shouldn’t have other men in her life if he could have other women, but she also knew the value of having a husband who could provide a roof over her head. When she got pregnant she thought that that was just what she needed – she reckoned that Bill might change his ways if he had a family to care for. But she was wrong there.

“One night they had a terrible row, and Mum let slip that the baby wasn’t Bill’s. She just knew it, because Bill had been away with the Army at the time the baby must have been conceived.

“Bill was furious. He told Mum that she had a choice, because he was damned if he was going to bring up another man’s child. Either the baby went, or she did.

“Mum felt trapped. The prospect of being thrown out of her home, with a baby to look after, was one that she couldn’t face, so she agreed to have the kid adopted.

“But that wasn’t the end of it. Bill was such a hypocrite. He reckoned that she had ruined the marriage by getting pregnant by another man, and he wanted out. So he left home, found himself another woman, and started divorce proceedings. Mum was now on her own, having lost both her husband and her child.

“But along came Jimmy Frazer, who had been her friend for a number of years. He had known Bill Clayton from years before – they had been Army colleagues - and he knew what sort of man he was like. He was always there when Mum needed a shoulder to cry on, and it shouldn’t surprise you to learn that he was not only Mum’s true friend but also your father. Mum invited Jimmy to live with her in this flat, so he did. After the divorce from Bill, Jimmy and Mum got married and I am their daughter.

“That’s a sad story”, John said, “although it seems to have a happy ending. However, things don’t seem to have worked out so well for you, having to look after your Mum when she is in such a bad way.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad”, said Mary. “I have two other sisters and we take it in turns to give Dad our support.”

“So Jimmy’s still alive?”

“Oh yes – he’s over 90 but he’s still in quite good shape. In fact, I can hear him coming up the stairs now. He’s just been down to the shop to get a few things.”

As she spoke, the door opened and a tall elderly man entered the room. Although he was stooped over by the years there was still the trace of a military bearing about him. He was a little startled to see that Mary had company, but he then fixed his bright blue eyes on the stranger who was now standing up to be introduced to him.

Before Mary could speak Jimmy Frazer said just two words:

“Hello, son”.

© John Welford