A Nice Story – involving the Salvation Army
Before postal voting became really popular, I used to help out on Local and General election days by taking elderly people to vote at their respective Polling Station. On one occasion, I picked up my list and went to a large block of flats where all the people were elderly, and rang the bell. A small voice answered, and I explained that I was there to take her to vote. She said that she had already sent a postal vote as she was practically blind, did not get out much and hardly anybody came to see her. It seemed a “cry for help” if ever there was one, so I offered to pop back afterwards.
As soon as she let me into her flat, she said “I want you to help me find my boy.” I asked her what his name was and she told me the christian name. I asked her what his family name was and she did not know. She had not seen him he was about 14 years old and she had had to put him into an orphanage. He was born in November but could not remember the year but she did remember “Doodle Bugs”. A bit of research here showed that the only likely November when there were doodle bugs around was November 1942. The boy’s father was an American who had worked in the same factory where she did, but he either did not survive the war or went back to the US.
It turned out she had spent much of her life in institutions and one building where she had lived was actually a former workhouse. She could not read or write either and had only ever had cleaning or other menial jobs. Nevertheless she was a very strong character and “giving up” did not really seem to be in her vocabulary. I used to go and see her on Saturday afternoons and would do some shopping for her. One thing I had to remind her of regularly was not to give or “lend” any money to her neighbours as most of them looked better-dressed than she was and seemed to try and take advantage of her. One afternoon I helped sort out years of letters and old bills. One of her treasured possessions was a pink hat that her last husband had bought her for her wedding day.
One summer’s day, my wife and I took her out for a drive to the old workhouse which was now mostly converted into smart flats.
As the weeks went by, I gradually built up a picture of her son but without a family name, I held out little hope. Putting together a coherent picture of the son’s life seemed like trying to do a jigsaw puzzle without the pictures on the pieces. But one day she remembered the family name and asked a neighbour to write it down. She proudly showed the paper to me. There was an obvious mis-spelling, but now at least I could now ask someone. I wrote down every little bit of information I had including his mother’s nickname and sent the letter to the local Registry Office. Three weeks later I got a phone call from them – it was the nickname that clinched it and they sent me a copy of his birth certificate – the father’s name was blank.
The same week, I wrote to the Salvation Army Family Tracing Service sending a copy of the son’s birth certificate. The Salvation Army has access to confidential Government records so can trace people that would otherwise just disappear.
It turned out that the son still lived in the same area, only about two miles from the old workhouse where we had taken his mother a few weeks before. The son came home one day to find his wife crying after reading the letter from the Salvation Army. Shortly afterwards, I arranged for the son and his wife to come to Camden and I drove them down to his mother’s flat.
There was a birthmark which the mother recognised and I left them after about 20 minutes. The son had thought his mother was dead so the letter from the Salvation Army came out of the blue. The mother eventually moved back to the area where her son lived and they had four years together before she died.
This story at least has a happy ending, but the surprising thing is that the majority of people traced by the Salvation Army do not want to be reunited with the parent or relation that seeks them.