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Hi I'm Luke, I just graduated from Lancaster University in July.
I interviewed a lovely gentleman called Michael Longworth, and he told me his story
about being adopted from a very young age and his endeavour to find his birth mother.
Michael's story is a truely heartwarming story which echoes the situation of many adoptees
throughout the UK, who search for their biological parents and struggle in doing so.
Michael summaries his story perfectly by saying it's a wonderful story with a happy ending from a sad start.
Hi, I'm Mike, I'm sixty years of age and I live in Lancaster.
I was born at Brettargh Holt, which isn't far from Lancaster, I was born there in 1952.
I was adopted, my mother lived in Liverpool. She was 32 when she became pregnant with me.
I don't know who my father is, but my mother's parents were very very strict Catholics.
And unbeknown to me I don't know how my mother got pregnant.
But they came to a decision that, she was told that either I went, or she went.
And from that moment on I was transferred from Liverpool to Brettargh Holt.
Which was an unmarried mother's home in the 1950s just on the way to Kendal.
I was taken there six weeks before I was born and I stayed six weeks after.
When I left there I was taken back to Liverpool and I was taken to a home, Father McCue's, a children's home in Liverpool.
And there I stayed until I was three and a half, and I was eventually adopted by a family from Altrincham, near Manchester.
And that was my step-mother, step-father and a step-brother.
And as I say, I got there when I was three and a half and then 11 months later I went out and I was stood at a bus stop with my step-mother.
And apparently, unbeknown to me she took ill, and I never saw my mother again - she died from a brain hemorrhage, my step-mother.
So at the age of five and a half I'd had two mothers and never really knew neither of them, you know.
So I was brought up with my step-father and step-brother and with aunties, they had their own business.
So I was shipped out to aunties, and people looked after me.
And when I went to school I came home and stayed at people's houses until they came home from work.
And while I was with my adopted parents I was always asked many a time whether I would try and find my real mother.
I always said to my father, to my step-parents that no, while they were alive I would never try and find my mother.
In 1997 I lost my step father. I then decided that through the Catholic Adoption Society that I would try and trace my mother.
With being a Catholic you had to go through certain things to find out whether my mum wanted to see me.
It took me about three or four years, and everytime I went, and every decision I got was, "No your mother doesn't want to see you".
You know, "Try again later", and everything, I tried all sorts really, it was really hard work.
And in the end I was that fed up, I got on a train and I went to Birkenhead, and I went to the electoral list.
And there was only two Rosemary Bennett's on the electoral list, one of them had a family and the other lady lived alone.
And I actually went to the house and knocked on the door.
And I first met my mother in 2001 - and she nearly collapsed when she saw me.
But the first words out of her mouth was, "I always knew you'd come and find me".
And she said "I never ever forgot your birthday on the 17th January".
How did that make you feel at the time?
I was absolutely shocked, I was shaking, I was more nervous than my mother, you know.
But I went in and we sat down and by the time we had both got over out nerves, we'd had a cup of tea.
And I kept in touch with my mother for quite a while, I used to write to her and I used to ring her.
And then apparently one day, I went down, or I rang her, and there was nobody in and I went down to see her.
And the lady next door said that she'd been walking round the streets, late at night, in just her night dress.
And somebody, er, Social Services had said to her would she go into this home.
See how she liked it - if she liked it she could stay and if she didn't she was allowed to go back home.
But she stayed in the home until the day she died.
So I eventually found out the home she was in, which was at Fell Tree House in Rock Ferry.
And I came home and I rang Fell Tree House, and I had to explain for two hours to the matron that I was Rosemary's son.
Because they didn't have any record of her having any children.
And it was awful trying to explain, you know when you're trying to tell someone the truth and you don't feel they believe you.
And I went on for ages, and she said "The best thing I can do Michael is leave it with me...
"...I'll have a word with your mother Rosemary tomorrow and I'll ring you back in a day or two".
So she rang me back about three days later and said that my mother had broke her heart.
And she'd told the matron that she did have a son - and she'd love to see me.
So I eventually went to the home where she was and met her again.
And then one day I got a phone call from the home to say that they were taking her up to Arrowe Park Hospital and she wasn't well.
I rushed down to the home and as she was taken out on the stretcher she handed me an envelope with £75 in five pound notes.
And I said "What was this for, Mother?" - and she said it was for petrol to come and see me.
Which I found very strange, and at the time it didn't really bother me...
...but I thought did she know that she wasn't going to come out of hospital.
Many, many strange things I don't know. So I eventually went to the hospital - I went nearly every day to see her
I stayed with her, she used to wink at me, but she never ever said anything to me.
In all the time she was in hospital she never spoke, she used to just wink at me and smile.
And on the 11th of July I went to see her, and I was sat with her and she didn't look well at all.
And the nurse said to me "Michael, you better go home, go and get a rest, come back tomorrow, and you can see her tomorrow".
I set off from there 'cause I lived at Carnforth in Lancashire (Lancaster).
And by the time I'd walked in the door I got a phone call to say "You better get back, I don't think your mother's going to make it".
By the time I'd got in the car, I got a phone call about a mile up the road to say she'd passed away.
So by the time I'd got to the hospital she'd passed away.
And the lady in the next bed said that the last words she ever uttered was, "Mike. Where's my Mike".
And since then I've had many, many doubts about what happened to my mother, I wasn't happy with the way she was treated.
Beacuse on her death certificate there was absolutely nothing wrong with her.
And I put it down to she just starved herself to death.
But the lady in the next bed did say to me that she'd wished in many, many ways that she'd never met me
I've sort of like blamed myself for a long time that if I hadn't gone to see her or hadn't found her...
...Would she have lived happy, a bit longer in the home herself.
You know, and when I went to the hospital and asked about the way she was treated.
And the last words they said to me as I came out was that I was partly to blame for getting in touch with my mother - which I found horrendous.
And for a long time after that I've suffered with a lot of guilt, a lot of remorse...
...and a lot of thinking, "Was it my fault?" - and I ended up having counselling
And over the last few years, I've come now to except that what happened to my mum, she wanted to happen anyway.
- I don't hold any blame on me.
I'm just glad that I did see her. My life's been a jigsaw, and like meeting my mum was just part of putting the jigsaw back together.
So that's my story, you know, an interesting way of being adopted, you know.
Not knowing anything and then waiting till forty-odd years later to find out - putting it back all together again, you know.
But it's a wonderful story, it has a happy ending from a sad start - and I think at last I've found a bit of peace in my life.