Connected to Glasgow.

Here we are two days late with the blog this week. A certain birthday for someone close by got in the way as did, then, catching up on work having had a day off for celebrations.

Glasgow is a fun city. Everybody here seems to like to eat out and be out no matter what their income. There is always a restaurant, cafe or bar to suit.

It seems appropriate to use an image of a bridge as they are so symbolic when there and when not.

I feel very at home here and I always assume it’s because my father was from Kilsyth..just up the road. I know I have relatives still up the road although I haven’t seen them for many many years. I was telling people the other day that sometimes opening up a new can of ‘relatives’ feels rather daunting. So I haven’t.

After my mum and dad split up I never saw my father again. So effectively I never met him as I was 8 months when I was fostered. Throughout my early teens I became more curious about him but mum was reluctant to have any contact with him or his family. Her attitude was, if I wanted contact, she wouldn’t stand in my way but I’d have to sort it out myself. Also my fathers sister had made it very clear that she didn’t approve of her brothers marriage to mum and had apparently been quite horrible about it trying to sabotage subsequent correspondence from him to us over the years after they’s spilt. So I do understand her reluctance for re connecting.

At about 15 I felt ready to track my father for myself but the silly man must have heard and only went and died! We knew because he had married again and Mrs Fraser No2 got in touch with Mrs. Fraser No1 partly to spread the news but also she thought we girls might like a little memento of some kind. I can’t remember what we got in the end. My brain says a tankard and a jewellery box but I have no idea if that’s true. I remember being dreadfully upset at the news. He was only in his forties and died of a heart attack. Whether he had a congenital fault or high blood pressure, cholesterol etc I have no idea. I have, in later years, realised it is quite difficult in terms of your own health when you know nothing about one parents medical history.

My friends at school couldn’t understand why I was upset when I had never met him but that was the point. The opportunity had gone, irretrievably…poof ..vanished. It would never happen. Some years later I was given a cassette recording of him speaking somewhere. There had been a nurses award set up in his name and I think he was presenting it. Mrs Fraser No 2 had sent it through. I could never quite bring myself to listen to it although I hope I still have it somewhere. One day I’ll find it and listen…maybe!

I don’t think it was long after his death that I got a call at our tiny house in Cheltenham from my fathers sister Rae. To be quite honest her accent was so strong that at that time I was so entrenched in Cotswold drawl that there was no way any type of ‘babble fish’ or clarification suite was going to help my teenage brain. I do remember her saying, ‘I’m y’er Anty Rae……..’ the rest is a blur.

What was interesting after that was that the two Mrs Fraser’s got on quite well and carried on a correspondence. Probably about 8 years after that, maybe less, we got an invite to my half sister’s, Margaret’s, wedding. Very unexpected as, despite the two older women’s correspondence, we had never met. My sister, Fi, was off leading an independent life by then, pretty fiercely independent too. Her and mum had fought constantly before Fi left. So, basically, she wasn’t interested. I had left home by this time, been an aupair in France, gone to college in Nottingham and had a year in London. There’ll be more about those periods of my life another time but I can date this because my hair was short. I didn’t have my hair cut off until I was 21 and living in London. But for some reason I said I would like to go and mum thought she would too. I say, some reason, but I am a naturally curious person even when that curiosity is likely to turn my life upside down. I think it’s why I always feel a natural affinity with cats…you know the way they inch forward, twitching their noses towards something their unsure about and then jump two feet vertically in the air and, on landing, dash in a zig zag peculiar fashion  across the lawn, road or room..as if they have completely lost their marbles. Then they calm, look snootily over their shoulder and walk off showing their bums as if to say..’and…..what the hell are you looking at?’. Anyway, that’s me.

So mum and I went. I’ll have to try and find a photo somewhere. At that time I was wearing retro dresses and skirt suits with Doc Martin’s etc. Trendy in some walks of life but definitely not conventional. I was in an ancient green silk dress and I don’t think it suited me. When we arrived I felt like a fish out of water as everyone looked far more ‘normal’ than I did. Story of my life! Even mum managed to look relatively conventional by comparison. That’s not something she’s known for even now with her pink stetson etc.

It was lovely to be there just to see my little sister Margaret but I am not sure it was the right decision to go. Mrs. Fraser No 2 seemed lovely but one of the things that made me uncomfortable was that most of the family seemed quite deeply religious. Now, don’t get me wrong, my mother is a quaker and I am used to religion as part of my life but apart from a flirtation in my teens I soon realised, that whatever I felt about the beginnings of life and spirituality, it didn’t fit any model I could find. It was during those explorations of religion in my early teens that mum became a quaker as she’d accompanied me to various churches. She stayed and I moved on. Also, so many religions have such pernicious views around sexuality that I cannot sit in and hold my mouth shut…so I don’t go. If that makes sense. I saw way to many people during my year in London and in subsequent years, hurt by family rejection, judgements or supposedly ‘accepted’ by decrees about ‘toleration’…god what an abhorrent word..who wants to be tolerated!…and all in the name of God. I have to say that quakers seem to be open to all people and that is how it should be. Sadly we all know many of these pernicious views persist today and not just views but active persecution and execution in some parts of the world, all in the name of religion. I’ve never understood anyone making judgements about people who surely are made by the same god they believe in. It comes for their view that some how it’s a choice…anyway. I digress…

There were no judgements at the wedding. It was lovely. Margaret look so sweet and Colin seemed like a delightful young man. I was always going to feel like a fish out of water wasn’t I. I mean effectively I’d walked into someone else living room and sat down. I could never have expected to actually feel part of the family because, whilst there was a blood connection, I wasn’t. We were made to feel very welcome and everything was done to include us. The uncomfortable feelings were purely my own. We were even in some of the photo’s. I know because I have some somewhere. Margaret Senior had sent some on to us after the event. Unfortunately clothes wise and in hind sight the words, ‘whatever did I look like’, come to mind. I’ll find them one day and we can all have a good belly laugh about it….my poor half sister.

In the evening mum and I were sat at a table and a very imposing woman walked into the room. She may not be imposing but that was my impression of her. I don’t even know if I have remembered the image correctly as we all re-write so much of our own history but never the less…this woman, tall and slim, wearing what I described as a ten ton hat walked in and I knew instantly that it was my Aunt i.e. my father’s sister. I believe it was I who went up to her and said, ‘Hi, I’m your niece, your brothers youngest daughter by his first marriage’. She immediately said, ‘Och..blud is thicka than waterrr’. That is all I remember as it seemed ironic that over the years, despite a few letters and an occasional card, we have had no contact for a very long time. Blood wasn’t that thick then! That is equally my responsibility, of course, I know but I wasn’t the one who said the bit about ‘Blood being thicker than water’. However she is the one who is still on the outskirts of Glasgow somewhere and I have resolved that next time I am here with a car I will see if she will like a visit. I may be too late. I may not. Fate will decide.

As many of you know, via Facebook, Margaret junior , my half sister, and I happily reconnected and have shared many messages. Margaret and Colin came to a Christmas concert we did too and that meant that Fi and Margaret could meet for the first time. We live a long way apart but I like having a little sister and knowing she’s there. One day I hope I’ll meet my niece and nephew who are now adults.  So I ask Margaret’s forgiveness for my outfit at her wedding…all I can offer in my defence is…you should see what I was wearing at Fi’s wedding….shall I describe that for you. It may make you feel better..a mans grey suit with a high necked Victorian lace blouse and a bright red short string tie complete with a grey trilby …I’ll have to find those photo’s too. I insisted I was the best man……so Margaret. Things could have been worse. xxx