notes he wanted to concentrate on. “Apparently she came over from Jamaica to study nursing. At her night college, she met your father. I don’t know how accurate this is, but that is what it’s got down here. Anyway, your mother’s husband was in Jamaica at the time.”
Brenton leaned slightly further forward and tried to read the text of the file upside down. Then he re-routed his gaze to the social worker.
“Unfortunately for you, I suppose,” Mr Lewis said quietly, “your mother’s husband came over to England unexpectedly, just before Christmas 1962. It must have been a big shock for him to find his wife pregnant. You can imagine the trouble and problems this caused.”
Lewis paused, then went on: “The first contact Lambeth Social Services had with your mother was in February 1963. The desk clerk wrote that on a freezing cold day, your mother came into the Area Three office complaining about domestic violence. She went there after advice from a friend. This also says that your mother was having complications with the pregnancy, so it was decided by her doctor and social services to keep her in hospital until you were born.”
“What happened to my paps? What was he doing at the time? I bet he chipped.”
Mr Lewis thumbed through the pages again, while Brenton felt the need for another smoke; it was difficult to swab all this information. No one had ever sat down with him before and explained his early life.
The social worker stumbled upon the page he was seeking. “Ah - here we are. When your mother’s husband came over from Jamaica, Mr Brown, your father, kept very much a low profile. Infact, Lambeth Council had no contact with Mr Brown until summer 1964. It says here, that after you were born on the twenty-third of March, 1963, your father actually took you from the hospital when you were only a few days old.”
“Why?”
Lewis glanced at the pages in front of him to refresh his memory. “A few weeks after you were born, your mother came to see the social worker attached to her case. The social worker had written to her, apparently, saying that she had a choice. She could either keep her marriage intact, or lose her marriage and go it alone with you. The records don’t say whether she had any other children, but it’s clear that her husband ordered her to give up the child she had just given birth to - you. It gets a bit confusing here and I can’t quite make out what went on. But to cut a long story short, she opted to stay with her husband and she entrusted you to your father.”
A disbelieving look spread over Brenton’s features as he confronted this tale of his infant life. He would never have imagined that he’d been cared for by his white paps. The revelations from the file were distressing him, so he decided to stand up and step towards the front window to mask his turmoil. He heard Lewis continue.
“Your father was probably struggling to look after you and maintain his studies. The files don’t say whether someone helped him take care of you. There’s no mention of Mr Brown’s family or background.”
Brenton turned around, paying full attention.
“It’s rather strange, because there is plenty of information about your mother. Anyway, the fact is, your father placed you in care with Lambeth Social Services in September 1964. After that, he appeared to have vanished. There has been no contact since.”
Mr Lewis closed the file and watched Brenton re-seat himself. Aware of the youth’s despair, he counselled, “Look, you have to realise that in those days, there was a big stigma if a black personhad a relationship with a white person. Even more so, if one of them was married - it was unheard of. So I imagine both your parents were under some sort of pressure. Even so, I don’t excuse him for abandoning you.”
Brenton began to feel a hot impatience. “All right, you have told me her background, now where does she live?”
“Er, West Norwood, a few miles up the
Brenton leaned slightly further forward and tried to read the text of the file upside down. Then he re-routed his gaze to the social worker.
“Unfortunately for you, I suppose,” Mr Lewis said quietly, “your mother’s husband came over to England unexpectedly, just before Christmas 1962. It must have been a big shock for him to find his wife pregnant. You can imagine the trouble and problems this caused.”
Lewis paused, then went on: “The first contact Lambeth Social Services had with your mother was in February 1963. The desk clerk wrote that on a freezing cold day, your mother came into the Area Three office complaining about domestic violence. She went there after advice from a friend. This also says that your mother was having complications with the pregnancy, so it was decided by her doctor and social services to keep her in hospital until you were born.”
“What happened to my paps? What was he doing at the time? I bet he chipped.”
Mr Lewis thumbed through the pages again, while Brenton felt the need for another smoke; it was difficult to swab all this information. No one had ever sat down with him before and explained his early life.
The social worker stumbled upon the page he was seeking. “Ah - here we are. When your mother’s husband came over from Jamaica, Mr Brown, your father, kept very much a low profile. Infact, Lambeth Council had no contact with Mr Brown until summer 1964. It says here, that after you were born on the twenty-third of March, 1963, your father actually took you from the hospital when you were only a few days old.”
“Why?”
Lewis glanced at the pages in front of him to refresh his memory. “A few weeks after you were born, your mother came to see the social worker attached to her case. The social worker had written to her, apparently, saying that she had a choice. She could either keep her marriage intact, or lose her marriage and go it alone with you. The records don’t say whether she had any other children, but it’s clear that her husband ordered her to give up the child she had just given birth to - you. It gets a bit confusing here and I can’t quite make out what went on. But to cut a long story short, she opted to stay with her husband and she entrusted you to your father.”
A disbelieving look spread over Brenton’s features as he confronted this tale of his infant life. He would never have imagined that he’d been cared for by his white paps. The revelations from the file were distressing him, so he decided to stand up and step towards the front window to mask his turmoil. He heard Lewis continue.
“Your father was probably struggling to look after you and maintain his studies. The files don’t say whether someone helped him take care of you. There’s no mention of Mr Brown’s family or background.”
Brenton turned around, paying full attention.
“It’s rather strange, because there is plenty of information about your mother. Anyway, the fact is, your father placed you in care with Lambeth Social Services in September 1964. After that, he appeared to have vanished. There has been no contact since.”
Mr Lewis closed the file and watched Brenton re-seat himself. Aware of the youth’s despair, he counselled, “Look, you have to realise that in those days, there was a big stigma if a black personhad a relationship with a white person. Even more so, if one of them was married - it was unheard of. So I imagine both your parents were under some sort of pressure. Even so, I don’t excuse him for abandoning you.”
Brenton began to feel a hot impatience. “All right, you have told me her background, now where does she live?”
“Er, West Norwood, a few miles up the
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