|Me and Peter, my brother at the time|
Well I am on a wild goose chase at the moment, blame it on YP and names. I have never been happy with my name Thelma, in Greek it means Will or Volition. Well you could say I have moved through life with some sort of pace but definitely not violently but more like a slow tortoise, never sure where I am going. I also have a religious middle name (secret) as my Jewish grandfather wanted that aspect of life out of our lives I think.
Discussing this with my daughter and she also claims that she doesn't like her name either, blames it on the decade (1960s) in which she was born. But I believe we cannot change first names, surnames of course we can. During this discussion by the way we talked about the grandchildren choosing their surnames, and one has thoughts of picking up my maiden surname - yikes...
So a brief history, I was born as a result of a liaison between my father and a delightfully named mother called Betsey Louisa Colclough, who given my age now is I presume dead. Now this is a point of contention, was it luck that I was officially adopted by my paternal grandfather, I did not have a particularly happy childhood, but I was brought up in a middle class aura, having what I wanted in the way of large dogs and ponies!!
I still ponder what if I had stayed with my real mother, though she had given birth as a single mother and it would have been extremely difficult for her in the times when babies were practically forcibly taken from single mothers, how different my life would have been. I would have grown up in a completely different environment. That little egg that escaped to the real world outside was already experiencing fate and how it would alter my circumstances.
That I have never traced this family is due to laziness and not wanting to end up in a knot of another family, you never know the outcome after all! And I am by nature a solitary person, too much input and I go to pieces.
Well I went on MyHeritage and found the parents of my second stepmother, who had always treated me as a granddaughter. It was lovely to see their names and remember their little terraced house, typical of the time, outside loo, one cold water tap in the kitchen. I can still feel the dark green velvet curtain that covered the stair door and the piano in the living room, on which I learnt to play 'God Save the Queen' with two fingers. At the back of their house in Wednesbury was a park, and I would often bike round it on my tricycle, completely happy in this world of green.
I doubt if I shall find evidence of my second family, it is not really important after all.