I Need to Know - Part two
May 1999 and news that my application for gaining access to my adoption records had been processed, dropped on the doormat. The letter said I should now wait for a session date to be arranged. So again, I settled down to… pace up and down in my lounge whilst periodically checking the letter box 24 hours a day. 6 pairs of slippers and 4 carpets later it was June and my legs ached! On the 4th of June, a new letter arrived stating that my counseling meeting was set up for 16th June 1999. YES! Nearly 6 months after my first contact with Derbyshire County Council (DCC) and in less than 2 weeks I'll have my adoption records! I remember feeling very relieved, excited, and somewhat apprehensive as to the contents of this elusive file, but finally, I was going to be getting my hands on it!
Wednesday the 16th of June and the day had arrived.
I remember feeling that the 12 days leading up to the meeting were extremely long, why did everything seem to come wrapped in so much red taped -bureaucracy? I know people had other responsibilities and tasks, but never mind all that, this was important, this was my life and I was desperate to know more about it!
It was arranged for me to meet Annie (not her real name) at 2 pm in the local DCC office in Long Eaton. I can't recall the moments getting from home and into the meeting room. But the room, I do remember.
It was quite a large space, probably about 5 square metres, and empty, except for 2 brown molded plastic chairs placed, opposite each other in the centre. There was no desk nor table, in fact, no furniture at all. The walls were a sort of sea green colour and looking at their condition, that paint may have been applied at the turn of the century. The space was lit by two 6 ft fluorescent tubes hanging from the water-damaged white ceiling tiles, and they gave off an unusually yellow light, making the room look as if it had been chain-smoked in for a very long time. The ‘office’ smelled just as ‘forgotten’ as it appeared, musty and unclean. I remember feeling as if I was sitting on a chair in an abandoned hospital rather than that of the local council.
I am aware that It's now when I should be describing meeting Annie and our conversation inside this potential zombie smallholding of a meeting room, but I honestly can't remember very much beyond how the room looked and felt. I do recall us discussing the possibility that any subsequent searches for my birth parents or siblings may not be as positive as I could have been imagining and that this meeting was purely about preparing me for such an event. I hadn't thought much beyond just getting hold of the documents at this point, however, I accepted the advice. I was told that I couldn't take my adoption records away with me that day as they would now have to be prepared, or copied at least. Gutted!
We spent about 30 minutes together dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s. Me, proving to them that I was of sound mind enough to move forward and her proving to me that this was not going to be a 5-minute turnaround, contrary to my expectations. Bloody hell, these people must have to fill out forms before they can have a lunch break around here! As Annie collected her things to end the meeting, she picked up her bag from the floor next to her chair and pulled out a heavy wedge of A4 paper, held together in the corner with a large paperclip, which I still have in the ring binder my file is stored in, (original paperclip too!) I was expecting a roll of red tape to fall out at the same time, with the words “COUNCIL - DO NOT CROSS” printed on it.
This, almost full ream of paper turned out to be a guide to adoption and family tracing’ an almost ‘Adoption for Dummies’ tome. As well as a form to complete (surprise, surprise!) to apply for my original birth certificate. I didn't think of doing that, I wasn't even sure I could. I only had my adoptee ‘Half Certificate’. It's half the size and has my new name typed in good old-fashioned typewriter font across it. To start any search the original birth certificate would be required and considering it now, that makes perfect sense. As soon as I arrived home, I completed the birth certificate application form and traced my steps back to the post box.
After 5 days, I was back at the abandoned hospital once again, to meet Annie and to finally collect my documents. Annie arrived carrying a thick heavy-looking document wallet, which she immediately passed to me. It felt as weighty as it looked. And I had to resist the urge to squat down there and then and spread its contents out across the floor. I remember feeling excited and worried all at the same time as to what I might find in all this paper.
Finally after six months of letter writing; meetings, phone calls, plenty of application forms, some pretty extensive red tape, and of course the waiting, I had done it!
Now what?
To be continued.
Image: © Andy Wallis
