Desperately seeking

I have an NZ connection, my mother's father was the of Scot & Welsh ancestry, and came to Britain to be unkind to Germans, and never went back home.

My brother's researches threw up a fearful and monstrous spectre. A possible progenitor was an holy man, a sober man, who went around his town closing hotels, pubs, bars and shebeens (they were the worst, they sold sly grog); we were appalled at this blot on our honour. Fortunately, more research revealed the fiend was nothing at all to do with us and the man we were looking for was found dead half out of a brook, minus his wallet, on his way home from a pub.

I am also proud to be the great grandson of a musician on my father's side, and he fell out of a train while drunk, at the age of 46. He did not reach 47.

My friend had singularly violent and unhappy childhood, and he is at ease with admitting he needs to feel connected to something different.

We know he was in a Salvation Army home for several months before adoption, and that his mother had asked not for flowers at her funeral, but donations to the salvation Army.

Even if his sisters knew nothing about his existence, it looks like his mother always hoped to find him.

We're still waiting for some sort of reply from the half sister. It's been nearly a week, so it may be about now or over the next day, when all the sisters sit down and talk about their collective response.

I just hope they actually have the decency to reply to him, regardless of wanting to meet him or not.

To ignore him, blank him, pretend he didn't happen would be the most cruel thing to do to him. Even written rejection would be an acknowledgement.

Sometimes you don't know how much people matter to you until you find yourself in a place where you can't help them. I do wish sometimes I could be cynical.