When young, life appears to stretch ahead of you in an endless vista of unexplored possibilities. In this phase I was content to accept that I had been adopted. From whom and why were questions that only hovered around the edge of my consciousness. The family I went to were loving and open while implausibly professing to know little about my background. In time I was encouraged to get involved in Scottish activities such as dancing. Boarding school led to Sandhurst and a career in a fine regiment. The next 20 years brought a lovely family and we were caught in the hurricane of growing up, working and schooling. In their teens, the more curious began to ask about my early life. Having been adopted created an area of mystery which, A. in particular, wanted me to explore. However, I had never been particularly interested and I felt that it would be impossible to go back to records which might no longer exist.
Then came a very narrow escape from prostate cancer. The operation successfully completed, I found time on my hands. A. was keen that I research what could be found. Her insistence made me begin to wonder what could be uncovered. The biggest hurdle was that all records are in Kenya; none are computerized and anecdotal evidence suggested they had not been well preserved over the 40 years since Independence. Without a Court Order, I could not access the adoption records. I was put in touch with a lawyer in Nairobi who delegated the task to an Assistant. She made several unsuccessful visits to the Registrar before being 'allowed' to read the entry across a desk! She memorized the mother's name; Mary McLean! She also saw WE McLean. This was the nugget that I needed.
The law firm applied for a copy birth certificate. I could only have a High Commission extract and I found myself in the bizarre position of having two identical certificates; one in my name and one in the name of Neil McLean. The web is an incredible resource for genealogy. I found 'Find my Past' the most usable and comprehensive and I studied the shipping emigration records. It is difficult to convey the sense of wonder on discovering the young man embarking for British East Africa from Southampton in 1921. The same records showed him leaving England again in 1926, this time with a wife and two very young daughters, one of which was Mary Esler McLean. That information allowed me to find his wife Doris emigrating in 1923 to marry WE. Both entries also gave addresses in Wolverhampton from which they had come.
I was keen to find out what the Records Office in Wolverhampton could tell me. I spent a day searching the Electoral Rolls and 1901 Census and making notes but my searches didn't seem to reveal anything. Back home I continued following the leads I had. Suddenly, new information enabled me to see the connections with the notes I had taken and my maternal Grandmother's family fell into place. I could see the wool merchant with his nine children and servants as they were in 1901 and on the Electoral Rolls until 1927.
It was time to see what could be done in Kenya with this information. There is a resource called the 'Up Country Directory' that has been compiled lovingly by an amazing man living in Kenya. It records tens of thousands of people who lived and worked in 'Up-country' Kenya. I contacted the compiler for an up-to-date copy and it was then easy to find WE working in Kampi ya Moto. I also asked him if his long ears had heard who my father might have been. He fairly quickly came back with the name of a vet who used to practice in Nakuru, Brian Sherrif. He also put me in touch with a delightful couple living near Oxford who he thought might still be in touch with my mother's family who were by now in New Zealand. They kindly invited us to tea and talked freely of the family. They had remained close to Mary's sister, Paula. He remembered dancing with Mary when she was pregnant. Having vetted us, they relayed to Paula that we were OK and she and I began a delightful correspondence that continues. She was able to provide answers to many of my questions. She sent me some pictures of my mother and I experienced the most unusual and unexpected reaction; a relaxing sense of peace. I had found her although she had died 7 years earlier. Perhaps most extraordinary, Paula was the person who, at 17 and having just got her license, had to drive me at ten days old, from Nakuru to the Home in Nairobi.
In the summer of 2009, Paula visited us in England. It had been 60 years since she had said goodbye and handed me over to begin a different life.
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