Jerry-Bags

Jerry Bags

I’ve always known I was adopted, but  because my family are so loving and close, I’ve never had a yen to find out about my biological parents. At school, if nosy kids asked me why I didn’t look any like my sisters or my  mum and dad, I’d say, ‘Well I was adopted, you know, the chosen one. Unlike you lot;  your mums and dads  took potluck, so aren’t I the lucky one?’ That shut them up.

Actually, they were right. Physically, I couldn’t have looked more different to the rest of the Patrick family if I’d tried. By the time I’d reached my teens I towered over the lot of them, even Dad. They all had dark hair, and an almost swarthy complexion, whereas I’m blond with blue eyes. I didn’t care, I was happy to be Harry Patrick, living in the Midlands with my hard working parents and idolising sisters, Valerie and Angela.

In 1965 I met the girl of my dreams, Jenny. I knew immediately we were made for each other when our eyes met in Woolworths one Saturday afternoon.  I was just mooching around with my mates, and Jenny was behind the toiletries counter – she was a Woollies Saturday girl. From the first date we were inseparable and two years later, on her eighteenth birthday, I bought her an engagement ring. That was when I had a change of heart about my parentage. Perhaps I should find out more about my background, my roots, and all that. After all, Jenny and I both wanted children, so surely it made sense to dig a little deeper?

I chose what I thought was a suitable moment and said, ‘Mum, do you know anything about my background. I mean I know I’m adopted, and I’m cool with all that, but do you know about my biological parents and where I was born etc?’

‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you’d feel the need to find out more, Harry, especially with you and Jenny getting serious. Let’s wait until Dad comes home and we’ll have a Patrick Pow-Wow’. We kids were used to these.  Important announcements or decisions involving the family, were always dealt with at Patrick Pow-Wows. The issues were diverse and ranged from whether we should go to Skegness or Mablethorpe for our holidays, pocket money allocation according to age, and when poor Bruno died, should we get another dog, and if so what kind. So, a Patrick Pow-Wow it was, and this is what was revealed.

Mum and Dad had married in 1936 and had always expected children. After a while it was apparent that their expectations were a bit optimistic. Then, of course, war broke out, and Dad was away a lot, serving his country. However by 1944, when things were calming down, and Dad had done his stint, it still seemed unlikely there would be any little Patricks. It just didn’t happen.

Stoically and typically, my parents just got on with their lives. It was all they could do as this was well before the days of Clomid, IVF, test-tube babies, or any of the other procedures we take for granted now. Anyway it was 1945, a time for celebration, the end of the war.

When all the excitement calmed, the media began revealing more in-depth background about the war.  Mum, never being politically minded, tried to keep abreast of things so she could hold her own when talking to Dad. However, one article particularly attracted her attention. It was about orphanages, both in the Channel Islands, and the UK. A considerable number of their charges, mainly babies, were the result of liaisons between German soldiers and Channel Island girls, who were dubbed as Jerry-Bags. Mum seized the moment, ‘Hey Les, have you read this? There are loads of babies who need adopting from the war.’

‘What are you talking about? Babies from the war, jerry-bags? What’s all that about then?’ Mum showed him the article.

‘Do you think they’d let us have one of those babies?’

So that was the start of it. Mum and Dad chopped though miles of red tape and almost went bankrupt, to get me, Harry Patrick! So, as I said earlier, Wasn’t I the lucky one?

‘It was strange, Harry.’ The month after you came into our lives, our Valerie was conceived. You wouldn’t believe it would you? Then eighteen months later, Pamela came along. I’ve heard it said before though. Sometimes, when a childless couple adopt a baby to care for, other children come along. So I’m sorry Harry, we don’t know anything more than that about your birth, but we’re so glad that you came to us. You were truly our miracle baby.’

Okay, so I’d never know my true origins and it did not matter a jot.