One cold dark morning at 5.30
in 1960 an energetic milkman
on our main street in the centre of
town heard faint mewling sounds
from a phone box as he delivered
milk. He rushed the tiny baby in
its shawl to the police station.
Police enquiries in our little city
yielded no leads. Fostered then
adopted the baby grew up happily
with good family, good job.
In time he married. As his children
were born he made public enquiries
as to his origins through the media.
No one came forward.
As his grandchildren arrived he
went public again on radio, TV
newspapers, social media. One
person came forward but DNA
produced no biological match.
Local police in 1960 and to this day
say someone would have known
something come forward if the
baby’s mother lived locally.
Until 1964 the railway line ran
alongside our main street, the
station a few minutes from that
phone box, the overnight express
paused there at 5am. That night …
… it carried a mother with the old
shame of illegitimacy who left her
baby in the dark then reboarded a
carriage at the rear of the train.