This is story #42 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title “Where Exactly is Home?” – I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
42. Life’s Strange Turns
“I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! It is incredible!” I could see that my mother was wandering around in a daze, muttering to herself, and clutching a blue airmail letter she had just received and read.
It was 1963 or so and our family of five was living in Salisbury, Rhodesia. We three children at 16, 14 and 10, didn’t know who had written that airletter, let alone what news it contained. We didn’t think it could be from our grandmother because her airmail letters were very short and sparse on news. Yet something stupendous had sent our mother into a tizzy and we were desperate to hear who had written and what had been said.
“Who is it from?” we clamoured. “What’s has happened? Come on! Tell us, please!” we begged.
Our mother began to rally round. “It is from Grandma,” she said.
“Really?! So, what is so special, then? Why are you so surprised”, I asked our mother.
Our mother began to reveal what she had just learned from that blue airmail: namely, that my grandmother had found her two long lost brothers.
We stared at our mother. “Which brothers? We didn’t know Grandma had any brothers, in the first place”, I said.
Apparently, so we learned, she did, indeed, have two brothers, but she had lost contact with them many years previously when the two young lads had emigrated from Britain to Canada.
Now, my grandmother was writing to tell my mother the amazing tale of how she had found her brothers.
Apparently, one day, many months previously, a couple from the Salvation Army had arrived on the doorstep campaigning door-to-door for donations, and asking if anyone would like to pay a pound sterling for the Salvation Army to trace a lost relative. My grandmother had given the couple a pound sterling (a considerable sum for her) and had asked them to find her two brothers. They had left England in the 1920 to make their fortune in Canada. She had lost contact with them and had no idea where they were now.
