Best friends.
In 1971 I moved to Norwich and worked in a large
engineering factory.
I became friends with David Smith.
David and his wife Francis 'Had to get married'
(a term older readers would recognise).
They had a 2 year old daughter Emma.
Forced into an unhappy marriage as teenagers,
they soon parted.
David had access to Emma on Saturday’s, an
arrangement that worked for some months.Then one Saturday David
went to collect the little girl from his ex-wife and the house was empty.Despite desperate attempts
David was unable to find his ex-wife and the child he loved. Over the years David
became bitter and angry about his lost daughter.He would send Christmas
and birthday presents to an address in America where he believed his ex-wife’s
cousin lived and where he believed his daughter had been taken to, but never
received any reply.
Romance
The years passed, David
and I worked in a section where we had frequent visits to install and
commission equipment in the U.K. and oversea.During one such trip to
Finland, one of our colleagues fell in love with a Finish lady, brought her
back to Norwich and they married.It was at the wedding that
David met one of the Finish woman’s friends who was a bridesmaid.Romance blossomed and
David eventually married Ava who had a very good career in her home country, so
they decided to set up home in Finland.
That could have been the
end of the story but.
Fast forward several
years.I was passing through one
of the planning offices at work when one of the lads called to me.
“Hey John. You’ve worked
here some years, do you ever remember a bloke called David Smith”?He was holding a
telephone.
“I’ve got a bloke on here
who is inquiring about him”.
“Hello” I said taking to
phone.
“My name is John Taylor”
he said.
“And I’m try to contact
David Smith as his daughter Emma who lives in America wants to find her dad as
her mother has died”.
I explained to John that
this was far too important to discuss here and took his telephone number and
rang him that evening.It was actually John
Taylor’s wife who had Emmas contact address.
She said Emmas mum had
stayed with them in Norwich over the intervening years while visiting from
America and the little girl had asked about her dad, Mrs Taylor was temped to take the girl to see her dad but was reluctant to betray the trust of Emmas mum. I told her David was
married and living in Finland with his wife and young son.I was sure David would be
‘over the moon’ to be reunited to his long lost daughter but, I would pass
Emmas address to David but would hold David’s address from Emma in case he did
not wish to include her in his life.Mrs Taylor and I agreed we
would be the go-between.
The detective.
I sat at the table
writing.
Dear David
Your lost daughter.
No.
Dear David
I have some brilliant news
for you.
I stopped writing
I couldn’t write one of
the most important letters I ever written. I telephoned the
international telephone directory with the intention of telephoning David. They said he had just been
connected but did not have his number.
“Where are you going”
asked my wife as I was pulling on my coat.
“I’m going to the village where
David’s dad lives and see if he has David’s telephone number”.
I went into the bar of one
of the two pubs in the village.
It was an early winters
evening and the bar was deserted.
The barman pulled me a
pint.
“I’m trying to find a Mr
Smith” I said.
The barman understandably
gave me a smile shaking his head.
“I don’t know anyone of
that name who drinks in here” he said.
“Now, this man is retired
and drinks in a pub with his two mates and sails a boat on the broads”. I
explained.
“No don’t know him” said
the barman.
“His granddaughter was
taken from the family many years ago”.
I explained the full story
to the barman who listened intently.
“I know the man” he said
and gave me Mr Smith’s address.
It was a dark cold night
as I knocked on the door of the bungalow.
An old man opened the
door.
“I’m a friend of your son
David” I blurted.
He looked at me
suspiciously through the gloom.
“I need to contact him
about his daughter—“
“Emma” he interrupted.
“Yes she’s want to contact
him as her mother has died”.
“I’m amazed,” he said.
He stood back shaking his
head. He told me she was a small
child when he last saw her.
“I am trying to telephone
David to give him the news”.
“He has just been
connected but I don’t know his number” said the old man.
I had drawn a blank.
We exchanged pleasantries
and I went home and wrote to David with the news.
Very soon they were reunited
in Finland and maybe the end of the story but--.
A couple of years later I received
a telephone call from David. He had flown into Norwich
for a brief visit to his father whose life was coming to an end. We met at a pub, enjoyed a
meal and a couple of pints and David said Emma stayed with his family in
Finland for a while but she was really a young American woman and now lived
back in the states. His only regret was that
she didn’t form a lasting relationship with his son.
Fast forward a couple of
years and I received an email from Ava.
David Smith had died suddenly
after a short illness and she wished his daughter Emma could attend the funeral
but she had lost the woman’s contact address. I replied that I had also
lost contact with Emma and the Taylors but would try to help.
I telephoned the company
where John Taylor worked and talked to a guy who knew john Taylor and he said
John had left a couple of years ago and did not have any contact address. Then remarkably the next
day he telephoned me and said after our conversation he literally bumped into
John Taylor while late night shopping in Norwich. So the link was made. I
spoke to John, emailed Emma with the news and she attended the funeral.
I also told of David’s
wish regarding her and his son’s relationship.
The remarkable fact about
this tale is. I have never met Ava (who sends me a Christmas card every year)
or the Taylors, and only remember Emma as a small child.
I have to admit to being fairly ambivalent about religion etc. But sometimes wonder about fate. The company I worked for had over one thousand employees at the time spread over a large site and I just happened to pass a guy who knew me with an important call. So much relied on fate.
In the mid 80's I was a young engineer working in London, early one lovely Summer morning I was driving down Shaftesbury Avenue on my way to a site when inexplicably the drivers side front wheel of my van somehow came away and rolled off on its own whilst my van scraped to a halt. Me and the other lad in the van watched in horror as the wheel rolled away and then just stopped and fell on its side, as that happened a rather weary and bleary eyed Michael Caine dressed in a DJ was crossing the road, he took a look at the wheel and then walked over to me and just said "did you know your vans wheel is over there, suggest you pick it up" with that he gave a wink & continued his journey. I then had to figure out how to fix my mechanical problem. These days I would have taken a photo and asked him for a photo together, but all I could do was look at my mate and ask him did that really happen.
I’ve got a few. The most obvious is the one I’ve told before - five masked men invaded my house, got the wrong address, apologised, shook my hand and left!
Sounds like what happened to a mate of mine. He got jumped by two Jocks in Woolwich, he said they were so pissed they were hitting each other more than him, but he ended up on the pavement expecting the worst. All of a sudden they stopped and one said " It's nae him". They helped him up and apologised, after a couple of moments silence the bloke asked him " Do ye want to come for a pint?!!" My mate resisted the urge to tell them to jump under the nearest train and politely declined.....
many years ago I was getting divorced, selling the home, not paying the Woolwich mortgage and out of work awaiting results of my professional exams. I was staying with a female friend, not girlfriend, in Lee Green going out with a girl from Blackheath who worked at the Mayflower in the evenings where I would clear the glasses for a few free drinks. One evening got talking to a guy who worked at Peckham labour exchange who suggested I pop in to see him for a temporary job. I did and he offered me a bingo caller at the Odeon Peckham or a painter in Catford. I took the latter and ended up helping on a contract at the Woolwich Building Society's head office in Bexleyheath. I was working in an area where the staff were still at their desks and overheard a guy dictating a letter to me about my non payment of my mortgage, I just carried on working!
I’ve got a few. The most obvious is the one I’ve told before - five masked men invaded my house, got the wrong address, apologised, shook my hand and left!
I’ve got a few. The most obvious is the one I’ve told before - five masked men invaded my house, got the wrong address, apologised, shook my hand and left!
(BEST story on CL. By miles. Fact).
I wrote it up on Reddit. And no lie - the policeman who interviewed my girlfriend came across it and sent me a message!
Here it is for anyone who who fancies reading it...
I hadn’t taken great care of the gas canister and the rubber perished. After a long afternoon of powering the BBQ it finally gave way and turned into a flamethrower.
Because it had been a tough year, pretty much every one of my friends came along - and their families were packed into my small garden. So when a three-foot flame emerged it was quite a panic.
I grabbed my fire extinguisher and put it out but it flared back up cos the canister was so hot. Fortunately the fire brigade were based next door, so they came along and doused my garden and all the food in foam.
Edit - coincidently, this was also the day where I stopped stashing my bag of weed under the bbq.
Comments
I have to admit to being fairly ambivalent about religion etc.
But sometimes wonder about fate.
The company I worked for had over one thousand employees at the time spread over a large site and I just happened to pass a guy who knew me with an important call.
So much relied on fate.
I was staying with a female friend, not girlfriend, in Lee Green going out with a girl from Blackheath who worked at the Mayflower in the evenings where I would clear the glasses for a few free drinks. One evening got talking to a guy who worked at Peckham labour exchange who suggested I pop in to see him for a temporary job. I did and he offered me a bingo caller at the Odeon Peckham or a painter in Catford. I took the latter and ended up helping on a contract at the Woolwich Building Society's head office in Bexleyheath. I was working in an area where the staff were still at their desks and overheard a guy dictating a letter to me about my non payment of my mortgage, I just carried on working!
Here it is for anyone who who fancies reading it...
https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/9f5zu8/tifu_by_moving_in_next_door_to_a_drug_dealer/
Because it had been a tough year, pretty much every one of my friends came along - and their families were packed into my small garden. So when a three-foot flame emerged it was quite a panic.
I grabbed my fire extinguisher and put it out but it flared back up cos the canister was so hot. Fortunately the fire brigade were based next door, so they came along and doused my garden and all the food in foam.
Edit - coincidently, this was also the day where I stopped stashing my bag of weed under the bbq.