A Writer Called Michael Acton...

Hello there, this weeks author that I would like to introduce to you is Michael Acton, a talented writer and much more!

Michael has his own website here. A monthly competition is also held through his website here.

The following are his own words. Make sure you have a hankie ready...
MY LIFE IN SMALL DOSES by Michael Acton

Two “occupations” consume my life, apart from viewing the world through the bottom of a beer glass in the blue haze of a downtown bar.
Writing and Adoption issues.

The two subjects are inexorably linked with the small but vivid doses of life I’ve experienced.

It was inevitable that I would enter the world on Halloween, at 0350 hours in a pre NHS hospital deep in the suburbs of Manchester.

My childhood was, in retrospect, strange and weird.

The people who brought me up, I naturally regarded as my parents and their daughter I assumed to be my much loved sister. My early years drifted by on an endless sea of happiness, contentment and what seemed to me as never ending hot summer days.

It all changed when I was 7 years old.

I returned home one day teasing and being teased, as brothers and sisters do after a long day at school. I could hear voices, raised voices, coming from the front room that was used normally only on special occasions. I was called in to see a very tall (I was only small, every one looked tall) lady with bright red hair.
She knelt down to my level and said, “Hello Michael, I’m your mummy.”

That night I cried myself to sleep, very confused and bewildered.

In my mature years, I can identify the feelings I had as resentment and fear. I felt resentment because some one could bulldozer their way into my happy existence, and fear of the unknown.

Muriel, my mother, had given me to her parents to be looked after because she decided she, at that time, wanted nothing to do with me. (Her words.)

The sister I thought was mine was in fact hers, but only three years older than me.

Muriel married in 1953 and three years later when I ‘d almost reached my tenth birthday, her husband adopted me. I can only remember unhappiness during the next five years. And a feeling of rejection, especially when I asked about my birth father.

The next dose of life occurred when I was fifteen and was the victim of a sexual assault by a teacher at school. I was missing for several hours that day and no one asked questions, especially Muriel. It was brushed “under the carpet” except I had to live with the consequences.

The trauma caused a condition called Hypogonatrophic Hypogonadism; to get an idea of what this is read my story One and Only.

I had several routine clerical jobs mainly in the Civil Service and was posted on one occasion to HM Dockyard Portsmouth. By this time I had married, although because of the above condition, was unable to father children. We adopted two children off mutual friends, who were incapable of looking after them and moved from Portsmouth across the Solent to the Isle of Wight. In 1975 my much-loved grandmother who, as I mentioned brought me up, died. When I went to the doctors to get something to see me through the trauma of the funereal it was he who diagnosed the Hyopogonadism and I started to receive treatment.

I felt as if my life was back on track when we found my wife was pregnant shortly after the treatment started, but sadly she had a miscarriage and as the treatment was only short term, we never had the opportunity again. The miscarriage had such an effect on our lives that it was only three months ago (May 2005) that we felt we could talk about it together.

Needless to say, we were offered no support from Muriel or her new family and it was from that experience that I started to make determined efforts to find my father.

The Adoption Act of 1974 made it possible for adoptees to access there adoption files and I applied for mine, but it was 27 years before I actually saw them!

In he meantime, I had a breakdown and as a therapy it was suggested I start writing. I had always had a vivid imagination and on rainy days told stories to friends in our garden shed. My first effort was a dire sci fi story about the return of Jesus as a spaceman! It still lies rotting away somewhere.

In 1982 I wrote SEABOOTS (recently updated and included in the UKA anthology) and was lucky enough to win a national short story comp. With it
I won a rose bowl as well, but was not allowed to bring it from Farnborough, as they weren’t insured. Instead I had to make do with a photograph of it that I lost over the side of the ferry on my way home, although I still have the certificate to prove it wasn’t a dream!

I wrote several stories which were later included in a self published anthology of my early work TALES FROM THE LABYRINTH between 1982 and 1985 all of which reflect the darkness which appeared in large doses, in my life at that time.
I did have two articles published in the Hampshire County Magazine for which I was paid the princely sum of £8!

In 1987, I started work as a postman, my first job after my breakdown. I was so desperate to prove myself, I used to walk seven miles down dark country lanes to get to work, as I couldn’t drive and buying a bike was too dear for me. Later they took me on a permanent basis much nearer home and I was as pleased as punch when several months later I became the local trade union secretary.

My writing took a back seat, but at the forefront of my mind was the continuous need to know about my father. I asked my mother on several occasions, but she would never divulge anything. In the meantime she and the rest of the family pretended our children, Muriels grandchildren, didn’t exist. They were wiped from their lives. When my half brother had his first child Muriel proudly declared, she was a grandmother for the first time. I had to remind her, non too politley, she had been a grandmother for ten years!

My next dose of realism took place on March 31st 1992. I had arrived home from work after working a twelve-hour shift to be greeted by two policemen who arrested me for an assault. I was in a state of shock and being ignorant of the law allowed myself to be interviewed without a solicitor present. I spent that night in a psychiatric hospital instead of a cell such was the trauma.

After this my life really collapsed around me. I engaged a solicitor to fight the case who many years later I found out wasn’t qualified. When the case came to trial key witnesses for my defence were not called and the police scared off the main defence witness. This should have been reported to the judge of course.

Despite having been resident in the local psychiatric hospital for several weeks and the trial halted three times because I was unfit to stand, my barrister called me into the witness box. I told the truth, but I must have appeared a shambolic figure in the dock .To cut a long story short the jury found me guilty and I was sentenced to 12 years.

This part has a sequel which destroys all faith in the legal system .I will return to this later.

I was released in 2001 after serving eight years having refused parole because I would not admit guilt for reasons that hopefully will be clear as mentioned above.

My prison experience is reflected in some of my later work; ROOM 28, PORKIES FINEST HOUR, A SPY ABROAD, A NIGHT AT THE DORCHESTER, and the novel I am working on which also includes my adoption experiences UNLOCK.

While I was inside I also wrote a story that won a prison comp. A GIFT FOR QUINTON LOCK.

On my release, I went to a hostel near Portsmouth and saw a letter in the Isle of Wight paper (yes they do have it there too), which was to change my life.

It was from a gentleman called Malcolm looking for his father who, at one time, lived on the Island. I offered to help because of my local knowledge and found that although his father had died many years previously, but I was able to tie many loose ends for him with regard to the rest of his family.

Two years ago he produced a book about the search which was in part dedicated to me. I am immensely proud of my copy, but sadly, Malcolm died shortly afterwards.

Through working on this, I realised there were many people who had lost contact with their loved ones through adoption or family breakdowns so I started to offer my services. I joined the USA based search angels as one of three UK based researchers.

In my first case as an “angel” I reunited a daughter with her father. He had worked on the pirate radio ship Radio Caroline and used to pass his daughters house every day on his way to work!

Other cases followed, including a son reunited with his mother. The local priest had fathered him and the mother forced to keep her silence by the church.

Fortunately, they are happily reunited, but still feel the guilt of those missing years.

My name became known abroad as well and an Australian lady got in touch desperately looking for her mother. I found her within weeks in Ireland, but she would not answer my letters. I left it for several months before finally in August 2004 she relented and sent a photograph and letter. They are also happily reunited although she has yet to tell her eight children!

It would be foolish to say every case ended this way though, human nature being what it is. The saddest was a lady in Portugal, whose father I found had died some years ago. But he had two other daughters who refused to accept my friend into the family. They could not accept that their father had known anyone other than their mother. This is despite the “affair” taking place some ten years before he met his future wife!

Many happier stories followed, but the pinnacle was a lady who had been looking for her mother for many years and paid a researcher hundreds of pounds to carry out the search without success. I found her in three weeks. It did help because the mother and her family had also been looking. In November 2004, my wife and I were invited to a lavish weekend stay at a top London hotel and a dinner held in our honour by the family.

In another “happy ending”, I reunited a mother and daughter after 51 years apart. The mother remarried on the 13th August, in Australia with her newly found daughter present. There was a piece in an Australian paper written about the search.

My quickest search took ten minutes! I reunited a mother and daughter after matching the mother’s details with her friends Reunited profile.

Earlier this year, I reunited two brothers who last saw each other in 1933. I am currently looking for two other of their siblings and in another case a son who lost touch with his mother when she remarried and moved to the USA.

I keep in touch with all my “clients” and am there for them, should any problems arise.

As well as the London break, I have been privileged to meet some of the people I have helped and have many lifelong friends. Money cannot buy any of that.

That’s a good enough reason for not making a charge for my services.

It would be foolish to say every case is successful, clearly there are some whose cases are difficult to solve and often impossible because of lack of information.
Which brings me back to the search for my birth father.

Toward the end of my sentence, I decided I would write to my mother and ask her outright who my father was. It was many weeks and reminders before she replied.

Her story is that in April 1945 she joined the Land Army aged just 18 and was posted to a small village in Berkshire to work on a farm which “doubled” as a prisoner of war camp. In January 1946, she met a soldier from Cumbria (Cumbria did not exist in 1946 but these are her words) his name was Bill Davies and before she could tell him she was pregnant he was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was said to be about the same age as Muriel.

As I was helping Malcolm find his father, I also checked records for deaths of Bill Davies in 1946, as well as writing to coroners courts, checking the war casualty lists. deaths abroad and many more sources. Nothing was found. The nearest I have got is a William Davies born 1924 in Barrow in Furness, but that was in Lancashire in 1946, now in Cumbria after the 1974 boundary changes.
Then something very strange happened.

As part of my search, I wrote to every farm in Berkshire, at that time not knowing where Muriel had been stationed and I had a reply from a farmer who, for obvious reasons I can only identify as WF.

He said he remembered Muriel very well. Bearing in mind this was in 2002 some 56 years after she had me, she must have made some impression considering she worked for him for such a short time. But the weird part of his letter read and I quote directly from it.

“I cannot add anything to that which I wrote previously.”

So who had he written to previously? It was certainly not me, this was the first time I had heard of him! When I replied asking for further details I received a very abrupt reply from his wife demanding I never contact them again. Why the hostility? What had they to hide? Since then I have asked myself what if WF was my father, I also asked Muriel, predictably she denied it.

WF died a month ago taking his secret with him.

As for my current searches. I am involved in a complex adoption related search, which will involve a trip to the Family Record Centre shortly. I am waiting for Army Personnel records in two other cases and trying to find out what happened to a lady from New Zealand who vanished over 50 years ago. Ironically her son who is looking is involved with the New Zealand prison service!

I have written two adoption related items recently. The first for all those who have to deal with obstacle of uncooperative family WAS IT YOUR FIRST TIME? And the other an article about draconian adoption laws coming into effect later this year (2005) THEY ARE GOING TO SEND ANGELS TO PRISON. (Can be read at the bottom of the page)

While the anger is still with me I will still write. I have written many stories in the last two years and entered them for competitions, but to date my only success was a highly recommended love story SUMMER ROSE, although I was privileged to be chosen as UKA writer of the month in November 2004.

I have had two stories accepted for anthologies THE UNFORGIVEN published by Queenspark press and as I mentioned earlier Seaboots in the UKA anthology.

And so to the future. Well I am actively involved with getting my conviction quashed. My case is before the CCRC, which deals with people suspected of being wrongly convicted. But priority, quite rightly, is given to those still in prisons.

As a sequel to the case, in December 2003 I came face to face with my accuser. She had been arrested for a breach of peace at my house because she wanted access to her son who A) did not want to see her and B) we had guardianship of.

She admitted in front of several witnesses, including of course the police that she had lied in 1992. She is now detained under the Mental Health Act ironically in the same hospital I was prior to my trial.

I also have to live with a broken hip that cannot be repaired, as a result of an assault by a prison officer.

That’s my story for now.

I would like to finish off with a very important article written by Michael.

They Are Going To Send Angels To Prison

This article is about angels but not beings with angelic faces who live on fluffy clouds… The title of this article may sound comical, weird, even nonsensical, but when a new Act of Parliament comes into force in December 2005, this is what will be happening. When the INTERNET was "born”, it opened a new world for millions of people in a way that I am sure could never have been imagined. It allowed people to search on any subject under the sun, find a job, shop, bank without having to leave the home, make new friends. For one special group of people it also brought hope. These people are special because they don't belong to "nuclear" families, very often never knowing their true identity. Adoption is a fairly modern phenomenon and first used extensively during the First World War to accommodate orphans of that terrible conflict. Being adopted and being told, "you are special because we chose you" means a lot to a child who is bewildered and frightened when they find themselves living with strangers. The problems occur when they grow more aware and want to find their birth family.

This doesn't always happen of course and many adoptees have no wish to search. In addition, an adoptee may not want to search for fear of upsetting the family who has brought them up. But always, no matter how loved they are in their adopted family, in their hearts there is an empty space, which nags away like a persistent ache. Those searching have in the past, had to overcome tremendous obstacles, not least those adopted out of the so-called "caring" institutions like Barnodo's, the church societies and the NCH. They were and still are, to a lesser extent, reluctant to share information with those who have a right to know. The 1974 Adoption Act did make it easier to access adoption files, but often identifying information was "mislaid" or decreed too sensitive to be divulged to the enquirer. As the computer age dawned, and with new ways of searching public records a new "industry " came into being. Search agencies who charged astronomical amounts (£15000 in some cases) to search for birth families. They carried on their lucrative trade preying on the emotions of vulnerable people. In the USA, the adoption laws for those searching are even more draconian and for many years, an organization aptly named "The Bastard Nation" has been campaigning for change. Out of this group the Search Angels were formed. We are an international group of searchers who use the Internet and public records, to help those adoptees searching for their identity.

We don't receive payment, nor do we expect any. Many of us, myself included, are adoptees, and are driven by an insatiable need for self-identification. But in the UK, this will all change. From December it will be illegal… yes illegal... for individuals like myself to conduct searches on behalf of adoptees. If we do so, we risk being sent to prison for a MINIMUM of six months plus a fine of £5000. ALL searches are to be carried out by registered Adoption Search Agencies run by either large organizations or local Social Service departments. Private ASA's will have to pay up wards of £4000 to register and the adoptee will have to pay a large fee to discover there birthright, with the attendant possibility of misappropriation. I hope the politicians who instigated this brutal change to Adoption law are proud of the misery they will undoubtedly bring. To see the work of a search angel visit here. Please feel to contact Michael about this issue.