Denis Gorman - A Voyage to the Sea

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Max Ehrmann 1927

My story starts in Glasgow in the early 1960s. My earliest memories are of my mother, Olga, the terror of my life, flying into a chaotic rage and lashing into us with a wooden spoon, attacking our father and being restrained on our living room floor until she calmed down. My father, John, was the hero; he always saved us.

The fact that I was ever born at all was due to the stubborn Catholic determination ingrained in my parents to make their impossible marriage work.

I was the youngest of three children, born within the first hour of April Fools day, 1st April 1961. My sister, Maureen, was my elder by five years and my brother, Edward, by three. Whilst I was still an infant, my mother returned to her hometown of Naples in her native Italy, ostensibly to attend her fathers funeral. She stayed there for six months, leaving Dad to look after the three of us. Whilst he was out at work, Maureen and Eddie became latchkey kids, taken in by kindly neighbours and I was looked after by our Gran.

Olga made out that her mother was on the cusp of life and death and her presence was ever needed at her side. Dad repeatedly begged her to return home but Olga continually resisted his pleadings. Only when he himself flew out to Italy, was he able to persuade her to come back to Glasgow, to her marriage and her kids. It was a mistake.

It must have been clear to all but Dad that his marriage to Olga would never fly. The relationship was doomed to disaster and, sure enough, before too long she was on her way again and Dad was left with the three of us.

It would later be discovered that Olgas mother had died three months before her fathers funeral. The whole cock-and-bull story was concocted to cover up an affair with an American serviceman. Olga had only returned because shed been dumped by the Yank and was effectively out of cash.

Our father had excellent grounds to sue for divorce and custody of his children but he believed that, first, he had to do the right thing by his faith. He asked the church for an annulment to his marriage, citing amongst other things, his wifes infidelity with the American. The church listened sympathetically to the pleadings of this sincere Catholic man and agreed, without reservation, that he should be granted the annulment he wanted.

The terms of the annulment were spelled-out It is a marriage that never was because The true Christian spirit was not entered into by the offending party... They decreed You will be free to marry again In Catholic faith and in a Catholic Church Your character is unblemished.

The fly in the ointment was the declaration that it was, A marriage that never was. This would mean that in the eyes of the church, Maureen, Eddie and I would be illegitimate, bastards no less.

Dad could not accept this. Whatever happened to him, he had to ensure that his children would have the chance of remaining within the kingdom of God and respected by the society that we were born into. He now turned to the courts and sued for a legal separation and custody. But these things take time and, left with three children and no wife, Dad found it impossible to cope. He had a job to hold down and our Gran was too unwell to look after us. It was an agonising decision but he had to hand us into Smilum, a Catholic orphanage in Falkirk.

We lived there for six months and I remember much of this as clear as day. Because of my young age, I was placed into a girls ward. I can picture the blond haired girl who slept in the adjacent bed. She was pretty, but always looked so sad. The nuns, who were cheerful and kind, seemed to have a purpose and goodness flowing from them that you could see and almost feel.