The Sins of the Fathers

I’ll tell you why I’m changing my name – mainly because you were the one who started all this – but I don’t want anyone else knowing, okay?

Do you remember when I went to stay with you, and you were excited that you’d found the birth certificate of your I-don’t-know-how-many-times great grandfather? We spent hours in the library archives looking up photos of the road where he’d lived and driving round trying to find the factory where he’d worked. When I got home, I used your advice on how to trace my own family tree.

The oldest person I know, my grandma, told me what she could remember about her family – parents, grandparents, birthdays, whether they had brothers and sisters. She loved pulling out and turning over all those memories - talking about childhood on her grandparents’ farm.

I never knew my dad, it’s always been me, Mum and Grandma, but I asked about his side of the family, if she knew anything. Grandma clammed up completely - said it wasn’t her story to tell, that I should ask Mum. So I did.

Mum was flustered, stammering. She apologised for not telling me before, said she’d avoided the question because I’d never asked.

It turns out the man whose surname I’ve been carrying my whole life, Mum’s husband, is not related to me in the slightest; was long gone two years before I was born. Apparently, he came back from the army with a nasty rash “down there” and Mum accused him of being unfaithful. Kicked him out. He went and never came back.

So, obviously, now I know, I can’t carry his name around any longer – he’s nothing to do with me. So, I asked Mum about my real dad.

They met at a friend’s birthday party, she said. They quickly hit it off, became an item, and she “Oops!” fell pregnant. Of course, they couldn’t get married because she already had a husband. Somewhere. In our village, there’d be stigma to having a child with another man, so they made a plan.

My father would immediately go to the Midlands where, it was said, there was plenty of work. He’d find a job and a house, then send Mum the money for the fare and she’d arrive with new baby (me) in tow, pretending they’d already been married for a couple of years. Nobody would be any the wiser.

Off he went.

The months passed with no word from my father until Mum, in desperation, borrowed money from Grandma to hire a private detective.

The detective traced him to the Midlands, and then north, eventually finding him in Edinburgh jail, where he was serving time for six counts of bigamy.

So you can see why I don’t want to be carrying his name around either.

As it is, I’m changing my surname to Piper, which is Grandma’s surname: Mum’s maiden name. And I’m not going to do more research into my family tree. Ever.

3rd Place - The Anansi Archive
March 2026