: Andrew Pierce
: Finding Margaret Solving the mystery of my birth mother
: Biteback Publishing
: 9781785909092
: 1
: CHF 5.30
:
: Biographien, Autobiographien
: English
: 336
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
At the age of fifty, and despite feeling like he was betraying the adoptive parents who loved him so much, journalist and broadcaster Andrew Pierce began to tentatively search for his birth mother - only to discover that she had done everything she could to ensure he would never find her. When he finally tracks her down, the mystery only deepens, leading him to Ireland to seek out information about the man who may or may not have been his father. During his search, Andrew discovers horrifying revelations about the orphanage where he had spent the first two years of his life and attempts to forge a relationship with the woman who gave him away. This candid story is a heartwarming page-turner that takes the reader on an extraordinary journey. Full of amusing and arresting anecdotes, at its heart lies the inspirational story of one man's search for his birth mother and what happened when he finally found her.

Andrew Pierce is a columnist, consultant editor for the Daily Mail and television presenter. He is a regular each week on Good Morning Britain on ITV and co-presents Britain's Newsroom daily on GB News.

BY THE time I was in the sixth form at school and studying for my A-levels, I’d set my heart on joining a newspaper. I was hoping to go straight from school by gaining a job as a trainee reporter, after having already ruled out any idea of going to university. While I knew that my parents would do their very best to support me, they would have to face the possibility of making a large financial contribution to my university grant. It would have been very tough on them, particularly as none of my siblings had done A-levels, let alone gone to university. Besides, Mum and Dad had never been in the position of having much spare cash.

To help with the family finances, I took a job in ‘Bob’s’, a local greengrocer’s in a little row of shops on the Walcot estate. Every Thursday night I traipsed around Walcot selling lottery tickets for Swindon Town Football Club. I also worked on the giant dish-washing machine in Swindon’s BHS. I paid my parents £3 a week housekeeping. So, with three kids off their hands, they could comfortably afford two holidays a year. It was another reason why I didn’t want my presence at university to prevent my parents from having that second holiday, which I knew meant such a lot to them.

So, armed with my book of cuttings, and some six months before my final school exams were due to start, I drew up a list of a dozen newspapers within a sixty-mile radius of Swindon. But the process of applying for a job proved to be very dispiriting. If I managed to get a reply – I’d even enclosed stamp addressed envelopes with my applications – I had the distinct feeling that the editors were sneering at my efforts. ‘We prefer to interview candidates who have a degree’ was the usual comment.

Eventually, there was only one newspaper left to write to on my list. Home from school during the Christmas holidays, I told Mum I wasn’t going to send off that last letter. ‘I’ve written to eleven papers. And every one of those who’ve bothered to reply have all been really snotty,’ I grumbled, feeling heavily depressed at my