Page 11 - The Letter By Ann Newhouse
P. 11

‘I don’t think I could live here with all the memories’, I told her sadly, gazing around the room.
‘Tony’s colleague, Bill, called to give me some of his personal items from the office they shared’, I explained, ‘sometimes they went on assignments together’.
Tony was a professional photographer and Bill a journalist, so they always worked together a lot, most recently Cannes.
I handed Sherry a shoebox, ‘is this it?’ she asked.
‘Well there’s also his laptop, cameras and some other equipment’ I said absently, ‘I’m going to tell Bill to take them I know Tony would want him to have them.
‘They are worth some money Amber!’ Sherry said shocked, ‘have you at least checked to see what they contain? Maybe you will find out about his family?’
‘No, I’ll do it another time’, I put the box aside as I walked Sherry to the door.
Having said our goodbyes, I returned to sorting and sealing up the packed boxes when I came across my own birth certificate. The information was limited, it had the Nuns named as my guardians. Giving me the surname of the district [Shankhill, Dublin]. No mothers name or father.
The nuns found me on their doorstep one summer morning in 1970 wrapped in an orange blanket with a rag doll and the name Marie stitched on the front of the little dress. I was about one week old they reckoned. So, they took me in and called me Amber Shankey after the name of the district. I lived there until I was 16. The housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, who looked after the nuns, who cleaned and cooked for them for 30 years, treated me like a daughter. The day I was leaving was the same day she was retiring. As we got on so well, she offered me a room in her house. She encouraged me to study, so I enrolled in a business course, got my certificate and


































































































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