She kissed him goodbye, knowing he mwouldn’t remember her tomorrow. The pain was unbearable and the decision was not hers; she was 16, single and having to hand over her crying child just days after giving birth to him. He was 6lb 2oz, thick brown hair and dark mysterious eyes, like a doll's eyes, beautiful long lashes and a cute but squished button nose. He looked like his father, whom he would never meet or know about; perhaps she would never see him again either. At least she had managed to have a few days with him but that made it worse; she knew what was going to happen from day one, but nothing could have prepared her for the gut-wrenching moment she handed him over. His name was Albert but had already started calling him Albie. She sat on her bed and cradled him in her arms; the tears seemed endless and the smooth, powerful tone of Dusty Springfield played on her record player.

Her name was Lucy; she was a clever, shy, very bright student. Thick wavy blond hair curled around her face and jet blue eyes like crystal blue seas. She was so clever and top of the class but she had fallen for a local lad new to the area. It was a whirlwind romance. He had come from London and was a kind, loving, hard-working lad but loyal and strong, he adored her. His name was Frankie and he was mixed race; his Father was Jamaican, and his mother was from Fulham in London. 

The outrage when her Father found out she had a boyfriend was nothing compared to when he found out he was half Jamaican; then, when he found out she was a few months pregnant, he had sternly said the words, ‘You’re not keeping it and you’re never to see this lad again.’ After that, he never spoke to her again.


The year was 1969; she had been told she would be selfish to keep him, that it was no life for him. She wasn’t given a choice; he was being stolen from her and forced into the arms of another family. She hoped at least they were kind. She hoped that in those few days together a bond had been created and an everlasting memory in his heart that only they would share, like that moment just before you fall asleep and you start to dream. Maybe her face would always be there for him but she knew that’s not how it worked.


She contemplated suicide, running away, locking herself in some place, she was distraught and had no way of escaping this, as her Mother had her on a tight leash. Her Mum had always seemed frightened of her Father, he was a very strict religious man and would hate the scandal. They wouldn’t let her out of the house for the last few months, claiming she was ill and needed constant bed rest; her friends had eventually given up calling for her and asking her to dances. She managed to get a message to Frankie who knew the truth but the one time he tried to see her, her Dad had smacked him round the head with a thunderous clap.


He had tried to get messages to her; who knows what they were saying? They were always intercepted. On several occasions Lucy had tried to leave; the back gate squeaked, so her mother cut her off by the front door alley. They kept the chain on the front door and always seemed to have one eye on her.


Gran was the only one who seemed to genuinely care. Mums Mum that is, the other side, were all disgusted. Her name was Granny Merris but she was always Mumtar to her. She seemed to play mediator and see everything from everyone’s point of view; she’d been a very poor woman all her life, and Grandad had left her for a young girl in the 50s. She never remarried and us kids were her life. Before her Grandad she was crazily in love with a young man from the West Indies; she was forced to abandon the relationship by her parents, so she knew some of what she was going through.


This would now be a lifelong trauma for Lucy, who knew her every tomorrow would be full of fear, questions and doubts, with not a soul to speak truthfully about her feelings. Even Mumtar had been frowned, upon for showing compassion towards her.


Albie was picked up by her Mother and taken downstairs, as his new parents would shortly arrive. She knew nothing of them and any attempt to tell her who they were was met with her own wilful ignorance; she would just rather not know. She sobbed into her pillow and waited for the voices from downstairs to be raised as they came in; she felt so sick and couldn’t take it much longer. Then she heard the front door chain unlock and the front door open and then close. This was it; her heart sank, yet no voices were heard.

Footsteps were then heard and Mumtar appeared at the door with Albie, whom she placed in Lucy’s arms.

‘Right then, this is highly unorthodox Lulu but this whole situation is. You’re a sweet, amazing young girl who I admire greatly but the time has come to make a very grown-up decision.’


She pulled her suitcase out of the cupboard, which had a brown envelope on the top, which she handed to Lucy along with a coat she had never seen before; she was so confused.


She then whispers in her ear, ‘I love you enough to let you go and live a wonderful life, Lucy. I can’t guarantee I won’t be here forever but whilst I am you can always call me darling. There is a thousand pounds in this envelope; don’t worry about how I got it. Your clothes are packed and I delayed the new family coming. Your mother is on an errand; I’ve bought you 20 minutes.’

Lucy tried to interrupt but Mumtar just carried on. ‘There’s no time; Frankie will be out front in his car. Take your things, take your baby boy and go live a life, my sweetheart.’ 

There was no time to think; this was the life she wanted. She was in love with her little boy, an unconditional, profound and powerful love only a mother can provide.

‘In this envelope is your new name. Say goodbye to Lucy Brown; you’re now Stacey Hall.’ 

Lucy hurried down the stairs and she slipped her shoes on, grabbing a picture frame of family. She opened the door and with tears in her eyes she turned to Mumtar but no words would come out. ‘I know dear, I know and I love you too, go and be brave enough to live a life of love and make to our dreams come true for you both.’


Lucy took Albie and kissed Mumtar on the cheek, whispering, ‘Thank you’ she ran to the car and hopped in, kissing Frankie and resting Albie on her lap.

So that day Lucy Brown kissed her baby boy goodbye for the last time, from then on she became Stacey Hall and Stacey loved and cherished her little boy every day for the rest of her life, her reason for living and her reason to keep going.