Secret in the attic #642thingstowrite

Now all that was left to do was clearing out the attic. We did the house within three days. There weren’t a lot of things. My dad was never a man that hung on to a lot of stuff. He always thought that the less stuff there is on the shelves, the less there is to clean. When we cleaned out his wardrobe I was surprised to see how many clothes he owned. For a man that never went anywhere he sure had a lot of clothes and a lot of named brands as well. It seemed a shame to give them away, but there was nobody else that would fit them. It really didn’t take us long at all to clear out his house, am whole man’s life fitted in one van. It was really sad, but we needed to have it done so we could put it on the market. Go back to work. It was a really hot day in July and it was boiling under the roof. I opened all the windows, but there was no air going through. I started sorting through boxes of old books. They were incredibly dusty and it made me cough. I was able to do half an hour and then I had to take a break. I went outside with a bottle of water and sat on the steps. It was cooler here. I was thinking about my childhood and how we used to play hide and seek here, or play tennis. We had good times. With a heavy heart, I got back up after about ten minutes to go back into the attic. I was hoping to get at least the book boxes done today. I didn’t want to just throw them all out, as I was hoping to find his old stamp collection amongst them. I got to the fifth box when I came across a book, bound in dark brown leather. It looked used and battered and it had no title written on it. It had a silver clasp, which was now almost black. I pulled back the clasp to open the book and I realised that it was an old diary of my grand-dad. I blew the dust of the cover and carried it downstairs with me. I began to read. There was a lot about every-day life. I then got to the part where he met his wife, my grandmother. I never knew my father’s parents as they died when he was a young boy. My father had an older brother, but they were estranged. The diary described their wedding day and how happy they were. I flicked through a few pages and came to the part were my uncle was born. My grand-dad wrote that he knew the child wasn’t his but he never told my grandmother. He knew that she was having an affair with the local locksmith, who was her childhood sweetheart, but still said nothing and accepted this baby as his own. I was shocked. My father never told me why he and his brother never got on and why he moved away as soon as he was old enough. When I flicked through to the end I read that my uncle had a bad accident when he was sixteen and needed a blood transfusion, and that nobody in his immediate family was a match. He had to have the blood from somebody else.

That evening I asked my mum about this and she explained that my uncle was always suspicious about his parents ever since the blood didn’t match and when he became a male nurse later he looked into this. But with his father dead it was difficult. But his aunt in the end put him out of his misery and told him everything. She and my grandmother, her sister, were very close and she confided in her at the time, so she was the only one that knew the truth. So, she told my uncle who his real father was. That was one hell of a family secret to keep. Apparently when my grandmother fell pregnant she was prepared to run off with the locksmith, but he was also married and gotten cold feet and said that he wanted nothing further to do with her or the baby. So, the only thing for her to do was to pretend that the baby was my grand-dad’s. She didn’t realise that he knew. I was wondering if my dad knew. After all he kept that diary in the attic. Had he read it and never told his brother? As they were both dead know we will never know.