The Marriage Certificate (19 page)

It was a beautiful August morning and the
HMS Kidwelly Castle
was off the south coast of the Isle of Wight, heading westwards to the Bay of
Biscay and the South Atlantic Ocean beyond.

Former Chief Engineer, John Williams, now Lieutenant
Williams, stood once more in his familiar position, from where he could look
down upon the boilers and the reciprocating machinery propelling the ship. The
scene below had changed little, apart from the hastily installed steel mesh to
protect the cylinders and moving parts from falling debris. The sides of the
engine room were heavily padded with layers of mattress, held in place by thick
canvas sheeting; wedged and fixed to the ship’s internal frame.

Twelve years had passed since John had last stood at his
post in this vessel’s engine room: twelve years, in which there had been
important changes in his life; twelve years of relative calm and happiness, but
all that was about to change, as he found himself on his way to Africa once
again.

This time, he was at sea in profoundly different
circumstances. There was no schedule to observe, so that the mail was delivered
on time in Cape Town; no annoying questions from the first-class passengers on
how fast the ship could go and was she at cruising speed? Things were wholly
different, for the
Kidwelly Castle
was now an armed merchant cruiser,
requisitioned from civilian duty and pressed into service by the Royal Navy.
She was needed to provide additional strength to protect the country’s maritime
interests. It was 1914 and Great Britain was at war with Germany.

The familiar warmth, hiss, and pulse of the engines caused
John’s mind to drift a little. He reflected on the events that had occurred
during the intervening twelve years. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d
returned to London to learn of Henry’s death. He remembered the expression on
his beloved Louisa’s face when he got home. She was distraught; blaming herself
for not appreciating sooner the seriousness of Henry’s condition, but no blame
could be put upon her. It was a tragedy for them, but not something that could
have been averted.

Then they’d lost their dear friend Rose. What a horrible end
she had met: burned beyond recognition in that dreadful railway accident, but a
silver lining in the form of Harry had come into their lives. What a joy and
relief he had been.

John had made the decision after Henry’s funeral, that he
would resign his post with the Union Castle Line. He no longer wanted to leave
Louisa for long periods and so he set about finding another job, a job that
would enable him to return home each day, so that they could pass more time
together as a family. He’d found a job locally, which although didn’t have the
prestige of being a chief engineer on a Royal Mail ship, sailing thousands of
miles across the oceans of the world, meant that at least he returned home
every day. His trips tended to be somewhat shorter, perhaps forty miles at the
most. He’d swapped the
Kidwelly Castle
for a ship of an altogether
different kind: a dredger no less, a Thames dredger called the
Woolwich
Queen
.

She was a third of the size of the
Kidwelly Castle
.
Instead of carrying passengers, her holds were filled each day with mud and
sand scooped from the bottom of the Thames estuary. John had been forced to
take a lower wage, but with Louisa’s contribution from her dressmaking, and a
move to a smaller house in West Ham, they’d managed. Harry had done well at
school and just after his fourteenth birthday, had started as an apprentice
patternmaker at the Falcon Foundry. With luck, if he progressed well, his
choice of job, which happened to be a reserved occupation, would keep him from
military service. The foundry had switched production from trains to the vital
munitions and military equipment the country needed, to fight the war against
Germany.

John had received his naval call-up papers just three weeks
before. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. He was in the Mercantile Marine Reserve
after all. What had surprised him was that he had found himself back on his old
ship, but when he thought about it, it made perfect sense.

The Royal Navy needed more ships to support and relieve its
conventional warships. Each of the large civilian shipping companies was
ordered to give up some of its fleet. Among those selected from the Union
Castle Line was the
Kidwelly Castle
. She now sailed under the White
Ensign, commanded by naval officers, with her previous or existing senior crew
given temporary commissions.

John’s immediate predecessor had joined the Royal Navy
proper and so his vacant post had to be filled. John at forty-four years old,
although more mature than normally acceptable, was the natural and obvious
choice, being given the naval rank of Lieutenant.

He had been delighted to renew the acquaintance of old
shipmates and colleagues, many of whom had remained with the company during his
absence, or, like him, as reservists, had received their call-up papers in the
post. He was pleased to see two of his old stokers, Albert May, and Frank
Butler. They were good men and could be trusted to keep the newcomers up to
scratch. The purser remained, as before, his good friend George Corbett, whose
Royal Naval rank was that of Paymaster.

John’s reverie was broken by a command from the
bridge requesting more speed. He knew he would need to get used to the new
regime on board. The ship was vulnerable to attack from German submarines.
They’d been forewarned by the Captain to expect constant changes in speed and
direction, part of the strategy to avoid U-boat attack.

The
Kidwelly Castle
had undergone the transformation
from mail and passenger ship to quasi-military vessel in just a few weeks.
Gangs of carpenters and general workers had removed her fine furnishings and
staterooms. The first-class accommodation, the dining rooms, and smoking rooms
had been gutted; the small swimming pool covered over. Throughout the ship,
unnecessary fittings had been removed and flammable materials stripped out.
Steel plating had been added to the wheelhouse, to protect it from shelling.
The deck had been strengthened, in order to bear the weight and the recoil of
the four-inch guns, two forward and two aft.
Maxim
machine guns had also
been fitted at various locations on the superstructure. The passenger rails and
stanchions had been dismantled to provide a clear line of sight for the
gunners. Below decks, the holds had been converted into magazines and extra
storage capacity for coal, the vital fuel she needed to keep her at sea. Hoists
and lifting tackle had been installed to facilitate the loading and reloading
of the guns.

Unfortunately, her top speed had not improved. She could
still make seventeen knots, but this was slow when compared to the speed of the
more modern German warships she might have to encounter and engage.
Nevertheless, she was more than capable of transporting equipment and
personnel, of looking out for enemy raiders, and of patrolling and intercepting
neutral blockade-runners.

The first few days were intensely busy for the crew.
The Captain was anxious that they practise and carry out numerous drills and
training exercises. A call to action was possible at any time and he wanted to
be sure that should the need arise, his crew would perform to the required
level.

Night running was a new experience for John. In
contrast to the peacetime state of brightly lit staterooms, filled with music
and laughter, under wartime conditions the exterior of the ship had to remain
dark. Dimly shaded lights lit the stairwells and the wheelhouse. Cabin windows
and portholes were blacked out. Everything was done in order to conceal the
ship from the enemy. The German U-boat threat was greatest in the western
approaches, so in theory the risk of being torpedoed reduced as the ship passed
Gibraltar and headed south towards the Canary Islands. However, the Captain was
a cautious man. Wherever they were after dark, he preferred to keep his ship in
such condition as least likely to attract the attention of a U-boat’s
periscope.

One evening, John remained in his cabin. He had started to
write a letter to Louisa and Harry, although it was difficult in the poor
light. The ship was due to call at St Helena; with luck, he could post the
letter there. He cast his mind back once more to the times he had passed in
this same cabin. He remembered vividly the conversation he’d had with Frank and
the promise he’d made to his brother to look out for Rose and their child, if
she had found herself pregnant. He considered the extent to which he had
fulfilled his obligation and was content in the knowledge that he and Louisa
could have done no more. Harry was well fed, well clothed, and most importantly
well loved, and was being brought up in a secure and happy home.

It was a shame, John thought, that Harry hadn’t seen his
twin sister since the day they were separated. He and Louisa had never
mentioned Edith to Harry, who had seemed to have forgotten her. They hadn’t
been over to the island for a long time. John recalled that the last time he went;
it was on his own, in 1905, to attend his father’s funeral. As they didn’t have
the money for holidays and long seaside trips, they took day trips during the
summer. Southend was nearby; it was their favourite destination and Harry loved
it there.

He had sometimes wondered if he should take Louisa and Harry
to visit Florence, and had put the idea to Louisa on more than one occasion.
They had discussed the implications and consequences at length. The problem
was, that taking Harry to Ventnor opened up the risk of him meeting Edith. Such
a meeting would be fraught with likely complications. Would they tell Harry who
she was? Should they have to tell him at all? If he knew of her, would that
jeopardise the harmony and stability of their little family? After losing
Henry, anything that might disrupt family life was to be avoided at all costs.

They both regarded Harry as their son and were intensely happy
with the situation. Since moving house, the new neighbours naturally assumed
that Harry was theirs. Harry referred to them as mother and father. Louisa had
not been able to conceive a second time and so they blessed their good fortune
in having him. 

There had been no discussion with George and Charlotte at
the time of separation, on whether to tell the twins of their true parentage.
It was as though once the arrangement was made to separate them, each couple
wished to retreat with their prize, into a form of denial and obscurity,
assuming the role of parents and creating the perfect family environment. An
unspoken assumption had been made, that telling each child too soon that they
had a twin sibling, would cause problems of insecurity and unhappiness. As the
years passed, there came a point when, for the very same reasons, John thought
it was really too late to tell them. It seemed easier to keep the twins apart,
in order to avoid any potentially unsettling questions or complications.

Florence of course, knew the truth but she chose not to
divulge the secret. She concentrated her affection and attention on Edith, who
had a striking resemblance to Frank. Harry’s colouring was darker. He took
after Rose. Florence was more than happy to dote on her granddaughter and as
she got older, she felt no compulsion to make the long journey to London to
visit John and Louisa. The years passed and the London and the Isle of Wight
branches of the family grew far apart.

Coming back to the present, John finished his letter to
Louisa and Harry. Censorship permitting, he’d brought them up to date with what
news he could. He told Harry to look after his mother. By all accounts, the war
would be over by Christmas, so his separation from them shouldn’t be for too
long. He signed the letter ‘
love Father
’.

The death certificate of Harry Williams, aged ninety-five,
arrived in Peter Sefton’s post. There was good and bad news.

The useful information included his occupation, his address
at death, and the place of death, which were the same. So he’d died at home,
Peter noted. He also noticed that the date of birth was exactly one month after
the date given on his birth certificate. He put the discrepancy down to a
clerical error by the informant or registrar. The bad news was that the
informant was a council employee, not a relative, as Peter had hoped. This
puzzled him. He looked on the Internet and discovered that where no person can
be traced to pay for a funeral, local councils have the final responsibility to
bury or cremate someone who dies in their area.
Oh well
, Peter thought.
That
explains that
.

He pondered the intervention of the coroner, because usually
a coroner only becomes involved if there is some uncertainty over the cause of
death. There might have been a mention in the local press, he wondered, so that
line of enquiry would be worth pursuing.

He also wondered what a patternmaker did. He searched online
again and found that it was an industrial trade. Patternmakers made exact
wooden mouldings according to engineering drawings. The moulds were then used
to cast metal components. It was a job requiring the ability to interpret
drawings, along with exacting and precise carpentry skills. It required an
apprenticeship of around seven years.

Peter wondered where Harry had worked. There must have been
some form of metal casting in the area. Again, he searched online and
discovered that Leyton used to have a foundry, which produced steam
locomotives. It was called The Falcon Foundry. He investigated further and
learned that until the works closed in 1982, the foundry supported a thriving
community, known locally as Falcon Village, which consisted of a number of
streets of terraced houses, built by the foundry to house its workers close to
the factory.

Harry Williams lived in
Stephenson Street
. It
occurred to Peter that the name Stephenson was synonymous with railways. George
Stephenson built The Rocket and established the first passenger railway between
Stockton and Darlington in 1825. It made sense then that Stephenson Street was
part of Falcon Village. Another quick search online confirmed this.

Peter spent some time following links on the subject of the
Falcon Foundry. He spotted one, which took him to a website established by
former employees to record the foundry’s history. Reading through the
introduction, he learned that the foundry used to have a quarterly news
magazine called
The Falcon
. It featured company news, pictures of the
trains they built and one section covered news of staff, including outings and
family events.

He clicked on a link, which took him to a collection of
The
Falcon
magazines. They had been scanned and posted online. Choosing one
from September 1958, Peter noticed that in the staff section, there was news of
a wedding and also a mention of a retirement.
What if there is a mention of
Harry Williams when he retired?
thought Peter.
If he lived in Stephenson
Street, then it follows that he probably worked at the foundry
.

Peter calculated Harry’s retirement year and looked at the
four copies covering 1965, but he drew a blank. He tried 1964 and again drew a
blank. Deciding on one final look, he selected the issue for April 1963 and
there it was: an article, headed ‘Foreman Patternmaker Retires After 49 Years’.

Peter could hardly believe it, for not only did the piece
outline Harry Williams’ career, from starting out as an apprentice at fourteen
to his retirement at sixty-three, it also showed a photograph of him.

Peter copied the photograph and printed it for his records.
He read the story carefully. There was a sad note at the end. It mentioned that
Harry had not been able to continue, until normal retirement at sixty-five, and
complete more than fifty years’ service, because he’d lost three fingers in an
accident. The article praised Harry for his loyalty during two world wars and
his contribution to the foundry was recognised and appreciated.

Peter imagined a man who had learned his trade as an
apprentice and worked loyally for the same employer for forty-nine years,
rising to foreman patternmaker. He’d only retired early due to an accident,
possibly at work, which had robbed him of his practical dexterity and
necessitated a premature end to his career. He wondered how the man felt at the
time: sadness, frustration, disappointment, elation, relief, optimism or
perhaps fear of the future? It was hard to appreciate.

It dawned on Peter, that when Harry was forced to
retire, it was only about three months after his mother had passed away. Peter
didn’t know how close mother and son were, but that period of Harry’s life must
have been marked by personal loss and possibly a great deal of turmoil.

Peter wondered whether Harry Williams had owned
59,
Stephenson Street
. Had he managed to buy it, or did he rent it from the
foundry? Peter decided that there was a good chance that he’d owned it; after
all, he’d lived there for thirty-three years following retirement. One would
naturally think that an elderly single man, if he’d been a tenant, would have
been more likely to end up in a council retirement facility, rather than
remaining at home until the end of his life.

Peter considered how he might find out whether Harry had
owned the house. First, he looked up the postcode for Stephenson Street. Then,
he entered the postcode into the search box on a website showing the prices at
which houses had been sold. He wanted to know if the property had been sold in
the last ten years. He found
Cambria
, 59, Stephenson Street, described
as a ‘freehold semi-detached house’. It had changed hands twice, the first time
in 2001 for £65,000 and then again, one year later for £165,000 but the
information didn’t help to confirm whether Harry had owned the house.

Peter thought that Harry could have been a tenant and that
when he died, the owner had sold the house, but somehow he thought it more
likely that Harry Williams owned the property. He would need to look elsewhere
for any supporting evidence.

Assuming that Harry was the owner, Peter wondered if he had
left his house to anyone in his will. He tried a search of probate records, but
found no match. It then occurred to him that he could have died without making
a will.
People die intestate all the time
, he thought. On a whim, he
decided to look at the Treasury Solicitor’s Bona Vacantia Division website,
because it advertised unclaimed estates in the hope of finding heirs. If
unclaimed after thirty years, the Government kept the proceeds of such estates.
Harry’s name might be there
, he thought, but when he entered the surname
‘Williams’ into the main search box, there was no match.

Peter browsed through the website for a while. He read a
note explaining that the Treasury Solicitor no longer published the values of
estates, as there had been some problems with fraud. Then on one side of the
page, he noticed a link to the complete list of unclaimed estates. He realised
that so far, he’d only searched the current weekly additions. He clicked on the
link, which took him to a large, multi-page document. Each page listed about
eighty names, so he quickly estimated that the total number of unclaimed
estates ran into hundreds, possibly thousands.

He could see that the names were organised in alphabetical
order. He scrolled down to the pages covering the names beginning with W. There
were three entries for the surname ‘Williams’ and sure enough, although hardly
able to believe it, he found an entry for
Williams, Harry, 01/07/1996,
Leyton.

Peter recognised straight away the date of Harry’s death.
He’d no idea how long the estate had been listed on Bona Vacantia, neither did
he know the value, but more importantly, the quest to find out what had
happened to the couple on the marriage certificate had just taken a new and
most intriguing turn.

He carefully read all of the information available on the
site. It seemed that the Treasury Solicitor admitted claims up to twelve years
after an estate was substantially administered. Peter wasn’t quite sure what
that signified. Did that mean twelve years after the death? If so, was it too
late for anyone to claim? For a few moments, Peter felt completely deflated. He
chewed the end of his pencil. If the logic of that advice was taken, then why
would any estate be advertised more than twelve years after the deceased had
passed away? Reading further, he was relieved to learn that the Treasury
Solicitor can use his discretion to consider claims up to thirty years after
the date of death, although in such circumstances, only the residue of an
estate, without interest, is paid if a claim is successful.

Phew!
thought Peter. He’d no intention of claiming it
for himself. After all, he had no blood relationship to the deceased, or
assumed he hadn’t, but a germ of an idea was forming in Peter’s mind, that he
might actually attempt to trace a beneficiary.

Peter mulled over what he’d discovered about Harry Williams.
He had no siblings, so who might be close kin? Obviously, none had been
identified. Presumably, the longer an estate remained on the list, the less
chance that any heirs would be found. Two questions kept coming to mind: how
long had Harry’s estate been advertised? How much was it worth?

He looked again at the Bona Vacantia website to find out
when they stopped publishing the value of estates – December 2007 – what he
needed was a record of the website before that date.

Peter remembered that whilst carrying out some investment
research, he had once read of a trademark infringement case involving the
unauthorised online use of a trademarked image. When the trademark owner
complained, the offending website immediately removed any evidence of the mark
and pleaded innocence. However, the owner was able to prove the act of ‘passing
off’, by locating previous versions of the offending website. They were stored
and recorded on the database of a web-based archive. The earlier archived
versions of the website clearly showed the inappropriate use of the disputed
trademark.

Peter searched online for such an archive and
scanned the results. He selected one of them and arrived at a site, where he
entered the domain address of Bona Vacantia into the search box. Within a few
seconds, he was looking at list of stored versions of the Bona Vacantia
website.

Peter knew that Harry had died in 1996, but had no
idea how soon after his death the name had appeared on the list of unclaimed
estates. Unfortunately, choices were limited, because the earliest version of
Bona Vacantia shown in the archive was that of October 2001. He started there
but soon realised that he was not able to see the complete list of unclaimed
estates, but rather the weekly additions to it. The archived copies were no more
than snapshots. He spent the next twenty minutes, carefully looking at each
subsequent version. Sometimes, there were no names beginning with W so he moved
on to the following page. At March 2002, Peter felt the hairs on the back of
his neck stand up. He’d got lucky. It was the first time that the name of Harry
Williams was added to the list and the value of the estate was £67,000!

Peter shut down his computer and went downstairs to
talk to Felicity who was preparing dinner.

‘You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered.’

‘What?’

‘Only that Harry Williams – or Henry if you like – the son
of the married couple on the marriage certificate—’

‘Yes, I know,’ she interrupted.

‘Well, he died in 1996 and left no will. His estate is
listed on Bona Vacantia, you know, that government website, part of the
Treasury Solicitor’s Department, which lists unclaimed assets.’

‘What does Bona Vacantia mean?’

‘Oh, it means ownerless goods or something like that.’

‘Really? How interesting.’

‘Well, there’s more. They don’t show the value of an estate
anymore. I didn’t know how much the estate was worth … you following me here?’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, at the same time as draining a
saucepan of potatoes over the sink.

‘Well, I’ve just played an absolute blinder. I remembered
that I once came across a website that archives web pages. They must send out
little web bots, or whatever they’re called, all over the Net and millions of
sites are recorded and stored on their database. Well, I did a quick search and
found the site. It actually had some archived copies of the Bona Vacantia
website from October 2001 onwards. I started going through them and would you
believe it, in March 2002, Harry Williams’ name first appears on the list of
unclaimed estates. The estate was valued at £67,000. How about that for a piece
of detective work?’

‘Very impressive, but, so what? It doesn’t mean you can
claim it.’

‘No, no of course not, but the point is, it’s been there
since 2002 – nine years – which means that plenty of heir-hunting firms have
probably looked at it and given up. What if the marriage certificate is somehow
the key to finding the beneficiaries? What if I could actually find an heir?
That would be amazing, wouldn’t it?’

‘But what would you do if you did find an heir? Ask for a
percentage or something? You don’t know how to make a claim.’

‘I know, but I’m sure I could find out. It can’t be that
difficult. The thing is, what’s weird, is that I don’t really know why I bought
the certificate in the first place. I mean, what drew me to it? It just seems
so amazing, as if fate has given me the opportunity to solve this mystery. I
think I’ve got to at least have a go.’

‘So, what are you going to do next?’