My grandfather had only his mum’s name on his birth certificate. She was in service. He was brought up by his grandparents, alongside an uncle and aunt younger than him. His grandfather was actually named as his father on his marriage certificate.
He must have kept in touch with his mum as, when his wife died, he took his young son and my mum, a young baby, to live with her in a far off city. I learnt this from a census but I did not realise it was his mum as she had changed her name, both first name and surname.
When she died, the man she was living with registered her death as his wife, under these new names. Ten days later her brother contacted the Registrar and had the death certificate officially overwritten and corrected. It certainly took some tracking down, but it does explain why I eventually came to be born in that town, far from where my grandparents had grown up.
Mum’s father died when mum was only nine, so she never found out the whole story. She was brought up by a loving stepmother and showed no interest in finding out about her natural family. It was only after mum died that I felt able to do any research. It made me very sad to discover that my mum had aunts, uncles and cousins living close to where she lived in later years. Strangely she and Dad had moved back to the area where my grandfather grew up. Unfortunately I have not managed to track down any living relatives now from that family. But I am surrounded by the graves of my ancestors.