‘I’m proud to be your daughter’

Gill Fitzgerald on her mum

Dear Mum,

You constructed the foundations on which I built my life. Because of the war you missed so much of your education. When you were aged 10 to 14, a teacher came to your house once a week. A few other children joined you, so the council provided your family with extra coal to keep the teacher and her part-time pupils warm. You valued education so much that it encouraged me to stay on at school and later attend a teacher training college: you were proud that a girl from a working-class family could actually become a teacher.

It’s because of you that I try to be kind and thoughtful. You passed on the traits that have enabled me to become a decent human being. You didn’t worship money; you weren’t materialistic. You put family above all things and looked after us so well. Long after I left home I looked forward to returning, because you were there, welcoming as ever.

Sadly, you didn’t live to meet your granddaughters, my nieces. The eldest, in particular, reminds me of you. The kindness, the concern for others, come as naturally to her as breathing. She looks at photographs of you and wishes you could have met. Isn’t life funny? We pass on the baton from generation to generation with barely a thought. The baton you passed to me was full of good things: the values, the good manners and the selflessness that you possessed.

Thank you, Mum. You made me the person I am, and I’m proud to be your daughter. I’m forever in your debt.

Love from Gill x

‘Few expected I would make a success of life, but you did’

Audrey Sharma on Angie, who took her into her family

Family gathering ... with Audrey, front left, and Angie, second right. Photograph courtesy Audrey Sharma

Dear Angie,

I am long overdue in thanking you. It is 40 years since we met in London. I was 16 and had had to leave my foster home. Your name came up as someone with a room.

Audrey aged 18, after moving in with Angie. Photograph courtesy Audrey Sharma

You had been registered with social services with your partner, who had sadly died. Although you must have been struggling with grief, when I asked if you had a room, you said “yes”. I moved in for four years, on and off, and while you were barely old enough to be my “mum”, you provided a completely different perspective on life. You encouraged my interest in politics, took me to the pub with your mates, widened my cooking skills and listened to my teenage angst.

Being a special needs teacher, you helped me see that educational effort could bear fruit and I was able to go to college. After my degree, I worked in public service and self-employment, earning enough money to run a home. I found a good man. I had my first child, then adopted the second to complete our family. It was the best decision I ever made.

Not bad for a child from the poorest of family backgrounds, one of 14, all taken into care. Few expected I would make a success of life, but you did. I knew that because my experience in your all-embracing family had been so good, I could make a go of a family of my own. That was my major aim in life fulfilled (or at least, it’s a work in progress), and I doubt I would have found the guts without you. I now try to support others missing a secure family, using our relationship as a guide. I hope my children will also go on to reach out to someone who needs help.

If ever anyone was in two minds about taking the plunge and holding out a helping hand to provide a family for someone who lacks this basic human need, I hope this thankyou letter to my dear Angie will persuade them.

Audrey

‘You supported me and guided me’ ... Ross and Skye. Photograph courtesy of Ross Phillips

‘No one else believed in me’

Ross Phillips on the girlfriend who stuck by him

Dear Skye,

Thank you for being the one who stuck with me. When we met my mental health was in sharp decline and no one else would have stayed with me. Through the arguments, the anger and the hospitalisations, you have stuck by my side and given me a new lease of life. I don’t always get it right – in fact I rarely do, but I try, and you can see that and I appreciate it.

Through two years of being too unwell to work you supported me and guided me when I needed it. No one else believed in me. You can’t know what you have done, and continue to do. Thank you for everything you do and continue to do.

Ross

‘You simply held my hand’

Christopher, on the man who stayed with him when he nearly died

It was 3.40pm on 17 March 1995. Travelling as a passenger from Thetford to London, I was in a serious road crash. Badly injured, I was unable to escape from the wreckage. Some terrified-looking people arrived and tried, unsuccessfully, to free me. I asked them to just leave: if I was going to die, I didn’t want them all staring at me. They all went, but one man came back and crawled into the wreckage next to me and simply held my hand. You said you were an off-duty paramedic. When the fire brigade turned up, I looked around and you were gone. I think of that accident every day. I want you to know that what you did was angelic. At that moment, your simple gesture made you my angel on earth. I thank you deeply for the act of holding my hand.

Christopher

‘You showed me how to speak out’

Ruth Cawthorne on the teacher who gave her courage

Ruth (front, left) receiving a school prize for public speaking. Kate Greig is second from left at the back. Photograph courtesy Ruth Cawthorne Photograph: Provided by Ruth Cawthorne

Dear Kate Greig,

Thank you for catching the attention of my 12-year-old brain as my English teacher, helping to point it in the right direction at just the right moment. You taught me to have the courage to think critically and have faith in my own opinions as a result.

You were the first relatable young female role model that I encountered. Your enthusiasm and confidence were inspiring. You showed me how to speak: to speak out and speak up for what I believed in.

Thank you,

Ruth

‘You taught me to love and respect others’

Polly Milner on her late husband

‘Your own confidence never seemed to falter’ ... Polly and David Milner. Photograph courtesy Polly Milner

Dear Dave,

I know you remember our first meeting at a Sheffield University union dance in the swinging 60s. I guess you will be able to recall which fabulous band was playing, I know my love of Motown started with you.

I am grateful for your Geordie persistence, which led to our passionate love and long-term happy marriage, which we spent in Zambia, Montreal, France and eventually the south-west of England, where we enjoyed family life with our three beautiful children. You taught me to love, respect and be non-judgmental about others. You just seemed to love and accept everybody, always encouraging me to be more confident in myself. Your own confidence never seemed to falter, possibly because you grew up in a poor but loving family with your parents, a sister and four brothers in a north-east coal-mining town. You were the youngest and believed you were lucky being the seventh child. One of your greatest pleasures was talking to all and sundry.

Your expected death, in November 2017, was tough. And yet I’m still able to learn from you, like a daemon on my shoulder, spurring me on to new challenges.

I miss you immeasurably.

Your darling, Polly

‘You are there in every cosy comfort’

Gemma Wornock on her grandmother, Janet Murray

Close bond ... Gemma and Janet. Photograph courtesy of Gemma

Dear Gran,

Almost a year has passed since we lost you and now the “nights are fair drawing in” as you would muse, I wonder whether you realised just how much you meant to me. I think about you most when making soup, or dunking buttered soldiers in soft-boiled eggs, like the ones you would make me when I was ill or, more often than not, skiving off school. I think about you in every cosy comfort. I hear you telling me “you’ll catch a death of cold” as I am about to slip my bare feet into my ballet flats – and so reluctantly, to credit your wisdom and I opt for socks and boots, in the hope that your heart is at ease now.

I think about you when reading books and how much you loved to read before your eyes got bad, and how you missed your favourite pastime when they did. I think of you when making tea and remember how much joy an afternoon cup could bring you. I hope you know just how much joy you brought to my life. Thank you for your unconditional love and thank you for never making me feel like I was an orphan; never, not once, because I had you. Thank you for leaving your mark for ever, because in every cosy comfort there is Janet Murray.

Your number one fan and very proud granddaughter, Gemma

‘I will pass your lessons on to my own children’

Sonia Sanassy on the teacher who fought prejudice

Miss Heaphy (left, in white) and class ... Sonia is next to her in a blue jumper. Photograph courtesy Sonia Sanassy

Dear Miss Heaphy,

I want to thank you for teaching me about prejudice. I can still remember the day you defined it in such a clear, concise way. I want to thank you for breaking what seemed like an unwritten rule, when you said we could flag pages in the classroom library books that contained inflammatory, racist, bigoted and sexist words and descriptions.

I want to thank you for saying that if I ever experienced any form of prejudice while at school, you would want the perpetrators brought to you so you could educate them. I want to say thank you for telling that boy that what he said to me was wrong and for making him understand why.

The lessons you taught me have stayed with me all these years and I will now pass them on to my own children.

Thank you, Sonia

‘I felt I was being protected by a white knight’

Nina, on the anaesthetist who saved her life

‘Every day I spend with my children is because of you’ ... Nina with her son. Photograph courtesy of Nina

Dear Doctor,

I was 52 hours into labour with my second child when we met. I was having trouble pushing and an instrumental delivery became the only option. You carefully inserted cannulas and joked with me and my husband. My son was born, healthy, soon after and I could sense your joy as you called out to the midwives to ask his weight.

A little later, I experienced an unexpected and catastrophic haemorrhage. I was too shocked to be frightened, though I was aware that you had started shouting at others in the room. It was 2am on a Saturday and I felt how hard you were working, how much you cared. You were shouting with desperation, as though I was your own mother or sister on the table. Even as I saw white light and “died” on the operating table, I felt I was being protected by a white knight, battling to save me. That night you resuscitated me and, having thanked you when I came around in intensive care, I never saw you again.

I cannot believe that this, for you, is normal. I am amazed that each day you gift people back their lives. For you, it’s a job; for me, it is the only life I have. Every day I spend with my children is because of you. Every day I live and breathe is because of you.

I know people don’t say thank you enough and I really have tried to track you down. You may not read this, or know it’s for you, but thank you; from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Nina