B
Birthright
Guest
After careful consideration I am looking for some help in establishing (what
I believe is) my claim to a Peerage.
To summarise, my mother worked as a cleaning lady in Oxford in the late
1950's - early 1960's. For part of the time (October 1958 - February 1959)
she cleaned the lodgings of the youngest son of the Duke of Snot - Claude
Frederick ( 'CF' as his close friends called him)
Apparently renowned for his lechery, CF took advantage of my mother's
position (she was on her knees cleaning out the fire grate) and forced to
her to submit to his sexual advances. This was in November 1958, and
resulted in her being obliged to leave Oxford the following February,
already some 12 weeks pregnant.
Moving to /Liverpool,, she endured the shame (in those days) of being an
expectant single mother, and gave birth (to me) on a park bench on a warm
evening the following August. There she left me - and, had it not been for
a peeping tom (who was in the park hoping to spy on courting couples, I
might not have lived to pursue my inheritance.
A it was, he handed me in to the lost property department of the local
police station, from where I was transferred, first to a children's
hospital, and then to an orphanage.
My physical resemblance to His Grace, the Duke of Snot, was first brought
home to me when I was bought some newspaper wrapped fish & chips by one of
my Uncles (actually, unrelated local businessmen in their 50's & 60's who
used to arrive at the orphanage in brown Macintoshes to take selected boys
out for treats) who had taken me swimming.
There, on the society page (somewhat obscured by grease, but still
recognisable) was a bio-pic (to employ modern terminology) of the Duke, who
had just succeeded to the title following the apparent suicide of his
father - who, for reasons known only to himself, had fixed a crossbow to a
wooden post, tied a fifty yard length of string to the trigger, and fired a
bolt through his head whilst reading the Sunday Times on the croquet lawn.
The childhood pictures of the new Duke were startling! - it was like looking
at my own photograph. I can remember my proxy-uncle also commenting on the
resemblance as he stroked my hair and told me that I was 'not like other
boys'
Nor was the resemblance purely physical. I, too, was vain, supercilious,
contemptuous of poor people (which was a trifle odd, since I dressed
entirely in cast-off clothing and footwear, and had no money other than the
few pence sometimes given to me by my uncles for, 'being a good boy'
I was also an extremely idle child - not merely lazy, but increasingly
possessed of a supreme languor that made me long for servants to cater to my
every whim and need, a longed for circumstance that, subconsciously, and
without knowing why, I felt was 'right' for me.
It was on my 25th birthday that I received a letter from Messrs. Swindell &
Steele, Solicitors in Southport, asking me to call at their office at my
earliest convenience in order that I 'might learn something to my possible
advantage
Although my indolence made me loath to make the journey, I finally roused
myself to the task - and, once there, was presented with a package
containing letters and photographs placed in trust for me by my unknown
Mother - documents which confirmed by status as a noble *******.
So, where do I go with this now? - much as I feel disinclined to make the
effort, I obviously want to get my share of the Snot fortune, What I really
need is someone prepared to do all the work in return for a (smallish) share
of the loot.
Any suggestions? - I did raise the matter with Swindell & Steele, but they
(like the jumped-up tradesmen that they really are) wanted an advance of
cash that I just don't have.
Your help would be appreciated (to some degree)
I believe is) my claim to a Peerage.
To summarise, my mother worked as a cleaning lady in Oxford in the late
1950's - early 1960's. For part of the time (October 1958 - February 1959)
she cleaned the lodgings of the youngest son of the Duke of Snot - Claude
Frederick ( 'CF' as his close friends called him)
Apparently renowned for his lechery, CF took advantage of my mother's
position (she was on her knees cleaning out the fire grate) and forced to
her to submit to his sexual advances. This was in November 1958, and
resulted in her being obliged to leave Oxford the following February,
already some 12 weeks pregnant.
Moving to /Liverpool,, she endured the shame (in those days) of being an
expectant single mother, and gave birth (to me) on a park bench on a warm
evening the following August. There she left me - and, had it not been for
a peeping tom (who was in the park hoping to spy on courting couples, I
might not have lived to pursue my inheritance.
A it was, he handed me in to the lost property department of the local
police station, from where I was transferred, first to a children's
hospital, and then to an orphanage.
My physical resemblance to His Grace, the Duke of Snot, was first brought
home to me when I was bought some newspaper wrapped fish & chips by one of
my Uncles (actually, unrelated local businessmen in their 50's & 60's who
used to arrive at the orphanage in brown Macintoshes to take selected boys
out for treats) who had taken me swimming.
There, on the society page (somewhat obscured by grease, but still
recognisable) was a bio-pic (to employ modern terminology) of the Duke, who
had just succeeded to the title following the apparent suicide of his
father - who, for reasons known only to himself, had fixed a crossbow to a
wooden post, tied a fifty yard length of string to the trigger, and fired a
bolt through his head whilst reading the Sunday Times on the croquet lawn.
The childhood pictures of the new Duke were startling! - it was like looking
at my own photograph. I can remember my proxy-uncle also commenting on the
resemblance as he stroked my hair and told me that I was 'not like other
boys'
Nor was the resemblance purely physical. I, too, was vain, supercilious,
contemptuous of poor people (which was a trifle odd, since I dressed
entirely in cast-off clothing and footwear, and had no money other than the
few pence sometimes given to me by my uncles for, 'being a good boy'
I was also an extremely idle child - not merely lazy, but increasingly
possessed of a supreme languor that made me long for servants to cater to my
every whim and need, a longed for circumstance that, subconsciously, and
without knowing why, I felt was 'right' for me.
It was on my 25th birthday that I received a letter from Messrs. Swindell &
Steele, Solicitors in Southport, asking me to call at their office at my
earliest convenience in order that I 'might learn something to my possible
advantage
Although my indolence made me loath to make the journey, I finally roused
myself to the task - and, once there, was presented with a package
containing letters and photographs placed in trust for me by my unknown
Mother - documents which confirmed by status as a noble *******.
So, where do I go with this now? - much as I feel disinclined to make the
effort, I obviously want to get my share of the Snot fortune, What I really
need is someone prepared to do all the work in return for a (smallish) share
of the loot.
Any suggestions? - I did raise the matter with Swindell & Steele, but they
(like the jumped-up tradesmen that they really are) wanted an advance of
cash that I just don't have.
Your help would be appreciated (to some degree)
