On 20 Aug, 22:38, "Birthright" <fe...@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote:
> After careful consideration I am looking for some help in establi****ng
(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 ***ual 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 cir***stance 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 South****t, 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 - do***ents which confirmed by status as a noble bastard.
>
> 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)
You mean your mum was an earlier version of Cilia Battersby?
The last bit to me is the give away, if they were so sure of the
facts, they wouldn't ask you for an advance...
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