Two fathers

During the second world war adoption was not arranged in the way it is now. My natural mother gave birth to me early one morning and by tea time I had been delivered by the district nurse to my adoptive parents in another area of the county. When, after many years, my adopted father needed residential care he chose a retirement home some miles away from both villages. When we applied for a room for him we were told that they only had one place available and that he would have to share. This place my father accepted and we duely drove him there only to discover that the man he would be sharing with was the person whose name appeared on my birth certificate. (This man was not my father but had registered me as his having married my pregnant mother on the understanding that I would be dispensed with.) Fortunately they had both forgotten about the adoption and shared a room for some time. When visiting I was able to take photographs of them together on a settee.