The Twin’s Book by Christopher Horan

My father, Tom, was a twin. His mother, Molly (nee Causton), died when he was fifteen – I never met her. But I had always wondered what she was like. Asking him was no good – he’d say things like “Oh she was a fuss-pot!” He was completely unable to give me a sense of her. Maybe too painful? Maybe with time he just forgot?

I flew home for my father’s funeral. Born in 1905, he had died peacefully at 81 in 1986. My mother had put me in the spare bedroom and as I reached to turn out the light, I saw she had left a book by my bed. This was a habit of hers; she would carefully select books that she thought her guests should read.

It was a photograph album. I opened it. It was entitled ‘The Twin’s Book’ and there on the first page was a photograph of a house, ‘Sunnymead’ with an inscription underneath.

“This is the house our twins were born in on May 22^nd, 1905. It was a cold day. Forbes arrived at 1:00pm and weighed 5 lbs. Tom arrived at 2:00pm and weighted 7 lbs.”

It was a photographic record of her dear boys up until the day she died. But it was more than just photos. Every snap had a comment or a little story – and there were clippings, notes and articles that brought her story to life. In her notes, written in a neat flowing hand (no typing!), you could get some sense of her personality.

Of course I want to show you every picture – for each tells a bit more of the story, but I can’t. You immediately get a sense of her on the next page when she says – “This expresses the feeling of “The mess”.

One has to remember she had these babies at home at a time when birthing twins of such a size was hazardous – not forgetting there was none of the ‘mod. cons’ we take for granted today.

As I read through the book it occurred to me what a forward thinking person she must have been. She was providing a wonderful record of a life and time that many families don’t have. Little did she think her great grandchildren would be cherishing her work one hundred and five years later.

                                                               Forbes, Molly & Tom

Here she is with her twins – Forbes and Tom – my dad’s on the right (her left).

When I learned we had this project to do – this book immediately came to mind, for storytelling is in my family’s blood and so digital storytelling is the obvious sequel. So you could say she was my inspiration – a Victorian lady I never even met.

As I turned the pages – the boys got older. Their father, my grand-father, was quite famous – notably for holding the world record for the 3 mile running race and teaching the king’s son, Edward, religious instruction – he therefore knew the royal family socially. However, I was quite surprised when I saw these two pages.

She writes “This house was most kindly lent to us by the King after Dad’s serious illness – we arrived here October 7^th, 1914”. It’s not clear to me which house it was  in the picture – I guess you could figure it out by going there and looking opposite the Henry V111 Gate!

If you consider how many of us are born, live and die – almost without trace – there are very few families that have such a beautiful record of their life to leave as a legacy for their family over a hundred years ago. I believe roots are important for giving each of us grounding and a feeling of belonging. Meet any American and within the first few moments of a conversation you’ll be asked ‘Where are you from?” (My answer is England – from Molly Horan!).

The question is – “will digital records survive the test of time as well as a physical records like my grand-mother’s baby book?” At this point, ‘The Album’ is beginning to show signs of aging. For me, the viewing of this book always induces a sense of deep sadness – sadness that this Victorian lady never saw her twins become men. She never knew that both her boys survived WW II (she never knew there was a WWII); she never knew they both were fathers. My Uncle Forbes became a Bishop, The Bishop of Tewkesbury, my father, Tom, a successful business man. She never knew her seven grand-children – and it also reminds me that I was raised by a man who did not have the loving guidance and support of his mother at a time when kids need it the most – their teenage years.