The Phone Box Babies - a search for truth, identity and belonging
One of the 'foundlings', Helen Ward, writes about her search for identity and their experiences while making the documentary.
I was nine years old when someone subtly mentioned that I was the adopted one in the family. In that moment, I felt singled out, as if the truth in those words was meant to find me.
It was February 5th, 1969, when I was brought to my new home in Co. Meath, a day that marked the beginning of my new life. My parents, devout Catholics in their mid-forties, were united and loving, creating a supportive and stable home as I was growing up.
Reflecting on the words "the adopted one" brought a sense of being different and not belonging. Despite endless conversations with my mum about my adoption, she had little to contribute beyond a listening ear and an understanding of my thirst for answers. My dad, on the other hand, was the one who looked after the affairs of the house. Old-fashioned, one might say, he had the final word on family matters and held the key document on my adoption. At 18, I remember broaching the subject with him, which, to my aversion, was swiftly dismissed with four words: "Let sleeping dogs lie."
A fire within me continues to ignite my pursuit of understanding the wider picture.
Rejected in my endeavour, I chose to go it alone. I reached out to Barnardos Ireland, which opened my eyes to the possible trials and tribulations that lay ahead. Stories of rejection, difficult searches, paperwork, legalities and formalities. All of which drove me back to my comfort zone; home.
Significant events throughout my life surfaced feelings of emptiness and sadness, particularly during pregnancy. A time that should have been filled with excitement for the birth of my babies was instead met with silent images in my head of my biological mother and what her journey might have entailed while pregnant with me.
At 35, I arranged to meet with a social worker about my adoption. My expectations were high, fuelled with hope of finding answers. My birth certificate uncovered truths that I hadn't been prepared for: "Living newborn child found exposed on Ladywell Terrace, Dundalk. Father Unknown. Mother Unknown." Each word felt cold and hollow.
Abandoned from birth, I had been found by a lorry driver on the floor of a phone box, wrapped in a green tartan bag, well-dressed, and with a warm bottle, approximately two days old on Tuesday, the 12th of March at 9:30pm in 1968. Swiftly taken to Louth County Hospital, I was given the name Aileen Brenda Marsh and later transferred to St. Joseph's Baby Home (St. Clare's Convent, Stamullen, Co. Meath), where my journey truly began.
For most people, identity is a given, but for many like me, it has been a complete mystery.
On my 44th birthday in 2012, I went on national radio, Liveline with Joe Duffy. Within seconds, I was on air, connecting with the people who found me after I was left in the phone box. Sergeant Michael Conneally left listeners enthralled with his heartfelt words, and Donal Boyle, the lorry driver, spoke of his experience that night. After all the excitementsurrounding these events, a waiting period passed, and any hope was lost for the one person who held all the answers to come forward.
As the years went by, the chances of finding information grew increasingly remote. DNA testing became my last resort, a gift I received on my 50th birthday. I describe it today as the "gift that keeps on giving." In July 2019, I received an unexpected call from a social worker in the UK enquiring about my background in relation to the DNA test. As the conversation unfolded, I tried hard to absorb the words without imploding with hysteria and disbelief: "We have found your brother, a full sibling."
I finally got to meet David in person on ITV's Long Lost Family show, Born Without Trace. A moment to remember, an experience beyond words, a true miracle. Both David and I are foundlings, and for the first time in my life, my identity and sense of belonging became common ground with the one person I now call my brother.
Over the following weeks and months, information came to light about our biological parents and 14 half-siblings. It brought closure to part of my journey while opening a new and exciting world of unexpected twists.
Years ago, I stumbled upon a story in Drogheda that seemed so similar to mine. Who would have thought it would turn out to be another full sibling, my brother John. Credit goes to my beautiful niece, John's daughter Donna, who saw the Long Lost Family show and acted on her intuition.
One became three, and the unique connection between us as siblings and family continues to grow.
A fire within me continues to ignite my pursuit of understanding the wider picture. This journey brings its difficulties. Establishing family relationships has been a gradual process of patience and mutual trust. It has opened my eyes to the remnants of traditions, pride, and unspoken history that are still very much alive.
An amazing opportunity presented itself when I was contacted by RTÉ. I saw it as a valuable opportunity to explore my journey further as I felt I had a lot more questions after taking part in Long Lost Family. Did anyone remember our biological parents? And could they give us an insight into their lives, their love story, their individual personalities and characteristics.
These stories would have remained untold had we not taken part in the documentary.
I wholeheartedly embraced the experience, which has been healing, enlightening, and truly rewarding.
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RTÉ News
20 hours ago
- RTÉ News
The Phone Box Babies - a search for truth, identity and belonging
In 1960s Ireland, three newborn babies were abandoned in different parts of the country and left without any clue to their identity. Fifty years later, those three children discover they are connected and embark on an emotional journey to uncover their identities. A remarkable new RTÉ documentary, The Phone Box Babies, tells their story. One of the 'foundlings', Helen Ward, writes about her search for identity and their experiences while making the documentary. I was nine years old when someone subtly mentioned that I was the adopted one in the family. In that moment, I felt singled out, as if the truth in those words was meant to find me. It was February 5th, 1969, when I was brought to my new home in Co. Meath, a day that marked the beginning of my new life. My parents, devout Catholics in their mid-forties, were united and loving, creating a supportive and stable home as I was growing up. Reflecting on the words "the adopted one" brought a sense of being different and not belonging. Despite endless conversations with my mum about my adoption, she had little to contribute beyond a listening ear and an understanding of my thirst for answers. My dad, on the other hand, was the one who looked after the affairs of the house. Old-fashioned, one might say, he had the final word on family matters and held the key document on my adoption. At 18, I remember broaching the subject with him, which, to my aversion, was swiftly dismissed with four words: "Let sleeping dogs lie." A fire within me continues to ignite my pursuit of understanding the wider picture. Rejected in my endeavour, I chose to go it alone. I reached out to Barnardos Ireland, which opened my eyes to the possible trials and tribulations that lay ahead. Stories of rejection, difficult searches, paperwork, legalities and formalities. All of which drove me back to my comfort zone; home. Significant events throughout my life surfaced feelings of emptiness and sadness, particularly during pregnancy. A time that should have been filled with excitement for the birth of my babies was instead met with silent images in my head of my biological mother and what her journey might have entailed while pregnant with me. At 35, I arranged to meet with a social worker about my adoption. My expectations were high, fuelled with hope of finding answers. My birth certificate uncovered truths that I hadn't been prepared for: "Living newborn child found exposed on Ladywell Terrace, Dundalk. Father Unknown. Mother Unknown." Each word felt cold and hollow. Abandoned from birth, I had been found by a lorry driver on the floor of a phone box, wrapped in a green tartan bag, well-dressed, and with a warm bottle, approximately two days old on Tuesday, the 12th of March at 9:30pm in 1968. Swiftly taken to Louth County Hospital, I was given the name Aileen Brenda Marsh and later transferred to St. Joseph's Baby Home (St. Clare's Convent, Stamullen, Co. Meath), where my journey truly began. For most people, identity is a given, but for many like me, it has been a complete mystery. On my 44th birthday in 2012, I went on national radio, Liveline with Joe Duffy. Within seconds, I was on air, connecting with the people who found me after I was left in the phone box. Sergeant Michael Conneally left listeners enthralled with his heartfelt words, and Donal Boyle, the lorry driver, spoke of his experience that night. After all the excitementsurrounding these events, a waiting period passed, and any hope was lost for the one person who held all the answers to come forward. As the years went by, the chances of finding information grew increasingly remote. DNA testing became my last resort, a gift I received on my 50th birthday. I describe it today as the "gift that keeps on giving." In July 2019, I received an unexpected call from a social worker in the UK enquiring about my background in relation to the DNA test. As the conversation unfolded, I tried hard to absorb the words without imploding with hysteria and disbelief: "We have found your brother, a full sibling." I finally got to meet David in person on ITV's Long Lost Family show, Born Without Trace. A moment to remember, an experience beyond words, a true miracle. Both David and I are foundlings, and for the first time in my life, my identity and sense of belonging became common ground with the one person I now call my brother. Over the following weeks and months, information came to light about our biological parents and 14 half-siblings. It brought closure to part of my journey while opening a new and exciting world of unexpected twists. Years ago, I stumbled upon a story in Drogheda that seemed so similar to mine. Who would have thought it would turn out to be another full sibling, my brother John. Credit goes to my beautiful niece, John's daughter Donna, who saw the Long Lost Family show and acted on her intuition. One became three, and the unique connection between us as siblings and family continues to grow. A fire within me continues to ignite my pursuit of understanding the wider picture. This journey brings its difficulties. Establishing family relationships has been a gradual process of patience and mutual trust. It has opened my eyes to the remnants of traditions, pride, and unspoken history that are still very much alive. An amazing opportunity presented itself when I was contacted by RTÉ. I saw it as a valuable opportunity to explore my journey further as I felt I had a lot more questions after taking part in Long Lost Family. Did anyone remember our biological parents? And could they give us an insight into their lives, their love story, their individual personalities and characteristics. These stories would have remained untold had we not taken part in the documentary. I wholeheartedly embraced the experience, which has been healing, enlightening, and truly rewarding.
Irish Independent
a day ago
- Irish Independent
Phone Box Babies TV review: Revelations galore in shocking story of abandoned siblings
It was the common sense and gentleness of the three babies concerned – now in their 50s and 60s – that managed to pull the audience through. Also, Phone Box Babies is an RTÉ programme built on other programmes. First of all, the British programme Long Lost Family, hosted by Davina McCall and Nicky Campbell. We have all sobbed our way through Long Lost Family at one time or another, but never, probably, was the long-lost family so large. Here were three siblings who ended up looking for each other as well as looking for their parents. Long Lost Family has an off-shoot, Born Without Trace – surely the saddest title of all time – which concerns itself with babies who were physically abandoned by their parents. In a previous episode of Born Without Trace, it seemed that a significant proportion of the babies abandoned in the UK in the 1960s had been born to Irish parents. But David, John and Helen were not abandoned in Britain, they were abandoned in Belfast, Drogheda and Dundalk. In tartan shopping bags. On cold nights. They were carefully dressed and in good health and only a couple of days old. And all three were found by decent people. In January 1962, David had been found by a doctor's wife on the outskirts of Belfast after he had been left in her car outside her house. She discovered him when she went out to the car to bring in her shopping. In March 1968, Helen was found by a lorry driver, Donal Boyle, in a phone box in Dundalk. Donal was coming down from Belfast and he stopped in Dundalk on a very cold night for something to eat, and then remembered that he had to phone his landlady to ask her to leave a key out for him. As he went into the phone box, someone was leaving it, and that person got into a waiting car. It was John's daughter Donna who saw David and Helen on Long Lost Family and saw that 'David's hands were identical to my father's. I thought John's the middle child here. And he was' It was fascinating to see how emotional the finders of these babies – random strangers, after all – were about the children they had stumbled upon. Helen was reunited with Donal Boyle through Joe Duffy's Liveline, and in 2013 they met. Donal described it as one of the highlights, if not the highlight, of his life. In May 1965, Paul Murphy, a young reporter with the Evening Press, had found John in a phone box in Drogheda. Paul went to visit the baby in hospital – and also to write a piece about it for the Evening Press, which was accompanied by a great photograph. After that, Paul said sadly, the baby disappeared. He never knew what had happened to him. 'Then, in 2013, the baby turned up,' he said. Paul had been thinking about John over the years: 'Like a father, like a brother.' When they met they embraced. All three babies were adopted into loving families and each one was told that they had been adopted. 'I actually think that she made the right decision,' says David of his mother. ADVERTISEMENT Learn more 'They would have called me a bastard,' says John in a separate interview; and who can say that he's mistaken in that? It was quite chilling to see the siblings' adult relief at having escaped the Magdalene homes. It was David and Helen who were united by the Long Lost Family team – John was a later addition, only joining them when his daughter Donna, who had emigrated to Australia, saw David and Helen on Long Lost Family and saw that 'David's hands were identical to my father's…. I thought, 'John is the middle child here. And he was'.' Meanwhile, Davina McCall was telling David and Helen who their biological parents were. Billy Watson, a Protestant living in Dublin. And Marcella Somers, a Catholic from Kerry, who worked then in Dublin. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Billy was married – and had 14 children. Talk about a bombshell. One of Billy's nine surviving children from his marriage, William Watson, was happy to meet them. What a lovely man William turned out to be. His wife Breege looked supportive without saying a word – I sometimes think that wives and husbands aren't given enough credit as these explosive family stories detonate into their lives. Anyway, William explained that their father, Billy, had a band that played in Clerys, as well as around the country. He left the domestic duties to his wife. Marcella emerged as a dynamic woman, who was a great friend of the much more conservative Rosie Doherty, the mother of the snooker champion Ken Doherty. Ken remembered Marcella well, from the time she had lived in retirement accommodation in his home place of Ranelagh, Dublin. Marcella was musical, and played the accordion. In old age, Marcella had a doll, which she kept in her room and which she dressed carefully. Marcella died in Kerry in 2017, before her newly discovered children could reach her. David, John and Helen laid flowers on her grave. They don't think that they are the only children of Billy and Marcella to have been abandoned. There is talk of a fourth child, found in a phone box in Newry in 1963.
Extra.ie
7 days ago
- Extra.ie
Irish phone box siblings search for long-lost brother
Three babies, who were all abandoned in different parts of Ireland, have revealed their hidden connection and why they believe there may be one more person just like them. Each of the babies was discovered in the 1960s by random passersby – two in phone boxes and one in a car – without any identifying information or clue to their origins. A new documentary airing next week on RTÉ One and RTÉ Player has uncovered details about the babies' parents and why they were given up. A newspaper clipping from the 1960s. Pic: RTÉ Fifty years later, as adults, they have discovered their connection to each other and are embarking on an emotional journey to uncover their identities. David McBride, born in 1962, was left in a car in a Belfast driveway. John Dowling, born in 1965, was found in a Drogheda phone box. Helen Ward, born in 1968, was discovered by a lorry driver in a Dundalk phone box. Driver Donal Boyle, who was 26 at the time, recalled: 'I opened the door of the phone box and there was a tartan shopping bag. I saw the bag moving and I said to myself, it's either someone dumped their pups or their kittens. David McBride. Pic: RTÉ 'And I opened the bag and there was the baby girl inside. The bottle was warm and she was well-wrapped up… but I don't know if she would have survived the night or not, it was so cold.' Each baby was adopted and raised in different parts of Ireland. In 2020, David McBride and Helen Ward discovered they were brother and sister through DNA technology and were reunited on the ITV series Long Lost Family. Helen Ward. Pic: RTÉ They were saddened to learn their parents had since died, but to their shock and joy, they subsequently found John Dowling, a third full sibling. They now believe there is a fourth sibling and are hoping this documentary will encourage that person to get in touch. Ms Ward said there were reports of a baby boy found in Newry in 1963, in a phonebox. John Dowling. Pic: RTÉ 'There's that strong possibility that this person could be part of our journey too,' she said. The Phone Box Babies airs on RTÉ One and RTÉ Player next Wednesday, July 2, at 9.35pm.
