I was born in 1936 in a rented cottage just outside the walls of 
Broadmoor, Britain's institution for the criminally insane. The Great 
Depression was sowing the seeds of WW2, and my father was 
working as a farm labourer. My mother had led a sheltered life as a 
housemaid for 14 years, and she was disturbed by the proximity of 
so much evil and suffering just over the back fence. She had no 
antenatal care, and did not know she was carrying twins.
My parents made it plain from the outset that I could not expect 
the affection that other children enjoyed, without telling me why. 
I concluded I must be in some way thoroughly evil, and spent hours 
staring into the mirror, hoping to find a fault that could be rectified. 
In my 3rd and 4th years, many family conferences were held, 
at which aunts, uncles and grandparents discussed what was to be 
done with me. The options considered, as I sat listening and barely understanding, included 
adoption, a foster home, and my mother's favourite, placement in the local orphanage.
 
At five years of age, I was interviewed at that orphanage, and 
created such a rumpus that the attempt was never repeated.  
Nevertheless, my mother continued to try to persuade our doctor, who 
was also a magistrate in the children's court and chairman of 
the child welfare committee, to find some way to have me removed 
from the family.
  
When I was 16, my father told me that the midwife at my birth had 
taken the placenta away on her bicycle in a great hurry, returning later with the news that 
there had been a twin attached, and furthermore, that 2 days later I was haemorrhaging and 
required a direct transfusion from my mother. (This is haemorrhagic disease of the newborn, 
which is now prevented routinely with vitamin K.)  Once informed of my twinhood, I was never 
again threatened with expulsion from the family.

Many years later, when I discovered that both my parents had 
disinherited me, it was gently suggested that in my mother's 
distress, she blamed me for my twin's death, and for the rest of her 
life resented having to give her own blood to save me. I will never 
know if this is true.
 Recently, after a routine blood donation, the local Red Cross 
requested I make regular plasma donations because they had detected 
a high level of antibodies to cytomegalvirus (CMV). From the plasma 
they make a vaccine to protect against CMV in AIDS patients and 
others at risk because of low immunity, and also in pregnancy. 
I knew nothing of this virus, so surfed the 'net for information. 
Imagine my astonishment, and many other strong emotions, when I 
discovered that CMV could cause serious birth defects, and even 
foetal death.  The same site showed a picture of a dead foetus 
attached to the placenta - devastating to me because this is how 
my twin would have looked. It seems likely that my twin and I were exposed to this virus in 
utero, that it killed her and left me with a high, and valuable, level of immunity. 

My twin was never acknowledged, never named, never registered and never 
honoured with a funeral.  The only way I can commemorate her is to 
include her in my own life, to live on her behalf. For most of my life 
I felt that I handled my situation poorly, and hoped one day to meet 
someone who could tell me the correct way.  Through the Twinlesstwins 
group I have met many others like myself, and of course discovered 
there is no correct way.  
Nowadays Joyce, my twin, shares my good times, and I provide as many 
of those as possible.  This works really well, because everything I 
enjoy, every happy moment, is doubled.