“I know that my father, Charlie Galea, worked in the docks in Manchester. He had a brother, Manwel, who was married to Joyce. They lived in Trafford Road around 1965. They also had a sister living in Manchester. My mother, Carol Jeanette Hudson is 58 years old and is English. She met my father in a pub in Cheetham Hill, Manchester in 1967. Between 1969 and 1975 we lived in 24 Portland Street, Huddersfield. They split up in 1975 because of financial reasons and my father went back to Manchester. I’ve always used my mother’s maiden name.

I must take after my father a bit because I’ve never been any good with my head, paper work and all. You know I’ve always been a hands on person. I’m a fork truck driver working for Hallmark Greeting Cards at Brighouse in the UK. It’s a good job. I enjoy it a lot but you’ve got plenty of time to think about things.

I often wonder how my dad is doing; where he works; where he lives. Has he got another family? I hope he is not on his own. That worries me.

I’m thirty-five now so my dad must be late fifties early sixties. I always keep putting it off this looking for him but this year has to be the year I start becouse I’ve had such a big loss.

Sorry. I’ll start at the begining. I’ve been married to Sally (good woman) for 16 years this Christmas. We have three children – Luke Thomas who would have been 15 next January and Axl Dean who will be 12 years old in October. Then there’s my little Connor Lee who was 8 years old in April. I also have a daughter from my ex-partner. Her name is Danielle Kyle who will be 16 next May. We see her from time to time around birthdays and Christmas and now and again.

Our Luke used to stay at his grandma’s house on a Friday night and play with his friends over in Bradley which is where we used to live and about one mile away from where we live now in Huddersfield. We moved here to a bigger house about two years ago. Luke liked it here in Lower Houses but he missed his friends, that’s why he went to meet them on the weekend. He used to go on Friday at teatime and on Saturday afternoon we would all go to grandma’s and pick him up.

On 20th February earlier this year, I had just come home from work, jumped in the shower and Sally, my wife, shouted me from downstairs and told me Luke had been in an accident and he’s been taken to the hospital and it doesn’t look good. We got up there to be told a car had knocked him down and that he was actually dead within seconds.

I went mental. I had to go see him. I didn’t believe them. I started to call them ‘liars,’ I told them it couldn’t be true. They took me down to a little room. He was just lying there, our Luke, so still, not like the Luke we knew who was so loud and always on the go; never stopped for a minute. I walked over to him and held him crying, trying to wake him but it never was to be.

After the funeral my thoughts just went towards my dad. Strangely I couldn’t get him out of my head. I’d just lost my son and all I could think about was my dad. I just hope he is still alive. He will never see our lovely son Luke and that’s the reason I’m going to find him as soon as possible before it’s too late.

This is the start of my journey. I now think it must have been Luke’s time to go. I think I’ve come to terms with that but now something good must come out of all this mess.

I can remember my dad taking me to the zoo one time and the monkeys pinching the peanuts we were feeding them. I can remember one sunny afternoon – it must have been1979/80 – was the last time he came to see me with a big bag of sweets. All the kids told me he was a good, kind man and asked when he was coming to see me again. The first time I went to town on my own with friends and my dad came to see me so I missed him. I asked my mother when he was coming back. But she said he never would come back. She told me he wanted to take me to Malta on holiday but she told him he couldn’t. I never went to town on a Saturday after that all summer hoping he would turn up, but he never turned up again.

That’s what makes me think he’s back home in Malta becouse I had a few addresses that I found a couple of years ago when my mum moved house. I found some old letters my dad sent to my mum so I went over to Manchester but the old streets have been knocked down. I went into a couple of pubs over there and got talking to this old bloke who told me that a lot of the Maltese went back home in the early 80’s.

My dad’s birthday is in May. He must be around 61 or 62 years old now. I don’t know but I’ve got a good feeling about this... Maybe I’ll find him.”

(If you happen to know Charlie Galea could you please call me on 21345888 or send me an e-mail at [email protected]?)