The burden of secrecy that birth mothers of adopted children carry round with them can last for decades.

Here adoptive mother Peggy Palmer, of Leeds, tells how this burden made it difficult for her son to establish a meaningful relationship with his birth mother when he eventually found her.

My story begins in the late 1940s when, after several years of marriage and a variety of tests, we were informed that our chances of becoming parents were not impossible but rather improbable.

We applied to a well-known children's charity, were approved, and in March 1950, collected a lovely five-month-old baby boy from one of their babies' homes.

We were thrilled with our little son, Richard, and his arrival into our home was even more of a blessing than we had anticipated. On his first birthday I realised I was pregnant!

His sister was born in July 1951, and another sister in May 1954. So, after being a depressed "girl who thought she couldn't", I soon had a family of three under five.

At the age of 18 Richard went to university, where some of his fellow-students were interested in astrology, and he was asked for the time of his birth.

Of course he did not know, although we had passed on to him all the information we had about his background. Then started about 14 years' of research, mostly by him but also by us, trying to trace his birth mother.

We knew where she was living at the time of his birth, and the hospital where he had been born, but enquiries led nowhere. Her name did not appear in any birth register for England and Wales, and enquiries in Scotland and Ireland were no more successful.

Eventually, Richard traced a family in South London with the same surname, who confirmed that she had been married to their brother, but that the marriage had soon ended in divorce.

Richard thus acquired her maiden name, which made things rather easier. He traced her birth certificate, marriage certificate and confirmation of her divorce. But we still did not have an up-to-date address.

My husband and I then searched the death registers at St Catherines House (Richard was living in the North of England by now), and we found the records of both her parents' deaths a few years earlier. These certificates gave her name and address as the person notifying the deaths.

We then visited the town and examined the electoral roll and found that she was no longer there. I visited the house and asked for her by name, and the young woman told me that Joan (not her real name) had moved some months ago, and gave me her new address.

The electoral roll at her new address confirmed that she was living alone.

Richard sent Joan's address to the children's charity, and they wrote to her. Her reaction was that she had put that very tragic part of her life behind her and did not wish to rake up the past.

The society wrote again, telling her that she had a granddaughter. She replied that she might sometime feel able to respond, but she hoped she was not going to be harassed about the matter.

I felt extremely sympathetic to the woman. She knew that some total strangers had traced her, and she could be feeling very threatened so I decided to write and reassure her. I assured her that we respected her desire for non-communication and that any future decisions must be hers.

I thanked her very sincerely for all the joy her great sacrifice of many years ago had brought into our lives. I also gave her Richard's name and address.

I finished by saying: "Please do not feel that you must reply to this letter - we respect your desire for privacy. If, however, you ever feel that you can bring yourself to communicate either with Richard or with us, we can assure you of a warm and friendly response."

After a few weeks, much to my joy and surprise, I received a reply. This led to a little more correspondence until, one day, she suggested that we should meet under the clock at Paddington Station. I recognised her immediately, as there was quite a strong resemblance to Richard.

We went and had coffee, and talked and talked. I also showed her some photographs, and she allowed me to take her photograph. I found she had a responsible position in the firm for whom she had worked for many years, and had come to London on company business.

Our friendship developed: she visited us and we visited her. We learned that she had had a rather miserable childhood - was an only child and did not even have cousins.

Her parents were very strict "Brethren", who would not allow her to go out with her school friends. She said that evacuation at the beginning of the war was "heaven" - her first taste of freedom.

Eventually she felt able to meet Richard and his wife and daughter. Their relationship went on for many years, with visits and outings, sometimes staying in each other's houses.

She even gave him a generous cheque for his 40th birthday. We all felt that her life was being enriched by her reunion with her son.

In conversation with me on one occasion Joan had said that she would burn all our correspondence before long, because nobody knew of Richard' s existence and she did not want it to be discovered after her death.

Although she had a great many friends, she had never confided in anyone, so she carried quite a burden of secrets.

Suddenly, about three years ago, Richard received a letter from her, saying that the strain of keeping in touch with him was making her ill and she wished to end the relationship.

Of course he complied. Then, last year, he received a note, telling him her new address on the south coast, which seems to suggest that she does not want him to lose touch with her. He has not replied, although he would like to let her know that he now has a son.

So the next move must come from Joan. For Richard's sake I hope she will not delay too long - but only the future will tell.