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In the summer of 1967 my father held me in my arms for the first and, he thought, last time. He had travelled to Leeds from Portsmouth to see me and to ask my birth mother if she would reconsider her decision to have me adopted. Instead, he offered to take me with him when he set sail for Iran later that year.
My birth mother refused and so my birth father signed the adoption papers, relinquished me and returned to Iran. He thought he would never see me again. He spent the next ten years or so sailing the seas as a high-flying Persian naval officer.
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