Junior Writer
Isle of Portland, United Kingdom 🇬🇧

Fiona B

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Bio

Fiona’s passion for words was born in childhood, as she made up bedtime stories to help her brother sleep – though sometimes they kept him awake instead! She has a Master’s degree in English, and spent years honing her skills as a copywriter, then as creative director, at top international advertising agencies like BBDO, Young & Rubicam, and Ogilvy & Mather. Since moving to the UK from South Africa in 2019 (and staying at home like the rest of the world), she has rediscovered the art of storytelling purely for the love of it.

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As a Story Terrace writer, Fiona B interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know our writer better by reading the autobiographical anecdote below!

My 4th Amendment

My family left the UK for Africa when I was 4 years old: first stop Kenya, then South Africa. Then, I was a precocious and moody 11-year-old with two major chips on my shoulder: my smiley older brother, who everyone knew was the favourite, and the yet-to-be born baby who was apparently the prize for Daddy winning the Royal Nairobi Golf Tournament.

Every night I prayed for a little sister, while my brother put in his bid for a boy. Sadly, it seems that one brother to blight my life wasn’t enough, and another one bounced bonnily into my life on 18th April – and THAT’S when it hit me – I was adopted!

It was just so obvious: Mum’s birthday was 18th May, Dad’s was 18th November, and big brother’s 18th December – my parents even got married on 18th March! The key was the number 18: my own birthday was 4th May. Classic adoption giveaway.

Then, Mum, Dad and their male progeny had dark hair and eyes; I was blonde and blue-eyed. I wore glasses, and my orthodontal bills were as big as my massive milk teeth; they flaunted their 20/20 vision and perfect teeth (though to be fair, the baby had a squint and no teeth at that point). I had flat feet, the others had arches like viaducts; they were all quite tall, even the baby was apparently ‘long’ – and I was a ‘wee shortie’. They smiled and laughed a lot; I sulked and simmered constantly. The clues were everywhere.

I kept my knowledge secret for almost a year, until Dad’s parents came to stay; small of stature, bespectacled, mouths full of NHS dentures, and laden with fading photos of my dad – as a fair-haired baby and mousy kid. My ‘Eureka moment’ hit me: while I have inherited none of my mother’s long-legged brunette beauty, I was without doubt my father’s child, in appearance and temperament. I was one of them, I belonged, I was loved – best of all, I was the only daughter, with a unique birthday number!

America’s 4th amendment states that people have the right to be secure in their persons, and in their homes; my 4th amendment is the right to know I belong to my family. This knowledge hugs me close and keeps me strong even as I write this today, on 4th May – my birthday!

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