Andrew, RCAMC, Fort Anne, 1956-?

I am trying to trace my natural/biological father, who was in the RCAMC, stationed in Germany in 1956.

I have a photo, but new users are not allowed to post links or emails.

Here is a summary of what I have learned, including information sent to me by Canadian ex-service personnel:

He was/is Canadian and most likely French Canadian (this is what my mother believed anyway).

He was a Private with the Royal Canadian Army Medical Corps (RCAMC) when he met my mother.

He would (most likely) have been born between 1915 and 1925.

His first name was (according to my mother) Andrew, though he might also be known by the French equivalent, Andre (IMPORTANT: SURNAME UNKNOWN).

I have been told that his uniform identifies him (apart from being in the RCAMC) as wearing a "Group B Tradesman" patch (or a qualified Tradesman, Class II, if these are not the same thing).

He was (probably) with 1 Field Ambulance, stationed at Fort Anne, or possibly one of a number of bases near the towns of Soest and Werl in North Germany in 1956. My mother met him there in 1956 while working for the WVS. Her name was then Sheila MacAllister

I was born in London in 1957 and brought up in Dublin, Ireland, by my mother and grandparents. My name, Granier, is French, BUT IT IS NOT MY FATHER'S SURNAME. My mother chose it by Deed Poll after I was born. I had a happy and secure childhood, and never felt acutely conscious of my father's absence. However, as I grow older that absence is becoming more pronounced, a presence in its own right. And the fact that I have one haunting photograph of him, and that he looks strikingly like me, makes my search seem still more imperative.

I am a writer, photographer and teacher of creative writing based in Dublin, Ireland. I have published three collections of poetry, the most recent being Fade Street. Here is a poem (from my second collection The Sky Road) about sitting in my car in Blackrock, a seaside town near where I live, thinking about my father:

FROM BLACKROCK

Here’s to you, ghost father, alive or dead,
your surname’s reserved seat, your vast
library of the unsaid;
to your one image, slip of the past

in blurred grey and white –
a soldier, sitting with my mother,
your smile sleepy, hers bright
as the ghostlight blowing your cover –

to the curse or gift you bestow:
abstraction, my soft spot for absences;
cloudwatcher, seawatcher, open to the slow
shift of light, the waves’ always present tenses;

to the given, darkening, Dublin Bay almost black
except, nearby, where a wave splits a rock.

All I want to do is learn something about my origins, those invisible branches on my family tree. ANY information or advice is welcome.