My cousin Helen sent me this fabulous photo of Aunt Kath as a teenager enjoying herself in the sea.
Kath was always beautiful from childhood onwards. I don’t think she lacked male attention, but once widowed while still young she had no desire, at least to my knowledge, to remarry. I have the barest memory of her husband. He was on the periphery of my vision, while she was centre stage.
Mother is ninety-seven years old today. I was looking at photographs of her on her eightieth birthday. Laughing, drinking a glass of champagne, opening presents, talking with my sister. Good pictures and good memories.
I don’t know when this picture was taken. I was given a copy and it lives in a frame in my sitting room.
Isn’t she gorgeous?
This is Snibby, my parents’ Cairn terrier. I say my parents’ dog, because by the time I was born she was getting on and died when I was still small, so I don’t remember her well.
However, my parents loved her dearly and would tell stories about her. They were living in a flat and had no garden. It was after the war and times were still hard. On the rare occasion that Snibby had a bone she obviously couldn’t bury it in the garden. But sometimes she would want to put it aside for later. So she would move it to beside a wall and find things to drape over it. On one occasion she buried it in my parents’ bed which, as luck would have it, their visiting friends were sleeping in.