A dna connection contacted me the other day. Looks like a long lost brother has been located. Older generation on the top line – younger below. Mine are on the left – theirs on the right.
Makes me feel good all over 😊
A dna connection contacted me the other day. Looks like a long lost brother has been located. Older generation on the top line – younger below. Mine are on the left – theirs on the right.
Makes me feel good all over 😊
You know how it is, you’re having a conversation with someone, the topic changes and you’re left behind. That’s when you need a back up memory aka someone to remind you of the things you’ve forgotten 😊
One minute I’m chatting to my next sister about what life in India must have been like during the late 1800s for our Gt Grandparents. Even with the ‘perks’ a soldier of his rank (colour sgt) would have had, the climate and environment would have been something neither would have encountered before. Likewise for many of the ordinary rank soldiers who would have been going on patrol up country.
Then a short while later we are talking about hop picking. For a few years during the late 1940s/ early 1950s we lived in Cosham Hampshire – Dad had been posted away and Mum was always looking for ways to earn some extra pennies. I could remember during the summer school holidays travelling on an old bus along with what seemed like every local woman and crying baby up Wymering Lane and over the nearby Portsdown Hill to huge fields full of enormous poles with vines hanging down. Then having to carry bags full of ‘stuff’ my mother deemed we needed for the day. Next sister sent me this old photo to remind me of the look and feel of the hop fields.
She remembers different things to me, mothers singing in the bus, primus stoves and enamel tea pots, green coloured flasks with corks in the top, door stop sandwiches (no sliced bread). Being allowed to get dirty, running amok amongst the tall hop poles barefooted or in the previous years gutties with the toes cut out…..because our feet had grown and there was no spare cash to buy new ones. You can tell from those memories who was the younger one with less responsibilities!
Lots of laughter because when she mentioned gutties I thought she said putties and had returned to soldiers in India 😊
No, those canvas shoes we wore during the summer. They made your feet sweat and we had to clean them outside with some pastey white stuff. Blanco I told her, made the laces go stiff and the white stuff used to come off, floating in the air like a fine dust
Looking at these photos and the dress she had on she remarked she’d never forgotten how she had to wear my old clothes.
So I had to remind her about no extra cash and everything being passed on. There don’t seem to be any photos to prove otherwise but we think our little sister also wore the same dress one summer. Not the shoes tho’ – they’d had the toes cut out so we could get another summer’s ’round the house or playing in the street’ wear out of them 😊
As you can see all these years later I still wear those white canvas shoes during the summer. Perfect for round the house or down the beach. No need for all that messy while stuff these days – I just chuck them in the washing machine and hang them on the line to dry and if the toes wear through, no worries, they’ll be right for gardening the next year 😊
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What memories have you relived recently – or maybe memories you’ve been reminded about
I see no wrong in admitting you’ve forgotten something – to me being reminded in some circumstances makes the memory fresh again
Oh where oh where can they be?
My paternal grandad (the one who was gone before I arrived) had two brothers plus several half brothers Deaths in Ireland in the mid 1800s were frequent so his father was married twice.
The habit of giving children family given names – 1st son usually got their paternal grandfather’s name (plus more sometimes) likewise for daughters being given grandmother’s names and so on – makes it so hard to pin point and attach the correct John, James, or Archibald (who calls their child Archibald – my family obviously because it seems like there are hundreds of them out there) or even anyone else for that matter to the correct family. John Smith could have 5 sons who each have a son, which means there you are, theres 5 more John Smiths often with only a few years between them 😊
When my gt grandad named the boys in his second family he obviously couldn’t carry on the way he was going – he’d used up all the male names from both his and his deceased wife’s extended families which meant the new sons ended up with slightly different ones that originated in the new wife’s family.
So when associated with an unusual surname you’d think they’d be easy to find in amongst all the online records available on various family history sites. You’d think?? I’ve found the correct birth records for all three brothers plus 1901 Irish census and they’re filed away…… I’ve located a marriage certificate, 1911 Irish census record as well as a death cert. for my grandad (my dad’s dad) but nothing more for the other two.
The trouble is so many in their family or extended family from other counties all with the same surname (and lots with the same given names) decided life would be better elsewhere and hopped on ships to sail to other lands. Paasenger records are interesting in that sometimes the name recorded could be a full set of given names plus family name or any one of abreviations/nicknames the person is called….. Alexander James could be that or Alex or Alec Or James (if his father has the same name) or even Jimmy!
Then there’s the case of illiteracy…….lack of reading and writing skills……….or even bad hearing in a noisy environment…..where names spoken aren’t always transcribed with the same spelling. My father was adamant one of his grandmothers was a Muldoon – yes that, plus McIldoon or McEldoon or M’Eldoon which I’ve found on legal docs. Same with his other grandma – she’s recorded as being Mary M’Endoo or McAdoo or McAdor! Northern Ireland accents could fool even the locals lol
That little saying up above is what my dad told me when I gave him his first grandchild. Tell him about where the family came from but don’t stop him flying away to see what the rest of the world is like.
Now if anyone knows where my Thomas Henry ***** and his brother Joseph Arthur ***** are could you tell them their gt niece Catherine is looking for them 😊😎
These past few
days weeks I’ve been engrossed with chasing people round the WWW in order to add them to a long list of family members I have noted on one of those online history sites. Yes, that love of family is getting to me again and I decided to have my DNA looked at
Over the years some interesting facts have emerged where The Golfer’s family has been concerned. For someone with no links to Australia previously he was tickled pink to discover a convict lurking in the past. He lurked alright one night to the point of ‘breaking a curtilage and larceny therein’ for which he received 14 yrs transportation! Unfortunately after receiving his ticket of leave and being noted on one census said convict has disappeared from the face of the earth.
With his (The Golfer’s) father’s family coming from a rural Essex background we discovered he had loads of farm workers……ag labourers was the term used……and other delights such as husbandman, shepherd, vermin catcher – mole catcher – rat catcher, stockman on farm – thatcher and blacksmith. At one time in his life his father was a chimney sweep!
His maternal Gt Grandmother played a big part in his life but no Gt Grandfather was ever seen or spoken about. Seems he walked off and joined the navy early in the marriage only returning home a few times – after a lot of digging we discovered why.
Like a lot of sailors he did have a girl in another port – one he obviously liked better than Granny C because he ended up marrying her. All the while Granny C was alive and well living back in Colchester with The Golfer’s family! So we added a documented bigamist as well to the tree 🙂
And of course with him always having a book in his hand The Golfer was really taken by the fact that one of his paternal GtGt aunts in the ‘Dorset Line’ as he calls it) married a cousin of Thomas Hardy, the author.
My Irish Armagh based family seems quite tame compared to his being mostly land based ag labourers or textile workers (silk weavers mainly) and one whose occupation was noted as being a sugar boiler on one daughter’s marriage certificate moving up to confectioner in later ones. Many of those from Armagh migrated over to Canada and USA which makes it difficult to trace because of the number of people from the same extended families having their children around the same time and giving them similar or the same names. Also the added bonus of a lot of them relying on others to record names for them – my father was adamant one family’s name was Muldoon yet I’ve found documents where it is recorded as McIldoon/McEldoon/Meldoon 😟
Now where my mother’s family was concerned it was well known that my maternal grandfather loved the ladies. Rumour had it he fathered a child with his sister in law but those who could enlighten me and my sisters are long gone so we let that one pass. However a few years ago I found some thing online that had me wondering about the lovely old gentleman I shared a birthday with.
There was a person looking for family of this man (who has quite a distinctive set of given names) It was suggested he was actually married and had a child (names and dates were given) but knowing that on the dates given I had a legal grandmother in Belfast raising my mother’s older brother I just put it to the back of my mind.
I was checking my ‘DNA matches’ online last week and something jumped out and had me squirming in my chair. The names and dates in a tree matched those in the online plea from a few years back so……….
He was away a lot during WW1 – was he where my grandma thought he was? Some documents prove where he was part of the time – being mentioned in dispatches for bravery one of them but……..
Was my grandfather a bigamist as well??
I’m not one for going to see film adaptations of best selling books…. I’ve been known to sit there in the cinema muttering ‘that’s not the way it was in the book….. so often say no when asked if I’d like to see XYZ.
However there is the odd time I will go along, usually when it’s been a while since I read the book and (hanging head in shame) don’t actually remember all the characters and goings on that took place. When that happens I can sit there and actually enjoy the film without pulling it to pieces.
Last week we went to see The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and I enjoyed it – I did have a vague idea of the story linbut there was a lot I didn’t remember so it looks like I’ll have to reborrow the library book to remind myself of the bits I’d forgotten 😊
No, when was that?
1964 from Singapore to Penang!
How could I forget that!
Many years ago, almost another lifetime ago, I was the daughter of a serving airman (yes an airforce brat – ‘Born Raised and Travelled’) and then went on to be the wife of a serving airman – for the first 30 years of my life I was associated with service life and all it entailed. Over the years I’ve flown in loads of different types of aircraft but couldn’t remember this one with it’s propellers and bulky almost clunky look.
The Golfer had been posted to Butterworth (on the Malaysian mainland across from Penang Island) and we arrived in Singapore tired and weary from the very long flight from Stanstead…..no non stop flights in those days meant a long stop over in Colombo on the way which lengthened the journey. The plane we flew out on had been full of servicemen with just a few families so no restrictions on staying in your seats in those days meant I had plenty of babysitters for the two little ones we had with us. We’d expected to stay overnight in Singapore and were surprised when told there was an aircraft going up to Butterworth fairly soon and we were on it.
Now in my defence it was dark and very hot when we’d arrived in Singapore, the temperature difference between the cool almost cold March in England and hot moist tropical right on the equator that greeted us was enormous and I was trying to cope with two tetchy children so didn’t take much notice of the size and shape as we trundled up the steps. It was an ‘aeroplane’ and that’s all I was bothered about 😊
I’ll tell you what though- I certainly remember stopping in my tracks when I saw what the seating was and how it was arranged! About a dozen Air Force personnel and my little family sat sideways on – paratrooper style (2) on the jump style seats that lined the inside of the ‘plane.!! And yes, that is the door to the cockpit at the far end 😟
My life has been nothing but interesting – well, the bits I remember 😊😎
It’s early Monday morning. I’ve been sitting here thinking about past times for quite a while – best start thinking about tonight’s dinner or The Golfer will be home from ‘you know where ‘ later on and I won’t have a clue what to feed him.
Is Monday a musing day for you – or is it all go go go?
Strike while the iron is hot!
Another of my mother’s sayings 😊
As ironing wasn’t one her favourite pastimes (a trait passed down to her oldest daughter) I used to wonder why she said that – it wasn’t until I was a bit older I realised it meant ‘do it while you can, when the opportunity arises’ or something like that.
So last week, not having the inclination to do anything but feel sadness over losing Kiera I spent time gathering together and laundering all the old cat bedding. It plus other ‘stuff’ will all be donated to the nearby Animal Aid and even though my friends thought I was daft I knew I had to do it then or it would never get done.
That’s when I saw the seam. Right there near the crease.
Many years ago…..in another lifetime…… I used to breed Burmese cats. Flannelette sheets (soft, warm and easily laundered) were what I used for kitten bedding. These were from the children’s single beds when they were younger and being one to never throw anything away I had loads sitting at the back of the linen cupboard….just the thing to be used again.
Going back many years from that the girls had decided they would like their bedroom to be green. The Golfer drew the line at painting the walls that colour so I persuaded them the way you do when short of cash (it’s this or nothing lol) maybe we could do this or maybe that so there’s green in your room.
Green floral sheets….like the ones below…. came first – then the ladies in the local op shop (charity shop) found those green flannelette sheets plus a very large queen size pale green candlewick bedspead which I cut in half to make ones for their single beds. Their blankets were cream wool ones we brought out to Australia with us (two still hide with old towels in the ‘just never know when they’ll be needed’ corner of the hall cupboard) and there was no way I was going to buy new ones so we dyed a couple. I nearly died when I saw the very dark green they turned out but the girls thought them ‘cool’ It was when our big girl came home with a green beaded doorway curtain I knew the room was finished. All was good for a couple of years or more then the warm flannelette sheets started looking a bit thin in the middle….remember they were second hand…so still being short of cash the thinking cap went on and it was ‘I know I’ll do what mum would have done- turn sides to middle’. Only it didn’t quite work as well as I thought – the girls hated sleeping on them ‘They’re lumpy, they don’t look nice (??) I’ll catch my toenails in the seam, put them on the boys beds’
The look and feel of the sheets wasn’t that bad really – you know what teenage girls can be like- however come tax time when bed linen next came on sale two new sheets came home with me and the old ones were relegated to the bottom of the pile.
As you can see, at the moment all those old sheets are destined for a local animal shelter; although I did see The Golfer looking at them and muttering something about needing some new ‘rags’ so maybe, just maybe they’ll end up staying a little while longer.
Thinking about the sheet saga reminded me of other thrifty deeds that didn’t turn out as planned. Like the time i was trying to flesh out a pan of stew with dumplings and we ended up with a very thick gluggy mess when the dumplings disintergrated. Don’t think I’ll live that one down 😟
Honestly if you don’t laugh you’ll end up crying 😊😎
2006 Kiera’s last litter.
3 Lilac females – 1 Blue male – 2 Chocolate males.
Life is always full of little surprises isn’t it ?
Take yesterday- it was about 2pm when I told you about the cold wet miserable day we were having. Well, a bit like the Incy Wincy Spider ryme I used to sing to my babies, just after that the sun came out and dried up all the rain lol.
Not long after that The Golfer received an SMS from the electricity supplier saying the power could be interrupted.
No worries I said to him ‘we have gas, we’ll be alright’ I’d taken a batch cooked casserole out of the freezer in the morning and it was almost defrosted – if it goes off I’ll warm it up on the stove instead of the microwave. We can boil water in a saucepan if needed for hot drinks.
And of course not long after that it happened – yes power was off.
Oh bother I didn’t have time to run the vacuum round the lounge as planned (it had been sitting there waiting patiently since 9am) also no tv or radio – never mind quiet is good. It didn’t really sink in until I went to turn the hot tap on – need it to work the water heater. We coasted through the day wrapped in a blanket – ooh it’s really getting chilly now – oh, need it to work the fan on the gas heater. Getting darker – never mind we have large household candles (somewhere) and big dolphin torches (oops not so bright, oops no spare battery in the drawer.) I’m sure we’ll survive.
Dinner by candlelight……on our blanket covered laps….was lovely.
I’d charged my iPad earlier and had plenty of ‘simple’ knitting – The Golfer (no real life book to read) trying to read a ebook wasn’t too impressed with his level but remembered we had one of those mobile charger thingies (fully charged) so that gave him power and kept him happy. He also remembered some music downloads on his iPad so we also had music – a couple of c/w albums and a Johnny Mathis one. I became very familiar with them all 😊
About 8pm in the pouring rain I nipped up to the nearby Woolies (thank goodness for our long trading hours) for more candles – they were burning down at an alarming rate – plus another dolphin battery. Nothing worse than sitting in a dark loo with the light from the torch getting dimmer by the seconds lol
Driving back I could see linesmen working in one of the streets across the main road, up on their cherrypickers, illuminated by those bright mobile lights they use. If the road hadn’t been blocked off (with a diversion for local traffic) I’d have gone that way and Asked a few questions but thought it prudent to stay dry and leave well enough for alone lol
It wasn’t until much later……well after 9.30pm……that the power came back on. It wasn’t too bad in the end. Yes we were inconvenienced but in reality we were safe, dry and relatively warm however I’m not sure how I could have coped for more than a day though.
The scene this morning as I was clearing up after our little candlelight event
Each time we have a power cut and I use those ‘u shaped candlesticks’ I smile and remember the two young boys who made them all those years ago in their metal work classes at the tech college
Both of my sisters live in different countries to me – I am here in Australia……next sister is in England…..and baby sister is in Cyprus. The phone lines run expensively hot some days but there are also times when a quick question needs just a quick answer and a text/ sms is all that’s needed. Well that’s the idea. Sometimes answers provoke more questions and long forgotten thoughts and ideas come pouring out that might not have done so if we’d been on the phone.
Take the other day.
I was having one of those silly can’t settle nights…..finding it hard to drift off to sleep again after a midnight trip to the loo ……thinking about some knitting I had on the go, and as happens my mind wandered, this time to ‘when did I learn to knit’ I don’t remember a time when I couldn’t knit but have no memory of being taught. I must have been shown the basics some time- was it from mum or school? No, not Mum because even though she was a good knitter she didn’t have the patience to teach. If the truth be told she didn’t have much patience with me – full stop!
So mid morning our time curiosity got the better of me and out came the phone. Sisters dear…..when did you learn to knit……who taught you?
LOL – Next sister answered almost immediately- up for one of her nocturnal loo visits she heard her phone ding – it seems dad taught her. She recalled him chanting the knitting mantra most of us have heard and used ‘needle in, wool round, pull through, slip off’. She suggested maybe Mum’s aunts did the teaching – mum had gone to live with them during the war and the timing with my age was right. Could of been them because Dad was away at that time
We were laughing (10c a text and she’s laughing virtually at 2am her time) about most people my age (she being nearly five years younger) knowing how to knit and she wrote ‘all you war babies must have come out clicking, wearing knitted matinee coats, bonnets bootees and mittens –
a little snippet concerning mum and her knitting came flying cross the world, something she had never told ‘us’ but ‘had’ told our grown up baby brother one day when he’d been talking about women at work being stressed……obviously not a good day for her because she let rip.
Next sister wrote “She was pregnant with you, dad was abroad, it was a lovely day and she was knitting for you (in Wellingborough where she lived at the time and where I was born) she was sitting near the open window of an upstairs room ……the day the house was bombed.
She told little brother ‘that’ was stress modern girls wouldn’t understand’
Then my darling ‘naughty’ sister added the words – Bet she dropped a few stitches!!
As I said I’d never heard that story before so asked Mr G**gle for information on ‘bombing Northampton 1942’ and he came up with a special edition of a newspaper that had news clips from the second world war. And there on the front page dated August 1942 was a piece about the war coming to Wellingborough.
Although I gained an insight into a possible reason Mum was always tense especially when there was thundery stormy weather, little sister confirmed mum didn’t teach any of us (she learnt at school) so I’m still none the wiser as to who taught me to knit lol
Think back to times on the beach – before these pop up easy to use sun shade type of apparatus and their kind appeared. We found refuge in the sand dunes or used a beach umbrella which if you weren’t careful more often than not took off across the sands once the wind got up.
Cyprus is surrounded by water – the beautiful mostly crystal clear water of the Mediterranean – It also has many beaches. Ingenuity could be seen over and over on hot days down on the beach in Famagusta during the summer of 1960. At that time, being just over an hours bus ride from Nicosia, Famagusta was the place to go – locals and expats enjoyed soaking up the warm sunshine – but of course there was always that ‘worry’ about needing shade as well as where to store everything needed for the day out (without the hassle of getting sand in everything including your sandwiches 😊)
Never fear – after staking his claim to a spot on the sands and with the aid of some tent poles, several bed sheets, a bit of string along with a ‘sometimes’ willing family – hot and weary before the day has begun having traveled down from Nicosia with several other families and airmen in a very large very warm non air conditioned air force issue bus similar to this – my Dad would then erect our own little bit of shady heaven. We could be comfortable without the misery of being too warm.
I got a lovely warm feeling when I discovered The Golfer had scanned some of the remaining unblemished ‘slides’ from that time when we were courting. He would often (well if the truth be told he still does) take candid snaps – like this one of Mum and me in the bed sheet tent on a warm day in Famagusta.
BTW, we weren’t the only ones with our own man made shelters. There were oodles of them erected and dismantled each Saturday and Sunday when the trippers arrived and went back home again. It was a skill passed on to the new ‘whiteys from blighty’ to make their beach days pleasant.
(Whitey from Blighty – a very old term used to describe newly arrived (pale skinned) British servicemen to an overseas posting where they are noticeable because everyone else usually has a tan)
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Linking to Wild Daffodil ~ Photo Monthly Meet Up ~ WARM
This little ‘colour’ photo was tucked into an old envelope amongst some things my mother gave me after my father died. ‘You have it, she said. Don’t know why he brought it home. It was the cause of a few ‘fights’ over the years’.
‘What do you see’, she asked me.
‘Looks like a very young Dad posing for the camera with a girl dressed in a Hawaiian grass skirt’, I replied.
‘I see a man with a secret’, was what she said.
It seems Dad spent some time in Hawaii during WW2 and this photo came home with him. Mum found it, confronted him and he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothing in it, he said. All good harmless fun. She sang, she danced and entertained us’ – us being lots of young men away from home, fighting for their lives and the lives of their loved ones.
Unfortunately my mother being my mother wouldn’t let it end there. And over the years made reference to the photo – which for some reason Dad kept in his wallet. No one knows why. He’d take it out (just to annoy her, she said) look at it, then put it away.
Now the photo would have to have been taken mid 1940s and Dad died in 1990. A long time for a bit of teasing to carry on. If it was teasing 😊
I often wonder what it was that Dad didn’t want to (or maybe couldn’t) share with Mum.
Are there any ‘secrets’ you keep or have kept from your ‘loved ones’ ?
Ones that you are willing to share.
MicroBlog Monday can be found at Mel’s Blog
Wish ~ desire or hope for something to happen.
If wishes were fishes we’d all swim in riches!
A winter wish from a few years ago!
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These two photos taken in the early 1950s came to light the other day and a whole lot of emotions bubbled up to surface – some good some not so good.
Plus the word Wish….
I would have been about 9 in the first one – it was a happy day. My grandad from Belfast had come over on the boat to visit us in England and an uncle plus his family were there also. I had on a new dress and remember wishing I could wear it every day and that grandad didn’t have to go back home.
As we were growing up there were times when my sister would wish she didn’t have to wear ‘cast offs’ with turned up hems. She would never accept the fact that as much as she wished otherwise it wasn’t my fault I was growing out of clothes, she was growing as well, money didn’t grow on trees and she was next in line – as you can see in the second one.
You never get anything by wishing, my mother was fond of saying. Hard work and determination is what’s needed!,
That was my mother, wearied from the war years, the one I wished would love me more than the sister she gave my clothes to. If she loved me, she wouldn’t have got angry and cut (chopped) my hair off with her big scissors. I remember squealing and shouting as she brushed it one morning, trying to untangle the knots before it was plaited for school, all the time saying to me ‘I wish you would be quiet and stand still’ Oh how I wished I’d done as I was told that day – my mother was no hairdresser and I went to school that morning looking a bit – odd 😊
It’s strange that all these years later I’m reflecting on this and wishing things had turned out differently – my mother and I never got on, my sister continued to get my ‘cast offs, I never grew my hair long, grandad went away back across the Irish Sea and I only got to see him 3 more times.
Oh, but listen to this, my sister still wears ‘cast offs’ – chosen very carefully with a good eye for what will suit her – from charity shops.
And….. the beach with a hammock turned up on Green Island Qld back in 2009……..still looking for the winning lotto ticket though 😊
MicroBlog Monday is found at Mel’s Blog
Aunty Pam’s recipe comes out for its annual airing
complete with her ticks from years gone by
These are easier to cook at this time of the year – no hot kitchen 😊
Greaseproof tops and bottoms cut, calico covers ready,
Bowls waiting to be filled then steamed
Several small ones this year – no need for large when only two eat it
They can be kept in the fridge or even the freezer
An ‘instant’ pudding when fancied during the year.
Delicious hot with custard – or cold with ice cream 😊
All ready for steaming – small basins only need 4hrs 😊
The photos below were taken as a record a few years ago – voilà
Aunty Pam’s Christmas Pudding – good enough to eat 😊
Have you cooked anything extra special recently?
‘She died from a broken heart’
These are some of my Mum’s family taken about 1940 during WW2. An aunt, a brother in uniform, some cousins and their children All hoping things will change and they can go on living the way they used to. Of course we all know it was quite a few years before that happened.
Mum’s cousin on the right (known to me as Aunty Lena) was married to a naval officer who was on submarines. When he and all aboard were lost at sea in 1942 she became a young widow with a young child and did as all widows at that time had to do – put on a brave face and get on with it. She died in 1951 aged 44.
Even though I was only 9 at the time I can clearly remember family saying:-
‘Never mind what the death certificate says, we all know she died from a broken heart’
As an aside, you occasionally hear of people dying not long after traumatic events (the loss of husbands/wives/partners or other family) and I have often wondered and maybe you have also if that could actually be true – not the dying but the broken heart bit 😊
Well, it seems there could be some truth in the saying after all.
This article popped up on a website I subscribe to – it and others I’ve discovered suggest it is possible in some cases to Die from a Broken Heart. Fairly close to the trauma that is but it didn’t say it couldn’t happen or wasn’t possible 9yrs later.
It would be sentimentaly nice to think Aunty Lena died of a broken heart and not from complications after a bout of pneumonia.
What Musical Memories do you have on this Monday ?
Linking to Mel’s MicroBflog Monday
Well that’s exactly what I asked myself when I found this photo in one of the boxes. Who remembers the boxes – which aren’t quite as full as they were but certainly nowhere near empty lol It was a sunny day, we were having fun in a park and then The Golfer mentioned a photo to record the day. Looks like I certainly didn’t want that to happen.
1972 was a strange year, we had struggled to sell our house, something that needed to be done so we could finalise migration procedures. There should have been smiles all round in this photo because we had just been to Australia House to advise them we’d jumped that last hurdle and could they set the wheels in motion, give us a ‘date’ and arrange our flights. Looking back now I think it was at that moment when reality set in and there was no going back.
This next one was there in the box as well. Yes it’s another one of ‘my favourite five and me’ on another sunny day; this time on a day out with my mother, the children’s grandmother. I might have mentioned my strained relationship with my mother, and if ever I should have been looking glum this is the photo that should have recorded it. But no, it was laughs and giggles most of the day – from me. the kids and mum. If I remember correctly this was the ‘now make funny faces’ for the camera one 🙂
The kids and I had spent most of their summer holidays in the town where mum and dad were living – a four hour drive from our place. Once they were back at school we’d be busy packing up the house and all that went with a move like that knowing there’s be no time for an extended stay. I think it was then on that day I finally ‘forgave’ mum for the troubled times we’d been through earlier on in my life as well as after I married (so many buttons were pushed by us both) and just went with the flow and accepted the way she was.
Yes I know – this is the sort of thing that happens when you grow older. Wonder which photographs my children will ponder on? Is it possible they will have memories of those two days? Perhaps I should ask them and see what they say – what do you think?
I wonder if there are many these days who get down on their hands and knees and actually scrub the floor. We might bob down to clean up a spill or dirty mark but I think the days of heavy scrubbing have long gone.
Years ago when I first met her (and also for many years after) my mother in law would do just that. She would get down with a bucket of hot soapy water beside her and using a flat brush (like the one above) dip it in the water and then scrub an area of the floor. Then she’d take a rag kept just for that purpose and with a wiping motion move it over the floor where she’d scrubbed and gather all the wet water together, then wring the rag out over her bucket. ‘Rinse’ the rag and rub it over the floor again. And so on until she’d washed all the floor.
Then she’d lay newspaper all over the clean wet kitchen floor to allow my father in law (but nobody else) to walk to his favourite chair without taking off his shoes/boots. Everyone else had to be inside the house before the floor washing began or find something to do outside until it was dry.
Me, well I wasn’t what you would call a floor scrubber, more a mopper lol So old fashioned I used to say; no way was I getting on my hands and knees for anyone, with all our children in their younger days coming and going in and out of the kitchen I was an everyday mopper.
Then they found out that if they did as they were told and took their shoes off at the door Mum wasn’t yelling at them all the time and needing to wash the floor everyday. Mum also discovered that all she needed to do was to clean under the kitchen table everyday – for dropped food etc – as the rest of the floor stayed cleaner than before. So out would come the mop and bucket and I’d swish away after each meal.
I bet you know where I’m going now – yes after a while I discovered it a lot easier and a lot less troublesome to get down on my hands and knees and just clear up under the table with a wet cloth.
Nowadays, with no messy footprints and no food drops under the table, all the floor needs after a sweeping is a weekly clean over with a wet mop. But there are times when I would love to be able to get down (and then get back up again without grunting and groaning ) and give the floor a good old scrub on a regular basis.
For all those who need to know – How to mop a floor: 12 step (with pictures)
Oh yes, and here is the purpose of this little bit of reminiscing.
It’s Friday and we need some fun
And have I got the joke for you 🙂
A policeman call the station on the two way radio
‘Hello, Is that the Sarge?’
‘We have a case here.
A woman has shot her husband for stepping on the floor she had just washed.’
‘Have you arrested the woman?’
‘The floor’s still wet’
Hope this Friday is a fun day for you – with no need to wash the floor!
It just seemed like it was one thing after another.
What with dropping my ipad last September in the confusion of repacking carry on things post security checks at Athens airport and it landing on a corner so I ended up with a cracked screen and then the wonky car key I laughed when The Golfer spoke about Christmas gifts.
I live with things that aren’t life threatening – like the car keys and the ipad that is useable, maybe just not A1. Also like my engagement ring or rather lack of one. The Golfer and I met in Cyprus just after the Eoka ‘troubles’ there had finished.
EOKA was a Greek Cypriot nationalist guerrilla organisation that fought a campaign for the end of British rule in Cyprus for the island’s self-determination and for eventual union with Greece.
He was a young airman and I a dependant of a very much older airman – otherwise known as a quarter brat:) We were walking past a jewellers in one of the streets near Ledra Street in Nicosia when I saw a ring I took a fancy to – not a diamond but a pearl. I was young and the pearl looked different. Well you should have heard my mother – ‘you’ll have tears all your married days’ Those Irish and their superstions – I didn’t tell her that The Golfer had given me the money to hand over which negated this superstition 🙂
I loved that ring and how different it was – untill I lost it 😦
We were living in Singapore and it was there one day, gone the next, never to been seen again but I couldn’t shed tears as it is the marriage that is important not the trappings and there never were any thoughts of buying another – there were children to be raised, homed and educated, all of which cost money. These last few years there have been occasions when The Golfer has mentioned another but after all this time that’s been the last thing on my mind although I will admit that when we were in Nicosia last year we half heartedly looked in shop windows in the same area where we bought the first one but nothing took my fancy like that first one.
Anyway just before this last Christmas he told me to come for a drive with him – to look at something so with no idea what it was curious me just played along. When we arrived at a shopping centre he took me to a jewellers and pointed at something in the window, something he wanted to buy me as a token of his love. Yes a tiny little pearl ring very similar to the original.
I couldn’t stop giggling and I’m sure the young girl who served us thought he was crazy when he jokingly asked me ‘well what about it, shall we do it? Your mum and dad aren’t around to say no’ – and I paid for this one as well 🙂
If you enlarge the photo you’ll just see it on my finger just before it was lost 50 years ago. I think this one of me playing with ‘our little girl’ might be the only one around of me wearing it.
I think it’s safe to say
He loves me – He really does 🙂
A hundred years ago today (11 September 1914) some Australians fired shots in anger – it was the day the Battle of Bita Paka took place near Rabaul New Guinea, the day Australians first saw action in WW1, the day the first Australians were to die in WW1.
One month earlier on 11 August 1914 a new chum had answered the call and enlisted in what was called the Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force. He had arrived in Sydney three years earlier after having served in the Hampshire Regiment of the British army so was well aware of what he was doing. His regimental number was 194 so it’s safe to say he was near the front of the queue and raring to go. He was a first cousin of my maternal grandmother.
Today The Golfer and I went to The Melbourne Shrine of Remembrance
(photos enlarge with a click)
The band played – colours were paraded
The armed Catafalque Party was there and banners were paraded
Politicians were visible – wreaths were laid
Prayers were said and The Last Post played.
The Catafalque Party left – Soldiers and Sailors had been remembered
The Eternal Flame burned above the new plaque
As we looked back at the Shrine on the hill
I thought of young James Bannister and wondered how well he would have done in Australia after the war had ended – sadly he never got the chance.
In January 1917 he lost his life on the battlefield in France
When the word Daughter crops up it’s often associated with the word Mother
Today I want to say thank you to my Father, who loved his 3 daughters
From me (the oldest) all the way down to the youngest!
I know that each of us in our own special way
had control of our own little corner of his heart.
Without Fathers there would be no Daughters.