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Pilot
Here’s an intriguing but flimsy scrap of Horton family legend blowing about in memories of conversations with my dad – that, at his boyhood home in the rural hamlet of Footherley, he’d watched Hull’s own famous aviatrix Amy Johnson landing … Continue reading
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Are you listening?
The flimsy, coloured, ribbons of family history fray so easily. An estrangement here, a broken home there, and the garland of paper-doll-generations, each weakly willing to hold fast to the next, is torn beyond repair. Memories blow away with the … Continue reading
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Pearls for Tears.
May 1st offered a cool and damp afternoon to Walsall in 1951. Marshalled by Mr Day, the kindly manager of the Hoover company offices, my mother, her jolly friend Jenny Fisher, and other of their colleagues tripped down the … Continue reading
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Study in light.
In the early 1950’s, in the rural hamlets of Footherley and Lynn in South-East Staffordshire, where my father’s family lived, darkness fell almost as thickly in the evening as it had done before wartime. In the tiny rooms of … Continue reading
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One fleeting image
Even his daughters are all in their ninth decade of life. Only they remain able to squint at this little photograph and confirm his identity: Edward Sheldon, my grandfather. War veteran, Seaforth Highlander with a rich Black Country accent. On the Somme and … Continue reading
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On a clear day….
If I climb up a short way behind this gravity-defying pile of stones in the Welsh mountains that I now call home, I can view a dozen lofty peaks three times higher than the eminences of Barr Beacon and Castle Ring, … Continue reading
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Footsteps
Like many old dwellings, Keepers Cottage, Orgreave boasted a wooden threshold gently gouged concave with age, but not at the front door, through which I was ceremoniously carried, when we became its owners. No, this one had been fashioned by the tread … Continue reading
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Out of the woods
The last time I went to Fishpond Cottage was in about 1968, soon after my dad’s Uncle Jack had died. Whoever now owned it, or, for all I know, had owned it all along, wanted it completely refurbished, and had … Continue reading
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Where roads meet
…………Fragments of hand written notes come to me from my Aunt Mary about her early years in Stonnall and Walsall Wood, and married life in Lynn Lane, transcribed by my cousin Rosalind. Along with stories I remember her telling me, … Continue reading
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