Lost and Found

When I was 8 years old my Grandad died. To help my Grandma look after my Uncle (who has autism) we moved from our tiny terrace house in town to what I thought was a HUGE Victorian Mansion!

My little sister and I spent weeks exploring the 20 odd dusty rooms and months getting lost trying to find the bathroom (sometimes I still forget where I was going by the time I've got there).

One day, my Dad recruited me to help sort out some dodgy old electrical cables and pipes. Under the floorboards of my attic bedroom in amongst the insulation (and lots of dirt) I found this necklace, wrapped in a piece of newspaper.

I opened up the necklace and a tiny, little folded up photograph of a man fell out. This was all too cool for my 8 year old self and so, for a while, I failed to notice that the newspaper it was wrapped in was the front page of a paper from the day the Titanic sank.

Since then it has become one of my most treasured objects. My adult self often thinks it must have been a joke, someone must have hidden it there on purpose for me to find, it's simply too ridiculous for me to find a buried treasure in my own bedroom!

Yet somehow, my 8 year old self's story is more believable... hmm...