My Paternal Grandmother: Memory

My paternal grandmother was a true life-force. I think you can see that in her lovely straight back and direct gaze into the camera. My memory of her is of a kind, loving granny to me. She lived in a little cottage, alone after the death of her husband, and my dad would take me down in his car to that part of the same village we lived in. I loved spending time with her. She cut the thinnest, transparent slices of bread I have ever seen and she loved giving me tea with wafer-thin sandwiches.

Granny, called Ada. I remember her drop earrings and necklaces and the little muslin cover she put over the milk jug with beads to weigh it down. She died on my sixth birthday, but my memory of her is quite perfect. Thank you granny for being in my life for my first six years!

This is a family group photo: Granny, my dad when he was a very young man, my Aunty Madge (I'm supposed to look like her) and my grandfather, Henry. He sadly died before I was born.