Memories of my Mum

I see a woman wearing a red, white and grey print dress. The red bits are flowers, what kind of flowers I don’t know. Although this memory is from the early nineteen sixties, the dress is fifties in style and length, being gathered at the waist by a narrow white belt, from where it flows downwards and outwards. She is wearing a jewelled brooch, and bright red lipstick, which matches the red parts of the dress. Her brown hair is crinkled into a perm, again, fifties style. She is also wearing white, open-toed sandals.

The photo was acually taken in 1955, but is the only one I have of my mother in her prime. She is the woman on the far left. I am the baby with the big head.
 
Thank you Mum for your funny stories and pawkie jokes.
Thank you Mum for saying: ‘God is the goodness within you.’
Thank you Mum for introducing me to Bartok, Gracie Fields, and Willie McCulloch.
Thank you Mum for lending me your musical genes and liking the Beatles.
Thank you Mum for showing me Glasgow and telling me about your War.
Thank  you Mum for your never-ending love.
And to quote your own great line: I love you from the heart of my bottom.