tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73356975992816875722024-03-18T21:09:46.752-07:00Hanging On My WordCuriosities Old and NewLittle Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.comBlogger382125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-61074208683691676142020-01-03T07:40:00.001-08:002020-01-03T07:40:55.076-08:00Ghosts of Christmases Past<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As this is the 500th Sepia Saturday call and I am a long-term contributor (though I've lapsed somewhat recently), I thought I'd answer with this offering.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year has been tinged with sadness as I lost a friend in January and then my Mum in April. At the Festive Season I often find myself reflecting on Christmases past. Good times shared over the years with friends and family, many of whom have since left us. It's inevitable as we get older, but we need to remember that these were happy times and the photos in the Christmas album evoke fond memories. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mum (along with Dad, who died not long before Christmas 2012) was a star of many a blogpost I wrote for Sepia Saturday, and so I am going to simply share Christmas images of them, starting with a black and white snap from 1965. Their first Christmas as a married couple was 1942, but as this was wartime, and both were serving in the armed forces, there would have been little time to enjoy festivities; there were certainly no photos. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 1965 snap is the earliest I can find with any clue that it is Christmas. I know they had happy ones before that, even though money was short. Both were resourceful and creative, and Christmas decorations would be fashioned from found objects, natural and otherwise. They would often join us for Christmas, travelling to Germany when we were stationed there with the RAF in the early 1980s, and in more recent years to Lanzarote, where we now live, for a different kind of Christmas, in the sun.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By 1979 there was a new grandson to play with. The streets were quiet in Germany for Christmas 1983.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were back in Wiltshire by 1990. Mum sits quietly in anticipation, whilst in 1992 Dad gets beaten at a Christmas game by his grandson.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1995 a brisk walk around the Cathedral Close was called for, and we wrapped up warm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A look of love at Christmas 1999. .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A hamper of treats for 2000.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the inevitable game of Scrabble in 2003</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2004 was very red and gold, but Dad wore his Christmas tie. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Lanzarote for Christmases 2005 - 2009.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 2012 we brought Mum over straight after the funeral, so that she could rest in the sun. Being the resilient woman she was, she coped very well and managed one more trip over here the following July. Now she and Dad are back together again, and I'm sure they enjoyed Christmas, wherever they were. They were certainly here in spirit and in our treasured memories. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Join others for the <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2019/12/sepia-saturday-500.html">500th Sepia Saturday</a></span></div>
Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-34091364425517763522019-02-23T05:32:00.000-08:002020-05-17T07:32:31.332-07:00A Good Reason to Toast Again!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A choice of wines from local vineyards</td></tr>
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This is a re-post from 2011, but as relevant today as it was then. I'm linking to this week's Sepia Saturday. Originally the subject was ‘Drink Up’ for the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"><a href="http://writteninc.blogspot.com/2011/11/thematic-photographic-170-drink-up.html">Thematic Photographic</a> </span>challenge. Of course we don’t have to be urged twice! I managed to resist the temptation to post pictures of family and friends raising a glass or two to the camera. Instead, I offer you a pictorial souvenir of a visit last month to the Monumento al Campesino, here in Lanzarote (Monument to the Farmer). The brainchild of visionary César Manrique, it’s a celebration of the resilience of the local farmers and the significance of agricultural life on the island. It’s situated in the geographical centre of the island in the heart of the beautiful landscape of La Geria, famous for wine-making. The vines are grown in the harsh volcanic landscape, protected from the elements by zocos, pits dug into the ground and surrounded by stone walls; a method unique to Lanzarote.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDvpMT0yTfgcZ5olzb-CFQlOuWilnbT4RcbwhQRHnEmDCrwo7rugFoR3YQzzYM_aNQlavHbivXko78ygLCpPmkIAwYeKb0MwPS2fVRco_z19_9BggJsPzmRQE3g45vhPRDdVhGp9wolg4/s1600/IMG_7986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDvpMT0yTfgcZ5olzb-CFQlOuWilnbT4RcbwhQRHnEmDCrwo7rugFoR3YQzzYM_aNQlavHbivXko78ygLCpPmkIAwYeKb0MwPS2fVRco_z19_9BggJsPzmRQE3g45vhPRDdVhGp9wolg4/s320/IMG_7986.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Examples of zocos</td></tr>
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There’s very little rainfall in Lanzarote, and historically the islanders relied on rainwater or from supplies imported by boat from other islands. Until the sea-water desalination system was set up in the 1960s, farmers had to be very canny about their system for harvesting the little rain which did fall.<br />
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The ‘living’ museum has artisans practising their crafts, and examples of wine-presses and other agricultural and domestic implements. There was a wonderful restaurant, where we had a couple of courses. We couldn’t eat any more because, as you can see, they were very filling! This was my starter, which at home would have been enough to keep me going all day. Patatas Arrugadas (sometimes called ‘wrinkly potatoes’ because cooking method, using a lot of salt, makes the skins crinkle), served with the traditional red and green garlic sauces (<a href="http://www.discoverlanzarote.com/food.asp">Mojo Sauce</a>), dried dates, and slices of <a href="http://www.lanzarote.com/cheese/">Canarian ‘Curado and Semi-Curado’ </a>goats cheeses. The surprise was the dark slices in the centre of the dish. made with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gofio">gofio</a> flour. These were quite sweet and reminded me of a cross between a marzipan or truffle sweetmeat. I tried them to be polite, but they would have been just too much. The chickpea and fish stew which followed, was delicious, but again, very filling, and had I known the portion size, I would definitely nott have ordered the starter. It always seems impolite to leave food, but I really couldn’t have eaten another mouthful.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKF8aANR0RNBsaZiAV9snwQq9xa4UfkkoKyIMkJ44jYVhhqg0H64_fcPTUzoDGkjkcAdc157q1NwLXynwOVz6NPEqyYspEtdnzlmDWr2Y0Bl5LQdR9rPwUohrjQ-1h_wqLUbKjurgbZ0bY/s1600/IMG_8616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKF8aANR0RNBsaZiAV9snwQq9xa4UfkkoKyIMkJ44jYVhhqg0H64_fcPTUzoDGkjkcAdc157q1NwLXynwOVz6NPEqyYspEtdnzlmDWr2Y0Bl5LQdR9rPwUohrjQ-1h_wqLUbKjurgbZ0bY/s320/IMG_8616.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starter: Canarian cheese, gofio, dates and Canarian Potatoes with Mojo Sauces</td></tr>
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The restaurant served a selection of local wines and of course, there was the opportunity to purchase them in the shop. They were beautifully displayed, with information on each wine and the different vineyards and growers. It was difficult to resist and here’s one we managed to save from suffering the fate of the other bottle, which went very well with supper that night. Click on the link in the caption to learn more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDY6upX1dQlPKmsqkG5VQGBF-s97m1sVe1zSz3-TBxgcvDCUBxwRZtzlfbw8mYq00ADd4wx5oSU3eIEDednZGoR-BnB-06hLa-CarZttPaRBn4ixVNkQCNVTKsn0EdSJb0Ek2ZD-wknKi/s1600/IMG_2355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDY6upX1dQlPKmsqkG5VQGBF-s97m1sVe1zSz3-TBxgcvDCUBxwRZtzlfbw8mYq00ADd4wx5oSU3eIEDednZGoR-BnB-06hLa-CarZttPaRBn4ixVNkQCNVTKsn0EdSJb0Ek2ZD-wknKi/s320/IMG_2355.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.wine-searcher.com/wine-11471-0001-el-grifo-malvasia-dulce-lanzarote-spain"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Malvaisia wine </span></a>from El Grifo</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWcDfsyFDs4RfOytil0BHhQzq5HS3AQTR68tZjrlyaFb4pS3oNtnun7-cGq2Ku9N1WXAGWM5OPyB4ktpmgWWXBEUybMq6mXN-eCRkGSY0BimQyuNyXasB94Un3i3Cl30DjjzEHEQl15hi/s1600/IMG_2054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWcDfsyFDs4RfOytil0BHhQzq5HS3AQTR68tZjrlyaFb4pS3oNtnun7-cGq2Ku9N1WXAGWM5OPyB4ktpmgWWXBEUybMq6mXN-eCRkGSY0BimQyuNyXasB94Un3i3Cl30DjjzEHEQl15hi/s320/IMG_2054.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Examples of the old wine barrels, housed in the converted farm.</span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZHFNA7nzJ3gJr_auXhg9bjuuF06306iU6yhri2lnG5qJnYpRSYrtcVWyVRGPOFT3PE_98pmaP-QMYyxcgFlRCX_fN55tZKyvJTnhdD3xjGfJr_R-fJLvSaj1MZOQENrRLuJ_ciF2A6Ip/s1600/IMG_2055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZHFNA7nzJ3gJr_auXhg9bjuuF06306iU6yhri2lnG5qJnYpRSYrtcVWyVRGPOFT3PE_98pmaP-QMYyxcgFlRCX_fN55tZKyvJTnhdD3xjGfJr_R-fJLvSaj1MZOQENrRLuJ_ciF2A6Ip/s320/IMG_2055.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> In this poster diplayed there can be seen a typical Canarian farmer.</span> </td></tr>
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The poster bears the following the legend:<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">"Francisco has been fighting for his land for over 50 years. It is to his endeavours and the warmth of our land that we owe the excellence of our wines.”</span></i><br />
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The headings says:<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">“Wines with the denomination of origin Lanzarote. A good reason to toast”</span></i><br />
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So “Cheers everybody!” and when you’ve drained your glass, totter over to <a href="http://writteninc.blogspot.com/search/label/Thematic%20Photographic">Writteninc</a>. to see what other TP participants have come up with.<br />
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I’m also linking this post to <a href="http://www.bethfishreads.com/">Weekend Cooking</a>, which is Beth Fish’s weekly meme for all things food-related: book, movie reviews, recipes, anecdotes, quotations and photographs are all welcome. I’ve learned a lot from my visits there. Go on have a go!<br />
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And I'm re-posting this eight years later as it is the perfect answer to this week's <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2019/02/sepia-saturday-458-23-february-2019.html">Sepia Saturday </a>image prompt. A Paris wine bar, from the George Eastman Collection on Flickr Commons. It's titled <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/george_eastman_house/3702068556/">Marchand de vin rue Boyer by </a><span style="background-color: #f3f5f6; color: #212124; font-family: "proxima nova" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/george_eastman_house/3702068556/">Eugène Atget </a>(French, 1857-1927) in about 1910-11.</span><br />
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-69265398958240668952019-02-16T11:55:00.000-08:002019-02-17T03:01:19.076-08:00More Fun Than Fashion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I took this photo as I walked past a fancy-dress shop in Nottingham's Victoria Centre in 2015. The strange assortment of outfits, and the way they were displayed, appealed to me. Mannequins (or dummies) are usually draped in the latest fashions in department store windows, and it made a change to see something promising more fun than fashion. We are coming up to Carnival time here in Lanzarote when outfits just like this may well be on show.<br />
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Two years ago, on a visit to the Elder Museum of Science and Technology in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria (another of the Canary Islands), we saw some of the fantastic costumes that had been used in that year's carnival.<br />
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Here in Playa Blanca, where I live, I saw this shop in the Marina, The mannequins were outdone by the painting on the wall outside.<br />
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<br />In this 2011 photo my sister-in-law feels somewhat overdressed next to these shameless mannequins awaiting the opening of a new shop, also in our local marina.<br />
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This week's image prompt came from the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/george_eastman_house/albums/72157621011255003">Eugène Atnet album of the George Eastman Collection</a> on Flickr Commons. Why not see what other contributors made of it by visiting the <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2019/02/sepia-saturday-457-saturday-16-february.html">Sepia Saturday</a> page.<br />
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Postscript. If you put the word 'mannequin into Google and hit the 'News' tab, all manner of quirky stories appear. More naked mannequins were seen from the <a href="https://www.nottinghampost.com/news/local-news/bizarre-things-you-can-see-2526630">Nottingham Wheel</a> this week, and a dry cleaner in Worthing bids <a href="https://www.littlehamptongazette.co.uk/news/worthing-dry-cleaner-bids-farewell-to-mannequin-model-after-facebook-bidding-war-1-8811378">a sad farewell to 'Serena'</a> after years of faithful service.<br />
<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-45694874292293556902019-02-09T07:38:00.004-08:002019-02-19T02:57:50.475-08:00Plenty To Go Round<br />
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These photos date from August 1968, when I was on a return visit to the family of my Austrian exchange friend. Her father was a forester and they lived in village not far from Vienna. The dish was called 'Zigeunerpfanne' - literally gypsy pan, and it was a stew of delicious meat and vegetables, with spices, such as paprika and cayenne if my memory is correct (after more than half century, who knows?). I guess the idea was that the cooking was done as the gypsies would have done in the days of old. </div>
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I look a little apprehensive as my friend's younger brother stirs the pot, whilst his mother and and older brother sit back.</div>
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The other dish probably contained rice; her older brother's friend already served, and her father just behind him, enjoy a beer, as they wait for the addition of the stew.</div>
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I remember this time reasonably well, as her brother and his friend were on leave from the army, where they were on National Service. Her parents were quite anxious as it coincided with the invasion of Czechoslovakia by Soviet troops (21st August) as the culmination of what was known as <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/20/world/europe/prague-spring-communism.html">The Prague Spring.</a> Following this we awoke one night to hear tanks rolling into the village, fortunately they were Austrian, not Soviet, and we were then to have soldiers billeted with us. By this time my parents had also joined us for a few days, and my friend's mother would always prepare a little more than was necessary for this 'family' to ensure that the soldiers had some home-cooked food. She would have preferred to have her own son and his friend there, but that was the next best thing. There was always plenty to go round. </div>
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-35487707553098581202018-09-07T09:32:00.000-07:002018-09-08T07:54:02.111-07:00Step in TimeSteps have appeared as prompts before in <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2018/09/sepia-saturday-435-8th-september-2018.html">Sepia Saturday</a>, and really I should be sitting on ‘The Naughty Step" for being absent for so long. Admin Number One (Alan) has his head so full of his new grandson that he forgot to tell Admin Number Two (Me) that he was away, and to remind me to keep an eye on all things sepia. It wasn’t just Alan that was all at sea, but being the experienced sepia sailors that you all are, you navigated your way through without the Captain and First Mate.<br />
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I haven't got such a good excuse as Alan for neglecting my post, but if you read my very last sepia offering you will have seen that we became doggy parents for the first time ever, and Pico has rather monopolised our time.<br />
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People standing on steps appear in lots of photo albums and mine is no exception. The difficult task was narrowing it down to just a few,and especially ones that hadn't been used before.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="text-align: center;">Here’s my Dad in 1961, standing on the steps of Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzzIuAjw4Y2QeY20Y41ChmzzQ-HEVanysTiJHQkWC9kcCAey1WtoNGbTeKwSnnyjbxcZj7rZ0GQymhJFwFbjFUr5NOQ7Lhv2lHjVFx1oFvGKecVTckca3LvTQCAf1fPbIGuugvVygSmA/s1600/1961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="831" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzzIuAjw4Y2QeY20Y41ChmzzQ-HEVanysTiJHQkWC9kcCAey1WtoNGbTeKwSnnyjbxcZj7rZ0GQymhJFwFbjFUr5NOQ7Lhv2lHjVFx1oFvGKecVTckca3LvTQCAf1fPbIGuugvVygSmA/s640/1961.jpg" width="408" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">A few years later in 1995, my parents and I posed on some steps at Avebury Manor in Wiltshire. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Then in 2013 I was going up in the world. This was the Jardin de Cactus, here in Lanzarote. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-59538050410016992322018-03-31T05:27:00.000-07:002018-03-31T05:27:22.041-07:00Travellers’ Tails<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngDpbXLK3DPPHPD_EgOshu9PeNXqOMgmcvM0hIUo5AhJvgFUh6078yE8ZKMPOZrmUU3mBTkuP7DX0naFTYPQVLt3HP-IsOKeo2KA5XuRTqI5qZoH8iII06aJTeR_QshhQiZoRlgYexdM/s1600/IMG_5256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngDpbXLK3DPPHPD_EgOshu9PeNXqOMgmcvM0hIUo5AhJvgFUh6078yE8ZKMPOZrmUU3mBTkuP7DX0naFTYPQVLt3HP-IsOKeo2KA5XuRTqI5qZoH8iII06aJTeR_QshhQiZoRlgYexdM/s400/IMG_5256.jpg" width="300" /></a>Yes, I do mean ‘tails’ but there are also ‘tales’ to be told. The prompt for this week’s Sepia Saturday shows Anna Finlayson, a 1959 Canadian beauty queen packing her bags for her next competition. It appears that her little dog is unhappy about being left behind and would like to be getting in that suitcase and travelling with her.<br />
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We have just become first time dog owners and now have to take another little soul into account when we make any plans for travel. Pico, aged fifteen months, was rescued from the pound when a puppy; unfortunately he was badly treated by his new owners, so has been doubly unlucky. Now that he has come to live with us we can see that there are a few issues we have to deal with, and the thought of leaving him alone to even go shopping has to be quickly dismissed whilst we start from scratch with house-training and building up trust. Eventually he will be able to to stay behind for longer periods, as he slowly gets used to our ways. Time, patience and lots of love, which we have in abundance, will help him defeat his demons. He’s already sleeping all night with no crying or accidents, and the greeting I receive in the morning is joyous.<br />
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Although this is the first time we have owned a dog jointly, long-term readers of my blog will recall that when I was a girl I had a little white poodle who has often appeared in my blogposts over the years. He was a present for my eleventh birthday and lived for fourteen years; as I moved away to college and then got married, he became more of my parents’ dog than mine. However, when I was thirteen, I travelled to Austria on an exchange trip for a month and although (as far as I know) Kim did not try to climb into my suitcase, nor pine for me whist I was away, I was homesick and missed my little companion dreadfully. My host family had dogs of their own, but they just didn't take the place of my own beloved pet. <br />
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This is my favourite picture of Kim sitting, not in a suitcase, but in my mother's shopping basket. It gives a good idea of his size, and although small dogs are often toted around in handbags, he never was.<br />
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Ferried by car and carried underarm, but no, never in a handbag, whereas Pico...........<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpcgOrEIkg_tklb0RDGp-wswHA7cvs_FxmzBvTl08t16gWP5SqVvNrY_CKYTMbYFsSuVQeW-Go9bpnB9_AfjQXSR7iJl4tuYSc0tB1gArC_kFm-5AYkj_DtQwYwwpWZETPlnI_ZOLOgg/s1600/IMG_5195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1558" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpcgOrEIkg_tklb0RDGp-wswHA7cvs_FxmzBvTl08t16gWP5SqVvNrY_CKYTMbYFsSuVQeW-Go9bpnB9_AfjQXSR7iJl4tuYSc0tB1gArC_kFm-5AYkj_DtQwYwwpWZETPlnI_ZOLOgg/s200/IMG_5195.jpg" width="194" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjrGlM5p9r_qXYV7PWTuz8I_ujMScvY2heubZTs-W29Zl_Xo4IjovfCfBTnvOmJ7DoQjtWgpn3ctGlV-WUrLAJolOyPN8fmHEH1o3iTVE1Yr85fcDpGms1Bdkdm2qhmJE-y1Ovv4EuAE/s1600/IMG_5194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1561" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjrGlM5p9r_qXYV7PWTuz8I_ujMScvY2heubZTs-W29Zl_Xo4IjovfCfBTnvOmJ7DoQjtWgpn3ctGlV-WUrLAJolOyPN8fmHEH1o3iTVE1Yr85fcDpGms1Bdkdm2qhmJE-y1Ovv4EuAE/s200/IMG_5194.jpg" width="195" /></a><br />
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............arrived in Lanzarote by air exactly a week ago today from Gran Canaria, having travelled on the charity volunteer’s knee in a bag. It’s only a forty minute flight and allowed with dogs under five kilos. When we met them at arrivals I asked where the dog was and she pointed to her shoulder bag.<br />
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And there you have it in black and white travellers’ tails - which are constantly wagging.<br />
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Join other travellers and their best friends for this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2018/03/sepia-saturday-412-31st-march-2018.html">Sepia Saturday,</a> to see what they made of the prompt, which come courtesy of Vancouver Public Library, via flickr commons.Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-19012139102046548372018-02-24T09:10:00.001-08:002018-02-24T16:22:25.600-08:00Girl, Bicycles and Dogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was our prompt picture for this week’s Sepia Saturday; it comes from the State Library of Queensland, Australia, and it features<span style="color: #212124; font-weight: 700;">: </span><span style="color: #212124;">Miss Ida Zornig of Maryborough c1911. I'm a little short of time, photographs and ideas this week; however, a quick trawl through my photograph collection yielded one or two, (although I'm sure they have been seen before).</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #212124;">This is my Mum, aged about eighteen on her treasured bicycle. It featured in <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2015/04/girl-on-bicycle.html">Girl on a Bicycle</a> back in 2015, along with the one below of my daughter, learning to ride, in 1982.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #212124; font-family: inherit;">Here</span><span style="color: #212124;">’</span><span style="color: #212124;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">s my daughter again, in 1990, with a friend</span>’<span style="font-family: inherit;">s dog, Spark, and three years ago, making friends with a young Podenco who followed us on our walk. Podencos are Canarian hunting dogs.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #212124;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just for fun, here</span>’<span style="font-family: inherit;">s a dog on a bicycle; well, in a basket on a bicycle, strictly speaking. I snapped this just a couple of weeks ago, so aged him using editing tools to fit in with the sepia side of things.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #212124;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-52298636902827691362018-02-10T07:29:00.000-08:002018-02-10T08:42:20.381-08:00Golden CouplesToday is the Golden Wedding Anniversary of my brother and his wife. I was a bridesmaid and I can’t believe it was fifty years ago - I bet they can’t either! We’re all grandparents now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOICDXMJnP3b_uBFtfYEP9nsrZXDkITH8DKBCOeqvy0YugcmCco20ApCpSkr2vZGbZfe9yeGAJG16NJYa6fPmz2XHtulorvq8puGqqwmq8454dWCGov8kvMJ1rVU2N4zfY134N14C9AE4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-02-07+at+19.38.05.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="665" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOICDXMJnP3b_uBFtfYEP9nsrZXDkITH8DKBCOeqvy0YugcmCco20ApCpSkr2vZGbZfe9yeGAJG16NJYa6fPmz2XHtulorvq8puGqqwmq8454dWCGov8kvMJ1rVU2N4zfY134N14C9AE4/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-02-07+at+19.38.05.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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My sister-in-law’s faux-fur trimmed train was a nod to the chilly conditions of a February wedding, but fortunately the sun shone and everyone had a lovely day. I believe my sister-in-law made her own wedding cake. They were married in the same church where I would be married seven years later, and where our parents worshipped for fifty years.<br />
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Mention of the parents reminds me that our own parents had long and happy marriages and so set a good example to us all. The family has its share of divorced and separated couples, as do most, but my parents made it to their <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2011/08/not-rhett-and-scarlett.html">Platinum Wedding</a> (seventy years) and my parents-in-law to their Golden Wedding, as did my grandparents, before one partner passed away. My sister-in-law, sadly lost her own mother just three years after the wedding, just as her first grandchild was being welcomed into the world.<br />
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Here are my grandparents cutting the cake (made by my sister-in-law) at their Golden Wedding, as featured in my post <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2016/08/golden-years.html">Golden Years</a>, and my parents at their own Golden Wedding; cake also made by my S-i-L.<br />
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And for good measure, here we are at our Silver Wedding - guess who made the cake - and celebrating our Ruby at the largest telescope in the world on La Palma, in the Canary Islands. Just a few more years before we join the ranks of our families’ Golden Couples.<br />
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Join us this week at <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2018/02/sepia-saturday-405-10-february-2018.html">Sepia Saturday, </a>where the prompt image is couples, very appropriate so close to Valentine’s Day.<br />
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-61829618182802393012018-02-03T00:10:00.000-08:002018-02-03T00:10:01.545-08:00Birthday Honours<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Today is the birthday of my maternal grandmother, born in 1897. Even though she died forty years ago, the date came into my head and reminded me, possibly because I’ve been tweaking the family tree recently, and delving into the history of her family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I have written about her many times on this blog, and early readers may remember that one of my first ever posts was about her wedding, a hundred years ago this year, in <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2011/04/wedding-day-delay.html"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Wedding Day Delay.</span></a> I also covered her rôle in WW1 as a munitionette, in <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2011/06/she-did-her-bit.html"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">She Did Her Bit</span></a>. In <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2016/08/golden-years.html"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Golden Years</span></a> she appeared with mygrandfather at their 50th wedding anniversaary. I’m not going to reprise all the posts here, nor repeat my many memories of her; instead here is a collage taken from the family albums. The first, taken in 1916, is the earliest photo we have of her, and the last, taken by my father, is when she had moved in to live with my parents and was quite frail. She died in 1977.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This picture, shows her very much as I remember her in her later years. My grandfather died in 1971, and for a while she managed to stay in her own home, with some help. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Join others at <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2018/01/sepia-saturday-404-3-february-2018.html"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Sepia Saturday</span></a> this week, to see more old photographs and memories.</span></div>
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-50311745941001547962018-01-18T09:15:00.000-08:002018-01-18T09:15:05.862-08:00Grave Reminders<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>To the innermost heart of their own land they are known,</i></div>
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<i>As the stars are known to the Night.</i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Laurence Binyon</span></i></div>
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April 1984 was a memorable one for me and my family. It was the Easter school holidays and we were stationed in Germany at RAF Rheindahlen. My mother came over from England to join us, on her own as Dad was working, and we had a two days touring the WW1 battlefields and cemeteries, with two small children. Not the most exciting trip for such youngsters I know, but we were making the most of the opportunity we had, and they behaved very well.<br />
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I’ve written about this trip before, telling how we had gone in search of the memorials, and one grave, of my mother’s three uncles, and shared many of the photographs associated with them. I still had photos to show, and as this blog is about old images, here they are.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC55ai6kngM4XhbEbkoBb7oXk0nxmdq75YAhQkVoxxntASerc05NympaOjbnRlFECF7k-qHF7kayzWGCkzhevGwpUShDce5q9GYTogI1AkDyXWkI6DPHU0Vy9Ykj1PtzuJH6DOmZeorAs/s1600/Caudry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC55ai6kngM4XhbEbkoBb7oXk0nxmdq75YAhQkVoxxntASerc05NympaOjbnRlFECF7k-qHF7kayzWGCkzhevGwpUShDce5q9GYTogI1AkDyXWkI6DPHU0Vy9Ykj1PtzuJH6DOmZeorAs/s640/Caudry.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is my husband on 9th April 1984, standing by the grave of my Great Uncle Edward, in Caudry, France. Edward died here after the War, and you can read his sad story in <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2011/11/last-hundred-days.html">The Last Hundred Days</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7yXMaT9_-4zUT4vpSU60Z1xSWgqNOy8RH_qSjBJowYR_7vZe9xRL_Ffsz6XAylI1b-NXIBm2fK2pdPpXRub7TRhNAJDIPBu-_zC3xv03waRnVmozBYpWrG-kAdMWKdmFrlE0Qs7CsVMY/s1600/SCAN2156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1081" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7yXMaT9_-4zUT4vpSU60Z1xSWgqNOy8RH_qSjBJowYR_7vZe9xRL_Ffsz6XAylI1b-NXIBm2fK2pdPpXRub7TRhNAJDIPBu-_zC3xv03waRnVmozBYpWrG-kAdMWKdmFrlE0Qs7CsVMY/s400/SCAN2156.jpg" width="270" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPozQOvSXCRRB_Fm6LpBZDpQxszLDF32zcZ-uwlFqK0w_geUAhP4P5wWBFJlrbEkEB3k5xCb7jLrfE9qYUd9h7Deh8E1asvOqllxyvOzc8YfmJp9kfMMZO0UCGiwv0KTSosGM_qV14nM/s1600/SCAN2159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPozQOvSXCRRB_Fm6LpBZDpQxszLDF32zcZ-uwlFqK0w_geUAhP4P5wWBFJlrbEkEB3k5xCb7jLrfE9qYUd9h7Deh8E1asvOqllxyvOzc8YfmJp9kfMMZO0UCGiwv0KTSosGM_qV14nM/s640/SCAN2159.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The following day, among the many moving memorials and cemeteries we visited, was Tyne Cot at Passchendaele, containing 11,900 graves.<br />
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Here were also several memorials to the missing, including this one to the New Zealanders who fell at Broodseinde and the First Battle of Passchendaele.<br />
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There was an intact German Pill Box, later used by the Canadians as a field dressing station. This in itself a moving memorial, and a reminder that men of several countries died here.<br />
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We posed our small son, not quite five years old, in front for scale.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZm1M9rdRQfI095e2x6BSrAhyphenhyphen8N7_2qkEX_6Ar1U_JP8tEg69O1L2ikjkhcNyqEaN3yYLSTD60NclGFdPaR6JOVuT13TmSWwn-SuuNql15Dyqj50RzFR94FY-kkChag7Bgopv2YviEMg/s1600/SCAN2157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZm1M9rdRQfI095e2x6BSrAhyphenhyphen8N7_2qkEX_6Ar1U_JP8tEg69O1L2ikjkhcNyqEaN3yYLSTD60NclGFdPaR6JOVuT13TmSWwn-SuuNql15Dyqj50RzFR94FY-kkChag7Bgopv2YviEMg/s640/SCAN2157.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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We returned to our married quarters that evening, and a couple of days later, leaving the children with their grandma, we went off to Berlin, on a special four day trip. I wrote about that in <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2013/03/where-we-were-then.html">Where We Were Then</a>, and showed pictures of the amazing <a href="https://www.visitberlin.de/en/soviet-memorial-treptow">Treptower Park</a>, a memorial to the 80,000 Red Amy troops killed in the Battle for Berlin in 1945, and a cemetery for 7,000 of them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYS0Qw75omO4AbKNBqiMwWRVfh2AZXaH6ohoen4ju08TwY1EZTP3dDhG7KPb_kUJO06Hp2hDHR3KcPGw6AlnYWMfg9lPOj3te8oTRLs4riGnvgkIFqd6euwvPuwCJcPjelWU5G6nPg_Q/s1600/SCAN2145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYS0Qw75omO4AbKNBqiMwWRVfh2AZXaH6ohoen4ju08TwY1EZTP3dDhG7KPb_kUJO06Hp2hDHR3KcPGw6AlnYWMfg9lPOj3te8oTRLs4riGnvgkIFqd6euwvPuwCJcPjelWU5G6nPg_Q/s640/SCAN2145.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here, my husband stands in front of one of the memorials, designed as sarcophagi to represent the graves; these actually lie beyond the park, behind the plane trees which line it.<br />
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Altogether these Easter holidays were memorable and a grave reminder of the scale of damage and misery wreaked by two world wars.<br />
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See more contributions to this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2018/01/sepia-saturday-402-20th-january-2018.html">Sepia Saturday,</a> where our prompt image is Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, from The National Library of Ireland on Flickr Commons.<br />
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-7746243712893934342018-01-06T10:37:00.002-08:002018-01-06T10:37:25.479-08:00All in a Row<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Midsummer rather than Midwinter and we’re all keeping cool with an ice lolly, or ‘suckers' as we called them. We’re all sitting in a row and I’m the tiniest one in the middle, with a cute bow in my hair, very fashionable for 1954. I don’t recognise most of the others. The girl on the far left was our next door neighbour and my parents’ goddaughter, so I’m guessing they’re all neighbours’ children. We don’t seem to be in play clothes; the girl next to me has a hand-smocked dress and the boy is wearing his slippers!<br />
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I know it’s our front garden because that is our birdbath, made by grandfather, and which has appeared in countless photographs over the years as well as always moving house with us.<br />
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I couldn’t let the first <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2018/01/sepia-saturday-400-6-january-2018.html">Sepia Saturda</a>y of 2018 go by without leaving my mark, even if it’s a tiny one. Our prompt image was a family group, lined up all in a row.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWSTLj7QWckWF-g2DyVF-CAz2HaUnFCdYYowVC5pm1N4b_kqrlU3jZCav8h4XJuptSV2nw1QPhLDorNrcIDZcTRTQMBCM_E7RhEIW141r0P8gEUfDyi7iu4Nb_hheNEraPiaZ7RoEaPs/s1600/1712-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="640" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWSTLj7QWckWF-g2DyVF-CAz2HaUnFCdYYowVC5pm1N4b_kqrlU3jZCav8h4XJuptSV2nw1QPhLDorNrcIDZcTRTQMBCM_E7RhEIW141r0P8gEUfDyi7iu4Nb_hheNEraPiaZ7RoEaPs/s200/1712-21.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-6075321647409404472017-12-21T11:35:00.000-08:002017-12-21T11:35:10.595-08:00Season’s Greetings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsK2WaKvIcCsnaQenXDyFGh5OTP2nWjohA-m_pGpHmuq2a8XXHkv76Lb-yMipi67onRuPkxwTrcHg-97LsuU7N9PC4HWJc6mM1rYJ70RhsknCrh-xEyypdo5ABOK87i14fjAeoH3MXcDo/s1600/Scan+1+copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1388" data-original-width="1549" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsK2WaKvIcCsnaQenXDyFGh5OTP2nWjohA-m_pGpHmuq2a8XXHkv76Lb-yMipi67onRuPkxwTrcHg-97LsuU7N9PC4HWJc6mM1rYJ70RhsknCrh-xEyypdo5ABOK87i14fjAeoH3MXcDo/s320/Scan+1+copy.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Some of the oldest family Christmas cards in my collection. The one above, depicting a jolly Victorian coach scene, was sent by my mother to my father during WW2. The couple are also shown inside the card, where they have joined others in skating on a frozen lake. Scenes like these were typical at this time and also into the fifties; I remember that similar ones would also appear on chocolate box lids.<br />
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The one below was sent by Dad to Mum and and my brother, from the same era. Dad was in the RAF, stationed at Swinderby, and I’m guessing it was hard for him to get away to buy a more appropriate card.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnK-sxf3m8eDygYUwvC0r8ucs6K24WhBR2M2z_o6k6V_rcBxEKpDm_PQKmnKUD2F8xyA7mxIseewhMDRIrTznQwJnWrvR56OkZOkDYuzZr99WqtA4JK2Uolsq48aRHRkvH3iYAKD59Ic/s1600/RAF+1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="680" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnK-sxf3m8eDygYUwvC0r8ucs6K24WhBR2M2z_o6k6V_rcBxEKpDm_PQKmnKUD2F8xyA7mxIseewhMDRIrTznQwJnWrvR56OkZOkDYuzZr99WqtA4JK2Uolsq48aRHRkvH3iYAKD59Ic/s320/RAF+1.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFjqrcSiWKN475Wh1UeIva4iJDerGtws3b9niQ3d6YzRjLF5X-ALN0rfny0UJQALji0_pVFY1La6aZYN8YLTeNzX-OhExLVKOVfm-3q4FTVaQLLz1cwlAjMi3LblvswNjdu-YBgqeLIc/s1600/RAF+2+copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="610" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFjqrcSiWKN475Wh1UeIva4iJDerGtws3b9niQ3d6YzRjLF5X-ALN0rfny0UJQALji0_pVFY1La6aZYN8YLTeNzX-OhExLVKOVfm-3q4FTVaQLLz1cwlAjMi3LblvswNjdu-YBgqeLIc/s320/RAF+2+copy.jpeg" width="281" /></a></div>
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The front of the card was very simple, with a small RAF symbol in the middle of a cream background. Inside, the greeting was very straightforward, but Dad managed to personalise it in his beautiful copperplate handwriting. He still thought of Mum as his sweetheart as they’d only been married two years, but in fact she remained so for the next seventy. It was one of his many terms of endearment.<br />
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My brother sent his own card with a line-drawn snowman. The card stated that it was hand coloured, but not by my brother who was far too young. The greeting on the back is in Mum’s handwriting, but my brother has been instructed to add some kisses to Daddy and there are a handful of spidery pencilled crosses.<br />
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When he was older I’m sure my brother would have made his own Christmas cards, just as my own children did in the 1980s. Most parents, and grandparents, will tell you that these are the real treasures; the cards are often made at school and frequently covered in shiny paper and glitter.<br />
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For years, both my children made their own cards; many were inventive and creative, but here are a couple of their early attempts.<br />
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My son’s Three Kings, one of whom appears to be happily distracted, and the message inside my daughter’s card, in which she has thoughtfully shown herself and her brother.<br />
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This is my contribution to the Christmas and New Year edition of <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/12/sepia-saturday-399-23-30-december-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a>, where our prompt image, below, is from the Flickr Commons collection of the Cloyne District Historical Society, the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/cdhs/albums/72157666009906716">Muriel and John Van Ness album</a>.<br />
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It only remain for me to say to all my readers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. see you all in 2018.<br />
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<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-14090134288763066342017-12-16T05:57:00.001-08:002017-12-16T08:19:36.206-08:00Snowbabies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN0IPUAElu3UaQrGWynV2UHD7db0OithgZbUSMiyQAscQB42T0qPftY9huQ-W6c3298qV4KsKAeuug4YipSrteg7T6cBHkCzy1IOjS8cDhUxlSjeu_jslPnu5zLotZVguGbtoHBuG8yk0/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #4d469c; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1488" data-original-width="1300" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN0IPUAElu3UaQrGWynV2UHD7db0OithgZbUSMiyQAscQB42T0qPftY9huQ-W6c3298qV4KsKAeuug4YipSrteg7T6cBHkCzy1IOjS8cDhUxlSjeu_jslPnu5zLotZVguGbtoHBuG8yk0/s640/IMG_0001.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top-left-radius: 0px; border-top-right-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="559" /></a><br />
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This little snowbaby is me aged about three years in the mid 1950s. It has only recently come to light, when a loose negative fell from an old album. The print was nowhere to be found, so this is a scan of that negative. It’s the only photo of me in the snow as film was precious and usually only used on high days and holidays. I don’t even know where it was taken.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmGZnPuNc3LoFtxnfdj_FdKCecllCH-UtJwiPcjwe6ZDgL7JC5DtwS20GMuXnwFyxHXjkCXRlFiKFjYN4lwFpI1oDGU23fKDWoyla_11E5faoat5RWUxWMvwrEYv8DyNTbljaQMEYp-E/s1600/Christmas+1979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #4d469c; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="1600" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmGZnPuNc3LoFtxnfdj_FdKCecllCH-UtJwiPcjwe6ZDgL7JC5DtwS20GMuXnwFyxHXjkCXRlFiKFjYN4lwFpI1oDGU23fKDWoyla_11E5faoat5RWUxWMvwrEYv8DyNTbljaQMEYp-E/s640/Christmas+1979.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top-left-radius: 0px; border-top-right-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div>
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This snowbaby is my daughter aged two, in the back garden of our married quarters at RAF Wittering in 1979. Her baby brother was only a few months old at the time and was probably tucked up warm and snug in his cot.<br />
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A couple of years later he was joining his sister in the front garden of our married quarters at RAF High Wycombe. Incredibly, only a few weeks before at Easter, it had been hot enough for them to play in the paddling pool.<br />
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Here are his twin snowbabies in their own back garden in Kent. The slide is covered in several inches of snow but that didn't stop my granddaughter.<br />
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Join us today at <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.co.uk/2017/12/sepia-saturday-398-16-december-2017.html" style="color: #4d469c; text-decoration: none;">Sepia Saturday</a> to see how other contributors responded to the prompt image of an empty Crookes Valley Park, Sheffield* around forty years ago. No hardy souls are braving the slide and swings here; they were probably all out sledging and building snowmen.<br />
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*Image by Alan Burnett<br />
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-79768819487939762232017-12-09T01:29:00.002-08:002017-12-09T01:29:48.685-08:00Quite a CatchSmall boy, big fish - my husband, aged seven, looking very pleased with his catch. His family would spend part of the long Summer break from school, in Anglesey, North Wales. They usually stayed in a cottage very near the beach. His father would join them for the part of the holiday, when work allowed, but for most of the time he, his mother and siblings enjoyed catching up with friends. The same families would visit the area every year, and while the mums chatted, knitted and drank tea from a Thermos flask, the younger ones would go off and explore.<br />
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One of the families owned a boat and would take the my husband and his father out fishing. He would sit at the back of the boat ‘spinning’ for mackerel and one day caught the bream, shown in the picture. Like the small boy in the prompt photo, he doesn’t look too sure how to hold it. These days he would hold it at arm’s length, or preferably not at all. He doesn’t eat fish, or any sort of seafood, and if we find ourselves near a fish stall on our travels, we have to hurry past quickly. This is rather a shame as we live on an island, and not far from our home is a village renowned for its seafood restaurants.<br />
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I wonder if the subject of the prompt picture actually liked to eat fish. We’ll never know. I must admit when I was 'trawling’ through Flickr Commons for the next batch of Sepia Saturday prompts, this one had to go into the net. Both little boys are very endearing and I still consider my husband quite a catch.<br />
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Join us <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/12/sepia-saturday-397-9-december-2017.html">this week </a>to see what stories and pictures others have shared, inspired by the tiny fisherman below.<br />
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<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-23467048438105982382017-11-25T07:43:00.000-08:002017-11-25T07:43:07.237-08:00There’s Something About MaryThere’s definitely something about our particular Mary. Today, this remarkable lady is 97 years old. She was born in 1920, lived through the Depression, served in WW2, married in 1942 and celebrated seventy years of happy marriage. She had her share of sadness, losing her brother when she was a teenager, and twin babies when a young woman. But she also had much happiness in her life and gave so much love to others.<br />
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She is a clever, artistic, creative woman who could play the piano and accordion, draw, sew and knit. A great reader and a lover of literature, poetry and the theatre, she taught us so much<br />
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She was widowed five years ago tomorrow, and lived independently for a few more years after that. More frail now, and with a rapidly fading memory, she lives contentedly in a care home. She’s my much loved Mum, but also a Mother-in-Law, grandma, and great grandma. I’ve written about Mary and her life many times on this blog, and her stories and anecdotes have been a rich source of material for my <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.co.uk/2017/11/sepia-saturday-395-25-november-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a> posts. To celebrate her 97 years here’s something about our very own Mary in a gallery of pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAffc0k0INXA4x8Ndq0DTzbz3thiAsixwBNTFAkgog8ljmO3FVcyMH7F0pxxy6zUEauis9tYsxwDC98B9QfbY-OeW2tUfmhi9UWBEp4mqonixSdgqTSynT0aeN2P9AhVbVAMD2kv-Gm8/s1600/Mary+Burrows+Pram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="646" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAffc0k0INXA4x8Ndq0DTzbz3thiAsixwBNTFAkgog8ljmO3FVcyMH7F0pxxy6zUEauis9tYsxwDC98B9QfbY-OeW2tUfmhi9UWBEp4mqonixSdgqTSynT0aeN2P9AhVbVAMD2kv-Gm8/s320/Mary+Burrows+Pram.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwkyuhFbAAsabLJrvn7PpVpxcnExJsmwj7q6-OVjmvJ963RfLT79dRRvuG98lB5YSnyckD9o_O1MPwuyBCf5dBrF_prWdM9hdjQ3QOI5MwInwYj-pyJtPyyvZMSPGXMmvf2nGpz4F4xc/s1600/Mary+W+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwkyuhFbAAsabLJrvn7PpVpxcnExJsmwj7q6-OVjmvJ963RfLT79dRRvuG98lB5YSnyckD9o_O1MPwuyBCf5dBrF_prWdM9hdjQ3QOI5MwInwYj-pyJtPyyvZMSPGXMmvf2nGpz4F4xc/s320/Mary+W+crop.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
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Babyhood and Childhood </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOyxYh8itti8WmgKtLo4bqa16_xRCf4shBgKMuPuBo8cozdX-gMLR4VTCrgsm6kieIqs0J5A04yEFQQ8o32xHTNaWge_Oa6Koj-d5S1HLxqfkZdkxdUV5dXX-lN-AgFoxrtj9wqCJnpk/s1600/Mary+Tennis+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="570" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOyxYh8itti8WmgKtLo4bqa16_xRCf4shBgKMuPuBo8cozdX-gMLR4VTCrgsm6kieIqs0J5A04yEFQQ8o32xHTNaWge_Oa6Koj-d5S1HLxqfkZdkxdUV5dXX-lN-AgFoxrtj9wqCJnpk/s320/Mary+Tennis+1.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
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Growing from Teenage to Womanhood</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidw5NkqwX74nWxmkvOHxXuB503ud3oZJc1BpPMsBzw2gCXEvrgB9BjiSVD93uPR7hQijj6WCadFEZO9a0oVOVPMzPQUcXbKzS3WGwcZJIRtvmhsu10WUHZweumcLBkzM1Y-LNrYu03WX8/s1600/Scan+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="743" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidw5NkqwX74nWxmkvOHxXuB503ud3oZJc1BpPMsBzw2gCXEvrgB9BjiSVD93uPR7hQijj6WCadFEZO9a0oVOVPMzPQUcXbKzS3WGwcZJIRtvmhsu10WUHZweumcLBkzM1Y-LNrYu03WX8/s400/Scan+4.jpg" width="301" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzp1qnBdY2O24ylN4rlecv6__lhZAMl6YxwKAb1TjV3VkwZVJBNy8C689Xz_va_czD_fbG9ax7ErGp5Jq-VGKA55uA9TNM7bxaCkIyZtVDJXR34Ixua-5ImqcwrMEBZ95ScdUuqOdZY4g/s1600/Mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1109" data-original-width="899" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzp1qnBdY2O24ylN4rlecv6__lhZAMl6YxwKAb1TjV3VkwZVJBNy8C689Xz_va_czD_fbG9ax7ErGp5Jq-VGKA55uA9TNM7bxaCkIyZtVDJXR34Ixua-5ImqcwrMEBZ95ScdUuqOdZY4g/s320/Mary.jpg" width="257" /></a><br />
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Mother and Mother-in-Law </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YJYR_oAuxSX-54ZLGgmN6Xb9gjwcujTvCYW33SR73ZgP1oWYAo4kWVvXZAqRqsoyZ1bIJIrJFw2REFONa4NG-5OKSse1lW8tqRlvQ8gafbabkgqWWxYIJvO4PG3h_MpGgaNvIZNZWSI/s1600/Scan+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="1198" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YJYR_oAuxSX-54ZLGgmN6Xb9gjwcujTvCYW33SR73ZgP1oWYAo4kWVvXZAqRqsoyZ1bIJIrJFw2REFONa4NG-5OKSse1lW8tqRlvQ8gafbabkgqWWxYIJvO4PG3h_MpGgaNvIZNZWSI/s320/Scan+2.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uclfiOjVV0vZRTLHDn0yjI-IFhD0dw1DQTPZeXpkA9hSco7X3WmgUqBBYGpRbL6p8uptA-FUI4YAxTAtF6Kjp83u1Dw431sm4d2SGmpk-z4mLpG2PTLtJDldpf4HPXLsVc3XB1wK1YY/s1600/IMG_0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uclfiOjVV0vZRTLHDn0yjI-IFhD0dw1DQTPZeXpkA9hSco7X3WmgUqBBYGpRbL6p8uptA-FUI4YAxTAtF6Kjp83u1Dw431sm4d2SGmpk-z4mLpG2PTLtJDldpf4HPXLsVc3XB1wK1YY/s320/IMG_0002.jpg" width="251" /></a><br />
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Grandma and Great Grandma</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzJiknmBvzlYWMmVP8jttVMMaCREJRAZqc9JJV-PhIl34J8oZCNU6seuWFbeTOQHDgfoI5b_qnpiwvsmx0YGvylPlYDaXYogn17TbpKTKGY1Y-AlC1IZbLnwoHdyrlHe7IT4F-4OOLUI/s1600/IMGP6573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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Loyal wife of seventy years</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AwlyF8pE89x26IuhAlqEqBJJKCpW6KS-8oXVvqq5c6wtLsfft-LqyutLGOdTWa6uQrczCR4Dp5cLCZTnE1PIDebbB5gkBVlrYWwEzbndYZ05-PuWSkH1PP8RMzbmz6_CqfvT2IbAKQM/s1600/DSCN0445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1520" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AwlyF8pE89x26IuhAlqEqBJJKCpW6KS-8oXVvqq5c6wtLsfft-LqyutLGOdTWa6uQrczCR4Dp5cLCZTnE1PIDebbB5gkBVlrYWwEzbndYZ05-PuWSkH1PP8RMzbmz6_CqfvT2IbAKQM/s320/DSCN0445.jpg" width="304" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbybIjrOz_DXWMbAwM1Alqkesgl7UE5kYmyufd16ePB2xIWOzzCV-sQM-DOkpskCiE2qNw5TVe5RmN6j_nbG-Q-7JAlm7nGGrSeH_9bXdk6MKgWG28hDhyphenhyphenteRdR0mYKm9y1yIrZwaC288/s1600/IMG_1308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1311" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbybIjrOz_DXWMbAwM1Alqkesgl7UE5kYmyufd16ePB2xIWOzzCV-sQM-DOkpskCiE2qNw5TVe5RmN6j_nbG-Q-7JAlm7nGGrSeH_9bXdk6MKgWG28hDhyphenhyphenteRdR0mYKm9y1yIrZwaC288/s320/IMG_1308.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-92121412725157084682017-11-11T07:35:00.001-08:002017-11-11T07:35:33.139-08:00RemembranceToday is Remembrance Day, when we wear our poppies and remember the fallen of two World Wars, and many conflicts since. I have covered this subject several times in previous posts, but when I put the word in the search bar for my photos, I came up with remembrance of a different kind.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElb3jGvS2oqEfm7n6URCLIQ66IqrX6Dv0xJxT7m840-9Pj1rJfflYhz3YyK8vuIjiBJvxrCQDSGUhUsDZu1jofUuA2cg7kz3JkMDwz6oxoxVVhcy7KeBybfAdTeZQMfouqGOQlcfu7tM/s1600/IMG_0178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElb3jGvS2oqEfm7n6URCLIQ66IqrX6Dv0xJxT7m840-9Pj1rJfflYhz3YyK8vuIjiBJvxrCQDSGUhUsDZu1jofUuA2cg7kz3JkMDwz6oxoxVVhcy7KeBybfAdTeZQMfouqGOQlcfu7tM/s640/IMG_0178.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The first is taken from Great Aunt Maude’s autograph album, written by a friend in April 1919, and beautifully illustrated .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIaj7u2SXnlPgWJAKN2cA4eGAvQmLyBSgyNNJoObYgQNYnpL9i3sPbG925u0AZS_5QeNAVoPrnIusuUERCUVMCsnLYh5yOUesgBAjEGCkLQRHMHPs2CnEkSSudtiewgmyP0sW-ltY1ds/s1600/SCAN2112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="986" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIaj7u2SXnlPgWJAKN2cA4eGAvQmLyBSgyNNJoObYgQNYnpL9i3sPbG925u0AZS_5QeNAVoPrnIusuUERCUVMCsnLYh5yOUesgBAjEGCkLQRHMHPs2CnEkSSudtiewgmyP0sW-ltY1ds/s640/SCAN2112.jpg" width="393" /></a></div>
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The second is a pretty postcard which I bought at an antiques fair. The writer appears to be a schoolboy writing to his auntie on her birthday. He tells her he hasn’t had the cane yet at school! The postcard is 4th July 1919; it was obviously a year when the word remembrance was at the forefront of people’s minds. </div>
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The address is Stanley Cottages, Guildford Road, Farnham, Surrey. I couldn’t find it on the modern map or Google Street View, although there are some houses labelled as Stanley Villas. The writer also appears to be called Stanley!</div>
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I spent a little time researching Miss K Blackman, but the nearest I could find was in the 1939 census, a married woman, Mrs Kate Blackman, living at 4 Guildford Road. Her date of birth was 16th September 1874, so it wasn’t her birthday being remembered. I expect that they were related in some way however; and it’s not just co-incidence that two K. Blackmans lived at similar addresses. Perhaps her husband Fred (born 1877) had a sister called Kate or Kitty, who lived next door.</div>
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Auntie Kate, or Kitty, obviously treasured the card from her nephew and kept the Remembrance safe for many years. As is the way with such memorabilia, it probably was disposed of her at her death, or that of a relative who had also been its guardian. I’m pleased to have given it an airing here, and who knows, perhaps a member of the Blackman family will be able to enlighten me one day. As is the nature of we Sepians, we can’t help being curious about what the postcard writer (and recipient) looked like. An old photo would be the icing on the cake.</div>
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Join other contributors to this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.co.uk/2017/11/sepia-saturday-393-11th-november-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a>, for more tales of old photos and postcards.</div>
Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-5184260807170392292017-10-20T23:22:00.000-07:002017-10-20T23:22:11.720-07:00Doorway Fashion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHp_YG3n0nRbxKTFULVcr_49Z9A-COmwKKX6SgYKkYJorooX2B6U9XfZwQqivaK-v9Cpd8qSYIgu5agsaX1l2wHg6yBb-oFeKaTAlPl1J2mt-CbtgFynkDDi25792U2xLAS5NPwPP5qA/s1600/Maude+Burrows+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="597" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHp_YG3n0nRbxKTFULVcr_49Z9A-COmwKKX6SgYKkYJorooX2B6U9XfZwQqivaK-v9Cpd8qSYIgu5agsaX1l2wHg6yBb-oFeKaTAlPl1J2mt-CbtgFynkDDi25792U2xLAS5NPwPP5qA/s640/Maude+Burrows+5.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Here is my <a href="http://hangingonmyword.blogspot.com.es/2013/01/where-was-maud.html">Great Aunt Maude</a> c1925 inviting us through the gateway of a house, where she was probably lodging. I have the original, which is very small and printed on quite thin photographic paper. It was most likely taken by a friend, using Maude’s own camera. She would also have developed it herself, as she was a keen amateur.<br />
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Maude was born in 1893 and is probably in her early to mid-thirties here. She was unmarried, and working, so could afford to dress in the fashions of the time. By now women were cutting their hair short and wearing clothes which hid their feminine curves. The garçon look was very typical at this time; in stark contrast to the long hair and S shaped silhouette before the war. Waists were dropped and hemlines rose to just below the knee. Flat chests and narrow hips completed the shape. Maude is also wearing bar strap shoes which were popular throughout much of the 1920s.<br />
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I remembered this photograph when Alan posted the one below a few weeks ago on his own blog, <a href="http://newsfromnowhere1948.blogspot.com.es/2017/08/the-girl-at-number-24.html">News from Nowhere,</a> so when he chose it as this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/10/sepia-saturday-390-21-october-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a> prompt, I plucked my own snap of Maude, quite literally, from the shoebox.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9lQ8PUz3snYge7Z7wPoxFCg5GCRodIxGqkX4Sd1iAJVy2tSTyFX8Ew_0BCjRbq7tt8m_AHO8JrewQuwKwUk8tDaxrgIMBA30sM-DVdwBJuSkQTSjMR9QjbCLnY1WMoEjIUtV_tcFet8/s1600/1708-119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="998" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9lQ8PUz3snYge7Z7wPoxFCg5GCRodIxGqkX4Sd1iAJVy2tSTyFX8Ew_0BCjRbq7tt8m_AHO8JrewQuwKwUk8tDaxrgIMBA30sM-DVdwBJuSkQTSjMR9QjbCLnY1WMoEjIUtV_tcFet8/s640/1708-119.jpg" width="398" /></a></div>
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They make a nice pairing. Alan’s is the girl at No 24, but as Maude is standing slightly to one side I have no idea of the door number. Both images have similarly spiked fencing and brickwork, although no 24 appears to have a rather nice tiled front path and a shallow step. Both images are damaged slightly as no 24 has a a ghost image of the fence and gateway to the right, overlaying no 22, and Maude’s has a thumbprint, in all likelihood her own, on the left.</div>
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The girl at no 24 is also much younger than Maude and the photo itself could belong in a slightly earlier time, before 1920, (when bar strap shoes first appeared) and when higher waists and sashes were popular.</div>
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Both ladies have charming smiles and seem to be equally proud of their houses and their fashion sense.</div>
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Just fifty or so years after Alan’s picture, I too became the girl at no 24, when I moved with my parents and brother to what would be the family home for many years to come. Sadly all our photos of that house are of the interior and garden, and even the street outside, but not the front door, and certainly none of me posing in front of the door. Great Aunt Maude once again, has come to the rescue.</div>
Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-29184936011843060852017-10-13T07:14:00.004-07:002017-10-13T07:16:14.987-07:00From the Desk of.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrgq2xuwaNsWPU8IylaVtRd91agr3VhA2EGCvVtKl8TvFo8hHALZ3ZOvRYsNncfZ61cxKPHRG9_ImzuAZ75azzhEwA5DD8uar9xF__v700vkbQY6tftn5NElJG6j9GYlvBAktjiukkJU/s1600/1983+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1223" data-original-width="1600" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrgq2xuwaNsWPU8IylaVtRd91agr3VhA2EGCvVtKl8TvFo8hHALZ3ZOvRYsNncfZ61cxKPHRG9_ImzuAZ75azzhEwA5DD8uar9xF__v700vkbQY6tftn5NElJG6j9GYlvBAktjiukkJU/s640/1983+desk.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is my late sister-in-law Gill, looking a little unhappy at being asked to pose at her desk. She was probably in the middle of doing accounts and checking bookings and other paperwork for the holiday apartments she and her husband ran in Devon in the 1980s. It’s taken about 1983 but the desk is a lot older of course.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0se3zlsqr2I-Kj_MGUJNtnjmVZ9JtN5mT4g6kDZhm4H90lMXpHLxT3KDvZoC-dWu1C45Cm-pwYErb4bqJsjlB5i2ilRwG_6Noo6Dh6EsDctX7uoW5FZat4t9hKwKHsBFElo2O_7fHr4k/s1600/IMG_0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1177" data-original-width="1539" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0se3zlsqr2I-Kj_MGUJNtnjmVZ9JtN5mT4g6kDZhm4H90lMXpHLxT3KDvZoC-dWu1C45Cm-pwYErb4bqJsjlB5i2ilRwG_6Noo6Dh6EsDctX7uoW5FZat4t9hKwKHsBFElo2O_7fHr4k/s640/IMG_0010.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And this is me, looking all efficient and headteacherly in my newly refurbished office, during my last headship. The photo was probably for the newly created school website. By then I was no longer teaching and the job had become a mixture of many admin roles; dealing with the school budget, liaising with the education authority, Social Services and the Diocese (as it was a Church school), overseeing building works, staff appointments, showing parents round etc, etc. On good days I actually spent time with pupils. When the office was getting too much to bear, I went on my rounds of the classrooms and enjoyed the company of the children. I didn't sit at my desk for too long at a stretch if I could help it; I had an open-door policy most of the time, which meant someone was usually popping in. There would also be meetings and courses to attend, often off-site.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OJmiTumx_V44v1yS8YtTLw9AqUzD3S_kWcxAiRhdsfYgXzwZYznIGJNdGu47SzwL4QMGfVB9lhJeVL1cli7DlWqqaSR0DqVDaCvbQ2HNYYynEwCE0EWfFB07m-b-7UVMdBw_o7lG9G8/s1600/File0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OJmiTumx_V44v1yS8YtTLw9AqUzD3S_kWcxAiRhdsfYgXzwZYznIGJNdGu47SzwL4QMGfVB9lhJeVL1cli7DlWqqaSR0DqVDaCvbQ2HNYYynEwCE0EWfFB07m-b-7UVMdBw_o7lG9G8/s640/File0011.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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By contrast, here are some good old fashioned school desks - well 1974 vintage - made of wood! This is m first ever class at a school in Lincoln. The children were rehearsing for a play, though I don’t remember which. Strange to think, that at twenty-two, I was only about twelve or so years older than them. Many of them will now be parents and grandparents themselves!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyDJY1zQ-KvDVBpIIi1BDT-H7nirkGPOfKgWI0FUZ38FuNtvJD5HjsbPEZd0XJ34vbSr6RRVA30Qzqrbjo0e-llJsz14-MMJAs5vSm_b8ktNdeme6ctul41952uK9RqB7fF3sIZ5GGIQ/s1600/Hoplands+Road+1986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1533" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyDJY1zQ-KvDVBpIIi1BDT-H7nirkGPOfKgWI0FUZ38FuNtvJD5HjsbPEZd0XJ34vbSr6RRVA30Qzqrbjo0e-llJsz14-MMJAs5vSm_b8ktNdeme6ctul41952uK9RqB7fF3sIZ5GGIQ/s640/Hoplands+Road+1986.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here are my own two playing companionably together at the desk in my daughter’s room c1983. Both computer literate and with artistic skills, these days, back then my son was computer mad and my daughter was the one writing journals and painting. My son now uses his IT skills in his work and my daughter has a sideline to her regular job, where she designs and makes bespoke earrings, dreamcatchers etc. This photo sums them up quite well.<br />
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This is the <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/10/sepia-saturday-389-14-october-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a> prompt image which inspired the above post. Why not see what other contributors made of it?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcQXQPegAHD0a2ErKIoBNs3WEX2lAjIBAoQA0j9NNyFhq6cPVSF4J0A4unIrZHWGzzfJpHtOafXbbSxXd-_ahJsdknUIBCtFrUfXTRSfkM4z9ErIOeWP94uAQAo5G5jzSj_3BtkRVlew/s1600/35621564391_ea8a07fe51_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="686" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcQXQPegAHD0a2ErKIoBNs3WEX2lAjIBAoQA0j9NNyFhq6cPVSF4J0A4unIrZHWGzzfJpHtOafXbbSxXd-_ahJsdknUIBCtFrUfXTRSfkM4z9ErIOeWP94uAQAo5G5jzSj_3BtkRVlew/s640/35621564391_ea8a07fe51_o.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betty Ayles, 20 May 1911 (Sutton Archives via The Past on Glass on Flickr)</td></tr>
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<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-63627875002206614852017-09-29T08:02:00.001-07:002017-09-29T08:02:21.339-07:00Who Has Control?A question any one of the four adults in the party might have been asking with reference to our four-year old twin grandchildren. The occasion was Remembrance Sunday 2012, the place was the Historic Dockyard Chatham. In fact the twins, although very young, behaved impeccably. Let’s face it a tour of a WW2 Destroyer, 1960s submarine and Victorian warship, are not on every child’s wishlist and we wondered if they would get bored and fidgety; instead they thoroughly enjoyed scrambling over HMS Cavalier, the Destroyer, and were in buoyant mood. This lifted our spirits at what was a very sad time. We had flown over to say our goodbyes to my seriously ill father, who passed away just two weeks later. of course we combined the trip with a quality time spent with the twins and their parents.<br />
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In the event the Dockyard proved a fascinating place and we didn’t manage to cover everything that day. There was also a temporary exhibition called ‘Whirrs, Cogs and Thingumybobs’ which I've written about elsewhere.<br />
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Here we are aboard <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Cavalier_(R73)">HMS Cavalier</a>, a Royal Navy C-class destroyer of WW2.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3OpUlLNbQvsxWXqLmhrqbsarRTPnEr83R0jUcIXAa5F-_fGkcR8rhITTjU6UZoUuSUxuDs1RI46t6RDplvWJyqoqRWjMhhTvH8O68MEeJYOuF6WlIfkowmzieYmyQosncHbXFBiU6YY/s1600/IMG_1166_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1600" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3OpUlLNbQvsxWXqLmhrqbsarRTPnEr83R0jUcIXAa5F-_fGkcR8rhITTjU6UZoUuSUxuDs1RI46t6RDplvWJyqoqRWjMhhTvH8O68MEeJYOuF6WlIfkowmzieYmyQosncHbXFBiU6YY/s320/IMG_1166_2.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6u-Ns_DDFD03hSNS2vU2Gj4GGf1iuJ759tf-HvMeHMZrnKasBfKyNLzuDRAZ1Q2UR5hS34LDr0pkolHQaPOT1PFFD5tIMjHX4sWB8au2SrAuKoFD9WxxozibyUAevkhFQBW-CMZLpa3E/s1600/IMG_4293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6u-Ns_DDFD03hSNS2vU2Gj4GGf1iuJ759tf-HvMeHMZrnKasBfKyNLzuDRAZ1Q2UR5hS34LDr0pkolHQaPOT1PFFD5tIMjHX4sWB8au2SrAuKoFD9WxxozibyUAevkhFQBW-CMZLpa3E/s320/IMG_4293.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57oYCktuepfNZwGyscH1TGLItO2CEwS1BAhQCrqDTK-hiu3-AV1qiWMxKTXr9j82PiPb8t1f822VO5hyJxMWjtywA3IWmfMNs-p3-UYjO_2Inq6XykQesBUQvoyFnh2Aw2ix6gbyrpUY/s1600/IMG_1173_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57oYCktuepfNZwGyscH1TGLItO2CEwS1BAhQCrqDTK-hiu3-AV1qiWMxKTXr9j82PiPb8t1f822VO5hyJxMWjtywA3IWmfMNs-p3-UYjO_2Inq6XykQesBUQvoyFnh2Aw2ix6gbyrpUY/s320/IMG_1173_2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The Bridge, where they took turns to issue orders, and the room where the helmsman received orders from the Bridge.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQIgj94zWEetIHb1RNFqVeRaVl-WjTGKa4e3LAp8s-BLyB8QGUgDiYBrkJjaBiZt1ydlgrGPPyTk9KRfx7PQo1urzoL2g276x7_pYrM_erhwWYhsHrK4Jy3lj82889i2Nagdi4wYT_tc/s1600/IMG_1175_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQIgj94zWEetIHb1RNFqVeRaVl-WjTGKa4e3LAp8s-BLyB8QGUgDiYBrkJjaBiZt1ydlgrGPPyTk9KRfx7PQo1urzoL2g276x7_pYrM_erhwWYhsHrK4Jy3lj82889i2Nagdi4wYT_tc/s320/IMG_1175_2.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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Below, Office and the Operations Office (later the Ops Room) full of interesting knobs and dials.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDU9Duk3RFHA8pYJLVxwEjf-GXW-3Ig-N5onJfJVEYVHLc_kIbrqEIOaDj2PSFA525re_KWjaJz39bhgYnxqZ90e58kYfH2D3CrNrZokJj5A7qLd9ZdMA43qibYSnLpqS4gt-I1fLvGxo/s1600/IMG_4294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDU9Duk3RFHA8pYJLVxwEjf-GXW-3Ig-N5onJfJVEYVHLc_kIbrqEIOaDj2PSFA525re_KWjaJz39bhgYnxqZ90e58kYfH2D3CrNrZokJj5A7qLd9ZdMA43qibYSnLpqS4gt-I1fLvGxo/s320/IMG_4294.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsrcJnJ0joPftXD_W4cVZNAbte7fviheGwGWLfnrI_fR_7zbdEyMei-PH-zunSLvzxM2y8KJjqMNvk03ao8URenvkhoqsHof7paQLKOojuZBYt6sD1mfnMQSah7SrlTxsVsIZVJEhYNY/s1600/IMG_1162_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="1600" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsrcJnJ0joPftXD_W4cVZNAbte7fviheGwGWLfnrI_fR_7zbdEyMei-PH-zunSLvzxM2y8KJjqMNvk03ao8URenvkhoqsHof7paQLKOojuZBYt6sD1mfnMQSah7SrlTxsVsIZVJEhYNY/s640/IMG_1162_2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And aboard the Victorian warship <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Gannet_(1878)">HMS Gannet</a>. This was fun and the twins are happy to have joint control. It appears to be the wheel that positions the guns.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn311_toyEMCzIupwJAzuGag6pe3N-9k1JDMNGxQKofGmnTBb1yVfUInGsaa2CysI3WsIknYGnKDp5vNWcIlSwwGT-0ox2hCnQ84EmWl2aYoIfFMjSvSS_HpglA06P2ea9mSR2JwmvnAY/s1600/IMG_4273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn311_toyEMCzIupwJAzuGag6pe3N-9k1JDMNGxQKofGmnTBb1yVfUInGsaa2CysI3WsIknYGnKDp5vNWcIlSwwGT-0ox2hCnQ84EmWl2aYoIfFMjSvSS_HpglA06P2ea9mSR2JwmvnAY/s640/IMG_4273.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And in the radio room of the RNLI lifeboat Edward Bridges (1974). Everyone can relax, the twins have control of the situation again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIUEVXmYxCWheyK9ASy2o-AtdyTH6Dxc62FHtEGxgC4rXKrmd-DC7VjubG15z8ScqaWjkFA1zsqMGRiXzKMn3v7RjL-_SHrru49FObWuHhwf4ooMIczbzcpZ_O8YsqG0Q8wEhS1_4aq8/s1600/IMG_1223_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIUEVXmYxCWheyK9ASy2o-AtdyTH6Dxc62FHtEGxgC4rXKrmd-DC7VjubG15z8ScqaWjkFA1zsqMGRiXzKMn3v7RjL-_SHrru49FObWuHhwf4ooMIczbzcpZ_O8YsqG0Q8wEhS1_4aq8/s640/IMG_1223_2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/09/sepia-saturday-387-30-september-2017.html">Sepia Saturday </a>prompt image was a 1948 B-36 cockpit, with far more dials, knobs and levers than any of the above. Why not visit to see what other contributors made of it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uvdFlh8m17F8a_5Efa5aQQYKeDNVT7MttRuRjtlDfcWfnj2Zsz7NPFgY2RJIIdB0-FEKJ-OzmbR384bnnyFmi2X-YsBxsIfQ1aHw9x5O1H9XtH2aoXSWztSCJ2TQil9wJqKduahXqao/s1600/387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="810" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uvdFlh8m17F8a_5Efa5aQQYKeDNVT7MttRuRjtlDfcWfnj2Zsz7NPFgY2RJIIdB0-FEKJ-OzmbR384bnnyFmi2X-YsBxsIfQ1aHw9x5O1H9XtH2aoXSWztSCJ2TQil9wJqKduahXqao/s320/387.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-60199104399076994232017-09-22T06:23:00.000-07:002017-09-22T06:23:04.098-07:00Look, What Can You See?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9nREqRFTvNfsHSctYaPnbTCBRcDRTy-t3ri4NExjNGnjSVZxy6ewcafappNXoC_fz4Xjby0IamsFvi9SHtdYGNEy-MjRsQBYjVHVDhFS9Ph3JSp3CVIYCY3B5crtb8cVyJmMsMJmkt0/s1600/Scan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="493" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9nREqRFTvNfsHSctYaPnbTCBRcDRTy-t3ri4NExjNGnjSVZxy6ewcafappNXoC_fz4Xjby0IamsFvi9SHtdYGNEy-MjRsQBYjVHVDhFS9Ph3JSp3CVIYCY3B5crtb8cVyJmMsMJmkt0/s640/Scan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Guess who this is looking out of the window with her daddy? I've no memory of it of course, because it’s about sixty four years ago. Dad was around thirty one or two, but looks older somehow. Perhaps it’s the bow tie; not something I saw him wear very often in his life. He was clearly trying to get me to focus on something, rather than look at the photographer, and I appear a little bemused.<br />
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It’s a shame that light got into the camera and I’ve been unable to enhance this any more to sharpen up the image, which is tiny anyway. I seem to be wearing my best frock (with a good hem to let down as I grew) and baby shoes with buttons. I’m not sure what the top garment is; perhaps a knitted bolero or something similar with short sleeves. On the window ledge is a biscuit barrel. We always had one and it usually contained a mixture of Rich Tea biscuits, Custard Creams and pink wafers. In later years Mum told me she had to stop re-filling it, as Dad was eating too many with his evening cocoa!<br />
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I’d probably just learned to walk and was still a bit shaky on my feet; in any case Dad is making sure I don't fall and his arms are encircling me. I may not have a memory of it but it’s how I like to think of my father. He was a very tactile, protective and loving man. He also showed me many things in my life. He had an artist’s eye for detail and encouraged me to observe things before trying to draw or paint them. “Look, what can you see?” but sadly I didn’t inherit his artistic talents.<br />
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For more windows and small children looking out, visit this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/09/sepia-saturday-386-23-september-2017.html">Sepia Saturday,</a> where our prompt image is young Prince Charles looking out of Buckingham Palace on the occasion of his mother’s coronation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMucbo0f7tHapwrZFgxpSwIHvyjYDKv1ZDNU7Hzk3geWEOfC6VYLLRxf8SJmx6UJQ23XBMTE5ld7iE22uFO4kurISH54USRBs327qgsIz3Z-PPHYy2yMUIwTV3EdvqQuAPSATpEIUQ8jA/s1600/386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="502" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMucbo0f7tHapwrZFgxpSwIHvyjYDKv1ZDNU7Hzk3geWEOfC6VYLLRxf8SJmx6UJQ23XBMTE5ld7iE22uFO4kurISH54USRBs327qgsIz3Z-PPHYy2yMUIwTV3EdvqQuAPSATpEIUQ8jA/s320/386.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-7460203733365959032017-09-08T10:21:00.002-07:002017-09-08T10:21:11.182-07:00Make Do and Make BelieveChildren have the ability, which sometimes as adults we lack, to imagine everyday objects into an adventure. As a parent and teacher I have witnessed chairs and tables being utilised to make dens, cars and boats. I have recollections of my own childhood, using my mother’s ‘clothes horse’ with sheets draped over, to make a tent, into which I would gather my favourite toys; teddies, dolls and books. On seaside holidays the sand could be shaped into anything we wished, not just a fairy castle or mermaid’s tail.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIISi-v3uBMEMaR4AF-JXzd5JuJfINATz0m3rhF4IYAxv0ZGjmih52bkF_kMXRKtl5rogLpk9ClPc3YcZxtbHXCV5SCB7kOg65YHJv9NF1IpKTAbkODzwSS_WRQtLrgXraTDJ9FoIT-o/s1600/Scan+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="651" data-original-width="588" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIISi-v3uBMEMaR4AF-JXzd5JuJfINATz0m3rhF4IYAxv0ZGjmih52bkF_kMXRKtl5rogLpk9ClPc3YcZxtbHXCV5SCB7kOg65YHJv9NF1IpKTAbkODzwSS_WRQtLrgXraTDJ9FoIT-o/s400/Scan+2.jpg" width="361" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Am I being a mermaid here in 1955?</span> </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yNU670kdrIZh8yBePI3z_MPzM8mDaOh6yvIlP1nwkCsSw8QK9i9_71W7Zltt9I56NrXqLdbEBXcfqi2r9tW3Y-G13CSrwc_TW2DE89eRP_iKzMC9Pcwedy2sEaXPgQdlrA9qRUxEtsM/s1600/SCAN1947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yNU670kdrIZh8yBePI3z_MPzM8mDaOh6yvIlP1nwkCsSw8QK9i9_71W7Zltt9I56NrXqLdbEBXcfqi2r9tW3Y-G13CSrwc_TW2DE89eRP_iKzMC9Pcwedy2sEaXPgQdlrA9qRUxEtsM/s640/SCAN1947.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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My own children in the mid 1980s whilst visiting their grandparents, used cushions, chairs and a tennis racquet to fashion a car (or motor-boat) that would take them and a family of dolls of on a trip somewhere.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #990000;">We built a ship upon the stairs</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #990000;">All made of the back-bedroom chairs,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #990000;">And filled it full of sofa-pillows.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #990000;">to go sailing on the billows.</span></i><i><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #990000; font-size: xx-small;">Robert Louis Stevenson; A Good Play</span></i></div>
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By 2010 our twin grandchildrenwere sailing away in a sand boat, with beach spades for oars.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkWl-mLCjOFAsP0D9O5mETKwliN5zpNULsikO9M6hO4tt7K7sDOjJVwt3vFTcXhNmo7KZhf76Z03K_iFF6Qaipdm6VemulX-VMa3DTIiZFUO07ghy7d6q4qEOvyyy1C_kt1BKkfQeI9Y/s1600/IMG_1976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkWl-mLCjOFAsP0D9O5mETKwliN5zpNULsikO9M6hO4tt7K7sDOjJVwt3vFTcXhNmo7KZhf76Z03K_iFF6Qaipdm6VemulX-VMa3DTIiZFUO07ghy7d6q4qEOvyyy1C_kt1BKkfQeI9Y/s640/IMG_1976.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>When I am in my ship I see</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>The other ships go sailing by.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>A sailor leans and calls to me</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>As his ship goes sailing by.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>Across the sea he leans to me,</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>Above the wind I hear him cry:</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>“Is this the way to Round-the-World?”</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>He calls as he goes by.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A.A. Milne: Nursery Chairs</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>Where shall we adventure today that we’re afloat,</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>Wary of the weather and steering by a star?</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><i>To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-small;"><i>Robert Louis Stevenson: Pirate Story</i></span></div>
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This week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/09/sepia-saturday-384-9th-september-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a> prompt is ‘Chldren Riding a make-Believe Horse’. They have used some objects (probably with adult help) to fashion a vaguely horse-like shape. I hope they didn’t try to feed their horse as he has a sharp muzzle! The little girl has a whip made of grass, but she seems to be unwittingly tickling her brother’s nose with the end of it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiniMisM3wb5y11bawmDw6Wz5uGdFbuNB4rIRTYuoZ5XlOosxzxxGdDu5fRF9TCm5P3laKC7RkAjaNqXaIPXfMDZ2dKcJXzObSLkz8TzlIWwIMk_HLu4fGP5LDFk9qk3BLdQ5OvYRAGoA/s1600/2bfc2207-5f82-4fb5-b760-1185f0b95ca3-A43650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1150" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiniMisM3wb5y11bawmDw6Wz5uGdFbuNB4rIRTYuoZ5XlOosxzxxGdDu5fRF9TCm5P3laKC7RkAjaNqXaIPXfMDZ2dKcJXzObSLkz8TzlIWwIMk_HLu4fGP5LDFk9qk3BLdQ5OvYRAGoA/s640/2bfc2207-5f82-4fb5-b760-1185f0b95ca3-A43650.jpg" width="459" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City of Vancouver Archives. Public Domain</td></tr>
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<br />Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-91098365611920602972017-08-31T10:05:00.000-07:002017-08-31T10:12:24.571-07:00Weep if You Must<div class="KonaBody" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; padding-right: 5px;">
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<i>If I should die before the rest of you,</i></div>
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<i>Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.</i></div>
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<i>Nor, when I'm gone, speak in a Sunday voice,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But be the usual selves that I have known.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Weep if you must,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Parting is hell.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But life goes on,</i></div>
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<i>So........ sing as well. </i></div>
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<i>(Joyce Grenfell)</i></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This is what we were doing the day Princess Diana died, twenty years ago today. Staying with friends in Cambridgeshire for the weekend, we wanted to make the most of the good weather and go out for the day. I recall coming down to find the youngest son of the house on the settee reading (I think Harry Potter) with the TV on in the background, and totally oblivious to what the newsreader was saying. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="background-color: white;">After the initial shock (and breakfast), we went off to a huge 'car boot’ sale/fair and (probably) had a pub lunch. I recall we bought a glass-fronted bookcase that saw service in several homes, including our daughter's</span></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white;"> student lodgings and first (and possibly subsequent) flat. My friendn</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white;">and I bought very nice blue check shirts for 50 pence each (Mark and Spencers seconds I think)- mine lasted for years. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white;">These pictures were taken somewhere picturesque. </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white;">I don’t think any of us suffered any trauma or sense of personal loss, any more than when any other celebrity dies (if you exclude Freddie Mercury, which I still haven’t got over). </span></div>
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The day of the funeral was different however; Salisbury, where we lived, was like a ghost town as so many people stayed home to watch the service on TV. Oddly enough I have the whole thing on CD as it was a freebie from my music club at the time. The stirring speech from her brother Earl Spencer, stands out above all other readings on the day of course but the most moving sections for me were two pieces of music; ‘Libera me’ from the Verdi Requiem and the sublime John Tavener, ‘Alleluia’ which accompanied her coffin out of Westminster Abbey.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFA5uuSghIunfzgCwVxKYI-fBnGBoEzO4uDruT4wHDDkDwLfgsuUnkbB76Rf7tge3-yRKrKL4nEYQ610mXJbcKVTOmZHOZOEChaIWoEjEYLo9XHJe8RTIdARyij_ECPmWWgyi415znKw/s1600/IMG_3874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1571" data-original-width="1600" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFA5uuSghIunfzgCwVxKYI-fBnGBoEzO4uDruT4wHDDkDwLfgsuUnkbB76Rf7tge3-yRKrKL4nEYQ610mXJbcKVTOmZHOZOEChaIWoEjEYLo9XHJe8RTIdARyij_ECPmWWgyi415znKw/s320/IMG_3874.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">After that came the surprising reactions of the crowds who had gathered to watch the funeral procession; and so began an extraordinary period of public sentimentality and a kind of mass hysteria. This eventually faded and things returned to some sort of normality. Unfortunately the legacy is that all too often we still see similar mawkish displays of ‘emotion’ over reported deaths, whether the deceased is known to us or not. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">When a stranger dies it is of course a sad event for family and friends, but doesn’t require any further comment from us. No need for the ‘R.I.P.s on Facebook, and the ‘our thoughts are with the family and friends etc’ - are they? Really? Time for the stiff upper lip again perhaps. Car Boot Sale anyone?</span></div>
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Linking to <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/08/sepia-saturday-383-2-september-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a> with memories and photos of the past.<br />
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-35204523893767422032017-08-03T10:44:00.001-07:002017-08-05T05:00:16.015-07:00The Goats of Lanzarote<div>
Majojero goats roam the hillsides of Lanzarote and graze quite happily on vegetation found in our volcanic landscape. </div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">It’s our delight when walking or climbing volcanos, to see the goats, usually grazing in herds spread across the hills, or occasionally we are amazed to watch a lone goat nimbly leaping across the rocky terrain. The goats are well cared for and managed according to strict guidelines, in large farms, as these ones near the village of Uga.</span></div>
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We like to climb up the Femés Ridge and see the goats, especially when the kids have been newly born. Sometimes they get themselves separated from their mothers and emit a pitiful bleating - like this one filmed by my husband. The kid's mother was only a few metres away and he quickly caught up with her.<br />
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The goats are an important part of the island economy; the meat is used in stews and casseroles, but of course it’s the milk which is most important for the goat farmer, both as a drink and for making into a variety of cheeses. </div>
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The island is dotted with goat farms many of which sell the produce from their dairy (quesería) at a farm shop, like our favourite in Femés, not far from where we live. </div>
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The cheese is made from goats belonging to the Queseria Rubicón, and there are several varieties to choose from. We like the semi-curado (aged for about three months ) and the curado (mature for about six months). these are rolled in different flavourings like pimentón (smoked Spanish paprika) or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gofio">gofio</a> flour. </div>
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If you buy a whole cheese they will shrink wrap it for you, ideal for visitors wanting a taste of Lanzarote to take back home.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The annual Fería del Queso in Playa Blanca</td></tr>
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We have annual food fairs called Fería del Queso y la Cabra ( Cheese and Goat Festival) where it’s possible to buy a book of tickets - each worth a euro - and exchange them at the many cheese, wine and tapas stalls. There are also cooking demonstrations and stalls serving from huge paella dishes. There is live music and happy, celebratory atmosphere. Combined with our almost endless sunshine, needless to say the fairs are popular with tourists and residents alike.</div>
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Examples of some of the tapas we can exchange for a ticket. My daughter is pointing to the Queso Blanco or Queso Fresca, a young cheese, sometimes made with a mixture of goat and cow milk and served, as here with sweetened gofio slices.<br />
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The white cheese is also a main ingredient of a typical Canarian Salad, consisting of cheese, beef tomatoes, sweet white Lanzarote onions, dates and sweetcorn. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade Canarian Salad; easy to make and delicious to eat with olive oil, black pepper and crusty bread</td></tr>
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In true <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/07/sepia-saturday-379-5-august-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a> tradition I have to include an old photograph. This one appears in several places around the island, often enlarged and used to decorate the walls of restaurants. I found a copy in Villa de Teguise in a traditional style restaurant called Cafetería Cejas. A caption from me would be superfluous as I think I’ve milked this subject long enough. Instead click on the link to see what other contributors made of our sepia prompt picture this week.</div>
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Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-73059243159682612452017-07-29T08:17:00.003-07:002017-08-03T04:00:42.351-07:00Beggar’s Bridge to Crane Bridge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is my family in 1988, on our holiday at Egton Bridge in North Yorkshire. We weren’t playing ‘Pooh Sticks’ just posing on a famous packhorse bridge called ‘Beggar’s Bridge’ over the River Esk at Glaisdale, not far from our holiday cottage. <br />
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I was looking for a suitable illustration of a packhorse from around the time that the bridge was built in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glaisdale">1619 by Thomas Ferris</a>, but instead I found this one from,<br />
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'<i>Chambers’s encyclopaedia; a dictionary of universal knowledge for the people’</i> published in 1871<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span><br />
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which also gives the following definition:<br />
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<b>PACKHORSE,</b> a horse employed in the carriage of goods, which are either fastened on its back in bundles, or, if weighty, are placed in panniers, slung one on each side across the horse’s back. The saddle to which the bundles were fastened consisted of two pieces of wood, curved so as to fit the horse’s back, and joined together at the ends by other two straight pieces. This frame was well padded underneath, to prevent injury to the horses back, and was firmly fastened by a girth. To each side of the saddle, a strong hook was attached, for the purpose of carrying packages, panniers, &c. Panniers were sometimes simply slung across the horses back with a pad under the band.<br />
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The panniers were wicker baskets, and of various shapes, according to the nature of their usual contents, being sometimes long and narrow, but most generally having a length of three feet or upwards, a depth of about two-thirds of the length, and a width of from one to two feet. The packhorse with panniers was at one time in general use for carrying merchandise, and for those agricultural operations for which the horse and cart are now employed; and in the mountainous regions of Spain and Austria, and in other parts of the world, it still forms the sole medium for transport; though the mule has, especially in Europe, been substituted for the horse.<br />
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I found the above image of Salisbury, in a book called <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/internetarchivebookimages/14771207682/in/photolist">‘Vanishing England’ (1911)<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>which the book describes as:</div>
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‘A small Gothic bridge near the Church House, and seen in conjunction with that venerable building it forms a very beautiful object.’ I know that bridge, over the River Avon, very well from the many years I lived in Salisbury, and of course it looks <a href="https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1240793">very different today </a>and has listed status. It made me wonder if it had once been a packhorse bridge. Apparently its first archival mention is in 1300, but the name Crane Bridge was not used until the 16th century.<span style="font-size: xx-small;">***</span> The bridge has seen various changes, additions and widenings over the years. The artist appears to have presented a somewhat foreshortened view of the bridge as, according to ‘A History of the County of Wiltshire: Vol 6’ written in 1962,<span style="font-size: xx-small;">***</span></div>
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"The present bridge is part of one of six stone arches standing in Leland’s time, is a 15th century structure with four splayed arches, having traces of a smaller and lower archway at its Eastern end. The south side of the bridge was taken down in 1898 and re-erected to widen the road.”</div>
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Salisbury became an important centre of the wool trade among others, as well as holding regular markets and fairs, and so it’s reasonable to assume that a packhorse bridge would not serve at a time of growing commerce in an important cathedral city.<br />
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Vanishing England<span style="font-size: x-small;">* </span>concludes that:</div>
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“.......old Bridges are fast disappearing and are being substituted by the hideous erections of iron and steel. It is well that we should attempt to record those that are left, photograph them and paint them, ere the march of modern progress, evinced by the traction-engine and the motor-car, has quite removed and destroyed them.”</div>
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Fortunately, the hundred years since the book was written, have seen the massive advances made in technology and we now live in a digital age where seemingly everything is catalogued. Nevertheless I’ve done my bit here. I hope you’ll enjoy it, along with other contributions to this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/07/sepia-saturday-378-29-july-2017.html">Sepia Saturday.</a><br />
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To end where I began, here is Beggar’s Bridge again on a beautiful postcard<span style="font-size: x-small;">** </span>printed between 1890 - 1900.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dUsAkQfKqDXEzv2RhoB2RYSGr0g6rxUOKLPcXIJkUOgbsZvqXvv5DRLPxaeSvWJAaLq6mYKIVfTAW7iXX3d0eH0mEKMJpbFfRerHMAcn9dxzR6Kb8tlMYl2DCBkIc4eZTgIUqwr2Row/s1600/Whitby%252C_Glaisdale%252C_Beggars%2527_Bridge%252C_Yorkshire%252C_England-LCCN2002708348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="1600" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dUsAkQfKqDXEzv2RhoB2RYSGr0g6rxUOKLPcXIJkUOgbsZvqXvv5DRLPxaeSvWJAaLq6mYKIVfTAW7iXX3d0eH0mEKMJpbFfRerHMAcn9dxzR6Kb8tlMYl2DCBkIc4eZTgIUqwr2Row/s640/Whitby%252C_Glaisdale%252C_Beggars%2527_Bridge%252C_Yorkshire%252C_England-LCCN2002708348.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Internet Book Archive via Flickr Commons</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">**Public Domain: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Whitby,_Glaisdale,_Beggars%27_Bridge,_Yorkshire,_England-LCCN2002708348.jpg">File:Whitby,_Glaisdale,_Beggars'_Bridge,_Yorkshire,_England-LCCN2002708348.jpg</a></span></i><br />
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<i>***</i><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.920000076293945px;">A History of the County of Wiltshire: Volume 6</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.920000076293945px;">, ed. Elizabeth Crittall (London, 1962), </span><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.920000076293945px;">British History Online</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.920000076293945px;"> http://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/wilts/vol6 [accessed 29 July 2017].</span></div>
Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7335697599281687572.post-61534283200285352112017-07-21T09:25:00.001-07:002017-07-21T12:26:56.459-07:00Blessing the Boats Here in Playa Blanca, Lanzarote, we are in the middle of a week-long fiesta* to celebrate the Patron Saint Carmen. The actual Saint Day is 16th July and from that date on towns and villages on the island hold their own celebrations. Here, and in Puerto del Carmen, there are churches dedicated to Nuestra Señora del Carmen, reminding us that fishing was once the main source of income. At the beginning of the week, the effigy of the saint is paraded through the town. All week we have the fair and lots of activities for young and old, and at the weekend we have live music and fireworks.<br />
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On Sunday, the saint is paraded once more, to a highly decorated boat, where she is placed in full view of the surrounding flotilla, whilst the locals and tourists watch from the prom. The old tradition is that she blesses all the small fishing vessels and the fishermen pray for bountiful catches during the coming year; these days anybody can join in. A few years ago, our friends invited us aboard their boat to join the flotilla. I’m not good on boats, but we actually had a good time.<br />
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I remember it was all fairly chaotic towards the end, when the circle broke down and it became a bit of a free for all! Sailing back towards the sunset however, gave us a view of Playa Blanca we don’t often see. At this time of year, I remember that day with fondness, and I have good memories of my friend, who sadly died the following year. She was calling out to her husband to move away from some of the boats who were ‘bigger than us’. This year we’ll be watching from the safety of dry land.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirH6X6rYHqDS6J0rfeRPhRfJpRPrDHIPv1g-44BNJ6pXqk4VRQ_KXlqMX-Jh7Fu486AftRDECq85_PIR4Vil5btcnR7qaz7WZK6xSliDfv65pXD094J7OibLQfNwbP51IaTPxPE1e2utk/s1600/IMG_0093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirH6X6rYHqDS6J0rfeRPhRfJpRPrDHIPv1g-44BNJ6pXqk4VRQ_KXlqMX-Jh7Fu486AftRDECq85_PIR4Vil5btcnR7qaz7WZK6xSliDfv65pXD094J7OibLQfNwbP51IaTPxPE1e2utk/s640/IMG_0093.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You may have to zoom in to see the Virgin - she’s under the palm arch.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crowds line the prom.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Organised chaos!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFqS5bIxTmycPXFSBDKp4yC_9WbwWViw1k9rZONba1_DovxRiiXgmhyphenhyphen4RIkrL-M6s08h3lABOHKcMd2b4daeFvaXGpwhgLVbxcZXrisInWcgsT2vP4mSQzqXGu1z-cdf-RxwBj2X2iZQ/s1600/IMG_3586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1210" data-original-width="1600" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFqS5bIxTmycPXFSBDKp4yC_9WbwWViw1k9rZONba1_DovxRiiXgmhyphenhyphen4RIkrL-M6s08h3lABOHKcMd2b4daeFvaXGpwhgLVbxcZXrisInWcgsT2vP4mSQzqXGu1z-cdf-RxwBj2X2iZQ/s640/IMG_3586.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That’s quite close enough!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60g8T-q9qz_ySlXHbtrOn5z-PUtUvPfW9YrGOn9W2MkbLJVSHWg44n8ve4b0xoq-9PRbnLhbNv-WIn6lJH9yuUR27f68wzyf0t9Ylx4_sc-c9VnXmWB5ViR2rqsKtJ4G6rCOhyphenhyphenbxtSrA/s1600/IMG_3594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60g8T-q9qz_ySlXHbtrOn5z-PUtUvPfW9YrGOn9W2MkbLJVSHWg44n8ve4b0xoq-9PRbnLhbNv-WIn6lJH9yuUR27f68wzyf0t9Ylx4_sc-c9VnXmWB5ViR2rqsKtJ4G6rCOhyphenhyphenbxtSrA/s640/IMG_3594.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A welcome view of home. You can see that there are no high rises here, due to influence of the artist and visionary, Cesar Manrique, who was born here. That’s ‘our’ volcano, Montaña Roja.</td></tr>
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Join other contributors to this week’s <a href="http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com.es/2017/07/sepia-saturday-377-22-july-2017.html">Sepia Saturday</a>, where our prompt image was a family watching TV aboard a boat.Little Nellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11862657943846727987noreply@blogger.com8