Hello fellow boarders
-
My liferaft has a name: Pickle. If you recognise the name, you might already know
a little about
me.People's
hidden
histories
… please tell me yours.
#SilentSundayso here,
today
I'll say
no more.Snippets, instead,
weeks and months ahead.Peace
-
hidden histories
… and I completely failed to hide "Pickle" by experimenting with Mastodon addresses at the foot of the page! Oops. Only two steps away was https://beige.party/@fuzzy/116308465573131708 with Pickle (the cat) in all four photos.
The people in the photograph above are on my mother's side: great grandmother and grandmother, who I never met; my aunts Ivy and Rose, their brother George, their cousin Ina, and my mum Anne as a baby. Neither Ivy nor George had children.
After George's death, I heard his voice in conversation with Anne and Rose. All three of them were alive.
Can you guess the hidden history that explains the voice?
-
hidden histories
… and I completely failed to hide "Pickle" by experimenting with Mastodon addresses at the foot of the page! Oops. Only two steps away was https://beige.party/@fuzzy/116308465573131708 with Pickle (the cat) in all four photos.
The people in the photograph above are on my mother's side: great grandmother and grandmother, who I never met; my aunts Ivy and Rose, their brother George, their cousin Ina, and my mum Anne as a baby. Neither Ivy nor George had children.
After George's death, I heard his voice in conversation with Anne and Rose. All three of them were alive.
Can you guess the hidden history that explains the voice?
… Neither Ivy nor George had children.
After George's death, I heard his voice in conversation with Anne and Rose. All three of them were alive.
Can you guess the hidden history that explains the voice?
It was not a voice from beyond the grave. Not quite.
It was George's son, whose existence had been hidden from George's sisters (Anne and Rose) and everyone else in the known family, as far as we could tell. Barnardo's – things were very different in the 1950s.
Fast-forward to when Anne (my mum) and Rose met my cousin for the first time. I stood in my mum's kitchen, making a pot of tea for him and his newfound family, listening to them in the front room, thinking: "it's George".
George's son spoke like him, despite them never meeting each other (in living memory), and the resemblance was more than just a regional accent. Mysterious and lovely.
Hidden histories …
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